Reunited At The King's Court

‘But if so, then surely he would have written. Unless—unless he didn’t survive. He’s occupied my thoughts so much over the years and I have wondered what has happened to him. I know he will have been put to work on a plantation; that he might have been sold like a slave and forced to perform hard labour on the sugar plantations and treated cruelly. But no matter what has happened to him, I would still like to petition to have Mayfield Hall returned to my family. I think about the tenants and the servants a great deal: the old, the sick and the children who have served my family faithfully for generations, people who were dependent on us. How have they fared, I wonder? It concerns me greatly.’

‘That I can understand. I remember the pain you suffered when you left.’

‘I was fortunate to have stayed at Mayfield for as long as I did. It was a dark day for me the day I left. I felt the darkness of despair and the fear and the knowledge that I would not see my father again. The fear I felt was for the future, not knowing what was to happen. The real reason Father didn’t send me to Hester sooner was because Richard sided with Parliament. We lost contact with Hester during the latter part of the wars. I was so tired of it all and the estrangement.’

‘The wars are over, Arlette. The gaps are closing.’

‘And you are here. I still cannot believe it. In the brief time we were together I felt as if my spirit was alive...as if I had drunk sparkling wine—not that I knew what sparkling wine was like, but I tried to imagine it—and the bubbles were effervescing and bursting inside me. And then you weren’t there any more and I felt quite desperate.’

‘You had Hester.’

She dropped her gaze. ‘Hester wasn’t you.’

Looking at the young woman sitting beside him, at her bowed head and the dejected droop of her shoulders, something of her anguish and despair penetrated William’s mind. Taking her hand he held it tight for a moment, breathing in the faint sweet scent of her, of roses and jasmine, he thought, and rosemary—for remembrance, remembrance of their time together as they had journeyed to London, when the countryside had been crawling with Roundheads searching out fugitives from Worcester. The memories stirred emotions he had long since thought buried.

Holding his hand, Arlette raised it to her cheek and held it there, her eyes brimming with tears. She had to admit to a stirring of emotions she had never experienced—the tremor in the pit of her stomach when he was near, the warming in her heart when he smiled at her—the desolation that he would leave her. She looked at him as if she could not get enough of the sight of him. They were two people, complicit and close, caught in a fragile net of feelings neither of them could comprehend, but each aware that after all the years they had been apart, when they were once again united and with the testimony of yesterday, the memory of that tragic time was etched on their hearts and minds.

William was immediately riveted upon her tip-tilted eyes and the full pink lips. She touched the corner of her mouth with the point of her tongue, which was pink and moist, wetting her bottom lip, and she smiled a little, as if at some secret thought. William stroked her cheek slowly, wiping away a tear that spilled from her eye with a tenderness that gave Arlette goose bumps and made her insides tremble like leaves on a tree caught in a summer breeze.

He slid slowly closer to her, his voice soft and his breath warm as he whispered her name. And then he opened his hand over the contour of her cheek and touched her lower lip with his thumb and caressed it smoothly, slowly. She did not move away—a mixture of terror and pleasure prevented her from doing so. He placed his finger beneath her chin and raised her face to his, resisting the temptation to tenderly cover her mouth with his own.

A shiver ran up Arlette’s spine at the feel of his fingers on her cheek. She basked in his closeness and found she couldn’t move—she had neither the desire nor the strength to do so. Her heart thumped so wildly in her breast that she could hardly breathe. His eyes were both gentle and compelling. The world around her seemed to vanish, leaving her locked in a circle of unreality. Her heart swelled with an emotion of such proportions she was overwhelmed. It was as if she were being sucked down into a pool of deep, dark, swirling water, a turbulence of longing—a longing she had never known before, but which this man could provide.

Recollecting himself, William pulled away. They continued to look at each other with startled eyes, a look that lasted no more than a moment and yet seemed to last an eternity. This strange turn of events was more than either of them had expected for, no matter how attracted William was by her, he had no intention of becoming involved with her for reasons she knew nothing about. He stared at her lovely face, framed by her golden hair flowing down her spine. He noticed how her firm breasts strained beneath the bodice of her gown, how her moist lips trembled as she tilted her head slightly to look at him.

‘My apologies. I forgot my manners. I was quite mesmerised by you for a moment,’ William murmured.

She smiled softly, raising her eyes to his. ‘Don’t apologise. I don’t mind—I care for you, William, and I like it when you touch me—although I shudder to think what Hester would have to say about me sitting on a garden bench in such close proximity to you.’

‘She’d probably thrash me to within an inch of my life,’ he said, his lips breaking into an impudent smile in an attempt to lighten her comment. ‘I’m sorry, Arlette. I got quite carried away—but seeing you here, I am unable to believe my good fortune that I have found you again, that I am here at all.’

‘And not still in France or The Hague, where King Charles had his Court,’ she whispered.

‘Exactly.’

‘I once told you that your life was precious to me. Do you remember?’

He nodded. ‘I do. It was when I was about to leave for France.’

‘It is still. You are still precious to me, William.’

William laughed softly in an attempt to lighten the moment, to dispel the seriousness from her eyes. ‘And you have turned into a very beautiful young woman. I’m afraid if I don’t watch my step I am in danger of letting my emotions get the better of me.’

Suddenly the darkness of the night was illuminated by a fabulous firework display, which lit up the night sky in a fantastic array of colour. Cries of awe and excitement and laughter from those watching the display destroyed the magic of the moment like someone bursting a bubble. The clarity of her thoughts now recovered, Arlette looked around, as though awaking from a dream.

‘I’d quite forgotten about the fireworks. What happened to Hector, by the way? Did you take him to France?’

‘I did and he served me well, until a couple of years ago when he died of old age.’

‘Poor Hector. I’m glad he was with you at the end. We were speaking of the petitions being presented to the King by returning Royalists. I would like to know more about that.’

Resisting the urge to take her in his arms and bury his face in her glorious wealth of hair, William drew back a little. He must not, he told himself. A moment ago, in a moment of weakness, he had almost given in to the desire to kiss her. To do so would bind him to her in ways he would find hard to break and this he must not do, not when he was bound to someone else. But as he looked at her lovely face his thoughts were anything but honourable and he prayed he could be forgiven any impure thoughts that crossed his mind. She really did have the deepest, loveliest blue-green eyes he had ever seen and her lashes were long and dark and swept her cheeks when she lowered her eyes with a fresh naivety, which he knew stemmed from innocence. His eye was drawn to the faint shadow beneath her jaw line and the tendril of silken hair in her nape. He imagined the tiny curl around his finger, his hands at the back of her neck, just where the heavy mass of her hair lay above the lace of her gown.

Forcing himself to concentrate on her question, he said, ‘Every Royalist in England wants something back, be it land, property or money. Some Royalists who are not impoverished and had their property confiscated have bought it back. Others whose properties were sold may not be so fortunate. After the enormous fines exacted on Royalists after our defeat at Naseby, many of them were forced to sell off land to pay them. As if that were not enough, the house and the rest of the land were confiscated. It is hopefully expected that everything claimed by whoever claimed jurisdiction in London will be returned to its rightful owner. Earlier you told me that Mayfield Hall has been confiscated.’

‘Yes, at least that is what we understand. We had a letter from Blanche recently and she told us a man and his wife were living there. The lady of the house died a year ago and her husband lives there alone. He is not in the best of health and not expected to live long.’

‘Then you may be fortunate if you petition to have the estate returned to you. But it is early days yet. Whitehall is filled to capacity with Royalists and their families wanting something from the King. But all that is for another day.’

‘Will he be a good king?’

‘Time will tell, but I believe so. Hester told me of your impending betrothal to Sir Ralph Crompton. He’s a lucky man—no doubt he has your head in a spin.’

His words penetrated the fog of Arlette’s senses, bringing her back from the languorous narcosis into which the magical evening, the moon and the stars and his presence had sent her. She felt as if something were shattering inside her; a raw, illogical panic slithered into her. She had not wanted to think of Sir Ralph Crompton. It spoiled the moment.

She stepped back, horrified that Hester had confided this to William. ‘It’s clear you have never met Sir Ralph.’

‘No, I am not acquainted with him.’

‘Clearly.’ Her eyes flashed rebelliously. ‘I feel no joy in being betrothed to him. He’s an old man—fifty and a widower with two young daughters. Father would never have given his permission for me to marry a Puritan—a man who pledged himself to Cromwell and the Commonwealth.’

‘Why not? Hester married one.’

‘Richard did not declare his allegiance to Parliament until after their marriage, otherwise Father would not have allowed it, even though Hester would have no other. Richard hadn’t been of any persuasion then, until he met Sir Ralph. Impressed and influenced by Sir Ralph, he soon fell under his spell.’

‘And you have no wish to marry Sir Ralph. I hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes. Your life is not yours to order, is it, Arlette?’

‘What woman’s life is? I have lived in Richard’s house since you brought me to London and the price I have to pay is obedience. An alliance between Sir Ralph and me would be advantageous to Richard—they are both in the same trade and Sir Ralph is important and powerful in the guild. Marriage to Sir Ralph is a way in which Sir Ralph would honour Richard with such an important connection—I often get the feeling that Sir Ralph has some kind of hold over him, although what it can be I have no idea. I am duty-bound to show my gratitude for all Hester and Richard have done for me since I came to live with them. Indeed, if I don’t marry him, Richard has told me the consequences are too dire to contemplate.’

William was uneasy by her reply. If what she said was true and Sir Ralph Crompton was indeed an old man—as old as Methuselah to a young woman—then he couldn’t blame her for having an aversion to the match. He was badly affected by this lovely young woman who had commanded all his attention from the moment he had seen her when he had ridden up the Strand. Strangely, the thought of Arlette with another man—in his arms, kissing him, lying with him, young or old—disgusted him. Looking at her afresh, he could not help feeling that such perfect beauty would be sadly wasted on an old man.

‘So am I to understand that you would prefer it to be an affair of the heart when you marry?’ he asked, with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

‘A love match. That’s what I really want, nothing less,’ she replied, meeting his eyes steadily.

William cocked an eyebrow with wry amusement and mastered a faint smile. ‘Love! My dear Arlette, people rarely marry for love.’

‘Oh, but you are wrong,’ she enthused, her eyes sparkling with animation. ‘I know many who have.’

‘Then you must make your feelings clear to Richard. He may not be in accord with our beliefs, but he appears to be a reasonable man. I doubt he would force you into such a marriage.’

‘He will try, no matter how hard I protest my aversion to Sir Ralph. He considers me problematical and cannot wait to get me off his hands. But it goes against the grain marrying a Parliamentarian.’

‘You cannot hold that against him, Arlette. Many families were divided during the war years. For those who had faith, believing that the things they fought for were right, then they deserve our respect. They were our enemies—but honourable enemies.’ He got to his feet. ‘I must take my leave of you, I’m afraid. I’ve arranged to meet up with some gentlemen at Whitehall later. I expect the celebrations will continue throughout the night.’

‘Yes, I expect they will,’ she replied, disappointed that he had to go.

Arlette accompanied him to the door where they paused, stepping aside as people went in and out.