The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [46]
‘Also?’
‘I seem to remember you took an interest in her.’
‘I remember.’
‘Could that happen again?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘That’s what worries me.’ The old man shook his head. ‘She’d be no help to you, you know,’ he growled. ‘Or me,’ he added in a mutter.
‘Do you think she’s bad?’
‘No. Not exactly. But …’ Cola shrugged. ‘She’s not what we need.’
Edgar nodded. He understood. They needed someone rich. Someone who would give no offence. But whether it was the sight of the dancing deer, the spring air, or the memory of his rides with her, he felt impelled to say: ‘We ought to give her shelter, Father.’
Cola nodded. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’ He sighed. ‘Well, she can stay here until I can get word to Tyrrell. I’ll ask him what he wants me to do with her. I just hope to God that as soon as he knows she’s here, he takes her away.’
She was nearer to Martell. It was fated to happen. Her position, admittedly, might have been awkward, but luckily the widow in Winchester had at least relented enough to give her a cover story. Adela was being harassed, Cola was told, by an unwanted suitor and she needed to escape from Winchester for a time. She was not sure the old man believed it, but it was the best she could do. She thanked him for his kindness, murmured how grateful Tyrrell and her Norman relations would be, kept her head held high and did her best to make herself agreeable.
It was clear to her after a day or two that Edgar, although he treated her with a polite caution, was still attracted to her; and since she liked the handsome young Saxon this made her life easier.
When he asked her if she would like to ride out with him, she gladly accepted. She did not lead him on. She was sure she didn’t. But it was nice to be admired.
And it was easy to get news of the Lady Maud. She told Cola how she met Martell in Winchester. It seemed natural that she should be concerned about the health of a lady with whom she had stayed. The huntsman heard about Martell from time to time and so it was that Adela knew that the Lady Maud continued to be very sickly and that some said she would never survive the birth. Adela therefore waited patiently.
Tyrrell’s response did not come for nearly a month. When it did, it was a minor masterpiece.
It arrived in the form of a letter, written in Norman French. Cola took it to one of the old monks at Christchurch to make sure he had the sense correctly. It ran:
Walter Tyrrell, lord of Poix, sends greetings to Cola the Huntsman.
I thank you, my friend, and so would her family, for your kindness to the Lady Adela. Your care for even such a distant kinswoman of mine will not be forgotten.
I come into England again in the late summer and will collect her from you at that time, and settle any expenses you may have incurred.
‘The cunning devil,’ Cola grunted. ‘He makes sure I have to keep her for three months. And if she gives trouble, she’s only a “distant kinswoman”. He can’t be held responsible.’
Meanwhile he watched Adela and his son with growing concern. It was not as if he hadn’t got other things on his mind to worry about.
When King William II, called Rufus, had spent Easter in Winchester his mood had been notably good. As the weeks followed, it had only grown better.
The conduct of his brother Robert had been everything that he could wish. Having married his heiress in Italy, the obvious move for the Duke of Normandy would have been to hasten back with his bride and her cash, and pay off the mortgage on Normandy. Not a bit of it. After a rather heroic spell on crusade, he was reverting to his usual lackadaisical form. The duke and his bride proceeded at a leisurely pace, stopping everywhere, spending