Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [288]
“Ah, Mother,” said Edward Talbot. And he was about to introduce Margaret when the lady turned to Margaret’s father, and coolly demanded, “This is your daughter?”
The lady Talbot was tall. Her face was strong. Her grey eyes seemed to look at the world from a great height.
“Yes, my lady. This is Margaret.”
Margaret now found herself the object of an aristocratic stare: that is to say, the lady Talbot looked at her in exactly the same, dispassionate way as she would have observed an item of furniture.
“You have very fine hair.” Though technically this was a compliment, her tone suggested that she might have added: there is nothing more to say about you. She turned to her son. “Your father is looking for you, Edward. There are guests from Dublin Castle you should attend to.”
With a polite bow to her father and a smile at Margaret, Edward Talbot left them. The lady Talbot, however, did not move. She waited until Edward had left the garden and then, turning to her father as though Margaret was not even there, she addressed him with the greatest coldness.
“How many of your kinsmen did you use to secure an invitation here today?”
“I believe several of my kinsmen are known to you, my lady.”
“You came here to show off your daughter to the world.”
“I am her father, my lady. What else should a father do?”
“I agreed to your being invited, though by rights you should not be here.” She paused. “I agreed to let your daughter and her hair be seen.” She paused again. “And I did not agree that you should come here so that your daughter could try to insinuate herself with my son. You have abused my trust.”
This was so breathtaking that, for a moment, neither father nor daughter said anything. But it was so unfair that Margaret could not help bursting out: “I never spoke a word to your son, until he came up to me.”
The stony grey eyes were upon her again. Was there a faint hint of recognition there now?
“That may be true,” the lady conceded. She turned back to Margaret’s father. “But perhaps you know more than your daughter.”
Margaret glanced at her father. Was it possible that he had somehow arranged the meeting? Had he gone out, not to find an older suitor but to send in Edward Talbot? Faced with the lady Talbot’s cold accusation, Margaret was so glad that he did not blush or bluster, but remained very calm.
“I did not bring my daughter here in order that either of us should be insulted,” he replied quietly.
“Do not bring her here again, then,” the lady Talbot answered curtly. She turned to Margaret. “Find yourself a merchant in Dublin, Miss Red Hair. You do not belong in the castle of Malahide.” Then she swept away.
Neither Margaret nor her father felt much like talking as they returned home. The evening sun was still casting long shadows on the Plain of Bird Flocks as their cart rolled across its empty greenness. If Margaret wondered whether the lady Talbot’s accusation could be true, it was not something she wanted to ask her father. It was he, in the end, who broke the silence.
“It’s not our family that made her speak like that. I am a gentleman you know.”
“I know.”
“It’s because I am poor, Margaret, that she treated you like that.” He spoke bitterly, but he hung his head in shame. She put her arm round him.
“Thank you for what you tried to do for me, Father,” she said gently. “You’re a wonderful father.”
“If only I were.” He shook his head. “I had not meant you to discover the harshness of the world,” he said miserably. “Not like this. I had hoped …” He trailed off. Feeling his body sob, she was not sure whether to keep her arm round him or not, but she left it where it was.
“It’s not important,” she said after a while. “Not really.”
“It is to me,” he murmured, then fell silent again for a little while,