Free Beauvallet by Georgette Heyer Page B

drive to the terrace and the great doorway. There were clipped yews in tubs, and in the stonework above the door the Beauvallet arms were set in a stone shield. Leaded windows reared up slim and stately to either side, built out in rounded bays, with scrollsbeneath them of stonework set against the warmer brick. The roof was tiled red, with tall chimney-stacks to either end, and round attic windows set between the many gables. The door stood open to let in the spring sunshine.
    Sir Nicholas swung himself lightly down from the saddle, tossed the bridle to Joshua, and went bounding up the steps. Like a boy he set his hollowed hands to form a trumpet for his mouth, and called: ‘Holà, there! What, none to cry Nick welcome?’
    In a moment heads peeped from upper windows. There was a stir amongst the serving maids, a whisper of: ‘Sir Nicholas is home!’ and much preening of stuff gowns and patting of prim coifs. Sir Nicholas might be counted on to give a hearty buss to the prettiest, ignoring my lady's murmured protests.
    Portly Master Dawson, steward for many years, heard the shout in his buttery, and made haste to come out into the sunlight. A couple of lackeys hurried at his heels, and Dame Margery, urgent to be the first to greet her nursling. She pushed past Master Dawson as he reached the door, dived under his arm without ceremony, a little wrinkled woman in a close white cap. ‘My cosset!’ cried Dame Margery. ‘My lamb! Is it my babe indeed?’
    ‘Indeed and indeed!’ Sir Nicholas said, laughing, and opened his arms to her. He caught her up in a great hug while she fondled and scolded all in one breath. He was a good-for-naught, a rough, sudden fellow to snatch up an old woman thus! Eh, but he was brown! She dared swear he was grown; but his cheek was thin: she misgave her he was in poor health. Ah, he was a sad wastrel to be so long gone, and to come home but to laugh at his poor nurse! She must pat him, stroke his hands, feel the thickness of his short cloak. A fine cloth, by her faith! all tricked out with points and tassels of gold! Oh, spendthrift! Take heed, take heed! Could he not see my lord coming to greet him?
    My lord came sedately out from the house in a gown of camlet trimmed with vair, with a close cap set upon his head, and a gold chain about his neck. My lord wore a cathedral beard like a churchman. He was fair where Nicholas was dark; his eyes were blue, but lacked the sparkle that was in his brother's eyes. He was a tall man of imposing mien, had a grave countenance and a stately gait. ‘Well, Nick!’ he said, with a glimmer of a smile. ‘My lady heard a shouting and commotion, and straightaway saith Nick must be home. How is it with you, lad?’
    The brothers embraced. ‘As you see me, Gerard. And you?’
    ‘Well enough. A tertian fever troubled me in February, but it is happily passed.’
    ‘He must needs go into Cambridgeshire to that damp, unhealthy castle,’ sighed a mournful voice. ‘I knew what would come of it. I foretold an ague from the start. Dear Nicholas, give you good den.’
    Nicholas turned to greet my Lady Beauvallet, kissed her hand right dutifully, and so came to her lips. ‘Do I see you well, sister?’
    ‘Nick!’ She blushed faintly and shook her finger at him. ‘Ever the same swift way! Nay, the hard winter – harder than any I remember, was it not, my lord? – tried me sorely. At the New Year I had the sweating-sickness. Then, at Candlemas, an ague seized me, and was like to have carried me off, methought.’
    ‘But the spring comes, and you grow strong with it,’ suggested Nicholas.
    She looked doubtful. ‘Indeed, Nicholas, I trust it may be found so, but I have the frailest health, as you know.’
    Gerard broke in upon this lamentation. ‘I see you bring home that ruffler,’ he said, and nodded to where Joshua stood in parley with the lackeys. ‘Have ye schooled him yet?’
    ‘Devil a bit, brother. Joshua! Here, rogue, come pay your duty to my