The Traitor's Daughter. Joanna Makepeace
myself that you want for nothing.”
She surrendered her hand a trifle unwillingly and murmured a polite word of gratitude for his care of them during the journey and he bent and kissed her palm. She found herself doubtfully regarding his retreating back as he left with his squire to move to the stable to retrieve his mount after it had been fed and watered. Her feelings were strangely mixed and bewildering, as if she was unsure when or if their paths would cross again and whether that would please or alarm her.
She followed her mother and grandmother up the entrance steps, through the screen doors and into the manor’s hall. A man sat near a fire, which was burning on the side hearth despite it being mid-summer, and rose with difficulty at their entrance, leaning hard on a sturdy oaken stick. An elderly woman standing behind the chair clucked at him warningly as Cressida ran to him and he rocked on his feet with the suddenness of her fierce embrace.
“Now, master, be careful. Mistress Cressida, mind your father’s condition.” Her admonition was unheeded as the two, locked together in the first joy of their meeting, were unconscious of the presence of any other within the hall. Philippa stood back a little shyly as, finally, tears streaming down her cheeks, her mother, helped by the elderly attendant, assisted her father back into his chair. Lady Gretton stood some little distance away, holding her granddaughter tightly by her hand. At last Cressida turned and stood aside a little from the seated figure, who was now leaning forward eagerly to view the newcomer.
“And here, Father, is Philippa. Come, child, and kiss your grandpère.”
Philippa, released by her grandmother, came forward and dropped to her knees before the old man. She saw that despite his illness his large, big-boned form had not withered. He had a shock of white hair reaching in curls to his shoulders and his broad, open countenance was still weatherbeaten as if, previous to the stroke which had laid him low, he had enjoyed an active, outdoor life. Like her mother, there were tears upon his cheeks and he bent and took Philippa’s face between his two large hands, scrutinising her carefully, then he looked up at his daughter and wife who had come closer to the chair, and smiled.
“I had the most beautiful daughter in England and this, her child, and Wroxeter’s, looks like being as lovely, and I can see spirit here in her eyes and courage. You have your mother’s looks, child, but I think there is something of your father’s courage and intelligence in the steadiness of your gaze and the intentness of your concern, aye, and stubbornness in the tilt of your chin, too.” He looked upwards to the elderly attendant who was standing behind his chair. “Don’t you agree, Alice? She’s the child of both of them right enough.”
The woman gave a little snort and stared down at Philippa, who returned her scrutiny curiously.
Her grandfather chuckled. “This is Alice, your mother’s nurse and your grandmother’s maid now, aye, and, over these last weeks, my nurse too, though I could wish her in purgatory some days when she bothers me with her strictures.”
“For your own good and you know it,” the woman scolded. “The doctor says you’ll do well enough if you take your time, but you will rush to do things.” Her expression was kindly, though her voice somewhat harsh, and she went scarlet with pleasure as Cressida seized her by the shoulders and planted a hearty kiss upon her lined cheek. She hugged her former charge, grinning at Philippa over Lady Wroxeter’s shoulder.
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