The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [92]
Aliena was staring at William, her game forgotten, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow. “Why are you here?” she said. Her voice was low and calm, the voice of an older person.
William sat on the bench, feeling rather pleased about the masterful way he had dealt with Richard. “I’ve come to see you,” he said.
A wary look came over her face. “Why?”
William positioned himself so that he could watch the staircase. He saw, coming down into the hall, a man in his forties dressed like a high-ranking servant, in a round cap and a short tunic of fine cloth. The servant gestured to someone, and a knight and a man-at-arms went up the stairs together. William looked at Aliena again. “I want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About you and me.” Over her shoulder he saw the servant approaching them. There was something a little effeminate about the man’s walk. In one hand he carried a loaf of sugar, dirty-brown in color and cone-shaped. In his other hand was a twisted root that looked like ginger. The man was obviously the household steward, and he had been to the spice safe, a locked cupboard in the earl’s bedroom, for the day’s supplies of precious ingredients, which he was now taking to the cook: sugar to sweeten a crab-apple tart, perhaps, and ginger to flavor lampreys.
Aliena followed William’s gaze. “Oh, hello, Matthew.”
The steward smiled and broke off a piece of sugar for her. William had a feeling that Matthew was very fond of Aliena. Something in her demeanor must have told him that she was uncomfortable, for his smile turned to a concerned frown and he said: “Is everything all right?” His voice was soft.
“Yes, thank you.”
Matthew looked at William and his face registered surprise. “Young William Hamleigh, isn’t it?”
William was embarrassed to be recognized, even though it was inevitable. “Keep your sugar for the children,” he said, although he had not been offered any. “I don’t care for it.”
“Very well, lord.” Matthew’s look said that he had not got where he was today by making trouble for the sons of the gentry. He turned back to Aliena. “Your father brought back some wonderful soft silk—I’ll show you later.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Matthew went away.
William said: “Effeminate fool.”
Aliena said: “Why were you so rude to him?”
“I don’t let servants call me ‘Young William.’ ” This was not a good way to begin wooing a lady. William realized with a sinking feeling that he had got off to a bad start. He had to be charming. He smiled and said: “If you were my wife, my servants would call you lady.”
“Did you come here to talk about marriage?” she said, and William thought he detected a note of incredulity in her voice.
“You don’t know me,” William said in a tone of protest. He was failing to keep this conversation under control, he realized miserably. He had planned a little small talk before getting down to business, but she was so direct and candid that he was forced to blurt out his message. “You misjudged me. I don’t know what I did, last time we met, to make you dislike me; but whatever your reason, you were too hasty.”
She looked away, considering her reply. Behind her, William saw the knight and the man-at-arms come down the stairs and go out through the door, looking purposeful. A moment later a man in clerical robes—presumably the earl’s secretary—appeared from above and beckoned. Two knights got up and went upstairs: Ralph of Lyme, flashing the red lining of his cloak, and an older man with a bald head. Clearly the men waiting in the hall were seeing the earl, in ones and twos, in his chamber. But why?
“After all this time?” Aliena was saying. She was suppressing some emotion. It might have been anger, but William had a sneaking feeling it was laughter. “After all the trouble, and anger, and scandal; just when it’s dying down at last, now you tell me I made a mistake?”
When she put it that way it did seem a bit implausible, William realized. “It hasn’t died down at all—people are still talking about it, my mother is still furious and my father