SEVEN

My brother is a habitually early riser, wide awake and padding quietly about so as not to wake anyone else long before the rest of the family stirs. I am not; Edild often has to shake me quite hard. The exception is when I have something serious on my mind, and that was the case the morning after we’d got back from our hopeless search for Derman and I’d heard the invisible singer for the second time.

I love my brother Haward dearly. I had so hoped he would find happiness with Zarina; she was so good for him, and I’d noticed that his love for her — and hers for him — had filled him with a new belief in himself so that now he barely stuttered at all. Last night, as he’d hurried to support me, the tongue-tying stammer had come right back.

He filled my mind as I lay awake in the thin light of dawn. I sensed he was calling out to me. Silently, I slipped out from under the bedcovers, pulled my gown over my shift, picked up my boots and let myself out of the house. The chill air struck me like a slap, and quickly I reached back inside for my shawl. I ran across the village, and just as I approached my parents’ house, the door opened and Haward emerged.

We grinned at each other, both of us struck by the strange link between us that had brought us to this spot at precisely the same instant. He opened his arms and hugged me. He smelt of home. After a moment he said, ‘We’re going to search again as soon as it’s light. If we make an early start there’s a while before we have to start work.’

We. ‘Who’s going? I can come, for a while anyway.’ It would not be long, for Edild had warned me we had a great deal to do that day and I dared not be absent when she wanted me.

Haward smiled. ‘You’d be an asset, for sure. Hrype and Sibert will come, and Father said he’d spare us as much time as he can. He’s going to bring Squeak.’

‘That’s good.’ My little brother is one of the most observant people I know. ‘I’ll-’

Haward grasped my hands in his. ‘There’s something else I’d much r-rather you did,’ he said. The stutter, combined with his sudden, deep frown, gave away his anxiety.

I said a silent goodbye to my happy little daydream of me being the one to find Derman — quite unharmed, of course — and bringing him safely home, cries of, However did you find him, Lassair? Did you use your magic powers and dowse for him? ringing in my ears. I looked at my brother and said, ‘Whatever it is, I’ll do it. You only have to ask.’

His face intent, he said, ‘Watch Zarina for me.’

‘I will!’ I replied. ‘Only, I’ve got to get back to Edild’s quite soon, like I said, because-’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t mean right n-now. I meant, watch out to see how she copes with Derman’s absence. Whether she goes on being as distressed as she is now, or whether-’ He stopped, shaking his head.

I did not understand. ‘But you’ll probably find him this morning, or else he’ll come home by himself!’ Even as I said the words, I did not believe them. ‘Or perhaps not,’ I muttered.

Haward opened his mouth to speak, then, with a glance over his shoulder towards the house, took my arm and led me away along the path. Whatever he wanted to say, I knew it was very important. I waited, dread flooding through me.

‘Lassair, Zarina will not m-m-m-marry me,’ he said in a harsh tone, struggling so hard over marry that his face went dark red. ‘I know she loves me, and I certainly l-love her, b-b-but she will not inflict D-D-Derman on our family.’

I stroked his arm, trying to soothe him. ‘I know,’ I murmured. ‘She told me.’

I don’t think my brother was listening. ‘Sh-sh-she says he is not c-capable of killing anyone,’ he went on, ‘b-but he was missing on the m-morning the girl was found dead, and we all kn-kn-know he was sweet on her. If she rejected him, wh-who’s to s-s-s-say how he’d react?’

Haward stopped speaking, his eyes intent on mine. Clearly, he did not want to put it into words, but I had no such compunction. ‘You mean he might have been so angry and frustrated that he killed her. That’s why I found him weeping, and that’s why he’s run away. Because he realized straight away what he’d done and could not face us?’

‘Or because he knew he would be hanged for her murder,’ Haward said harshly and with no trace of a stammer. I understood then the depths of his resentment and perhaps even hatred for Zarina’s brother.

I took in the implications of what my brother had said. If Derman had murdered Ida — and my head told me it was quite possible — then once he was found, he would be tried, convicted and punished. Then he would be dead, and Zarina could marry Haward.

I stared into Haward’s eyes. I could not believe that my beloved brother, gentle, peace-loving, kind-hearted, good Haward, would wish anyone to hang, even the impediment to his happiness that Derman was. Haward just wasn’t that cold and selfish, that he would wish another’s death so that he could get what he wanted. Even if that other person was a murderer. .

I had to ask. ‘Do you hope you find him?’

I thought he was going to say yes. For a moment, I really believed Haward was going to act so out of character that I’d hardly recognize him. But then the uncharacteristically hard expression left his eyes. His shoulders sagged and he said, ‘No. Of course I don’t. I hope he runs so far and so fast that we never catch him.’

I realized then why Haward wanted me to watch Zarina. He wanted to know how she would feel if her brother didn’t come back. And I think he already had a very good idea. .

I walked slowly back to Edild’s house, so many thoughts and impressions warring inside my head that I was back there before I knew it.

‘I’ve been to see Haward,’ I said by way of explanation.

She nodded. There was no need to explain. ‘The search resumes?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

As if she fully understood Haward and Zarina’s terrible dilemma — well, undoubtedly she did — she muttered, ‘Poor, poor things.’ Then she fixed me with a determined look and said, ‘A messenger came from the hall. You are to go up there and tend Lady Claude.’

Me?

‘You.

‘But — it’s the hall, and you’re the healer!’

‘You, too, are skilled, adequately so for what is required.’ Her face softened a little and she added, ‘They did in fact ask for me, but I cannot go. I have to tend a nervous new mother who needs urgent reassurance that her baby girl is not going to die, as well as a lad with a very painful boil that has to be lanced and a case that I suspect is quinsy, for the man can barely breathe.’

‘What’s the matter with Lady Claude?’ I ran my eyes over the contents of my leather satchel, waiting for my aunt’s reply before deciding what remedies and potions to add.

Edild said, ‘She has a headache, and she cannot sleep.’

I reached for feverfew, wood betony and lavender, out of which I would make an infusion for the headache. I always carry lavender oil, which I would mix with almond oil as a massage for the brow and temples, if the lady would allow it. In our herb garden Edild and I had a patch of wild lettuce that had gone to seed; I would make a preparation that would have Claude sleeping like a baby tonight.

Edild watched as I came back inside, carefully wrapping the lettuce before stowing it in my satchel. She said, ‘Remember that the body exhibits its inner state in external symptoms.’

I understood; it is one of her most frequently-repeated maxims. She believes that disturbances in the mind bring about aches, pains and sickness in the body. I don’t understand how this can possibly happen, but she is my teacher and I deeply respect her wisdom and experience. ‘I am to question her and see if anything is troubling her?’ I asked.

Edild sighed. Sometimes I feel I have a tremendously long way to go before I am anything even approaching a healer. ‘You know something troubles her, and you also know what it is,’ she said patiently.

‘Her seamstress is dead, and she feels bad because it was she who brought Ida here to the hands of her killer,’ I said.

‘Yes. And?’

‘Her initial reaction, which she made the mistake of speaking aloud, was regret at the loss of a fine needlewoman, and she probably feels bad about that too.’

‘Good,’ said my aunt. ‘Now, off you go. The lady is waiting.’

Lady Claude had taken to her bed. On announcing myself at Lakehall, I was ushered inside, across the wide hall and through a curtained doorway on the far side. A short stair led up to a bedchamber; Lord Gilbert was clearly advanced in his domestic arrangements and liked to offer his guests a room for the use of themselves and their personal servant, for there was but the one bed in the chamber, with a truckle bed tucked away beneath it where the servant slept.

The bed was high, the sheets were fresh, crisp linen. The occupant was dressed in a high-necked linen shift, beautifully sewn, and her head was bare. She was lying back on her pillows regarding me through half-closed eyes. She beckoned to me, and I approached, dropping a swift courtesy. Her short hair, I now saw, was of an indeterminate, light-brown shade, fine in texture, thin and lying flat on her head. I studied her face. She had been pale before, but now she looked grey, her eyes sunk deep in her head. I felt her pain coming off her in waves, and instinctively I summoned my defences. It was not that I wasn’t sympathetic — far from it — but I would be no help to her if I, too, collapsed with a similar, agonizing pain.

Without asking, I put my hand to her brow, my open palm hovering a finger-joint’s length over the skin. Left temple, left side of forehead, right side, above the eyebrows, up in the hairline, right temple. Yes. I had felt the heat of the pain as my hand hovered over Claude’s left eyebrow but, as Edild had taught me, I covered the whole area before I began the treatment, in case the malaise was centred in more than one place.

I had asked the man who showed me in to bring hot water, and he had quietly slipped into the chamber and put a big, steaming jug on the floor, together with a mug. Now I selected the herbs from my bag, mixed them in a strong potion, tied them in a little cloth of fine linen and set the bag to steep in a mug of hot water. Then I poured almond oil into the small clay dish that I carry in my satchel, dropping in lavender oil and mixing it well. Returning to the bed, I said very quietly, ‘My lady, have I your permission to soothe your poor head?’

Her eyes were closed. She nodded: a tiny movement, barely perceptible.

I leaned over her and began the massage. I paused after a while to give her the infusion, then went back to the massage.

After quite some time, her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at me, and I read two things: the pain had eased its iron grip, and its recession had allowed what was really troubling Lady Claude to push forward and dominate her.

I went on stroking her head. I did not know what to say. I was not Edild, who can ease a patient’s extreme distress with the right words. It was quite possible that my attempts to help would do more harm than good. I kept quiet.

Presently, she gave me a rather tight-lipped smile and, taking hold of my wrist, removed my hand from her forehead. ‘The pain has gone?’ I asked. I knew it had, but it would be good to hear her say so.

‘It has. I thank you.’

I studied her. The colour in her cheeks had improved slightly. ‘You should perhaps stay in bed today,’ I suggested. ‘I have brought herbs to ensure that you will sleep. I will make an infusion for you.’

But even as I had spoken she had thrown back the bedclothes, and she now stood before me in her shift. ‘Only the sick and the weak sleep in the daytime,’ she declared. ‘Hand me my gown.’ She pointed an imperious finger. I did as she ordered, picking up the rich, black silk gown and dropping it over her head, helping her with the side lacings. Then she indicated her snowy-white headdress, and I handed her that too. She nodded towards her leather belt with the little velvet bag hanging from it — I noticed that there was also a large iron key suspended on a chain — and took it from me, fastening it around her thin waist. Beckoning me to follow, she led the way to a small room along the corridor, and as soon as she unlocked and opened the low wooden door, I recognized it as her sewing room.

I stared around the chilly, narrow space. Ida, I observed, had slept the nights of her guard duty on a tiny straw mattress with one thin blanket.

‘My linens.’ Claude swept her hand around, and I took in white sheets, linen cloths and personal undergarments, all of the finest fabrics and beautifully sewn with tiny stitches and delicate, subtle embroidery, much of it using the form and colour of our local fenland wild flowers. If this was Ida’s handiwork, she had indeed been gifted.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, and I wasn’t just being polite.

She brushed aside the praise, leading me on towards the end of the room, beneath the window, where a large wooden frame stood. She looked down at what was stretched over the frame, and for the first time I saw a smile on her face. ‘This, now, this is my work,’ she said. ‘These panels will hang around my marriage bed.’

I followed the direction of her eyes. The frame held a large piece of coarse linen perhaps three yards deep and a yard across; only a section of it was clamped in the frame, the remainder hanging down either side. It was, I observed, one of a series that she was working on. I leaned over the work, studying the careful stitches and the pleasing colours. It was only after looking at it for some time that I appreciated the subject matter.

For the intimate place that she would share with her new husband, Lady Claude had chosen to depict the Seven Deadly Sins. She was working on Gluttony, and a fat man sat on a stool cramming food into his mouth even as the cloth of his garment and his own flesh began to tear open, spilling red guts out on to his yellow robe. I glanced around to look more closely at the other panels, which were suspended from hooks along the walls. There was Pride, a pretty but vacuous-faced woman staring at herself in a mirror while her house burned down behind her with her agonized children inside. There was Lust, a scarlet-gowned woman lying with her eyes closed and her mouth wide open in sexual thrall, a man’s dark outline over her while devils with pitchforks edged ever closer out of the shadows. Wrath was depicted as a well-muscled man, red-faced with fury, holding an axe above his head and in the very act of swinging it down on the head of his child — a little boy holding a catapult in one hand and a dead fowl in the other, eyes wide with terror as he pleaded for mercy. Avarice showed a miser sitting on a golden stool, his hands clutching at handfuls of gold coins that were stashed in a sack at his feet, his attention so thoroughly absorbed that he did not see the skeletal woman, child and tiny baby that lay drooping beside him, the woman’s claw-like hand extended palm uppermost in the universal gesture of the beggar.

Sloth and Envy were, it seemed, still to be embroidered.

I was lost for words. The lady’s skill with her needle was extraordinary, and her artistry was evident in the strong emotions that her designs provoked in me. The subject matter was worthy; our priest regularly regales us with the dangers of yielding to all sin, but the perils of the deadliest seven are a theme to which he returns again and again. In the right place, Claude’s panels would have provided a timely reminder that we should watch our behaviour and not yield to temptation. But these vivid, startling, horrifying panels were to go around her bed. .

I wondered if Sir Alain had any conception of what his future wife was working on. In a flash I knew that he had no idea; she would have coyly said it was to be a wonderful surprise that would be unveiled on their wedding night.

Poor man.

I cast around for some comment that I could make with sincerity. I said, ‘My lady, what outstanding skill you have! These depictions seem almost to live and breathe.’

She nodded. ‘We must ever be on our guard,’ she muttered. She was picking at one of the completed panels: Wrath. ‘The Devil awaits all the time,’ she went on in the same soft, monotonous tone, her eyes burning with fervour. ‘One small slip in our vigilance and there he is, forcing our hand. We-’ Her mouth shut like a trap, and she turned away. Perhaps it was that she had recalled who I was and that such remarks were unsuitable from a lady to a village woman, but I doubted it.

I thought it more likely that the thwarting of her life’s ambition to give herself to God had turned her mind a little and that she might even be slightly mad.

I put out my hand to her, catching her sleeve. ‘My lady, why not do some sewing now?’ I said gently. ‘You are feeling better, and it is peaceful here. If you stay here where it is nice and quiet, you will not run the risk of the noise and the clamour of the hall bringing your headache back.’

She must have seen the sense of that. Nodding — I had noticed that, nunlike, she did not speak unless she had to — she drew up her stool and sat down before the frame. In a gesture that appeared automatic, she reached down for the black velvet bag, putting it on her lap and opening the drawstrings that held it closed. She extracted a thimble, a small pair of sewing scissors, several hanks of different coloured wool and a pincushion in which four or five needles were stuck.

I recalled how I had wondered what was in the velvet bag, that she should clutch at it like a talisman on the dreadful day when Edild and I had come to lay out Ida’s body. Now I had the answer.

Calm now, she threaded her needle and, gazing fiercely at her panel, stabbed it down through the thick canvas. Her other hand was behind the fabric, waiting to receive the needle, and, her fingers moving so swiftly that I could barely follow her movements, she thrust it back up again and started another stitch. I watched her for some moments, listening to the soft grunts of exertion that accompanied her actions; embroidery of this sort was, I observed, quite hard work.

There was, I decided, something of the fanatic about Lady Claude. Uneasy suddenly, I wanted to be gone. I backed away towards the door, murmuring, ‘I will take my leave now, my lady. I have left a potion to help you sleep, but please call me if you need me.’

I very much doubt she even heard.

I needed to be back with Edild, back with my own kind. I hurried away from Lakehall, trying to rid my mind of the image of Lady Claude, hunched over her frame, sewing an image out of hell.

I might have finished with the hall, but the hall had not finished with me. I heard the sound of running feet and a voice called out my name. I turned to see Sir Alain de Villequier hurrying after me. I had no choice but to wait for him.

‘Lassair, Lady Emma says you came to treat Claude,’ he said, panting. ‘How is she? Is she feeling better?’

I wondered that he consulted me instead of going up to ask the lady herself. ‘She is, I believe, sir,’ I replied. Edild stresses that we must not discuss a patient’s symptoms and sickness with anyone else, so I didn’t tell him what had troubled her. ‘I left her in her sewing room.’

‘Her sewing room,’ he echoed tonelessly. ‘Ah. Er, good.’ He flashed a smile at me, and I thought again what an attractive man he was. It wasn’t his looks, which were pleasant but unexceptional; it was the impression he gave of irrepressible good humour and a determination to enjoy life. You just knew he’d be fun to be with and that, I find, is more of a draw in a man than the most perfect features on someone devoid of personality.

He stood there, still smiling, and I said delicately, ‘If that is all, sir, I ought to be on my way. My aunt has work in plenty for me today.’

‘Of course, of course!’ he exclaimed. But instead of turning back to the hall, he nodded towards the village and said, ‘We’ll walk together, shall we?’

I could scarcely have said no.

We paced along in an amiable silence for a while. He might have been a justiciar and a man of wealth and influence, but I felt at ease with him. Drawn to him, in a way, for all that my heart was firmly lodged with another. Perhaps he felt it too; perhaps — far more likely — he just couldn’t resist the appeal of a young woman beside him. Presently, he took my arm, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He said, giving my arm a squeeze, ‘What of this missing man, then, Lassair? This Derman, who may or may not have attacked Ida?’

‘We went out looking for him last night,’ I gabbled, ‘and they set off again at first light this morning. We’re doing our best to find him, sir!’

‘Are you?’ He looked down at me, quirking an eyebrow. ‘Or are you planning to let him slip off into the wilderness and so leave your Haward free to marry the lovely Zarina without her shambling brother coming too?’

How did he know? Who had told him? I tried frantically to work it out, then realized that nobody had told him. He had been appointed to his new position because he was an astute, observant man who didn’t need to be told things because he worked them out for himself.

There seemed little point in lying to a man such as he. ‘It is true that Derman presents an obstacle to my brother marrying Zarina,’ I said quietly. ‘She is unwilling to impose the care of him on anyone else.’

‘A noble sentiment,’ Sir Alain remarked. ‘Although, of course, disappearing into the wilds is not the only way in which the obstacle that is Derman might be removed.’

I believed I knew what he was thinking and, in the same instant, I knew it was up to me to stop him. Praying I was doing the right thing, I said, ‘If Derman did this terrible thing and is caught and hanged, then yes, the way would be clear for Haward and Zarina to marry.’ I turned to stare up at him, putting my soul into my eyes. ‘I have known my brother all my life,’ I said, ‘and I give you my word that he would rather forsake his chances of happiness with Zarina than watch as she suffers the pain of seeing Derman apprehended, tried, found guilty and put to death.’ Haward’s words of that morning flew into my mind: I hope he runs so far and so fast that we never catch him.

Sir Alain regarded me for some moments. Then he said, ‘I believe you.’

I could have cheered.

‘What will happen now, sir?’ I asked.

‘We’ll have to find Derman,’ he replied. ‘I, too, have sent a search party to look for him.’

My heart filled with dread. We in the village had managed only a handful of people with a limited amount of time. The resources that surely must be at Sir Alain’s disposal would be far, far greater. I doubted if Derman stood a chance.

Sir Alain must have read my expression. ‘Don’t you want Derman caught?’

Before I could think about it I blurted out, ‘I don’t want your men to catch him.’

I thought I had gone too far. But, when at length he spoke, his voice was gentle. ‘He may be a ruthless killer, Lassair. Ida was-’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ida had done him no harm. If she rejected him, as is speculated, she would have done so kindly and gently.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I said wearily. ‘But what if he didn’t kill her? What if he’s just a convenient, defenceless fool who was silly enough to fall for her and just happened to be in the vicinity when she was killed?’

He looked at me for some moments. Then a faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he said, ‘Do you imagine I haven’t thought of that?’

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