Dancing the Maypole (49 page)

Isabel smiled
as she took hold of his arm, “You must see the Elizabethan hall.
The wood panelling is said to one of the finest examples in the
country…” Peter didn’t have time to notice the room’s carved wooden
panels as Isabel’s warm length pressed him up against the closed
door. The sensation of pulsing blood swept away all rational
thought as she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked him in
the eyes daring him to resist. Closing his eyes, he was transported
to a secluded garden, where the scent of cabbage roses and sun
dried linen wrapped him in a tight cocoon. Stretching against the
invisible restraint, he found soft feminine curves, and pulled her
closer as the taste of roses washed away all fear of discovery.

On finishing
his ablutions, Cosmo was directed to join his father and
Mademoiselle de Bourbon in the Elizabethan hall. After a politely
accepting a glass of lemonade, Cosmo sat down next to Isabel only
to find himself the object of his father’s most frightening scowl.
“What have I done now? Why are you looking at me like that?” His
father merely looked away, or had he rolled his eyes? Feeling
unwanted, Cosmo made an excuse of needing to stretch his legs and
crossed the room to admire the famed Elizabethan panelling. His eye
was drawn away to a large, bulbous ceramic vase filled with yellow
cabbage roses. Covered with an intertwining pattern of white,
yellow and blue, the vase looked as though it had been sitting on
the small table for two hundred years. Leaning over, he inhaled the
rare memory of being alone with his mother. He could feel his cheek
pressed against her silk skirt as she picked roses. The pleasant
memory burst like a soap bubble as his father’s voice intruded his
thoughts. “…this coming week middle England will be a vast d-desert
without a camel in sight. I don’t know how I shall endure it…”

Forgetting he
was angry, Cosmo turned to share newly-acquired knowledge. “I
passed a barometer in the hall, Papa. Oxfordshire won’t be anything
like a desert. Over the next twenty-four hours, we’ll be
drenched.”

The two adults
glanced in his direction. His father’s stern expression promised a
lecture, but Isabel was shaking with silent laughter as if Cosmo
said something funny.

“Sit down,”
ordered Peter, “and have a piece of c-cake.”

“I’ll be
sitting all the way to Adderbury. I prefer to stand.” Cosmo glanced
at the nearest clock. “We should probably set off soon if we want
to reach Adderbury before hungry highwaymen start lining the
road.”

“You could stop
for the night here my Lord,” offered Isabel. “My uncle has dozens
of empty beds built for tall people.”

“The offer is
appreciated,” said Peter, “but I might be tempted to…uh, sample
your uncle’s hospitality till this heat passes. By then my
neighbour’s pigs will have tired of my apple orchard, and trampled
some foraging mushroom picker meeting their lover after dark…”

“Papa, no-one
sane would pick mushrooms in the dark. They’d end up mushroom food.
It’s hard enough to tell which mushrooms aren’t poisonous at
midday, let alone midnight. Hardly the action of a besotted
lover…unless they were planning to kill their spouse so they could
marry their lover.”

His father gave
him another black scowl, “We’ll leave when I’ve finished speaking
with Mademoiselle.”

“Speak with her
about what?”

“Something.”

“Well don’t
forget the reason you made the detour. Have you delivered her
fan?”

“I won’t
forget.” The words implied his father wouldn’t forget Cosmo’s
rudeness either.

“Why are you
glaring at me again? You’re the one who said we were only stopping
fifteen minutes. It’s been at least twenty-seven…”

The look on his
father’s face promised a long boring lecture. “Exercise your legs
in the garden. I need to speak with Mademoiselle in
p-p-private.”

“Why?” asked
Cosmo. “Are you going to talk about me?”

“No, I wish to
speak with her about something private.” His father smiled at
Isabel, “Something I’d rather discuss after being shipwrecked on a
d-desert island covered in banana plants.”

His father
looked like a painted wooden dummy board, ingeniously cut to look
like a man sitting on a sofa. With his legs stiffly crossed and his
arms folded across his lap he looked in need of a chamber pot, but
Mademoiselle was blushing as if the mention of being shipwrecked
was somehow salacious. “No-one sane wants to be shipwrecked,”
instructed Cosmo. “The probability of survival is never good. For a
man who hasn’t the stomach to cross the Channel, a trip to the
Orient would be ill-advised.”

“I have no
intention of sailing to the Orient.”

The black look
on his father’s face hinted that Cosmo would soon be the one
sailing pirate-infested waters. Cosmo couldn’t resist correcting
his father. “If you want to be cast up on a desert island with
banana plants, you need to sail to the Orient. If you sail to the
Caribbean, you’ll be shipwrecked on an island with coconuts; unless
a fellow castaway murders you for your trousers. You might want to
practice sleeping in a tree before embarking…”

Isabel smiled
as she inhaled her vinaigrette, but his father wasn’t amused. “I
have no intention of visiting the Orient.” Meeting Isabel’s gaze,
Peter Smirke’s lips curled upward in a faintly smug smile.
“Speaking of bananas, I recently decided to build a g-glass house
to propagate b-b-banana plants.”

“Banana’s won’t
grow in England Papa,” said Cosmo. “It’s too cold.”

“I only need
the leaves,” said Peter. “I think it might be wise to build my
banana house on an island in the middle of a small lake. What do
you think Mademoiselle?”

Isabel inhaled
loudly as if finding it hard to breathe. A few coughs and she
appeared to recover. “A novel idea my Lord and if you were to cover
the floor with sand, you’d have a private indoor island.”

“An indoor
island…that would be perfect ma…ma…Mademoiselle. It will make my
banana plants feel at home.”

“Papa, bananas
don’t have feelings, and why would you harvest banana leaves? What
are you going to do with them; wrap them around your head and tie
them in place with a ribbon? Cecil won’t like the sound of
that…”

“It’s none of
your b-business what I do with my b-banana leaves!”

Cosmo snorted
in contempt, “If you can get any plants to grow…”

“Son, pray
exercise your legs in the g-g-garden. And have Boots informed I
wish to leave in half an hour.” It was a command that promised
unpleasant consequences if disobeyed.

“Excuse me
Mademoiselle, said Cosmo, “my father appears to wish me to the
devil. I shall hopefully be allowed to formally take my leave, but
if not…”

“Outside!” His
father’s black eyes made Cosmo’s cravat feel tight. “And shut the
d-d-door.”

Bowing to
Isabel, Cosmo ignored his father, but the snub went unnoticed.
Closing the door firmly behind him, he half-expected to have his
father follow to lecture him on visiting etiquette, but the room
was deathly quiet through the keyhole. After reclaiming his straw
hat, Cosmo stepped out of the front door into the sunlight and
sneered at the picturesque white-stoned road winding up through
copses of silver birch.

Taking out his
pocket watch, Cosmo calculated the length of time it would take him
to walk around the large house to the garden, and back again. If he
walked fast, he’d only have a few minutes to enjoy the garden. With
the air shimmering from the heat, no garden was worth the effort.
Looking to his left, his attention was caught by sunlight glinting
off rippled windowpanes that seemed to smile. Walking over to see
the old glass up close, he stood there several minutes admiring
rippled white clouds.

Wondering how
the landscape would look reflected from the next window he carried
on down past the front of the house. Midway between the door and
the corner of the house he stood staring upward, admiring the
patterned brickwork. He was contemplating whether he’d have enough
money to purchase an Elizabethan manor if he sold both his
properties, when his gaze focused on the nearest window. Beyond the
reflections of grass and sky were a couple standing in a close
embrace. He politely shifted his gaze away to distant deer and was
about to move on, when a sinking feeling in his stomach made him
ignore his embarrassment and take a second look.

His mouth fell
open as the kissing couple came into focus. Isabel de Bourbon’s
arms were wrapped around his father’s neck, but his father’s hands…
Cosmo eyes bulged at the sight of his father groping the Isabel’s
nether regions. Feeling queasy, he turned away from the window and
out of view of the kissing couple. The sun disappeared behind a
cloud, making the white drive, weaving up the green hill, appear
strewn with crushed bones. The impulse to rush to the lady’s aid
was curbed by the fact he couldn’t remember the lady showing any
sign of distress.

Feeling
honour-bound to double-check, he peered back into the room. His
father was now holding Isabel tightly in his arms, pressing his
cheek to her forehead like a lover pained by imminent separation.
Isabel de Bourbon wasn’t trying to struggle free. A familiarity in
the closeness of the two bodies suggested this wasn’t their first
embrace. Cosmo looked away, horrified at his father’s duplicity.
Ever since Cosmo was old enough for the lecture on finding a wife,
his father had counselled him against choosing a woman for her
money. The hypocrite had abandoned his dream lover’s heart for
Isabel de Bourbon’s eighty-thousand pounds.

Peering back
into the room he watched Isabel remove her arms from his father’s
neck and then fondle the cravat she’d crushed. Her lips were
moving, but the only clue to her words was the way she turned her
attention to a button on his father’s waistcoat. Cosmo could only
hope she was asking him to throw away his lavender suits. His
father appeared to sigh in relief as he pulled an oblong package
out of his pocket, and handed it to Isabel. The wrapping dropped
unnoticed to the floor as she unfurled a fan. She stared at it for
what seemed several minutes before carefully closing it and putting
it in her own pocket.

His father
glanced over his shoulder at the door, before reaching into his
other pocket, and pulling out a small flat box tied with a lavender
ribbon. He looked like a man waiting to hear whether he’d be hung
or deported as he watched her open the lid. Taking out a small
folded piece of paper, she opened it up and stared at it with wide
eyes, as if it were a map to buried treasure, and then stood on her
tiptoes. Cosmo turned away before he could see any more kissing.
Had his father written a love poem? No, that was too
ridiculous.

Cosmo peered
back into the room to see Isabel admiring the contents of the box.
He barely had time to twist out of view as she turned and hurried
to the window by which he was standing. Swivelling his eyes, he
could just see she was holding up a necklace of bejewelled
forget-me-nots. “Oh Pierre…I won’t let you forget me…” Cosmo
mouthed the French version of his father’s name in disbelief, as
she disappeared from view, presumably to thank his father with
another kiss.

Dropping to his
knees, Cosmo crawled back the way he’d come over white gravel,
praying his father wouldn’t choose the next few minutes to admire
the view. Once past the panelled room, he stood up and brushed off
his knees. If his father noticed the white dust on his green
trousers, he’d say he’d fallen over on his way to the garden. The
thought of admitting to his father that he’d seen him groping a
woman made Cosmo’s face burn.

Reaching the
large front door, Cosmo pulled his hat down over his eyes, crossed
his arms, and waited. It seemed barely five minutes before Boots
drove the curricle up to the door. A few minutes, later Cosmo
watched his father march past, pulling on his gloves, looking like
he couldn’t wait to leave. The only proof that Cosmo hadn’t
imagined the scene were the two new bulges under Mademoiselle’s
skirt. He kissed her extended hand, and climbed onto the seat next
to his father.

Peter Smirke
waited for the groom to climb into his small seat at the back, and
then raised his whip. “Until next Thursday Mademoiselle…” The
polite words could have been addressed to a maiden aunt.

“Until Thursday
my Lord…” Her reply was cheerful, but serene. If he hadn’t seen
them kissing, he’d never have guessed they were anything more than
acquaintances with mutual kin. The horses had galloped half way up
the hill before Cosmo remembered to wave. Holding onto the seat, he
rocked back and forth against his father as the man remained
visibly unmoved by their departure.

Lost in
unpleasant thoughts, Cosmo’s head jerked back as the curricle came
to an abrupt stop. Turning to his father, he found himself the
recipient of the spine-chilling glare. “What? Why are we stopped?”
asked Cosmo.

“What the
d-d-devil is wrong with you?”

“There wasn’t
anything wrong with me until you nearly snapped my neck.”

“You haven’t
said a word for at least twenty miles.”

“So?”

“Why are you
upset?” The words sounded more like an accusation than a request
for information.

Cosmo glared
back, “Why wouldn’t I be upset? I irritate you if I talk. I
irritate you if I’m silent. Why am I here? To act as your
valet?”

His father
looked away, “I wanted to spend some time with you before I
wed.”

“Why? So you’ll
feel less guilty when your second wife gives birth to the
long-desired daughter and you forget I exist?” There was a long
awful pause as his father glared straight ahead. “I wish I’d gone
to the seaside.”

“A half-sibling
or two won’t mean you’re loved any less.”