The Homecoming by Norah Lofts

Author:Norah Lofts [Lofts, Norah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781905806867
Publisher: Tree of Life Publishing
Published: 2018-09-02T04:00:00+00:00

Lady Emma received him more amiably than their last parting warranted. When Sir James died, Henry had behaved correctly and offered his help with any affairs which the widow did not wish to deal with herself. She had replied sharply that she needed no help and, if she did, would not look to him who had so mismanaged his own. That was not only ungrateful but rude and misguided, for within his own limited sphere Henry managed well and had the reputation for being a shrewd though honest bargainer.

‘I don’t see that I’ve managed so badly,’ he said.

‘I am referring to your marriage. Most ill-advised. And a disgrace to the family!’

Had he married for love and been infatuated with his wife, Henry could hardly have been more deeply offended.

Now he stated his business bluntly and she dealt with it in her usual efficient way. ‘I will inform Father Thomas today and he will see to everything. As for the future—I believe he has a nephew, recently ordained, who would be quite suitable. I believe one should consult the Bishop but how can one, when he is so seldom in residence? You can leave it all to me, Henry.’ He would have left then but she urged him to take some cool wine. When he hesitated, she did a thing most unusual with her; she apologised.

‘At our last meeting I believe that I offended you, Henry. You must not bear me a grudge. I was not myself that day.’

Actually, she had been very much herself; her grief merely a bow to convention. Poor James had been dying by such gradual stages for so long a time and had suffered so much that his death had roused little emotion but relief.

‘We’ll leave it at that,’ Henry said.

The wine came with a dish of little saffron cakes. Hard after came little Richard.

Without greeting Henry, he said, ‘I thought something was going on.’ He snatched two of the cakes and, stuffing one into his mouth, spoke through it. ‘Umma, you said pony as soon as it was cooler.’

‘Yes, darling. Go tell Jacky to saddle him and then walk—mind what I say—walk to the bridge and wait for me. I have something to discuss with your Uncle Henry.’

She had decided when he was four years old—and big for his age—that he must have a pony and that no one should teach him to ride but herself. She was not a horse-woman but she knew the rules and was willing to trot alongside, issuing instructions. The exercise exacerbated the stitch in her side but it did not cause it. It was always there and sometimes kept her awake at night.

‘I’m worried to death about that boy,’ she said, when little Richard, with yet a third cake, had stumped away.

‘There’s nothing wrong with him that a good smack on the behind wouldn’t cure.’ Lady Emma had always accused Sybilla of spoiling her boys and had once administered to Henry the correction which he now mentioned. He thought—Mother would never allow us to behave in that oafish way!

‘I mean his future.

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