The Order of the Lily (36 page)

On Sunday they attended the Mass in Broughton chapel, and Lady Matilda declared an afternoon of feasting and celebration. Cécile settled herself beneath the shade of a tree and watched as Gillet and Bertram were nominated to entertain the children. They donned their hoods backwards for ‘Hoodman's Blind,' and riotous squeals filled the air as Gillet and Bertram tried to catch their undersized quarry. When ‘Fallen Bridge' had been exhausted, they took up ‘Jingling.' Gillet placed the tiny bells around his wrists and ankles, as Bertram and Lady Matilda bound the children's eyes with strips of cloth. The bells sounded Gillet's every move as he tried to avoid capture. With the cunning of an adult, he threw a bracelet to Bertram, and together they confused the children as the tinkling came from more than one direction. When an assertive lad peeked from beneath his binding and discovered their antics, the men were besieged and forced to the ground. Gillet and Bertram were bested, and bellowed helplessly as an army of sticky hands tickled them.

‘Gillet will be a wonderful father,' chirped Lady Matilda, passing a cup of perry to Cécile.

‘He spoke something of his hopes yesterday, much along those lines,' replied Cécile, sipping the sweet pear juice. ‘But we have been known to argue rather heatedly on occasions.'

‘My dear child,' replied Matilda, her eyes twinkling. ‘It is well known that the tastiest dish on the board is the one with a generous dash of spice!'

As the children began ‘Hunt the Squirrel,' Gillet, who had been excused from the game, dropped at Cécile's feet and gratefully accepted a tankard of ale from Bertram. Still breathless from his exertions, he stretched out lazily, oblivious to the scorching glances from the serving maids.

‘Faith be, Lady Matilda,' he panted, ‘Broughton's children will make mighty warriors one day.'

‘Be fair to yourself, Gillet,' laughed Lady Matilda. ‘You were greatly outnumbered. There must have been at least twenty-five children piled upon you both.'

Cécile stared at Gillet and her mouth fell open. ‘Twenty-five! Gillet, that's it! The innkeeper in Arras. The three merchants gave him thirty ducats, but he returned five to the kitchen lad.' Gillet watched with a growing smile as Lady Matilda and Bertram looked puzzled. ‘The merchants only paid twenty five ducats between the three of them. You tried to make me think it was twenty-seven! They each received one coin refund and the two ducats the boy kept, makes five. That makes thirty. I have solved it. Now I am ready to make transactions!'

Gillet roared with amusement. ‘Well done, Céci,' he said, wiping his eyes, ‘but, as for conducting business, I think not.'

She raked him with a basilisk's glare. ‘But Gillet, you said …'

‘Oui, I know what I said, sweetheart, but it took you all of a month to solve it. Your dishonest merchant could have walked to the south of France by now!'

‘Good Lord,' exclaimed Lady Matilda, visibly shocked. ‘Has someone had mis-dealings with Cécile?'

‘Tell me which merchant,' spluttered Bertram, rising to his feet and clenching his fist, ‘and I will gladly pay him a visit.'

Gillet could not contain his amusement, laughing harder than before. ‘No, no, my friends. 'Twas no more than an exercise to test Cécile's trading capabilities. The reality does not exist.' He beamed broadly, wiping his eyes. ‘She has passed with flying colours. However, it took a little overlong.'

Their interest piqued, the men rallied Gillet until he told his tale of the three travellers descending upon a tavern. An appreciative crowd gathered to listen. By the end, Gillet was standing inside a circle, the men laughing and slapping his back over the joke with Noah's ark. With much gaiety, they filled Gillet's tankard and he winked apologetically to Cécile as they led him away. At their posts, the serving maids were sighing together.

‘He is a very jovial character, my dear, when his heart is happy. He would be a great success at any court.' Lady Matilda's bony hand patted Cécile's. ‘I suspected that he brings out the best in you, but even more so you also bring out the very best in him.'

The short autumn days encouraged the group indoors as the weather took on a most decided chill. Simon stated that they should stay off the roads in the hope that such a move would confuse Salisbury.

The mere thought of the man turned Catherine's stomach. Yet, at the same time, she was intrigued. His questions had been quite pointed. He believed she knew something of the Lady of Scotland – her location perhaps? But who was this Lady? Perched on a log and drinking in the last rays of afternoon light, Catherine closed her eyes.

The scene on the road appeared before her. Salisbury, wide eyed and angry, holding the blade to her throat. He had taken a risk, ambushing them in the open. Whoever the mysterious person was, she must be important.

‘Alone again?'

Catherine's eyes flew open. Roderick stood in front of her, blocking the light. ‘I was in need of a little air,' she gasped.

‘Have no fear, I have no intention of waylaying you,' he replied as he mockingly rubbed the side of his face.

‘I am sorry for Armand's injury. I had not known that Lord Wexford would react so …'

‘Violently?' he offered. ‘Why ever not? He is your husband.'

‘But Armand and I were only talking.'

‘From what I have been told you appeared to be thoroughly enjoying yourself.'

Catherine pulled a face. ‘And is that not allowed? I cannot believe my
mirth
could warrant such behaviour.'

‘What? You jest. Armand's reputation precedes him. If you were my wife I would have blackened more than one eye!'

Catherine smiled, feeling naturally at ease in his company. ‘It is not Armand's fault if ladies are attracted to him. His manner with me was exemplary and did not deserve the treatment your brother served upon him.'

Roderick sat down beside her. ‘And is that all that ails you, my sister? Or do you have something else upon that pretty mind of yours?'

‘Yes. No.' Catherine hesitated. ‘I am … I am …' she stumbled. ‘That is to say, Simon and I have not yet …'

‘This much I gathered.'

‘You know?'

‘'Tis obvious, methinks. My brother walks around as though he has not had a … a … well, he too looks like he is in much pain.'

‘What am I to do?'

‘There is no easy answer,' he winked. ‘Had you been an ordinary wench or even a lady of little repute, he would have bedded you by now and been done with it. Should things between you become unfriendly, he could simply take up the cross and rush off to the Holy Land.'

‘I see, but I am different?'

‘Quite. You are beautiful, young and pious – qualities that most men fear.'

‘I don't understand! What is there to fear?'

‘Ah well, there is loss, disappointment, rejection. Without love you have nothing to lose.'

‘Are you saying that Simon is afraid of me?'

‘Perhaps you should ask him,' Roderick suggested as they rose and turned back towards the house. ‘My wife says that men are pig-headed mules. Then they marry and under the direction of a comely wife, they become stubborn old bulls!'

‘That is not helpful, Roderick!'

‘I know,' he laughed as the supper bell rang.

‘Anaïs is near her time,' Simon offered across the table as it was cleared of soiled dishes.

Catherine nodded, shame-faced, having not given her maid any thought for months. She avoided Armand's gaze and concentrated instead on her meal of fresh fish and capons. He seemed jovial and laughed on several occasions with Simon and Gabriel, so she had to assume that all was well between them. Still, she could not resist peeping through her lashes at him. The bruising to his face was not as bad as she imagined, though she did feel a lingering guilt.

‘We will need to collect the infant and take it to Gillet.'

‘So, we return to England?' She could not keep the excitement from her voice. Finally the opportunity to spend time with Cécile.

‘I did not want to speak sooner in case my plans could not be fulfilled.'

Catherine rounded the table and gleefully threw her arms around his neck. She hugged him. ‘Thank you, Simon.'

‘I warn you, travelling with an infant across open sea will not be easy. You will need your wits about you.' Simon took hold of her elbow and encouraged her to sit beside him.

‘My wits?' she exclaimed.

‘Yes … and a good measure of skill.'

‘To do what?'

‘Lord, Catherine.' Exasperated, Simon raised his voice. ‘To look after the baby!'

‘I do not know how to care for a child!'

‘You don't?'

‘No. There were no children at the convent. I was the youngest.'

‘But I thought that you offered assistance to the sick. Surely there were infants amongst your fold? I had assumed …'

She tried to pull away from him, angry now that he was yelling at her for a problem that was not of her making. ‘I was of little use in the infirmary, so spent my time in the garden.'

‘You might have shared that information with me before I agreed to collect the babe.'

‘Lord Wexford, might I interrupt? There may be a wet-nurse in residence upon this estate. Would you like me to make inquiries?' offered Gabriel.

Catherine accompanied Simon to one of the outbuildings. It was as though a small village had sprung up alongside the enormous manor, housing the many servants employed within. The wet-nurse, Marie, seemed pleasant and listened intently as the circumstances were explained to her. But she was unwilling to travel with them, having only given birth to her own son weeks earlier.

‘He is too young to wean, Monsieur,' she explained. ‘Perhaps I could teach Madame to feed the child with a cow's horn and teat?'

‘She has much to learn.' Simon hinted under his breath.

‘So do you, M'lord,' Catherine retorted, turning away from her husband.

She started back to the main building as he made the necessary arrangements with the wet-nurse, but he was soon on Catherine's heels. ‘A man cannot read a woman's mind,' he huffed.