Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (20 page)

W
he
n she returned to her room she found her window already cleared and sunlight streaming in. She laughed with the pure pleasure of it. When she opened the window she heard chatter and laughter outside.

Perriam Manor was coming to life.

She too wanted to be down there.

She hurried downstairs and out through the front doors. At the moment the workers were all on the side of the house. As soon as she reached there she saw Perriam up a ladder, hacking at ivy with a will and tossing down hanks of it with saucy quips. The village women responded with laughter and quips of their own, be they young or old.

“Irresponsible scamp.”

Claris turned and found Athena by her side. “Only when it suits him. He was very responsible in teaching the twins to ride.”

“Then he should exert responsibility now,” Athena said, pointing.

The twins were each beginning to climb a ladder, blade in hand.

Claris raced over. “Come back down now.”

“But . . .”

“Now!”

They obeyed, but sullenly. “Perry’s doing it.”

“He’s a grown man, and he’s Mr. Perriam.”

“He told us to call him Perry. He’s our brother now.”

She supposed he was.

“A very much older brother. I’m sorry, darlings, but it’s dangerous, and you could hurt others. You could help load the carts.”

“That’s women’s work!”

“Please, Claris,” Peter begged. “There are boys our age helping.”

When she looked around, she had to admit it was true. Country lads worked from a young age, often at difficult and dangerous jobs. Her brothers had never been country lads of that sort, and she wouldn’t have them thinking of themselves that way, but this was a unique occasion.

“Very well,” she said, “but be careful.”

They began to climb again, and Claris watched as if that could keep them safe.

“They twist you around their fingers,” Athena said.

“One reason I want them to go to school.” Claris remembered the other thing. “Perriam wants to take them to London. No, to Town, as he insists in calling it.”

“He sometimes has sense. Will you accompany them?”

“Of course.”

“Apron strings,” Athena said, but added, “When the time comes, Ellie and I will go as well. It’s too long since I visited Town, and there are places I can show you.”

“I’d much prefer to stay here. Why is nothing turning out as I expected?”

“How tedious if it did. Be open to experience, Claris. It will reward you.”

“I’ve had more than enough experience for a lifetime.”

Claris tore her gaze off the boys but then couldn’t help seeking Perriam.

Still up a ladder.

Still working like a laborer.

Like the other laborers he was down to breeches and shirt, his sleeves rolled up. His hair had lost its ribbon again, and the sun struck fire in it.

His arse was firm. . . .

Claris turned away, hot faced. “Food!” she said to no one in particular and rushed back into the house.

Once in the dark-paneled hall she paused, hand on the back of a carved chair. She’d never paid attention to a man’s behind before, never. They were probably all the same, all as muscular. . . .

She hurried on to the kitchen.

Mistress Wilcock had everything in hand and was clearly enjoying feeding a multitude.

“And soon we’ll have light in here again, ma’am. That’ll be grand.”

“The ivy hasn’t always cut off the light?”

“Bless you, no, ma’am,” the cook said, hands still busily cutting cheese. “The third wife . . . I mean, Mr. Giles Perriam’s last wife, poor lady, she wouldn’t have it cut. Then when she died Mr. Giles forbade anyone to touch it. It could be cleared, he said, when he had a son.”

Mistress Wilcock’s hands stilled and shot Claris a wary look.

“I understand that he was planning a fourth marriage,” Claris said.

“Yes, ma’am. But then he began to fail. Likely it was all his fault, ma’am. Some men can’t sire healthy children. Bad seed.”

Claris realized the woman was trying to reassure her, and perhaps herself.

“Right, then,” Mistress Wilcock said to her minions. “Let’s get all this into the baskets and outside. Would it be all right if they eat and drink with the others, ma’am? They’re all family.”

“Of course,” Claris said, and carried a heavy jug of cider herself.

A man with a strong voice declared the halt, and everyone gathered around the baskets and jugs. Claris helped to distribute the food and readily answered any questions, though in general terms.

She was a clergyman’s daughter from Surrey.

Her parents were dead.

Yes, she intended to live here.

That clearly pleased everyone. The manor would provide work and buy from local people. It would bring prosperity. She would ensure that. It was a new thought, but these were her people, hers to take care of.

She saw Perriam eating and drinking with a group of men, laughing and creating laughter, completely at his ease. She was less so, because of her lifetime’s experience in Old Barford. These people didn’t know about the Mad Rector, however, and hadn’t experienced her mother’s harsh tongue. If she sometimes caught their eyes on her, or heard a whispered comment, it was only curiosity about someone who would be important in their lives.

She took a piece of bread and cheese and a pottery mug of ale and joined a group of young women who were sitting on the ground, some with babes in arms. Ancients seemed to have care of the children too young to work. Some were charming in their excitement and curiosity, while others were imps.

A nearby baby set up a howl, demanding to be fed. Its mother undid her bodice without interrupting her conversation and put the baby to her breast. The infant clutched, attached, and suckled in such expert seriousness that Claris had to smile. She quickly looked away, but no one seemed to have noticed or minded.

A toddler in a smock staggered over to present her with a buttercup. There was little more to it than the head, but Claris put down her food and drink to take it. “Thank you, poppet.”

She held it beneath the child’s chin so the sun reflected yellow off it. “I see you like butter.”

The child chuckled, perhaps knowing the game, or perhaps simply from joy. Was it so easy to be joyous?

The child toddled off to a woman, presumably its mother, for she smiled shyly at Claris. Claris smiled back but looked away when the toddler climbed into its mother’s lap and found a breast for itself.

The woman on Claris’s right also had a babe, but hers was asleep on a blanket on the grass, another blanket over it. So like the memorials, but so not.

“A boy or a girl?” Claris asked.

“A boy, ma’am.”

“How old?”

“Two months, ma’am.”

“Do you have other children?”

“Two, ma’am. But we’ve lost two.”

There was sadness in the words, but acceptance too. Children died so easily in their early years. Giles Perriam’s first wife had simply been more unfortunate than most.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, ma’am.”

Claris wanted to deny any discomfort, but she wouldn’t be believed. Instead, she tackled the subject. “I was thinking of the babies who died in this house recently.”

The woman nodded. “Right sad it’s been. Me mam says it was bad seed.”

The same explanation Mistress Wilcock had given.

“That’s what comes of sin,” the woman went on. “As you sow, so shall you reap.”

But then she looked alarmed.

She’d just insulted a Perriam.

“Giles Perriam was a bad man,” Claris agreed. “My husband is a very distant relative.”

The woman relaxed again. “That’s what I heard, ma’am.” Her baby stirred and so she picked it up, but she glanced at Claris. “He’s a fine-looking man.”

Claris felt herself blush. “Handsome is as handsome does,” she said, then heard how that sounded. “And he always does most handsomely.”

The woman grinned. “I’m not surprised, ma’am. Men like that, they have a way with them. A woman can always tell.”

Men like what? Claris wondered, but she feared she knew. Lusty men who had a wicked way with women.

“Lawks! There’s Billy running off!” The woman looked around and then dumped her baby in Claris’s arms before racing after a young lad who was heading for one of the cart horses.

Claris looked down at the baby, who looked up at her, its mouth working as if suckling. Its swaddling was damp, so she held it away from her skirts.

It was darling, though, reminding her of the twins at such a young age. She’d used to talk to whichever twin was in her arms, babbling whatever came to mind. They’d seemed to like it.

“You’re a treasure,” she said to the wide-eyed baby. “And your mother’s a fine woman. You’re going to grow up strong and happy in Perriam Green. Nothing will ever harm you. . . .”

She realized she was trying to cast a spell of her own, one that would keep this little innocent safe. She could feel how painful the child’s death would be, and she wasn’t its mother.

Those haunting memorials.

What was she to do with them?

Impossible to destroy them, but if she had them moved to the churchyard, she’d expose more people to their disturbing design.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the young mother gasped as she sat down and retrieved her baby. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”

“That’s all right. He’s behaved perfectly.”

The baby was beaming with delight at its mother, so happy to see her again, but without a trace of anxiety. Claris was sure her own mother had never felt like a secure haven.

“I’ve taken Billy to his father. He’s only three, but he’s a terror for venturing.” She picked up the remains of her food, jiggling the baby on her knees. “It’s grand to have a family here again. My granddad talks of how it was in his younger days. Plenty of work and always help in hard times. Feast days too.”

Claris suspected she was being nudged toward extravagant benevolence, but she smiled. She’d do her best.

“This was when Giles Perriam’s father was alive?”

“They’ve all been Giles, ma’am, as long as anyone can remember, but before him was his grandfather. His father died young. Racing a horse, or so they say. His father was one of four, but the others were all girls and married away. Him dying so young, Mr. Giles was the only child.”

Claris disentangled this to mean that Giles had been the only child of a Giles who’d died young, before his own father had died. He’d have been raised by his grandparents, and probably inherited at a young age. That could spoil a man, and he’d been very spoiled to ruin Aunt Clarrie.

The strong voice bellowed again, and everyone scrambled up to set back to work. The young mother carried her baby over to a toothless old man and went to a cart.

Claris stood and surveyed the progress with satisfaction.

She couldn’t rip the shrouds off those poor dead infants, but she was ripping the shroud off the house. Now she could see mellow red brick and massive exposed wooden beams. It was an old house and not straight in all its lines, but it had its own beauty.

And it was hers.

Hers to delight in, hers to care for.

The windows were dirty, but soon their lozenge-shaped panes would gleam and there would indeed be light in every room. The light would spread throughout the area. There would be work, and she’d provide assistance in hard times. If there truly were traditional feast days, she’d revive them.

She set to work, helping the servants to collect the debris. She was adding pottery mugs to a tray when she saw a carriage coming up the drive.

Visitors?

And here she was with her skirt kirtled up, no cap on her hair, which was escaping its pins as usual. All the servants were out here. Would there be anyone in the hall to open the door?

Claris frantically looked for Athena or Perriam. Where were they?

Lord help her, someone had to greet their guests, and it seemed it must be her. She unpinned her skirt and ran toward the front, only slowing as she approached the corner, where she’d be in sight.

A portly gentleman in a white wig and fine suit of green cloth had descended and was assisting a lady dressed in a hooped gown, who was wearing a very fine cap under a three-cornered hat decorated with a bold green feather.

Grand visitors!

Claris thought of retreat, but that wasn’t possible. She took a breath and went over, pushing one long tendril back under a pin. With a curtsy, she said, “Welcome to Perriam Manor. I’m Mistress Perriam.”

The middle-aged couple were looking around in amazement, but the lady smiled. “You’re having the ivy stripped. Excellent idea.”

“It seemed of first importance, ma’am. You must excuse my state of clothing.”

“Of course, of course. You must excuse our impetuosity.”