Page 4 of Feathers in the Wind
Bess had been staring open-mouthed at the stranger. She managed a wobbly curtsey and a gracious inclination of her head.
‘Mistress Clifford, your servant,’ Adam Coulter acknowledged.
His gaze moved to Perdita. ‘And the last but not the least member of my household is our kinswoman, Perdita Gray.’
Coulter inclined his head. ‘Mistress Gray.’
Perdita met the startling intensity of his light grey eyes with equanimity. ‘Master Coulter, you are welcome to Preswood.’
Joan had never spoken of her family with Perdita, although Bess had told her the estrangement with the Marchants went back long before Joan’s marriage to Geoffrey Clifford. Joan called him this man her nephew but why was he introduced as Adam Coulter, not Marchant?
Joan asked the question that burned on Perdita’s lips. ‘What brings you here, Adam?’
As he took his seat, Adam Coulter turned to his aunt. ‘Denzil told me you have been recently widowed.’
The joy drained from Joan’s face, the pain of her recent loss stark in her eyes. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth.
Perdita answered for her. ‘Last winter,’ she said. ‘Lung fever.’
Perdita cast a glance around the table. The mention of Geoffrey Clifford brought back unhappy memories from them all. Bess bit her lip and pleated the material of her sleeve while Simon looked up at the ceiling.
Adam laid his hand over Joan’s. ‘I’m sorry, Joan. He was a good man.’ His gaze swept the table. ‘My condolences to all of you.’
Joan hefted a heavy sigh and squared her shoulders. ‘We miss him, but Adam, did you say Denzil told you? When did you see him?’
Adam’s mouth tightened in a grim, humourless smile. ‘Somehow Denzil had word I had returned to London, probably through that irritating lawyer. He sent for me and like a good brother I went. The reunion was not a great success.’
Joan’s lips parted but Simon interrupted. ‘Last I heard you were abroad, Coulter, fighting the German wars. What brings you back to England?’
Perdita detected a momentary hesitation before Adam Coulter replied. ‘Tired of the wandering life, Clifford. I’ve an eye to a small estate in the border country. In fact, I’m on my way there and promised Denzil I would deliver a message to Joan.’
Joan’s lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘A message for me? Is Denzil trying to mend the bridges his dear father burned. First you, and now me? Whatever next? What is his message?’
‘In view of your recent widowhood, he is offering you a home at Marchants.’
Joan frowned. ‘But I have a home here. Why would I want to return to Marchants?’
‘He believes this country is coming to war and is concerned for your safety. Is that what you think, Clifford?’
War. That seemed to be all men could talk of these days. Perdita and Bess exchanged resigned glances. There had too many dinners recently that had descended into talk of war with the women banished to the parlour.
Simon shifted in his chair and he cleared his throat with a quick sideways glance at Perdita. He knew her views on the subject. She tightened her lips as Simon said, ‘I believe so. I already have orders from Lord Northampton to raise my militia in the king’s name.’
Adam sighed. ‘Then let us pray that wiser heads take counsel and stop this thing before it becomes too late.’
The look of resignation on his face belied his word and Perdita challenged him. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
He looked at her and shook his head. ‘No. I think it’s already too late. I’ve just passed through Stratford. Lord Brooke…?’ He glanced at Simon for confirmation of the name, who nodded affirmation. ‘Lord Brooke had called a muster of the Warwickshire Militia.’
‘I know,’ Simon said. ‘A muster of those militia willing to take up the parliament’s cause.’
Adam regarded Simon thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I listened to what he had to say. He’s an impressive man, Brooke. He talks sense.’
‘He’s a puritan with his own reasons for wanting parliament to prevail.’ Simon paused. ‘How many do you think he has gathered to his cause?’
Adam shrugged. ‘Not as many as I’m sure he would have liked. A couple of hundred, no more, for all that he was offering the comers five shillings and plying them with food and drink.’
Simon nodded and smiled. ‘That’ll please Northampton. He’s planning a muster at Stratford within the month for the king’s cause. Naturally I will be attending.’
