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Authors: Daphne du Maurier
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great gardens while Sir Bernard discoursed solemnly upon the troubles brewing between His Majesty and Parliament, and I remember, too, standing for hours in a chamber, that of the Lady Grace, Bevil's wife, while her woman pinned my wedding gown upon me, and gathered it, and tuckered it, and pinned it yet again, she and my mother giving advice, while it seemed a heap of children played about the floor.
Richard was not much with me. I belonged to the women, he said, during these last days; we would have enough of each other by and by. These last days--what world of prophecy.
Nothing then remains out of the fog of recollection but that final afternoon in May, and the sun that came and went behind the clouds, and a high wind blowing. I can see now the guests assembled on the lawns, and how we all proceeded to the falconry, for the afternoon of sport was to precede a banquet in the evening.
There were the goshawks on their perches, preening their feathers, stretching their wings, the tamer of them permitting our approach, and further removed, solitary upon their blocks in the sand, their larger brethren, the wild-eyed peregrines.
The falconers came to leash and jess the hawks, and hood them ready for the chase, and as they did this the stablemen brought the horses for us, and the dogs that were to flush the game yelped and pranced about their heels. Richard mounted me upon the little chestnut mare that was to be mine hereafter, and as he turned to speak a moment to his falconer about the hooding of his bird I looked over my shoulder and saw a conclave of horsemen gathered about the gate to welcome a new arrival. "What now?" said Richard, and the falconer, shading his eyes from the sun, turned to his master with a smile.
"It's Mrs. Denys," he said, "from Orley Court. Now you can match your red hawk with her tiercel."
Richard looked up at me and smiled. "So it has happened after all," he said, "and Gartred has chose to visit us."
They were riding down the path towards us, and I wondered how she would seem to me, my enemy of childhood, to whom in so strange a fashion I was to be related once again. No word had come from her, no message of congratulation, but her natural curiosity had won her in the end.
"Greetings, sister," called Richard, the old sardonic mockery in his voice. "So you have come to dance at my wedding after all."
"Perhaps," she answered. "I have not yet decided. Two of the children are not well at home." She rode abreast of me, that slow smile that I remembered on her face.
"How are you, Honor?"
"Well enough," I answered.
"I never thought to see you become a Grenvile."
"Nor I either."
"The ways of Providence are strange indeed.... You have not met my husband."
I bowed to the stranger at her side, a big, bluff, hearty man, a good deal older than herself. So this was the Antony Denys who had caused poor Kit so much anguish before he died. Maybe it was his weight that had won her.
"Where do we ride?" she asked, turning from me to Richard.
"In the open country, towards the shore," he answered.
She glanced at the falcon on his wrist. "A red hawk," she said, one eyebrow lifted, "not in her full plumage. Do you think to make anything of her?"
"She has taken kite and bustard, and I propose to put her to a heron today if we can flush one."
Gartred smiled. "A red hawk at a heron," she mocked. "You will see her check at a magpie and nothing larger."
"Will you match her with your tiercel?"
"My tiercel will destroy her, and the heron afterwards."
"That is a matter of opinion."
They watched each other like duellists about to strike, and I remembered how Richard had told me they had fought with each other from the cradle. I had my first shadow of misgiving that the day would turn in some way to disaster. For a moment I wondered whether I would plead fatigue and stay behind. I rode for pleasure, not for slaughter, and hawking was never my favourite pastime.
Gartred must have observed my hesitation, for she
Richard was not much with me. I belonged to the women, he said, during these last days; we would have enough of each other by and by. These last days--what world of prophecy.
Nothing then remains out of the fog of recollection but that final afternoon in May, and the sun that came and went behind the clouds, and a high wind blowing. I can see now the guests assembled on the lawns, and how we all proceeded to the falconry, for the afternoon of sport was to precede a banquet in the evening.
There were the goshawks on their perches, preening their feathers, stretching their wings, the tamer of them permitting our approach, and further removed, solitary upon their blocks in the sand, their larger brethren, the wild-eyed peregrines.
The falconers came to leash and jess the hawks, and hood them ready for the chase, and as they did this the stablemen brought the horses for us, and the dogs that were to flush the game yelped and pranced about their heels. Richard mounted me upon the little chestnut mare that was to be mine hereafter, and as he turned to speak a moment to his falconer about the hooding of his bird I looked over my shoulder and saw a conclave of horsemen gathered about the gate to welcome a new arrival. "What now?" said Richard, and the falconer, shading his eyes from the sun, turned to his master with a smile.
"It's Mrs. Denys," he said, "from Orley Court. Now you can match your red hawk with her tiercel."
Richard looked up at me and smiled. "So it has happened after all," he said, "and Gartred has chose to visit us."
They were riding down the path towards us, and I wondered how she would seem to me, my enemy of childhood, to whom in so strange a fashion I was to be related once again. No word had come from her, no message of congratulation, but her natural curiosity had won her in the end.
"Greetings, sister," called Richard, the old sardonic mockery in his voice. "So you have come to dance at my wedding after all."
"Perhaps," she answered. "I have not yet decided. Two of the children are not well at home." She rode abreast of me, that slow smile that I remembered on her face.
"How are you, Honor?"
"Well enough," I answered.
"I never thought to see you become a Grenvile."
"Nor I either."
"The ways of Providence are strange indeed.... You have not met my husband."
I bowed to the stranger at her side, a big, bluff, hearty man, a good deal older than herself. So this was the Antony Denys who had caused poor Kit so much anguish before he died. Maybe it was his weight that had won her.
"Where do we ride?" she asked, turning from me to Richard.
"In the open country, towards the shore," he answered.
She glanced at the falcon on his wrist. "A red hawk," she said, one eyebrow lifted, "not in her full plumage. Do you think to make anything of her?"
"She has taken kite and bustard, and I propose to put her to a heron today if we can flush one."
Gartred smiled. "A red hawk at a heron," she mocked. "You will see her check at a magpie and nothing larger."
"Will you match her with your tiercel?"
"My tiercel will destroy her, and the heron afterwards."
"That is a matter of opinion."
They watched each other like duellists about to strike, and I remembered how Richard had told me they had fought with each other from the cradle. I had my first shadow of misgiving that the day would turn in some way to disaster. For a moment I wondered whether I would plead fatigue and stay behind. I rode for pleasure, not for slaughter, and hawking was never my favourite pastime.
Gartred must have observed my hesitation, for she
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