Page 5 of Dark Tides
She held the baby, the fatherless boy, in her arms. “Why should I tell you anything?” she demanded fiercely. “Just go! And don’t come back.”
But the lady, with her face hidden, blindly stretched out her hand to him, as if for comfort. He could not help but take the warm hand in the tight black lace mitten.
“But he spoke of you!” she whispered. “I remember now. I know who you are. You were his tutor and he said you taught him Latin and were patient with him when he was just a little boy. He was grateful to you for that. He told me so.”
James patted her hand. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he said. “Forgive my clumsiness.”
Mistily, she smiled up at him, blinking away tears from her dark eyes. “Forgiven,” she said. “And forgotten at once. How should you guess such a tragedy? But call on me when you come again, and you can tell me what he was like when he was a boy. You must tell me all about his childhood. Promise me that you will?”
“I will,” James said quickly before Alys could retract the invitation. “I will come tomorrow, after breakfast. And I’ll leave you now.” He bowed to both the women and nodded to the nursemaid and wentquickly from the room before Alys could say another word. They heard him ask the maid for his horse and then they heard the front door slam. They sat in silence as they heard the horse coming around from the yard and stand, as he mounted up, and then clattered away.
“I thought his name was something else,” the widow remarked.
“It was then.”
“I did not know that he was a nobleman?”
“He was not, then.”
“And wealthy?”
“Now, I suppose so.”
“Ah,” the lady considered her sister-in-law. “Is it all right that I came? Roberto told me to come to you if anything ever… if anything ever… if anything ever happened to him.” Her face was tearstained and flushed. She took out a tiny handkerchief trimmed with black ribbon and put it to her eyes.
“Of course,” Alys said. “Of course. And this is your home for as long as you want to stay.”
The sleeping baby gave a gurgle and Alys shifted him from her shoulder to hold him in her arms, so she could look into the little pursed face for any sign of Rob.
“I think he is very like your brother,” the widow said quietly. “It is a great comfort to me. When I first lost my love, my dearest Roberto, I thought I would die of the pain. It was only this little—this little angel—that kept me alive at all.”
Alys put her lips to the warm head, where the pulse bumped so strongly. “He smells so sweet,” she said wonderingly.
Her ladyship nodded. “My savior. May I show him to his grandmother?”
“I shall take you to see her,” Alys said. “This has been a terrible shock for her, for us all. We only had your letter telling of his death last week, and then your letter from Greenwich three days ago. We’re not even in mourning. I am so sorry.”
The young woman looked up, her eyelashes drenched with tears. “It is nothing, it is nothing. What matters is the heart.”
“You know that she is an invalid? But she will want to welcome you here at once. I’ll just go up and tell her that you have come to us. CanI have them bring you anything? If not tea, then perhaps a drink of chocolate? Or a glass of wine?”
“Just a glass of wine and water,” the lady said. “And please tell your lady-mother that I wish to be no trouble to her. I can see her tomorrow, if she is resting now.”
“I’ll ask.” Alys gave the baby to the nursemaid and went from the room, across the hall, and up the narrow stairs.
Alinor was bent over her letter, seated at a round table set in the glazed turret, struggling to write to her brother to tell him such bad news that she could not make herself believe it. The warm breeze coming in with the tide lifted a stray lock of white hair from her frowning face. She was surrounded by the tools of her trade: herbalism, posies of herbs drying on strings over her head, stirring in the air from the window, little bottles of oils and essences were ranked on the shelves on the far side of the room, and on the floor beneath them were big corked jars of oils. She was not yet fifty, her strikingly beautiful face honed by pain and loss, her eyes a darker gray than her modest gown, a white apron around her narrow waist, a white collar at her neck.
“Was that her? So soon?”
“You saw the carriage?”
“Yes—I was writing to Ned. To tell him.”
“Ma—it’s Rob’s… it is…”
“Rob’s widow?” Alinor asked without hesitation. “I thought it must be, when I saw the nursemaid, carrying the baby. It is Rob’s baby boy?”
“Yes. He’s so tiny, to come such a long way! Shall I bring her up?”
