The Ashes of London by Andrew Taylor Read Free Book Online Page A

betrothal, cousin, and to the speedy arrival of an heir to Croughton Hall.’
    ‘That would suit us all very well,’ Master Alderley said. He gave Cat a rare smile. ‘We shall have you wedded by Christmas and brought to bed of a fine boy by Michaelmas next year.’
    ‘So be sure to cultivate this French cook of his, cousin,’ Edward murmured, too low for his father to hear. ‘French cooks are always men of infinite subtlety and resource. I am sure Sir Denzil’s will know how to set his master on fire for you.’
     
    After supper, Olivia took Cat up to her own bedchamber to discuss the wedding, its location, who should be invited, and what she and Cat should wear.
    Ann came to undress her mistress while they talked. Olivia sat at her dressing table wearing a bedgown of blue silk trimmed with lace, with four candles reflected in the mirror and throwing their murky light on her face. The warm air was heavy with perfume.
    The subject was of absorbing interest to Olivia, and the discussion – the first of many, no doubt, she said with a smile – went on for longer than Cat would have believed possible.
    Cat’s eyes strayed to the great bed that stood in the shadows, surmounted by a canopy. She imagined Uncle Alderley – so staid, so old, so disgusting – heaving and twisting and grunting there. The thought of it, together with the perfume and the suffocating sense of femininity that seemed to fill the room, made her feel ill.
    Olivia did not belong with Uncle Alderley. She could not enjoy his attentions, Cat thought, though in public she behaved with impeccable obedience towards her husband. But Cat had heard their raised voices through closed doors.
    Was this what marriage meant? This unnatural union? This heaving and twisting and grunting? A public show of devotion concealing private quarrels and secret lusts?
    Ann left the room to fetch hot water.
    ‘Well?’ Aunt Alderley said. ‘Is it not exciting? You have so much to look forward to. They say Croughton Hall is very fine.’
    Cat sat forward in her chair so she could see the reflection of her aunt’s face wavering in the mirror. ‘Madam,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to be married to Sir Denzil. I mean it. Is there no way—?’
    ‘But, child, you must let those older and wiser guide you.’
    ‘He doesn’t please me.’
    ‘So you’ve said. But it’s nonsense, my dear. Liking will come later, if God wills it, as it does in most marriages. You must not concern yourself about it now. Remember, he has everything to recommend him, including the fact that your uncle is in favour of the match.’
    ‘But he’s so—’
    Aunt Alderley shook her head. ‘Not a word more, my dear. You’re overtired, and this makes you say foolish things. Besides, this horrible Fire has upset us all.’
    There was a tap on the door, and Ann entered with a jug of steaming water.
    ‘We’ll discuss the question of jewellery later,’ her aunt said in a brisk voice. ‘But now, my love, you must go to bed. You have great circles under your eyes. Shall Ann come with you and undress you?’
    ‘No, madam. But thank you.’
    When she was released, Cat climbed the stairs to the floor above the main bedchambers, candle in hand. She had walked this way so often that she could have done it in the dark.
    Every now and then she passed a window that gave glimpses of London glowing like a bed of coals in the night. It seemed to her that the fire was less bright than it had been, as if its fury were gradually dying. Occasionally there were muffled explosions. The work of demolition continued.
    For an instant, a vision of a new London rose in her mind, growing from this bed of coals: a town of great piazzas and avenues, of lofty churches, and of fine buildings of brick and stone. She would get out her drawing box and her papers when she was safely in her room. She would map an outline of this new and glorious city. The box had been a gift from her other aunt, Great Aunt Eyre; it reminded her