Crossed Bones by Jane Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

of Lanhydrock. With an army of gardeners, he had at once set about redesigning its extensive grounds, spending so much money on the project that it had everyone talking and shaking their heads the length of the county. Cat had heard her mother on the subject, her face twisted into the characteristic sneer she adopted when speaking of anyone of whom she did not approve. ‘A self-professed Puritan, and there he is spending his fortune trying to improve on what the Lord has provided in all its rough simplicity! They are hypocrites, the lot of them, with their canting talk and their own private vanities. Give me an honest rogue any day.’
    Cat drew the folds of the ruff together with an expert flick, secured the ties and tucked them out of sight inside the rich Italian brocade. ‘I truly do not think Sir Richard will be riding all the way over from Bodmin to inspect the state of the knot garden, my lady,’ she said gently. ‘Nor to pay great attention to the linen, moths or no moths.’
    Margaret Harris gave her a quick, nervous smile. ‘Of course you are right, Catherine. Be that as it may, we should not shame ourselves. My home may not be the richest in the district, but these men are influential and well travelled: even if they do not remark these details consciously, you may be sure an impression will be formed, and I firmly think they are more likely to hear Sir Arthur out and lend him their support if they see him to be a solid man with a well-run estate.’ She wrung her hands and stepped away to survey the results in the long Venetian glass. ‘Do I look well enough, Catherine?’
    Cat surveyed her mistress silently. There was no denying that Lady Harris looked most proper, but the style of her dress was dull and hideously outmoded to one who set great store by following the latest turns of fashion. The fabric of the mandeville was rich enough, and the bodice was trimmed with seed pearls; but the neck was too high and the skirt was too full. No one was wearing such a stiff, formal style nowadays, and certainly not an old cartwheel ruff, which was such a blessed nuisance to clean and starch: a task she was not looking forward to at all. But she kept these thoughts to herself and nodded approvingly. ‘You look very well indeed, my lady: Sir Arthur will be proud of you.’
    And that was undoubtedly the case. Despite the fact that his duties as Governor of St Michael’s Mount took Sir Arthur from home more often than not, he remained devoted to his family, and whenever in the presence of his wife regarded her out of his hooded blue eyes with far more warmth than such a staid and mousy woman might expect. It must be true, Cat conjectured, what Polly said of the marriage: that it had not lasted as long as it had, nor produced eight healthy children, nor six poor dead ones, out of chilly duty alone.
    Margaret Harris crossed to the window and gazed out across the grounds. Through the trees she had a clear view of St Michael’s Mount, rising like legendary Avalon out of the still sea, the close waters of the bay gleaming turquoise as the sun struck through to the pale sands beneath. She sighed. ‘I wish I had never laid eyes upon that place,’ she said with sudden venom.
    Cat stared at her, for a moment lost for words. She knew that it had been Margaret Harris’s decision to maintain her household here at Kenegie rather than moving into the castle on the Mount, a decision that Cat simply could not understand. Kenegie was well enough in its way: foursquare and granite grey, high on the Gulval hills in its sheltering nest of trees; but, had she been the wife of such a man as Sir Arthur, she would have demanded they leave the family estate at once and take up residence in the castle, holding court there in fine style in its spacious halls, hanging its walls with fabulous tapestries and lading its long table with linen and crystal and silver. Taking ship across Mount’s Bay to ascend to the castle in its majestic position