A Lady Under Siege (14 page)

“I’m not a magician, although I wish I were, Sire. I use what cures I’ve found success in previously. Fresh vegetables? In this case I trust more in what I’ve prescribed—the bark of an oak sapling, boiled with the guts of a songbird, given morning and night. Oak for strength, and the songbird to restore her to girlish vitality. Grant me some credit, and excuse me for speaking plainly, but she has lived much longer than her mother did after she acquired similar symptoms. You should have engaged me in her mother’s case, instead of those quacks you relied upon.”

“But I see no progress here,” Thomas protested. “She declines more slowly than her mother, that is certain. Yet she still declines.” Again he turned to Sylvanne. “Look upon her as closely as you can,” he exhorted. “Take in every clue, as much as your senses can absorb.”

Sylvanne stood over Daphne and reached out to her face, solemnly stroking her cheek with her fingers. The absence of sympathy or pity in the gesture unnerved Thomas as he looked upon her. Suddenly Daphne’s eyes opened. She looked quizzically into Sylvanne’s face.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“This is Lady Sylvanne, darling,” Thomas interceded. “She’s come to help you.”

“You’re an innocent in this, and I wish you no ill,” Sylvanne said neutrally. “But your father suffers delusions.”

“Stop,” Thomas demanded.

“He fantasizes that I might cure you, yet he gives me only reasons to wish him suffering and grief. Do you think that wise of him?”

“Close your mouth!”

Daphne, confused and troubled, looked plaintively to her father.

“Daddy?”

“She doesn’t mean it, darling.”

“I do—” Sylvanne meant to say more, but Thomas slapped his fleshy palm across her mouth. She bit at it, and he swore at her, vulgar words he immediately regretted using in front of his daughter. He yelled for the guard to return her to her quarters. The same young man from the previous night was still on duty. He made to take hold of her, but Sylvanne snarled at him, “You needn’t handle me. I know the way.”

“Before you go, I’ll say one more thing to you,” Thomas told her. He came and blocked her exit, looking straight into her eyes. “I speak now to that other. To Meghan. Did you see? Did you see enough? I pray you did. Please let me know it. I live for this exchange.”

Sylvanne returned his gaze, staring at him with a fiery rage. “Are you finished? Then get out of my way.” He stepped aside and she strode out the door.

Thomas looked at the bite marks she had left across his palm. He held it up to the Physician. “Lucky she didn’t break the skin, or I’d have need of you too,” he told him.

On the bed Daphne shuddered for a moment, like an underfed puppy. She looked at her father with wide, inquisitive eyes. “Daddy, why did she say you killed her husband?”

“It’s a long story, my darling,” he sighed. “Not one I’m prepared to tell just yet. Perhaps if all goes well.”

19

M
abel sat by the window watching kestrels circle in the cloudless sky. She rubbed a hand over her belly, which ached contentedly—she had eaten several hearty meals now, and could feel a sense of vigour reborn in her body. She had to admit she was taking well to life in this grand castle, and felt no regret at having to quit Squire Gerald’s drafty, ill-kept little keep. As soon as the thought came to her, she scolded herself, wondering, ‘Have a mere handful of dinners and a soft feather bed converted me so quickly to snobbery? Mustn’t forget where my loyalties lie—it were a tragedy what happened to my Master Gerald, and for my Mistress to be widowed so young. Mustn’t lose sight of that.’ She was pulled from these thoughts by the sound of voices in the hallway. Then the door opened and her Mistress was returned to her.

“What news, Madame?”

“Nothing of import. The girl awoke.”

“And how is she?”

Sylvanne looked at her sharply. “What care you how she is?”

“But I, I didn’t mean her health, ma’am,” Mabel stammered, although that’s exactly what she had meant. “I meant how is her personality—is she a pleasant girl, or a brat, is she sweet or is she spoiled?”

“Don’t ask such things of me,” Sylvanne responded harshly. “I can’t allow myself to pity her, even if she were pleasant.” She thought a moment. “Your interest in her is too keen for my liking. I’m still asking myself how our captor came to know of Judith and Holofernes.”

“Oh ma’am, please do believe me when I promise you my purest loyalty,” Mabel cried obsequiously. “I would never plot against you. Never would I share your secrets.”

“That man Gwynn you rode in the cart with, on the journey here—you formed an attachment to him, it was obvious. Perhaps you mentioned it to him, forgetting in a moment of agreeable conversation that your words might have consequences.”

Mabel blushed at the mention of Gwynn. “I don’t think so, ma’am,” she replied. “In fact I’m quite certain I never said such a thing to anyone at all. I swear it. On my heart, believe me Madame. I couldn’t stand to be mistrusted by you.”

“I don’t know who, or what, to believe anymore.”

Sylvanne sat wearily on the edge of her bed. Mabel watched her shoulders rise and fall with each breath. She came to her Mistress, touched her shoulder tenderly, and began to loosen the buttons on the back of her dress.

“Confide in me, Madame.”

“I spoke very cruelly to the girl,” Sylvanne said ruefully. “And again to you, just now. It’s not in character for me to say such things. I feel such a stranger here, a stranger even to myself.” She let her neck slump forward as the dress loosened, and Mabel rubbed her shoulders gently under the fabric. “My dear husband has charged me with a solemn obligation, which I promised to carry out. And I’ve never broken a promise in my life. I will fulfill my duty, because I must. But it isn’t easy—to do it I need maintain a fire, an angry burning flame of righteousness, that leaves no room for weakness, or pity, or doubt. And in that state of mind, cruel words come naturally from my mouth.” She rose and let Mabel pull the dress from her arms, stepped out of it, and elected to put on a simple housedress, a deep blue kirtle with pale yellow cuffs. “I’m glad you are here with me, Mabel. You’re the only one in this place who remembers me the way I was, the way I truly am. I don’t truly wish harm to anyone.”

“I do know that Madame,” said Mabel. “I’ve observed you a long time, long before you were elevated to the status of a Lady, remember? Why, I used to buy milk and cheese from you in the marketplace, when you were just a simple girl bringing goods to sell. Everyone in those days remarked on your sweetness and sincerity—there wasn’t a more vibrant, openhearted girl in all the world, I don’t reckon! It’s no wonder Master Gerald plucked you from among the common folk and made you his queen.”

“I should have refused him,” Sylvanne mused. “I should have married a carpenter, or run away with a travelling minstrel.”

“No, no, Madame,” Mabel chided her softly. “There’s no point dreaming of what wasn’t and never can be. None of us can change the past.”

“In this place I’m expected to change the future,” Sylvanne said unhappily. “Lord Thomas has a heart so set on curing his daughter that he tolerates me, and treats me as a guest, knowing full well I intend to kill him. Isn’t that peculiar?”

“I suppose it is,” Mabel agreed. “At least on the surface. From what I’ve seen though, Madame, the man possesses love in abundance. He loves his daughter desperately, that much is apparent. And a desperate man will grasp at any straw, no matter how peculiar it might appear to others.”

“Don’t defend him to me, Mabel,” Sylvanne said abruptly. “I need you as an ally, and an accomplice, just as Judith had her Abra.”

“I doubt if I’m as brave as that maid,” Mabel responded.

“I don’t require bravery from you, but rather stealth, and cleverness at thievery—those are the skills you’ll need. You treat our captors with deference, good humour even. I’ve noticed that whereas my every move is monitored, they like you already, and give you leeway.”

“If I do wish to appeal to their good natures, Madame, it is only so that they might treat us both better,” Mabel defended herself.

“Yesterday and this morning you’ve been allowed to fetch meals from the kitchen—do they watch you closely in that duty?”

“Oh yes, ma’am, there’s a soldier at my side throughout.”

“Does he hurry you? Impede you from talking to others?”

“Not exactly ma’am. The cooks are ladies of my age, and they like a wee gossip. The guard allows it, for it grants him time to chat up the younger maids.”

“It sounds as if he barely watches you at all.” Sylvanne said. “The kitchen must be busy as a beehive, a place of some clutter, where knives are plentiful.”

Mabel felt a sense of dread at these words of her Mistress, but tried to hide it. She hoped her face showed sympathy and support. “I can guess your intent, Ma’am. It wouldn’t be easy.”

“Not easy, but not impossible. Please obey me in this, Mabel. Stealth has been lost to me, for I’m kept under lock and key. You are more fortunate, you move more freely, and that puts me at your mercy. I can’t succeed without you.”

“I’ll try my best, Ma’am.”

“That’s not enough. You know how much this means. You must hurry, for I fear delay—I intend to fulfill my duty to Gerald quickly, before I lose my nerve. Bring me a knife, quick as you can. Promise me you’ll succeed, and keep to it.”

Before Mabel could answer, the door was flung open, and without announcement Thomas entered. “Ladies, I come to inform you that I’ve started Daphne on a brand new regimen of fresh vegetables,” he proclaimed. “That’d be squash, beans, and carrots, all boiled up in a nice chicken broth. She ate it heartily, safe to say she devoured it, which brought joy to my heart. I’ve had good news from the south: oranges are procurable in the port, they will be two days in arriving.”

A jubilant smile stretched across his lips. Mabel met his gaze with a smile of her own, a more careful one, making sure that her Mistress did not see it. Sylvanne had turned away, toward the window, to the rooftops, the treetops beyond, and the kestrels that continued to whirl in the sky.

“Did you hear me?” Thomas asked her. She didn’t respond. “I said, did you hear me?”

Sylvanne turned and looked at him dispassionately.

“That suffices,” he said. “I’ll leave you ladies to your rest.”

He bowed, stepped lightly to the door, and closed it behind him. Mabel cautiously offered an opinion. “He seems a decent man,” she said.

“Mabel, please!” Sylvanne demanded. “Such remarks are not helpful when I’m doing my best to hate him.”

20

M
eghan rang the doorbell and waited impatiently, clutching the handle of a large leather art portfolio. She glanced at her watch. Cutting it too close, she thought. She decided she could still make her ten o’clock meeting if she limited her chat with Derek to three minutes. Another minute passed, another ring of the bell and knock upon his door for good measure, and she was preparing to bolt, when the door opened, and there stood Derek, groggy-eyed and rumpled in pyjama bottoms and a tee shirt, bed-head hair hanging limp like seaweed exposed at low tide.

“Good morning, I have a meeting I can’t be late for, so I’ll keep it short,” she began. “I’m speaking to Thomas now. I just wanted you to know I was there at your daughter’s bedside, I took it all in, despite Sylvanne’s indifference—”

“Come in, come in,” Derek muttered sleepily, stepping back and bidding her enter with a half-hearted wave of his arm.

“I don’t have time,” Meghan told him. “Let me say this: Thomas, I’m glad you’re giving her fruits and veggies, that’s a great start. Now the next step, get that crazy doctor away from her! He doesn’t know what he’s doing! He’s killing her. That whole system of medicine he practices, of trying to balance the four humours—it’s all bullshit, it’s been discredited a long time ago. Now we worry about germs and bacteria, which are like tiny little bugs you can’t see, but they’re having a field day in that nasty wound on her arm that your doctor keeps poking and gouging at daily. Just clean it up and leave it alone! Boil some water, let it cool to lukewarm, and clean out that wound, clean it thoroughly, I want all the pus gone. Then wrap it in clean linen, and keep it wrapped. Change the linen twice a day. Don’t let the pus build up, pus is bad, not good! And no more bloodletting, she needs all the blood she’s got, poor thing! You hear me?”