Blood Royal by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788635080
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2019-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

Hempseed I set, hempseed I sow,

The man that is my true love,

Come after me and mow.

If she could hear their voices now, a thin, off-key pipe among the ruins, how much more could Anne.

This was maudlin. She said: ‘And now. Where is Fraser?’ She had been concerned for others long enough.

‘Who?’

They stared at each other.

No, thought Cecily, no, no. She used anger to withstand the sudden chill. ‘Guillaume Fraser. Anne, you owe him your father’s escape. Where is he? Sophie wrote… she was bringing him here.’

‘There is no man here.’

‘But she wrote. She was bringing someone I should be pleased to see, she said.’

‘That was me.’

Of course, of course. Sophie had meant Anne. She’d used her own code to thwart Walpole’s letter-openers. But the expectation had been so strong since the letter that Cecily couldn’t rid herself of it. She stood up, poised to go to Sophie and ask her what she had done with Fraser.

From the reeds that freckled the mere, the heavy, dark shape of a bittern, legs trailing, flapped over the water giving its dusk-flight call, kwah, kwah. It was answered by a rasp from the upper window: ‘Aaahbugga-a-ah.’ Anne made no move.

Cecily went. He must be here. Let him he here. A little happiness, God. In the name of Christ, give me some recompense.

The smell of marsh had insinuated itself into the house during its long neglect; portraits that had lined the wall of the Jacobean staircase had been removed, leaving bleached squares and rectangles on the plaster.

Yet the great wrought-iron wheel of a candle-holder still hung from its long chain, warming the lovely brick of the floor below and the nymphs and gods painted on the high ceiling. Furniture remained – the massive oak pieces too old-fashioned for a Peterborough Whig. And in the passage that ran back from the foot of the staircase to the servants’ quarters a partly opened door let out light and the smell of cooking and a voice talking above the rattle of pans.

Edie, the only constant in a childhood kaleidoscope of governesses, attendants, duennas, chaperones; Edie and Hempens. Hempens and Edie. For this much, God be thanked.

But she must go to Sophie first.

The scene in the Rupert room was a Rembrandt. Candle-flame against reflectors sent all light towards the bed, illuminating the sufferer on it and leaving the woman who sat beside it an inclined shape in the shadows. Sophie’s red hair was dark with sweat, her small face brick-coloured. She radiated a furious energy. ‘God’s taken my earl, Cessy.’ It was a shout.

‘I know.’ Cecily crossed to the bed and kissed Sophie’s hand, holding it in both her own. ‘I know, I know.’

‘It’s not fair, Cessy, it’s not fair. I want him back.’

‘I know, darling, I know.’

‘But I’ll have his son, I’ll have a bit of him back in his son.’ Sophie’s eyelids drooped. ‘A bit of him back, a bit of him back.’ Then her eyes opened to stare. ‘Here it comes again, sod it, oooh, buggerit, buggeraaah.

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