Page 12 of Feathers in the Wind
He pushed himself away from his horse, making a show of buckling his bag to the saddle. When he found the courage to look up, he found Perdita’s unblinking gaze fixed on his face, an unspoken grief written in her brimming eyes and tightly -held mouth.
Shame at having been the cause of her distress washed over him. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the tears.
‘I’m sorry. I spoke without thought.’
‘No.’ Perdita straightened and looked away with an audible sniff. ‘You spoke the truth and I’m glad for it.’ She looked back at him and her brown eyes, fierce with understanding, held his for a moment. ‘God speed you, Adam Coulter.’
He led the horse out into the courtyard and swung into the saddle. He looked down into the face of Perdita Gray and smiled. ‘And God keep you safe, Mistress Gray.’
As he rode away from Preswood, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the immaculate lawns. He felt the cold shadow of premonition and shivered.
Chapter 4
Stratford Upon Avon, Friday 29 July 1642
‘When is this war going to start?’ Bess asked as they rode to Lord Northampton’s muster at Stratford in Avon.
Simon, riding beside his sister, glanced at her. ‘My dear sister, it already has.’
‘Has it? How exciting.’
Bess looked around at the peaceful fields slumbering in the summer sunshine as if she expected a troop of enemy horse to descend on them at any moment.
Perdita kept her attention on the road ahead. She took no joy in this excursion to Stratford where the Earl of Northampton had ordered a muster of the local militias, and she cast Simon a quick, affectionate glance. He rode at the head of his raggle-taggle tenants-turned-soldiers, one hand on his hip, resplendent in a new, stiff buff leather coat, his sword hanging from a handsome baldric, embroidered by his sister and stepmother, his hat sporting a jaunty red feather. Far from looking military and imposing, he looked like a small boy playing at being a soldier.
Simon’s men plodded along in their wake, their voices lifted in the old soldiers’ marching song. The banner she and Bess had stitched fluttered above them while they sang.
‘Brave men in the field,
Their stout weapons wield,
With shining bright shields...’
In the same fields below Stratford where Lord Brooke had called a muster only a few weeks previously, Lord Northampton waited in a handsome marquee. Flags flew from the poles and a band played. Long trestle tables had been set up in the fields with abundant food for the men, and a sumptuous lunch had been promised for the officers and their ladies.
‘Clifford, dear boy. You’ve done well.’ The earl clapped Simon on the shoulder. ‘Your men look splendid.’
Even Perdita had to concede that Simon’s men looked the part in their uniform jackets of blue worsted, with the young blacksmith's son recently promoted ensign carrying the banner at their head. The boy proudly placed the colours with an array of others and the men dispersed for their lunch and to partake of the free ale on offer.
Heads turned as Bess swept into the main tent. She had announced to Perdita that she had dressed with the intention of turning every male head in Stratford and it would seem she had succeeded. In deference to Simon’s colours Bess wore a gown of peacock blue satin with a fine lace collar that barely disguised the low décolletage. Perdita's best gown of amber taffeta looked dowdy and puritanical in comparison.
‘That dress is immodest,’ Simon muttered as he took his sister’s arm.
Bess turned innocent blue eyes on him. ‘It’s the latest fashion.’
‘Well I don’t approve and don’t flirt like that.’
But Simon may as well have tried reproving the trees for all the notice Bess took of him. She intended to be the centre of attention and Simon had little choice but to abandon her to the droves of interested young men who circled her. Perdita sought refuge in a quiet corner and Simon went to fetch her a glass of wine.
‘Stop smiling, Perdita. My sister is a disgrace,’ he said, handing her the glass.
‘Your sister is a lovely young woman who should be allowed a rare opportunity to enjoy herself,’ Perdita replied. She took a sip of the wine and glanced down at the ruby liquid. Lord Northampton was clearly intent on impressing.
‘Shall we circulate?’ Simon suggested.
Privately Perdita just wanted to mount her horse and return home. The thought of having to make polite conversation with so many strangers filled her with dread, but she dutifully tucked her hand into the crook of Simon’s arm and smiled and muttered polite inconsequential conversation with the other newly commissioned commanders and their ladies.
When Simon’s turn came to speak with the earl, he left her with a final remonstrance to act as his sister’s chaperone. She caught Bess’s eye and gestured for her to rejoin her. With smiles and pretty waves, Bess shook off her admirers.
