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Nan listened, too shrewd to believe more than a tenth of what she was told, then went back to her mistress.
Cornelia lay as she had been before, her lids drawn tightly down, the dark lashes tipped with gold, glinting in the firelight, the pale skin gleaming like pearl.
‘Draw the curtains,’ she said, without opening her eyes. ‘How can I sleep with firelight in my eyes?’
Nan grinned. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ she said, in mockery.
‘But Master Andrew will be here soon. Shall you not see him?’ The lids flew open. Cornelia sat up. ‘Is he sent for?’
Nan winked. ‘Your mother does not like it, but your father would have the doctor here.’
Pink colour came back into the pale cheeks. ‘My hair,’ Cornelia said. ‘Bring me the brush. Why did you put out my oldest nightgown? Fetch me the cream one trimmed with fine lace.’
‘For him? For the doctor?’ Nan shook her head scornfully. ‘Your mother would not like it, and it would be me being whipped for such folly, not you.’
‘When have you ever been whipped in this house?’
‘There’s always a first time for everything. Thomas is to be turned out of the house, poor old man, after twenty years of service. We may expect anything now.’
‘Thomas? Turned out of the house? But . . . why?’ Cornelia looked shocked.
Nan shrugged. ‘I am only a servant. How should I know?’
‘He shall not go,’ Cornelia said angrily. ‘It is too unjust. What could he have done, one old man against six young and healthy rogues?’
‘What did happen?’ Nan asked, curious.
‘Oh, do not ask,’ Cornelia said, shivering at the memory of that kiss.
‘I have asked,’ Nan retorted, eyeing her shrewdly. ‘And I have heard a dozen different tales. I might as well hear the true one.’
‘We met with some dissolute rogues. They made mock of us and frightened my poor mother into fits,’ said Cornelia in an offhand manner.
‘And you?’ Nan probed.
Cornelia looked at her, beginning to tremble again. Nan lost her air of half-scornful curiosity, and bent over her, pushing an arm around her shoulders.
‘Stop that. God have mercy, girl, what happened?’
‘He kissed me,’ Cornelia whispered.
Nan held her away, staring into her face. ‘Is that all?’ Her face was incredulous.
Cornelia flushed indignantly. ‘Was it not bad enough?’
‘All this drama for a single kiss?’ Nan laughed. ‘You would do well with the play actors, Mistress.’
Cornelia laughed. Nan’s common sense was always deflating. Cornelia knew that she, herself, had a tendency to be over-emotional at times, but, all the same, there was more to what had happened than Nan would ever understand.
It shamed her now to remember the wild impulses which had devastated her when Rendel kissed her. It had never before occurred to her that there were impulses within her which did not answer to the dictates of her mind or heart, but only leapt to life in her body. In that blinding flash, she had learnt something about herself, a dark fact which had changed her whole world.
She had recognised that her body had needs and desires which her love for Andrew Belgrave had never even touched, and that was sufficient to make her sick with self-disgust.
It was that realisation that had driven her wild with anger, and made her strike out at the man who had revealed her to herself.
That she could respond, hating him, had made it so much worse. She understood now why the preachers always dwelt savagely upon the sins of the flesh. She had never really comprehended their meaning before.
The chamber door opened.
