Winter Song (35 page)

Alys’s glance passed right over the little girls as her mind
sought what “charge” could be given to her in a storage room or maid’s sleeping
chamber. Jewels, which she could then be accused of taking without permission?
Nonsense. Margot and Jeanine had heard Lady Jeannette say she was about to give
her something.

Then a slight movement by the children, a shrinking
together, brought Alys’s eyes back to them. The posture, the place, the tears
had already added up in some subconscious part of Alys’s mind to “punishment”.
Her own experience with being whipped and then told to sit and consider her
sins had been liberal—Alys had been a very willful and mischievous little girl.
Now, suddenly, Alys associated the “charge” with the punishment. It would be just
like Lady Jeannette to tell the poor little creatures they were to be whipped
and then make them wait and, in addition, try to make Alys do the whipping.

Alys had just got as far as thinking,
No, I will not
,
when Lady Jeannette said, “This is Fenice, and this is Enid,” gesturing toward
the children in turn. “They are Raymond’s daughters.”

“Raymond’s daughters!” Alys echoed. She could not believe
her ears. Raymond would have told her had he been married previously.

“My son is not a eunuch, as you know,” Lady Jeannette said,
elated by the shock Alys displayed and misunderstanding its cause. “They are
baseborn, the mother was a common serf, but they are Raymond’s—or, at least, he
says he believes they are—so they belong in his household.”

Alys had been staring at the little girls, who were
clutching each other even more tightly and struggling to repress renewed sobs.
Nonetheless, she had managed to take in the contempt in Lady Jeannette’s voice
when she called them baseborn. Two feelings struck Alys at once, relief that
Raymond had not lied about or “forgotten” to mention a previous marriage and
jealousy of the children’s mother. Almost instantly her mind recalled the words
“was a common serf”, fixing on the past tense and eagerly leaping to the
assumption that the children’s mother was dead. The fact that the younger child
was at least four years of age further encouraged Alys’s self-delusion.

Meanwhile, Lady Jeannette had turned angrily on Fenice and
Enid, calling them stupid little sluts and ordering them to make their curtsies
to their new mother. The use of the word “mother” was deliberate and emphasized.
Lady Jeannette found it offensive that Alys, not nearly as highbred as she,
should call
her
“mother”. She was certain that Alys would feel even more
violently about having lowborn bastards call her “mother”.

The stools were too high for the children’s short legs to
reach the floor, and the poor things had been sitting on them, frozen with fear
and cold, for hours. They had always been afraid of “the great ladies”, having
picked up their mother’s terror of the nobility. They were particularly afraid
of their grandmother, since Lucie had repeatedly warned them to stay out of
Lady Jeannette’s way—and Lady Jeannette’s attitude toward them when she did
come across them had done nothing to reduce their fear. Her manner of ordering
them dressed in their best and telling Lucie that they were to be “taken away”
by a new mother, and then of telling them that they must not make a sound or
move from the stools, had, naturally, induced terror in them. They had
literally moved as little as possible, so that their little legs were quite
numb. In attempting to obey Lady Jeannette’s harsh order, both finally tumbled
down from their stools.

Whatever Alys’s reaction might have been under other
circumstances, this pathetic sight overcame any reservations. She leapt forward
and then knelt beside the sobbing children, gathering them into her arms.

“My poor little dears,” she cried. “Are you hurt? Those
stools were too high for you. You shall have smaller ones. Come, loveys, do not
weep. Alys will make all better. Tell Alys where you are hurt.”

This softness surprised Fenice and Enid very much, for
though their mother loved them, she had neither the time nor the type of
personal experience that would lead her to cosseting her children. They stopped
crying to look up with wonder at this soft-voiced, sweet-smelling great lady.

“There, my dears, there,” Alys soothed, falling
automatically into the tone of voice and words her own nurse had used with her.
“There is nothing to be afraid of anymore. Alys will take good care of you.”
She set them on their feet and smiled at them. “You are Fenice,” she said to
the taller child, and was rewarded with a shy nod. “And you are Enid.” The
little one only stared with wide, dark eyes. “I am your papa’s wife,” Alys
continued, “and I am sure you love your papa. I also love your papa, so I must
love you, too, and I am sure you will learn to love me.”

Lady Jeannette had been listening to this in blank amazement.
She simply could not believe that Alys meant what she said. Tear-stained and
sniffling children, even her own, had never appealed to Lady Jeannette. She had
occasionally enjoyed playing with her own babies when they were happy, but had
handed them back to their nurse at the first sign of whimpers. All she could
think was that Alys believed
she
was fond of the creatures and wished to
take them away to spite her. Alys had certainly been horrified when she first
heard that Raymond had children. It was inconceivable that Alys had changed her
tune so rapidly without good reason to do so.

In a sense Lady Jeannette was correct. Alys’s warmth—after
she had recovered from the shock of learning that Raymond was a father—had been
generated by pity. However, even as she soothed Fenice and Enid, her mind had
been working on a different level from her tongue. She had seen in the children
a solution to a whole series of problems. Not only would Fenice and Enid
provide some antidote to boredom, but they could be used as an excuse for
avoiding too much of Lady Jeannette’s company or Margot’s music lessons. What
was more, their education could be used as a cover for almost any activity in
which Alys wished to engage.

Now, rising to her feet, she took one little hand in each of
hers and became aware that the children were shivering and cold as ice. Their
dresses were far too thin, Alys saw, and a little too small, also. It occurred
at once to Alys that the gowns might have been given or ordered by Raymond the
preceding spring when he was last at home for an extended period, and being
their “best”, they had been clothed in these inappropriate garments to meet
their new mother. What was more, the children had clearly been prepared to meet
her as soon as she arrived in the morning. That meant the poor creatures had
been waiting in that icy room for hours. And then, Lady Jeannette had calmly
gone on playing that stupid game… Before she even thought to restrain herself,
Alys cast a furious glance at Lady Jeannette.

“Have they a nurse?” Alys asked icily.

The enraged glance, the icy voice, and the question about
the nurse confirmed all Lady Jeannette’s hopes about Alys’s rage at being
saddled with Raymond’s lowborn get. “Of course not,” Lady Jeannette replied. “Since
when do serf-children have nurses?”

She almost added that their mother gave them such care as
was necessary for a serf’s children, when she recalled that Lucie was no longer
supposed to be living in the keep. Raymond had told her to have the woman
married off, but that was ridiculous. Sometimes her son was too soft, and
always to the wrong people. Imagine saying that Lucie had a right to a life of
her own. She was a good weaver, one of the best she had, and Lady Jeannette had
no intention of losing her labors. Instead, Lucie had been told to keep out of
sight.

Alys bit back an angry retort, which she knew would do no
good. Not much interested in Fenice and Enid at first, she had been forced by
Lady Jeannette’s indifferent cruelty into active championship of the two shivering
mites she was now holding close to her sides for whatever warmth they could
find in her full-skirted gown. This was no time to cross Lady Jeannette, who,
seeing that she did not regard the “charge” as onerous, might try to take the
children back. Alys lowered her glittering eyes, fearing that too much might be
read in them.

“May I ask one of the women to collect the children’s
clothing, then?” Alys asked. “They are cold.”

“Nonsense. Serfs do not feel the cold any more than dogs.
Anyway, the clothes are here.”

Lady Jeannette gestured to two bundles, feeling more and
more pleased with her ploy. Alys had wasted her time trying to conceal her
anger, a reaction which Lady Jeannette had expected. Lady Jeannette would
herself have been furious to have baseborn bastards thrust upon her. No doubt
Alys would complain to Raymond. He would not like that, Lady Jeannette thought,
neither the aspersions cast on his daughters nor the anger displayed toward his
mother. And then, all that sweetness to the little girls. Surely that was a
clean cover over ugly intentions.

Raymond feels the cold
, Alys thought, and his blood
runs in these veins. But she did not give voice to the words in her mind. She
only told the children to hold to her dress while she stooped to pick up the bundles
of clothing.
Raymond’s blood
. The thought brought a rush of tenderness
and then a prick of jealousy as she thought of the mother. But the mother was
gone, and these little girls were no more threat to her, Alys knew, than she
had been to Lady Elizabeth. There were many ways a man could love, and a father’s
fondness for his daughters did not encroach on what he felt for his wife.

“I will take them down to the hall,” Alys said, “so that
their noise will not disturb you.”

Alys could not bring herself to say “mother” this time, but
Lady Jeannette did not seem to notice the omission and merely nodded. It was
well that Lady Jeannette had already implied so strongly that the children were
not to
her
taste. Had she been less open, Alys would have had them change
their dresses before the fire in Lady Jeannette’s solar for the sake of warming
them more quickly, and that would have precipitated a bitter quarrel. Alys’s
caution would not have been proof against her temper when she saw the bruises
the edge of the stools had made on the legs of the little girls in the hours
they had been forced to sit and wait.

Chapter Sixteen

Actually the rage Alys felt at Lady Jeannette’s cruelty to
her helpless grandchildren produced, strangely enough, a most happy effect.
Unable to vent her fury on her mother-by-marriage, Alys turned it to tenderness
toward Fenice and Enid, which further melted the reserve they felt toward this
very different great-lady-mother. Enid, who because she was younger was less
imbued with her mother’s fear of the lords, began to chatter. Fenice was quiet
unless a direct question was asked her. A sense of her own unworthiness had
been deeply implanted in her, but she saw that Lady Alys listened to Enid with
pleasure and amusement. Fenice stood as close as she dared to this kind,
beautiful “mother” and, when she thought Alys would not notice, gently touched
her sleeve or dress to reassure herself that Alys was real.

It was easy to direct Enid’s artless confidences. Alys
discovered that the children had been taught nothing. Their speech was better
than that of common serfs because they echoed the accent and vocabulary of the
maids, and Fenice could do some rough sewing and knew the elements of weaving.
They adored their father and were timidly fond of their grandfather. Both men
were kind, whenever they noticed the children, but Alys gathered this notice
came infrequently. They had been told, it seemed, never to approach either man,
especially their grandfather. Enid began to explain this further, but Fenice
shushed her. Alys assumed Enid had been about to admit that it was Lady
Jeannette who had ordered them to keep out of the way, and the wiser, more
politic Fenice had not wanted her sister to criticize their grandmother.

Alys did not press the question. Instead she smiled at
Fenice, who confessed, “But sometimes we do speak to Father. He always seems
glad to see us.”

“I am certain he is, my loves,” Alys assured them, “and you must
understand that he does not seek you out more often because his mind is filled
with large, important things. But you will both see more of him now because we
will all live together. When he has time, I will call you, and we will all play
games.”

“Play games?” Fenice echoed.

Alys laughed. “Not the kind of games you play with your sister
or with the other children. These are special games, but you will enjoy them.
Only I will have to teach you how to play. Then we will surprise your papa with
your cleverness.”

“Are we clever?” Enid asked.

“Yes, indeed, and beautiful, too,” Alys said and then felt a
little surprised because she realized she had spoken the truth.

The children were very pretty, with masses of dark, curling
hair, rather tangled and not as clean as it should be, but that would be easily
amended. And there could be no doubt at all that Fenice was Raymond’s. His
light eyes, not so hard and bright, but his nonetheless, looked out of her
face. Her skin, however, was quite light, not the translucent alabaster of Alys’s,
but a warm cream. Enid was the one with Raymond’s complexion, dark and smooth,
but her eyes must be her mother’s, large, luminous, and soft as black velvet.
Their
mother must have been beautiful
, Alys thought, with another stab of
jealousy.

Emboldened by Alys’s praise, Enid had just begun to say how
quickly and well she would learn the new games when Raymond’s voice cut across
hers. “Fenice! Enid!” And after a slight pause, “
Sacre bleu
, Alys!”

The girls ran to him, and he stooped and caught one in each
arm automatically, but his eyes were on Alys and his skin was dark flushed red.
It was clear enough that he was appalled by the association of his wife and his
natural daughters. Fearing he would say something that would hurt the little
girls, Alys forestalled him. “Your mother gave the girls into my care, my lord,”
she said quickly. “And I am most happy to have them. Your mother said they
belonged in your household, and I agree with that, too, with all my heart.”
Conflicting emotions rippled across Raymond’s face, anger and relief and
embarrassment. “You…want them?” he stammered.