Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (7 page)

‘No!’ Janna backed off, flinging her arms across her chest to protect herself.

The miller laughed softly. ‘You are a maid, are you not? It is time for you to grow up, Janna, more than time. I am willing to teach you what it means to be a woman.’

‘Save your instruction for your wife!’ Janna said tartly, and backed off further. ‘Just give me the flour and I’ll trouble you no more.’

‘I told you – I want something more than honey in return for my labour. I’ve decided I want something much sweeter.’

‘You’ll have my silence – and your wife’s good humour – in return for not tormenting me further.’

The miller glowered at Janna. Feeling more confident, she stared back defiantly. With a scowl, he turned then and walked away. Janna lingered by the door, savouring her victory. As the miller returned with the sack, she held out her arms to receive it. The weight of it dragged down her arms, leaving her defenceless as the miller suddenly pulled her in close and kissed her hard on the lips.

With a cry of outrage, Janna jerked up her knee. The miller’s face darkened with anger as he doubled over in pain. Janna swung around, ready to run. She found Hilde waddling towards her, grim-faced, holding her hands over her belly as if to protect her unborn child.

Janna tried to find the words to explain the scene that Hilde must surely have witnessed, but she had no chance to say anything for the woman shouldered her aside with an oath and stormed into the cottage, hurling a torrent of abuse at her husband as she did so.

Janna was sorry that Hilde had further proof of her husband’s nature, yet she was also relieved that Hilde had arrived in time to prevent the miller from chasing after her to vent his anger and frustration. With a wry grimace, she hoisted the heavy bag of flour onto her shoulder and set off once more along the path for home.

O
NCE HOME
,
JANNA
kept busy with chores while she waited for her mother. She dug up some precious carrots and turnips for their dinner and fed the tops to the grateful goats, along with a handful of dock, dandelion and other weeds hastily gathered from the forest’s edge. Seeing the tansy and lavender she’d picked that morning still lying on the table, she strewed the aromatic herbs over the floor rushes. Their fragrance scented the smoky room, adding to the rich smell of the vegetable stew which she’d set to bubble in a pot over the fire, awaiting Eadgyth’s return. Janna had already used some of the new flour to make two flat bread cakes on the griddle, and now she ladled some of the vegetables onto one of them, too hungry to wait any longer. Alfred mewed, and batted her with his paw. She put some of her dinner down onto the rushes for him, and he scoffed it hungrily.

Why was her mother so late returning? Janna yawned, and wondered if she should go to her bed. Yet she knew she’d be too restless to sleep. Curiosity would keep her awake until she finally found out the truth about her father.

She sat down in her mother’s chair beside the fire. Alfred jumped up and turned in a circle. He dug his claws into her kirtle and kneaded her lap, purring loudly as he made himself comfortable.

Janna stared into the flickering flames and pondered her mother’s surprising admission. She felt deeply angry that Eadgyth had bought her silence with a lie designed to shut her mouth. Her father might still be alive! Who was he? A common labourer who had moved on, perhaps impelled on his journey by news of her mother’s pregnancy? Did he still live in Berford or Babestoche, or even Wiltune, with a wife and children of his own? Janna sifted through all the men she knew, peasant, merchant and labourer, rejecting each one almost as soon as his face came into her mind. She would surely have sensed a bond when they met, or intercepted a special look between her mother and father when they thought no-one was watching. Besides, if he was a local man, Eadgyth would know for sure whether or not he lived.

He must be someone from her mother’s past, from a life lived somewhere else. Either that, or her father had moved on rather than deal with the fact of her birth. Would she want to acknowledge someone like that, someone so cowardly that he would leave a maiden – either wed or unwed – to face her ordeal alone?

No, she would not! Neither would her mother – and yet Eadgyth had confessed that she loved him still. What could have gone so wrong between them that he’d abandoned them?

Janna’s thoughts were interrupted by the faint drumming of hooves. As she listened, the sounds became louder. A horse from the manor house, bringing her mother home? She tipped Alfred off her lap, then unhooked the pot of vegetables and laid them aside in readiness.

The cat’s back arched and its black fur stood on end as it faced the door. ‘Scaredy-cat!’ Janna scoffed. The sounds of hoof beats died. A loud knock thundered against the door. Not her mother then. Janna knew a moment’s alarm. Surely not Fulk! Could it be Godric? No, he wouldn’t come on horseback. Just like her, like most of the villeins, he wouldn’t know how to ride a horse. She hurried to the door and opened it.

A man stood outside, solidly built and clad in the garb of a servant. Janna’s first instinct was to close the door on him, but he jammed a foot against it. ‘I am sent to fetch you, mistress,’ he said. ‘You must come at once.’ Janna’s heart plummeted as she noticed the compassion in his eyes.

‘What has happened?’ Instinctively, she took a step backwards, as if to distance herself from what was to come.

‘Your mother is taken so ill she is like to die. Dame Alice hopes that you might yet save her.’ Without waiting for her reply, he turned and hastened towards his mount.

‘But … how? What is amiss with my mother?’ Dazed and confused, Janna stared after him.

‘I know not.’ He did not check his stride, nor did he turn to look at her.

Thrown off-balance, too upset even to close the door behind her, Janna scurried after him. Before she had time to protest, the man put his hands around her waist and swung her high onto the horse’s back, then vaulted up in front of her. ‘Hold tight.’ He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and the beast took off across the downs in the direction of Babestoche.

Janna had never been on horseback before. Excitement and terror overrode her modesty. She’d landed astride the horse but she had no time to cover her legs with her kirtle, no time for anything but to throw her arms around the stranger, lean close and hold on for her life.

Her mother so ill she was like to die? Eadgyth had seemed perfectly well when Janna had said goodbye to her. She couldn’t believe it, yet the proof was in this race across the downs. Silently, Janna berated herself for not taking the time to select some healing herbs, but how could she know what to bring when she didn’t even know what was amiss? Would she have the skill, the ability to heal her mother? Janna closed her eyes. Guilt washed over her as she recalled their argument. Eadgyth was right. She was still too young, too ignorant. She was certainly no healer, not yet, not even when her mother’s life depended on it. Yet who else was there to help, if she could not? Perhaps she should have questioned the servant more closely, rather than allowing herself to be swept up by the urgency of his message. The knot of anxiety tightened in Janna’s stomach. ‘Hurry, hurry,’ she whispered in time to the horse’s galloping hooves. ‘Hurry, hurry!’

They pelted on through the night until they came at last to the gatehouse of Babestoche Manor. The gate was already up and the horse galloped through, not breaking its stride. Janna caught a brief glimpse of the gatekeeper standing by as they rushed past.

The manor house loomed large before them. Made of stone, it was the biggest house Janna had ever seen. She had only a confused impression of bulky darkness below and a faint gleam of candlelight shining through window slits high above, before the servant reined in and dismounted. Without ceremony, he reached up to Janna and swung her down. Trembling, Janna stared about her.

‘Come.’ He set off at a fast pace across the courtyard, and Janna hastened after him. He bypassed the door that seemed to lead into the manor house, and instead raced up a stone staircase outside the building. Janna followed close on his heels, her heart thumping with fear.

The servant stopped abruptly, and hammered on a door. It was flung open and there, standing dark against the light of the torches behind him, stood the handsome stranger. Surprise flared in his eyes as he recognised Janna from the marketplace, but his face quickly creased into lines of concern. ‘You must be Johanna,’ he said gravely, dismissing the servant with a flick of his fingers. ‘I am Hugh fitz Ranulph. Please come with me.’

Janna hardly had time to make her obeisance before he turned and strode quickly through a long hall with a high beamed ceiling. A fire blazed in a huge fireplace, shedding a soft, dancing light on stone walls and the decorative tapestries which partially covered them. Flaming torches, slotted into high sconces, added a glow to the rich colours of the hunting scenes woven across the walls, but Janna was too intent to do more than glance at them. She followed her guide through the hall and into a smaller room screened off by a leather curtain at the far end. ‘Please wait here,’ Hugh instructed. He pushed aside the heavy curtain and disappeared from view. ‘Alice?’ he called. Janna heard a murmured reply then Hugh’s head poked out. ‘Come,’ he said, and vanished again. Janna hastened to obey.

A woman lay upon the large bed which dominated the bedchamber, her figure partially obscured by a number of people gathered around her.

‘Mother!’ Janna sprang forward without thinking, only to freeze in embarrassment as she realised the reclining figure was a stranger to her.

‘Here is Johanna, ma dame, as you requested.’ Hugh’s deep voice made the introduction. The figure on the bed raised a feeble arm. Just as Janna was debating whether or not she was supposed to kiss the lady’s hand, Dame Alice made a dismissive gesture.

‘Your mother is through there.’ She indicated a small alcove off the bedchamber. ‘Pray do what you may for her, for I have great need of her services.’

Dread settled on Janna’s heart. She rushed into the alcove, taking in the situation with one agonised glance. With a half-stifled sob, she fell to her knees beside the still form of her mother. She didn’t need to be told that Eadgyth was dead. She’d read it instantly in the blueness of her mother’s lips and the absence of light in her eyes. Fighting grief, she placed her hand on her mother’s chest, willing the heart to beat beneath her fingers. She forced herself to concentrate, to mark off time in a steady beat, but there was no movement. Janna bent her head close to Eadgyth’s mouth, listening for a breath, for anything that might mean that her mother lived. The silence, the waiting, seemed to stretch into eternity.

‘Mother!’ Desperate now, Janna grasped her mother’s arm and shook her hard. There was no response. Automatically, Janna noted that her arm was limp, her body still quite warm, not yet stiffening into death. She had arrived too late, but only just. Bitterly, Janna reproached herself for not making the long journey to the manor house with her mother. If she had seen with her own eyes what had gone amiss, perhaps she might have been able to prevent her death.

Dry-eyed, numb with grief, Janna raised her head and looked about her. The smell of vomit assailed her nostrils. Now she noticed traces of foul matter down the front of her mother’s kirtle. Beside the straw pallet lay a basin of stained water and a cloth. Someone, then, had cared enough to wash her mother’s face, and try to help. Janna glanced around, catching the gaze of a young woman standing beside Dame Alice’s bed. For a heartbeat they stared at each other. The girl’s face was pale. She looked strained and ill at ease. She knows, Janna thought. She knows my mother is dead.

The girl coloured a delicate pink under Janna’s gaze. She turned away then and murmured something to the man at her side. Janna bobbed a hasty curtsy as he cast an appraising glance over her. ‘Pray see to the
wortwyf
, Master Fulk,’ he said curtly.

‘Of course, my lord Robert. Right away.’ Fulk had been bending over Dame Alice, encouraging her to sup a little broth, but now he straightened obediently and came into the alcove. He peered over Janna’s shoulder to look at Eadgyth. ‘The
wortwyf
is dead,’ he confirmed, and turned to Janna. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ His face was tight and cold, yet there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes. With a cursory nod, he swaggered back to Dame Alice’s bedside and picked up the bowl of broth.

Cold fury seized Janna. Only last night her mother had saved Fulk’s skin, and his reputation. Now, when she was most in need, his concern was all for his wealthy patron. ‘You claim to have such great knowledge of the art of healing, Master Fulk,’ she flashed, springing to her feet to face him. ‘Surely you could have done something to help my mother, to save her life!’ Her voice choked on the last word.

Fulk made no reply. Instead he turned his back on Janna, and lifted a spoon of broth to Dame Alice’s mouth. She pinched her lips together and turned her head away. Fulk hesitated, then put the bowl down and, instead, picked up the lady’s hand and felt the pulse at her wrist.

‘You might pretend you don’t care about my mother, but last night you were so desperate for help you offered to make her a partner in your shop!’

‘The girl is hysterical. Ignore her.’ He gave Dame Alice’s hand a reassuring pat.

‘Tell me what happened to my mother! How did she die?’

‘I expect she took one of her own foul potions.’ Fulk carefully rested his patient’s hand on the fine linen bed sheet. ‘It is lucky for you, ma dame, that I came in time,’ he told Dame Alice. ‘You, too, might have suffered the same fate but for my intervention.’

‘Don’t be absurd!’ Dame Alice raised herself up against the bolster and beckoned Janna forward. ‘I am sorry that you did not get here in time to save your mother,’ she said. Her voice was high; she sounded somewhat peevish as she continued, ‘Eadgyth spoke highly of you. I had hoped you might be able to save her life.’

Janna was less than flattered by the implied compliment. She was beginning to understand that Dame Alice had an entirely selfish reason for summoning her so urgently. ‘Fulk was here!’ she flashed in reply. ‘Why didn’t you ask him to save my mother?’

‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, girl,’ Robert snapped. ‘I bade Master Fulk leave his practice in Wiltune to tend my wife – not your mother.’ He clicked his fingers, beckoning one of Dame Alice’s attendants to his side. It was the girl Janna had noticed earlier. She stepped forward and stood with bowed head before him. ‘Ask the steward to arrange for a litter to carry this woman down to the church at Berford.’ The girl bobbed her head and hastened from the bedchamber. Robert walked back to his wife’s bedside and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Try not to upset yourself, Alice,’ he murmured. ‘For the sake of our child, you must stay calm and recover your health.’

Unsure what she was supposed to do, Janna sent a glance of appeal at Hugh.

‘Johanna has had a bad shock. Small wonder that she’s upset. Why don’t I take her to the kitchen for a hot posset?’ He moved to her side and took her arm.

‘But I …’ Janna cast a glance at her mother’s still form lying on the pallet in the alcove. Before she went anywhere, she wanted to say goodbye.

‘Come.’ Hugh’s firm grip shifted Janna from the room, propelling her through the solar and out into the hall. Feeling his grip slacken slightly, Janna jerked free and faced him. ‘If Master Fulk was anywhere near as good as he pretends to be, he could have –’

‘You’ll achieve naught by accusing the apothecary of neglect,’ he cut across her protest. ‘Your mother died a hard death. I doubt anyone could have saved her.’

‘But that … that quack didn’t even try, did he?’ Janna steeled herself, knowing she could not rest until she heard the worst.

Hugh shrugged apologetically. ‘I know not what happened before I arrived, but I heard that your mother poured scorn on Fulk and his treatments this afternoon. It seems he insisted that Dame Alice drink an infusion of his own making, but your mother threw it out. They had a fierce argument about it. Of course, as soon as Fulk heard that your mother was taken ill he lost no time in returning to the bedchamber and putting it about that your mother had brought this illness on herself and that she was not to be trusted. He has his good name to salvage, Johanna, you must understand that.’