The Portrait Page 3

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “Walter,” he replied.

  “Walter? That’s a terrible name for such a beautiful animal.”

  “I know.” The earl shot me a glance. “When he was born I made the mistake of telling my nephew he could name him. That is the name he chose. Don’t ask me why—none of us could figure it out. But Walter it had to be. I had given him my word.”

  “How tall is he?” I asked the earl. Walter and the earl towered over Alonzo and me.

  “Sixteen hands, two inches,” he replied.

  “Alonzo is fifteen hands, two inches,” I said.

  The earl said, “He looks bigger when you see him performing. He’s so dominating. One simply can’t take one’s eyes off him. When you brought him to Grosvenor Square, I was surprised he was so small.”

  Small? Alonzo? I was annoyed at the very suggestion. “Fifteen-two is exactly the right size for an Andalusian stallion. You are just accustomed to that big thoroughbred you’re riding. But Walter could never do what Alonzo does.”

  “That is true,” the earl replied serenely, ignoring my annoyance. “Thoroughbreds are built to run, so their legs push out behind. Alonzo’s hind legs are built to come under him, for collection.” He looked over at Alonzo, who was trotting forward with a springy stride. “I thought he might be an Andalusian.”

  “He is a full-blooded Andalusian,” I said proudly.

  “They are very rare in England. I have only seen pictures.”

  “The Spanish are very jealous of their horses; they don’t like to send them out of the country.”

  “How did you get him?”

  I wasn’t about to tell this stranger the story of how I got Alonzo, so I answered breezily, “I was lucky.”

  He recognized the snub and fell quiet. Except for a few observations about the countryside, we maintained the quiet for several hours.

  *

  The only part of England I had seen thus far had been the road from Dover, where we landed, to London. The ride to the earl’s home in Berkshire afforded me a better opportunity to view the countryside. It was spring, my favorite time of year, and the world was in bloom. The new leaves were a light fresh green and the hedgerows along the road were darker than the lush grass. A soft warm wind was blowing, and I took my hat off so I could feel it blowing through my hair.

  I lifted my face to the sun and the breeze and suddenly I found myself longing with all my heart to be riding through the French countryside with Papa and the circus. Tears stung behind my eyes and I blinked them away.

  “England is at its most beautiful in the springtime,” the earl said. We had been speaking English since the beginning of our journey.

  “So is France,” I replied, looking straight ahead so he wouldn’t see my tears. “I love traveling in the spring. The horses are fresh from the winter’s rest, and the whole circus feels alive and anxious to get to work again.”

  “What kind of acts do you have in your circus?” he asked.

  The tears were gone and it was safe to look at him. Under the sun his hair was a halo of gold and his eyes were as clear a blue as the cloudless sky. He really was a splendid-looking man.

  “It is mostly equestrian, of course,” I answered. That’s why we call it Le Cirque Equestre. We have horses that can do amusing tricks—the audience always likes that. Maman had a horse she trained to count—he could count up to forty!”

  I glanced at him to see his reaction. “Forty?” he said. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Do you still have him?”

  “No.” I sat very straight in the saddle and looked directly ahead. “When Maman died he wouldn’t perform for anyone else. We kept him, of course, but he was old by then, and he missed Maman. He lasted only a year after she went.”

  “How old were you when your mother died?” he asked quietly.

  “Thirteen.” I turned to him, pleased that he had recognized Maman as my mother. “We have other acts. We have girls in beautiful costumes who stand on horseback as the horses canter around the ring; we have an acrobat who does somersaults on a cantering horse. We have Jojo and his horse who do a really funny act.” I smiled thinking of it. “And, of course, we have Alonzo. He does a mirror ride with one of our other horses and he also performs the ride you saw at Astley’s. Aside from the horses, we have dancing dogs, a really great magician, a very good high wire act, tumblers, a juggler, and a few other acts that vary from season to season. We also offer pony rides to the children before and after the show. I am always surprised how many children have never had the chance to sit on a horse.”

  I had continued to look forward as I spoke, but now I glanced at the man riding next to me, curious to see how he reacted to my list.

  As if he felt my eyes, he turned his head to smile at me. “I have nephews who would love to see your circus. In fact, I would like to see it myself—especially the equestrian part. Is a mirror ride when horses do exactly the same thing at the same time to music?”

  I nodded, pleased he knew what a mirror ride was. “Yes. Papa has a very nice horse that can do the lower-level movements. He is a Barb, not an Andalusian, but he does very well.”

  We had been riding for several hours when the earl asked me if I wanted to stop. I told him I wasn’t tired, but I would like to eat something, and I would also like to offer Alonzo some hay and water.

  Fifteen minutes later we pulled up in front of a coaching inn. When we were on the road in France we never went to the big inns—they were too expensive. We usually just pulled off the road and fed and watered our performers and horses ourselves.

  The carriage horses passed under a big arch that led into a central courtyard and we followed. The inn, a large wooden building, stood on the right side of the courtyard and a few smaller buildings were on the left. Directly in front of us I saw a large stable.

  Grooms were already at the heads of the carriage horses and another groom came running up to us. We dismounted and the earl gave directions that the horses were to be fed and watered. Two other men in the courtyard, who had been deserted by the grooms when the earl’s carriage came in, stood with their horses patiently waiting. An earl took precedence, even in a coaching stableyard, I thought with disapproval. It had been like that in France before the revolution.

  I took Elisabeth’s hand and told her she was to come with us into the inn, and the earl said the same to his valet. As soon as we set foot inside, a man dressed in a leather waistcoat came rushing up to the earl. “My lord!” he gushed. “How nice to see you again! What can we do for you today?”

  The earl bestowed a friendly smile upon the underling, who turned out to be the inn’s owner. “I have a small party with me today, Charles, and I would like the private parlor.”

  “Certainly, certainly, my lord. It is always available for you. If you would just follow me.”

  The inn had a scuffed wood floor, a huge fireplace, a busy taproom, and a shop that was selling food. I caught the scent of chicken pie and my mouth watered. People were eating at wooden tables and benches. A few men holding large tankards were sitting in comfortable chairs in front of a huge fire.

  We were escorted up a flight of stairs and into a small room where a fire was going in a stone fireplace. There was a table set with a white tablecloth and blue china in front of the fireplace. Chairs were set around it. It looked considerably more comfortable than the wooden tables and chairs downstairs.

  What if this nice little room had already been taken I wondered. Would the innkeeper have evicted the occupants so he could accommodate an earl? Probably, I thought. The aristocracy reigned in England.

  The earl directed Elisabeth and me to the necessaries room. “Good heavens,” Elisabeth said as we stood together in front of a small mirror. “What did you do to your hair Isabel?”

  My hair, which had been neatly tucked into a bun at the back of my head when we started, had come loose, and long strands decorated my neck and shoulders.

/>   “I took my hat off for a while,” I confessed.

  “Let me fix it.” She took a comb from her purse and pulled the whole bun apart. Then she combed everything back smoothly and tied it at my nape with a ribbon she also pulled from her purse. “There, that is better.”

  I looked in the mirror. It was much neater, and I smiled at her. “Thank you, Lisa,” I said. It was my name for her.

  “This earl, he treats you well? He does not say anything inappropriate?”

  Elisabeth always fancied that any man we did not know would say inappropriate things to me.

  “He was a perfect gentleman,” I assured her. “How did you fare with the valet?”

  She sniffed. “He thinks himself above me. I ignore him and look out the window. The countryside is more beautiful in France.”

  I agreed with her and we returned to the private room together, a solid French front against these English men.

  Chapter Five

  The food served at the inn was terrible: overcooked beef in heavy gravy with lumpy mashed potatoes. Elisabeth and I looked at each other and attempted to eat some of the dreadful stuff to be polite. When the earl remarked upon how little we had eaten, we assured him we were not very hungry. In fact, I was starving. I devoutly hoped the food at Camden Hall would be better.

  As we rode along, getting ever closer to my temporary home, I thought with resignation that I had better learn something about the earl’s family if I was going to be spending six months among them.

  “This countess I resemble,” I said as our horses trotted easily beside each other. “How exactly is she related to me?”

  He gave me a pleased look. “She is your great-grandmother. She lived during the period of the first two Georges, and she managed to acquire a great deal of power by making herself the personal friend of both their queens. She was married to our great grandfather, the third earl, who was happy to remain at home in Camden Hall raising roses and building additions to the house. His great contribution to the family was to sire an heir, who became your grandfather—and mine as well.

  I thought about this. “Then that makes you my first cousin.”

  “It does indeed,” he replied cordially.

  “And my moth…Maria…is your aunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is the aunt you said was living in your house?”

  “Augusta. She was my grandfather’s sister. She is also your aunt—great-aunt to be precise. She never married, which is why she lives at Camden Hall.”

  “But you own it.”

  “Not precisely. It is mine while I live, but I only hold it in trust for future generations. Whoever is the present earl is the head of the entire Sommer family, and I am happy to offer a home to my Aunt Augusta.”

  I thought about this, creating a sort of family tree in my mind. “Are there any other aunts or uncles I should know about?”

  “There is Aunt Jane, who is the youngest and the most fun. She has a daughter who is your age and we must arrange for the two of you to meet. As for uncles—my father would have been your uncle, but he is dead, as are his two brothers. The women in my family appear to be longer lived than the men.

  “Hmm.” This collection of aunts and possible cousins did not make me feel comfortable, and I lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride.

  *

  We approached Camden Hall along a drive rimmed with beautiful tall oak trees just coming into leaf. The sun was setting in the west and when the house came into view, I must confess my breath caught in my throat. It was as magnificent as any French royal chateau, and it glowed in the dying sunlight like a jewel. A tree-lined lake formed part of the park-like grounds, and I saw a small herd of deer drinking from its gold-stained water. Behind it rose what the earl had told me were the Lambourn downs.

  He was looking at me, waiting for a comment. I said honestly, “It’s beautiful. It looks like a palace.”

  His smile revealed his pleasure at my response. He said, “The man who built it—the fourth earl—thought he was royalty. He was so arrogant and insufferable that he became known as the Proud Earl. When he inherited the house that was a mixture of Elizabethan and Jacobean styles, it didn’t begin to live up to his standard. So he had a whole new house, in the style of a grand baroque palace, built on the front of the old.”

  “It looks a bit like Versailles,” I ventured. Papa had taken me to look at Versailles one time when the circus was in winter recess.

  “He would have been delighted to hear you say so. Versailles was his ideal.”

  I didn’t say anything else. I just wondered how on earth I was going to endure life in this palace. Our house in the south of France was an old stone farmhouse with a sitting room, a large kitchen where we ate, and three bedrooms. The reason Papa had bought the house was that it came with 50 acres of property. He had renovated the stable and built large paddocks, one for Alonzo and one for his horse, Henri. The rest of our horses—my old pony, my riding horse, our driving horses, Papa’s riding horse, and some horses from the circus—lived in a large open barn where they were fed and where they slept if the weather was bad. The winter was the time for them to get away from performing and just be horses.

  I loved our house. I liked being close to the earth and close to the horses. I liked our small town, where everyone knew me. I loved the traveling with the circus, but the winter in our snug little home was also a time I treasured.

  I was quiet as the earl and I rode up to the front of the palace. The carriage, which had kept pace with us all along, pulled up behind us. The earl dismounted, as did I. The palace’s magnificent door had opened and a tall man in a formal black coat and pants came down the front steps. I didn’t budge from my position next to Alonzo. The earl looked at me, then motioned to the butler (I assumed he was a butler; he looked the part). The butler came down the path and gave a small bow to the earl. “Welcome home, my lord,” he said.

  “Thank you, Hobbs.” The earl didn’t appear at all discomposed by my behavior. “This is my cousin, Lady Isabel. She has come for a visit of some months.”

  The tall man bowed to me. “Welcome to Camden Hall, my lady. I am his lordship’s butler, Hobbs. Should you ever need anything you must come to me.”

  “Thank you,” I said in a stifled voice.

  We moved out of the way as the coach drew up. When Elisabeth came down the steps I wanted to run and hide my face between her breasts the way I had done after Maman died. I stiffened my back.

  The earl said, “Did you get my message about where to put Lady Isabel’s maid?”

  Before the butler could answer I said to the earl, “Elisabeth is not my maid! She is my friend!”

  “I beg your pardon, Isabel,” he returned. “I did not mean to insult her.”

  Before I could answer an elderly man came up to me and said, “I will take the horse to the stable, my lady.”

  I tightened my hand on the reins. “There is no need. I can see to my own horse—if you would just point the way to the stable?”

  Catastrophic silence.

  The earl said in his calm, pleasant voice, “Isabel, you can safely trust Alonzo to Stoddard. He is my Head Groom and has forgot more about horses than I ever knew.”

  I stiffened. It was starting. They were trying to take Alonzo away from me. “He does not know Alonzo,” I said fiercely.

  Alonzo, meanwhile, had decided he was weary and rested his heavy head on my shoulder. The groom smiled. “I can see he is attached to you, my lady. But all we will do is rub him down and put him in a nice big stall with some grain and hay. He’ll be just fine for the night, and tomorrow you can tell me all about him.”

  Alonzo removed his head and gazed at the house, as if fascinated. This was a battle I could not win. Alonzo had been perfectly fine in the earl’s London stable for a night; he would be perfectly fine here. It was I who was not fine.

  “Very well,” I said stiffly. I made myself hand the reins to the earl’s Head Groom and allowed the earl to es
cort me to the huge carved wood front door of this much too big house. Elisabeth trailed behind us, holding a cloth traveling bag. The earl’s valet came after her.

  I passed through the door into a coldly formal hall with a floor of black and white squares. The earl slipped his hand under my elbow and walked me down the hall, speaking casually about some of the priceless items—statues, urns, paintings—that lined the walls on either side. I caught glimpses of fabulously decorated rooms opening off the hall, rooms the earl casually described as the “Blue Salon,” “The Green Salon,” “The Morning Room,” as we went by. We finally stopped at the bottom of a magnificent double staircase, where a stout, gray-haired woman awaited us.

  The earl said, “Isabel, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Ann Adams. She will show you and Elisabeth to your rooms.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Mrs. Adams will send someone to help you find your way to the dining room. I expect you’ll want to freshen up and change your clothes. Can you be ready for dinner in half an hour or would you like more time?”

  I was starving and could be ready for dinner in fifteen minutes, but I said instead, “Where is Elisabeth to eat?”

  “I am hoping Mademoiselle Lagasse will join me in the housekeeper’s rooms for dinner,” Mrs. Adams said, sending a smile Elisabeth’s way.

  Elisabeth’s English was rudimentary, but she understood what the housekeeper was saying and said politely, “Merci, Madame.”

  Elisabeth and I followed the housekeeper up two flights of carpeted stairs then down a wide carpeted corridor until she stopped, opened a door, and gestured for me to precede her.

  The bedroom was huge. The windows were hung with heavy crimson curtains, which were open so the light of the setting sun came into the room. A great four-poster bed was hung with the same crimson material as the curtains, and the pale gold paper on the walls had Chinese pagodas engraved on it. Papa and I could have fit our whole house into this room.