Lament for a Lost Lover Read Free Page A

down. Lucas told them that the visitors were players and were going to play for us. Dick leaped high in the air as he always did when excited, and Angie joined him while young Fenn kept asking questions, trying to find out what it was all about.
    “Bring everyone in,” I cried, taking command of the situation, glowing with pleasure at having been called a beautiful lady and pleased as ever to show my authority as the châtelaine of the castle.
    They came. They seemed to fill the hall. Their eyes gleamed at the sight of the fire and I bade them to come and warm themselves.
    There was a middle-aged woman, who could have been the wife of the leader, and another whom I judged to be in her late twenties … and Harriet Main. Three of the men were bordering on middle age and there were two younger ones. One of these appeared to be very handsome, but they were so wrapped up that I saw little of their faces, and when I had brought them to the fire, I said I would go and see what food we could give them.
    I went to the kitchen and saw our two maids, Marianne and Jeanne, who had been bequeathed to us with Jacques to look after our needs and were all we had.
    When I told them what had happened they were gleeful. “Players!” cried Marianne, who was older than Jeanne, “Oh, we are in for some fun. How long is it since we had players call here? They usually go only to the big houses and castles.”
    “The weather has brought them to us,” I said. “What can we give them?”
    Jeanne and Marianne would put their heads together. I could rest assured, they said, that the eight players would be adequately fed and might they come to see the play?
    I readily gave my permission. We would ask the Lambards in to see it too. Our audience would be very small even so.
    I went back to the group in the hall. That was the first time I really saw Harriet. She had thrown off her cloak and was stretching her hands out to the fire. Even crouching over the fire as she was I could see that she was tall. Her thick, dark, curling hair released from the hood had sprung out to give a beautiful frame to her pale face. I noticed her eyes immediately. They were dark blue, rather long; mysterious, concealing eyes, I thought them; and their thick, dark eyelashes were immediately noticeable, as were her heavy black brows contrasting with her pale skin. Her lips were richly red, and it was only later that I discovered that she used a lip salve to make them so. Her forehead was higher than is usual and her chin pointed. So many people look alike that you see them once and don’t remember them. No one could ever have looked at Harriet Main and forgotten her.
    I found I was staring at her; she noticed this and it amused her; I expected she was accustomed to it.
    She astonished me by saying: “I’m English.” She held out her hand to me. I took it and for a few moments we looked at each other. I felt she was summing me up.
    “I have not been long with the troupe,” she said, speaking in English. “We are on our way to Paris where we shall play to big audiences … but we call at houses on our way and play for our lodging.”
    “You are welcome,” I said. “We have never had a troupe call before. We are all looking forward to seeing you play for us and will do our best to make you comfortable. This is not a grand place as you see. We are exiles and here only until the King returns.”
    She nodded.
    Then she turned to the players and said in rapid French that I was sympathetic and they must all give of their best this night as that was being given to us.
    I had decided that as soon as the potage was hot they should eat, so I summoned them to the table and the great steaming dish was brought in. The contents soon disappeared, and while they ate I was able to take stock of our guests, who were all colourful and all spoke in resonant voices, giving great importance to the most trivial comment.
    The leader of the troupe and his wife made much of the children, who