Lament for a Lost Lover Read Free

to make sure that this does not happen. You must teach them as Miss Black would have done until we can find another governess, which I fear will not be easy.”
    I enjoyed my new role, and I was soon flattering myself that the children’s education had not suffered as much as my parents feared. I was playing a part and I believed I did it very well.
    It was a dark winter’s afternoon when the strolling players arrived. The wind had started to howl in from the north, and when it did that it buffeted the walls of the château and seemed to creep in through every aperture and discover those which we had not known were there before. In the centre of the hall we had an open fire. The château was very primitive and couldn’t have changed much since the days when the Normans settled in these parts and built their stone-walled fortresses, of which this was one. I used to imagine the tall blond Vikings clanking into the hall and sitting round this fire telling stories of their wild adventures.
    It was afternoon, but so dark because of the snow clouds, when we were startled by a clatter in the courtyard and the sound of horses.
    As the châtelaine of the castle, very much aware of her position, I summoned Jacques, our only manservant, to discover what was happening.
    He looked a little uneasy, and memories far back in my childhood were stirred. I was reminded of the terror at Far Flamstead when we feared the Roundhead soldiers might pay us a call, and if they did we knew they would take our food, our horses, and if our homes were grand they would destroy them because they did not believe that anyone should have fine clothes or luxurious surroundings. The believed that people could only be good if they were uncomfortable.
    But then we were not in England, and in any case the war was over and I supposed people now lived peacefully in their homes even in England, and probably enjoyed their comforts in secret if they could manage to.
    Jacques came back into the hall. He looked excited.
    “It’s a party of strolling players,” he told me. “They’re asking for a night’s shelter and they’ll do a play for us in return for their supper.”
    I understood Jacques’ excitement and I shared it.
    “But of course,” I cried. “Tell them they are welcome. Bring them in.”
    Lucas had come down, and I whispered to him what was happening. “They will play for us!” he whispered. “We shall see a real play!”
    There were eight of them—three women and five men. They were heavily wrapped up against the weather, and their leader was a middle-aged man, bearded, thick-set and of medium height.
    He took off his hat when he saw me and bowed low. He had laughing eyes which almost disappeared when he smiled.
    “A merry good day to you,” he said. “Is the master of the house at home … or perhaps the mistress?”
    “I am the mistress of this house,” I replied.
    He looked surprised at my youth and accent.
    “Then whom have I the honour of addressing?”
    “Arabella Tolworthy,” I answered. “I am English. My parents are with our King, and I with my brother”—I indicated Lucas—“and other members of the family are staying here until we return to England.”
    His surprise was over. It was not such an unusual situation.
    “My request is that we may have a night’s shelter,” he explained. “We should have travelled to the nearest town but the weather is too bad. I doubt we should reach it before the snow comes. I and my troupe would pay you well with rich entertainment for a little food and a place to lie down … anywhere … just shelter from the weather.”
    “You are welcome,” I said. “You must be our guests and we would not ask for payment, but I confess the thought of seeing you play gives us a great deal of pleasure.”
    He laughed. He had loud, booming laughter.
    “Beautiful lady,” he cried, “we are going to play before you as we never played before.”
    The children had heard the arrivals and came running