Read Online 12 - Nine Men Dancing by Kate Sedley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Sedley
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eyes, the same handsome, weathered face as his father. He did not display quite the same ease and self-confidence, but that was only natural in someone who must always have been overshadowed by his father.
Clinging to her husband’s arm was Petronelle Rawbone, a thin, nervous woman, who was probably younger than Ned, but could have been older. Sharp-featured, with a sallow complexion and eyes of a nondescript colour that might have been grey or a very pale shade of blue, I doubted that she had ever been more than passably good-looking, and guessed that her marriage with the heir of Dragonswick Farm had been for commercial, rather than romantic, reasons. Her twin sons, however, had inherited the Rawbone looks and colouring. I discovered later that they had just passed their fourteenth birthday and were as arrogant as their grandfather, encouraged by a mother who thought them as perfect as they thought themselves.
The second and much younger of Nathaniel’s two sons, Tom, I had already encountered. Suffice it to say that he was a Rawbone to his fingertips, although his hair was a little less red and his eyes fractionally less blue than his sibling. But he was handsomer than both his brother and father. I could see why Rosamund Bush had set her cap at him.
Bringing up this little procession, but only because she walked slowly and used a stick, was Jacquetta Rawbone, Nathaniel’s elder sister. Her expression was every bit as proud as her brother’s, and she stared haughtily down the long, straight nose that was such a prominent feature of all her family. With her upright carriage, she followed the others to the front of the church and imperiously waved away the stool that the priest had hurried to offer her.
‘I’ll stand, man, like everyone else.’
Father Anselm beamed around at his flock. Now that the Rawbones were present, the service could begin.
Five
I’m afraid I paid scant attention to the service, moving through the ritual like a sleepwalker, with my mind on earthly instead of spiritual things. I have only the vaguest recollection of the shabby and faded statue of the saint being processed around the church. And even Father Anselm’s short address on Walburga’s life made no impression on me; I knew the story too well. I did realize that he had made no mention of the saint’s later, and undeserved, association with witchcraft, but other than that, the Mass had ended before I was hardly aware that it had begun.
I had spent much of the time thinking about Eris Lilywhite’s disappearance. Even from the little I had heard of her, I agreed with her grandmother: Eris did not sound to me like the sort of girl to vanish tamely just because life had grown too difficult, especially as the difficulties had been of her own making. She had obviously aimed to become a member of the wealthiest family in the district. Having snared the younger son, and having persuaded him to break his promise to marry Rosamund Bush, Eris had not scrupled to throw him over when a bigger prize was offered. The discovery that Nathaniel Rawbone had been smitten by her charms, and was also intent on proposing marriage, must have seemed like an opportunity that a girl as ambitious as she was could not possibly refuse. And she must have been prepared for Tom’s reaction once he learned the truth, as well as for opposition from the rest of the family, all of whom could only have seen the union as a threat to them and theirs.
The first and most important consideration for the Rawbones had to have been that Eris was a young and nubile woman of childbearing age, while Nathaniel, at fifty-nine, was not yet too old to father children (one of the many unfair advantages that Nature has given men over women, who lose their fertility so much earlier in life). Any son born to the couple would not, of course, displace Ned as his father’s heir, but off-spring of either sex would mean more mouths to feed, bodies to clothe, dowries to find, both before
Clinging to her husband’s arm was Petronelle Rawbone, a thin, nervous woman, who was probably younger than Ned, but could have been older. Sharp-featured, with a sallow complexion and eyes of a nondescript colour that might have been grey or a very pale shade of blue, I doubted that she had ever been more than passably good-looking, and guessed that her marriage with the heir of Dragonswick Farm had been for commercial, rather than romantic, reasons. Her twin sons, however, had inherited the Rawbone looks and colouring. I discovered later that they had just passed their fourteenth birthday and were as arrogant as their grandfather, encouraged by a mother who thought them as perfect as they thought themselves.
The second and much younger of Nathaniel’s two sons, Tom, I had already encountered. Suffice it to say that he was a Rawbone to his fingertips, although his hair was a little less red and his eyes fractionally less blue than his sibling. But he was handsomer than both his brother and father. I could see why Rosamund Bush had set her cap at him.
Bringing up this little procession, but only because she walked slowly and used a stick, was Jacquetta Rawbone, Nathaniel’s elder sister. Her expression was every bit as proud as her brother’s, and she stared haughtily down the long, straight nose that was such a prominent feature of all her family. With her upright carriage, she followed the others to the front of the church and imperiously waved away the stool that the priest had hurried to offer her.
‘I’ll stand, man, like everyone else.’
Father Anselm beamed around at his flock. Now that the Rawbones were present, the service could begin.
Five
I’m afraid I paid scant attention to the service, moving through the ritual like a sleepwalker, with my mind on earthly instead of spiritual things. I have only the vaguest recollection of the shabby and faded statue of the saint being processed around the church. And even Father Anselm’s short address on Walburga’s life made no impression on me; I knew the story too well. I did realize that he had made no mention of the saint’s later, and undeserved, association with witchcraft, but other than that, the Mass had ended before I was hardly aware that it had begun.
I had spent much of the time thinking about Eris Lilywhite’s disappearance. Even from the little I had heard of her, I agreed with her grandmother: Eris did not sound to me like the sort of girl to vanish tamely just because life had grown too difficult, especially as the difficulties had been of her own making. She had obviously aimed to become a member of the wealthiest family in the district. Having snared the younger son, and having persuaded him to break his promise to marry Rosamund Bush, Eris had not scrupled to throw him over when a bigger prize was offered. The discovery that Nathaniel Rawbone had been smitten by her charms, and was also intent on proposing marriage, must have seemed like an opportunity that a girl as ambitious as she was could not possibly refuse. And she must have been prepared for Tom’s reaction once he learned the truth, as well as for opposition from the rest of the family, all of whom could only have seen the union as a threat to them and theirs.
The first and most important consideration for the Rawbones had to have been that Eris was a young and nubile woman of childbearing age, while Nathaniel, at fifty-nine, was not yet too old to father children (one of the many unfair advantages that Nature has given men over women, who lose their fertility so much earlier in life). Any son born to the couple would not, of course, displace Ned as his father’s heir, but off-spring of either sex would mean more mouths to feed, bodies to clothe, dowries to find, both before
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