A Game of Sorrows Read Free Page A

aback at my reception, but before we could make any sense of it, I heard the soft familiar brush of Sarah’s habitual brown woollen work dress against the flagstone floor. I turned to look at her, and she stopped stock-still where she was, her eyes those of one in shock. Her lips started to form some words and then she drew in a deep breath and stepped resolutely past me without a word.
    I had had this treatment, or the semblance of it, before on occasion. One such incident had arisen from my failure to notice a new gown for the Sabbath, of a rich black stuff with white Dutch lace at the collar, sewn by Sarah’s own hand of gifts brought back to the family by William after a trip to The Hague. My protestation later to Elizabeth that Sarah was always beautiful to me had been to no avail, and the thaw of the women had been near two weeks in the coming. Another time, worse in that I knew it truly affected her more deeply, and that she had cause, was when Katharine Hay had passed through the town, staying a night at her parents’ town house in the Castlegate, on her way to Delgattie. I did not lie when I told Sarah that Katharine Hay, married now and with a child also, could be nothing to me, but I could not pretend that she never had been. This episode had been made all the more difficult by the fact that there had never been – and indeed still now there had not been – any open expression of love, any acknowledgement of expectation, between myself and Sarah. But I did love her, and I could not believe that she felt nothing more than gratitude towards me. I could not, in fact, believe that the desire I felt for her and the conviction I held to that she had been put on God’s earth to be my wife could have the strength they did were she not indeed meant for me. And once I had discussed my plans with William tonight and settled what business I needed him to perform for me, I would come here again tomorrow and tell her so. What this evening’s misdemeanour was, I could not even begin to guess, but I was confident that, as it had those other times, it would be carried away on the wind.
    When she caught sight of Sarah, Elizabeth gave over her thumping and, passing me also, took her friend and maid-servant by the arm and proceeded with her out of the kitchen, though not before having said, very audibly, to Davy as she passed, ‘Would you tell Mr Cargill that Alexander Seaton is here, Davy, for it is surely not to see us that he visits.’ Davy favoured me with another glower as he rose stiffly from his chair and went to do his mistress’s bidding.
    I stood alone in the centre of this well-loved room, silent now save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth, with the two small boys who now regarded me cautiously, in no possible doubt that I, Uncle Alexander, was the cause of their mother’s displeasure and therefore of all disruption of the usual life of the house. They said nothing, and the accusation of it burned into my confusion. The silence at last was broken by the arrival of William, the ageing Davy hobbling behind him.
    ‘Alexander,’ my friend said, smiling awkwardly. ‘It is good to see you. I had feared you might not come.’
    ‘Might not come?’ I enquired, confused. ‘I have been here to my dinner every Tuesday and Saturday evening for the last two years, and many another in between. Why in all the world did you think I would not be here tonight?’
    ‘Well,’ said William, hesitant and looking sideways in the direction of Davy, then down at the two boys. He looked away from me. ‘Davy, will you take the boys to get washed, and tell the mistress Mr Seaton and I will take our dinner in my study.’ The boys made to protest that they were already clean, but their protests were to no avail. I felt like protesting myself, but instead followed William silently through the house to the sanctuary of his study.
    Once we were in, he shut the door firmly behind me and then turned to look at me, a weariness in