The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [26]
‘The New Forest?’ The Lady Maud looked faintly startled. ‘I don’t think I’d want to go there.’ She gave Walter one of her little smiles, as if Adela had said something socially inappropriate. ‘The people who live there are very strange. Have you been there, Walter?’
‘Only once or twice. With the royal hunt.’
‘Ah. Well that’s rather different.’
Adela saw that Walter had just given her a disapproving frown. Obviously he wanted her to change the subject. But it also irritated her. Why should she be treated like an idiot all the time? He was going to despise her anyway. ‘I ride in the Forest alone,’ she said blithely. ‘I’ve even hunted there.’ She paused to let that sink in. ‘With your husband.’ And she gave Walter a smile of cheerful defiance.
But whatever reaction she might have expected, it was not the one she got.
‘Hugh?’ The Lady Maud frowned, then went a little pale. ‘Went hunting in the Forest?’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘Did you, my dear?’ she asked in a strangely small voice.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said quickly, with a frown. ‘With Walter here. And Cola. Back in the spring.’
‘I don’t think I knew that.’ She was looking at him with a silent reproach.
‘I’m sure you did,’ he said in a firm tone.
‘Oh. Well,’ she replied softly, ‘I do now.’ And she gave Adela her twisted smile before adding with a forced playfulness: ‘Men will go off hunting in the Forest.’
Walter was gazing down at his food. As for Martell, was there a hint of impatience in his manner? A slight shrug of the shoulder? Why would he not have told her? Was there some other reason for his visit to the Forest? Were there other absences, perhaps? Adela wondered. If he escaped from his wife from time to time, she was not sure she blamed him, whatever he got up to.
It was Walter who came to the rescue. ‘Speaking of things royal,’ he calmly remarked, as though nothing awkward had occurred, ‘have you heard …’ And a moment later he was relating one of the latest scandals from the royal court. As they so often did, this concerned the king’s shocking words to some monks. Impatient of religion himself, Rufus could seldom resist baiting churchmen. As usual also, the Norman king had contrived to be both rude and funny. Shocked though she felt she must be, the Lady Maud was soon laughing as much as her husband.
‘Where did you learn this?’ Martell enquired.
‘Why, from the Archbishop of Canterbury himself,’ Walter confessed, which made them laugh all the more. For it was a fact, quite amusing to Adela, that Tyrrell had somehow managed to ingratiate himself with the saintly Archbishop Anselm too.
And then, having got into his stride, Walter started to entertain them. First one, then another, the stories rolled out. Witty, amusing, mostly about the great figures of the day, frequently accompanied by the admonition ‘Don’t repeat this,’ Walter told his stories well. No one could have failed to be delighted, flattered, fascinated by such an amusing courtier. For Adela it was a revelation. She had never seen Walter being charming before. He certainly never is to me, she thought. But you had to admit he had the skill. Despite herself she was impressed.
And it occurred to her too – if he was impatient with her, could she entirely blame him? This clever Walter Tyrrell, who had married into the mighty Clares, was a friend of the great – could she really complain if he was ashamed of her as she did one gauche thing after another?
When, some time later, the contented party broke up and prepared to retire early to bed, she went to his side and murmured: ‘I’m sorry. I keep doing the wrong thing, don’t I?’
To her surprise, in reply, he smiled at her quite kindly. ‘My fault too, Adela. I haven’t been very nice to you.’
‘True. But I can’t have been a burden you wanted much.’
‘Well, let’s see if we can do something for you in Winchester,’ he said. ‘Goodnight.’
She woke early the next morning