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Authors: Alys Clare

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BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars
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Bermund returned with the cold water – it really was icy cold, as I discovered when I soaked a piece of clean linen in it; he must have drawn it fresh from the deep well outside the kitchen – and then he stepped back, looking worriedly down at Lady Emma. I sensed she wanted nobody but her husband just then – oh, and me, I supposed – and, turning to him, I said very politely and respectfully, ‘I think Lady Emma needs to rest, sir.’
He took the hint. He bowed to the lord and lady, nodded curtly to me and turned to go. Before he did so he looked at Lord Gilbert in enquiry, and Lord Gilbert said, ‘I will send for you very soon, Bermund. Meanwhile, get someone over to Alderhall and find Sir Alain. I must speak with him.’
Bermund bowed again and hurried away.
Sir Alain? Alderhall? I did not recognize the names. Not that it mattered just then. I wrung out the linen cloth and gently bathed Lady Emma’s cheeks and forehead; her faint had made her sweat, and her face was hot and flushed. I looked up at Lord Gilbert and back to Lady Emma and, nerving myself, said, ‘It’s clear that you, my lady, know who the poor dead girl was. Could you – I mean, would it be all right if you told me?’
It was certainly not my place to ask such a thing, and I was quite prepared for Lord Gilbert to command me to mind my own business and get out before he threw me out. But he is, as I’ve said, easy-going. In addition, he is neither cruel nor particularly unreasonable, and I had, after all, just saved his pregnant wife from falling down a flight of stone steps. Perhaps he felt I had earned an explanation.
He sighed, then looked at his wife. She said softly, ‘Tell her, Gilbert.’
He turned back to me. ‘We believe we do indeed know her identity, and her death grieves us both, for in the short time we have known her we have grown to like her.’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘She is an affectionate, cheerful, amusing little thing, and the children love her, for she is generous with her small amount of free time and always ready for a cuddle or a game.’
It sounded as if the dead girl had been employed at the manor as a nursemaid, which was odd because I thought they already had one. Then I remembered something; something I had noticed immediately before Edild had uncovered the evidence of the girl’s pregnancy. Oh, I thought now,
oh
, but it explained the beautiful embroidery and the well-made gown, as well as the dead girl’s presence at Lakehall.
‘She was a seamstress!’ I exclaimed.
They both looked at me in astonishment. Lady Emma said tentatively, ‘How – er, how did you know that?’
I wished I could say I had gazed into my scrying ball and seen a vision of the dead girl bent over her sewing, but it would have been a lie. ‘I saw her hands,’ I said. ‘In particular, her left forefinger. It was covered in tiny pricks and there was dead skin loose on the tip.’ When you sew, if you are right-handed, the needle repeatedly stabs into your left forefinger. It doesn’t hurt, really, unless you make a mistake and push the needle too hard, but it always leaves its unique mark.
‘I see,’ Lord Gilbert murmured. ‘Very observant, I must say.’ He looked at me, and I saw both respect and resentment in his expression. Typical of his sort, he did not really like observant women. With the exception of his wife, he probably found all clever women a threat.
Lady Emma took his hand and said something softly to him. His expression cleared and he managed a smile. ‘We’re grateful, er—’
‘Lassair,’ said Lady Emma.
‘We’re grateful, Lassair, that you came straight to us with this terrible news,’ he said. ‘What more can you tell us?’
I collected my thoughts and then described as succinctly and accurately as I could what my aunt and I had found and what we had done.
I could tell that Lord Gilbert was affected by my tale. He started to speak, and his voice broke with emotion. He paused, and I realized that he was struggling to control himself. ‘This girl – her name is Ida – is, as you say, a seamstress, in the employ of my cousin, the lady Claude de Seés, who is at present staying with us as she prepares for her wedding. My cousin is, indeed, busy sewing her trousseau. Her marriage linen,’ he added helpfully, although in fact I knew the word. ‘Hence, er, hence the need for a seamstress to assist her.’ He stopped, frowning. ‘She – er, Ida was reported missing this morning. She eats breakfast in the servants’ hall, but today she did not turn up. The others waited for a while to see if she had overslept and would soon come hurrying along out of breath and worried because she was late – she loves her food, you see – but she did not. In the end, one of them went to rouse her, but she was not there.’
‘Where does she sleep?’ Not with the other servants, it appeared, or they would have noticed her absence when they’d woken up.
Lord Gilbert glanced quickly at Lady Emma, and I sensed that for some reason he was discomfited. ‘My cousin, the lady Claude, is very protective of her trousseau. Quite understandably,’ he protested, although I had made no remark, ‘for she is a wealthy woman and has amassed household and personal linens of great value, all most beautifully sewn, I have no doubt, although I have not myself seen any examples of the work, nor, indeed, would I expect—’
Lady Emma came to his rescue. ‘My husband’s cousin is very aware of the need to take every precaution against theft,’ she said, and I noticed that her carefully neutral tone did not give away what she thought of Lady Claude’s behaviour. ‘For this reason, she insists that all work on her trousseau is performed in a small room, whose door is kept locked. She also insists on the presence of someone to watch over the precious items at all times, this person being Ida.’ She looked down at her hand, which still clasped Lord Gilbert’s. ‘We arranged a truckle bed in there for the poor girl. I believe she was adequately comfortable. Certainly, she did not complain. She was always ready with a smile and a bright remark.’
I was starting to dislike Lady Claude. I had heard sufficient tales of the way some lords and ladies treated their servants and, in truth, locking a girl into a small room each night so that her presence would safeguard a pile of linen was not bad at all by the standards of the times. It was just that I kept seeing that pretty face, all ready for laughter. The thought of Ida shut up all by herself, away from everybody else and missing any fun that might be happening, was all but unbearable.
Not that I dared say so. I cleared my throat and straightened my back, determined not to give away my private feelings. I also resolved not to mention Ida’s pregnancy; it seemed that she had not been married and, if the lords and ladies here at the hall did not know of her condition, then I wasn’t going to be the one to tell them. Let the poor girl keep her secret.
‘Your aunt has remained with – with the body?’ Lord Gilbert said gruffly.
‘Yes. She felt that the dead girl should not be left alone.’
‘Quite right, quite right,’ Lord Gilbert rumbled. He glanced towards the door through which Bermund had disappeared. ‘Where is he?’ he muttered. ‘What can be taking him so long?’
I decided to risk my luck once more. ‘You said he was to fetch someone called Sir Alain?’ I said, making it a question.
Lord Gilbert’s brows descended in a frown. It was Lady Emma who answered. ‘Yes. Sir Alain de Villequier.’ A Norman, then. Of course. ‘He’s recently been appointed our local justiciar.’
I did not know what she meant. Now was not the moment to find out, however. I stored the words
local justiciar
away in my head.
‘We shall await his arrival,’ Lord Gilbert announced. ‘Then you, girl, you will take him out to the place where you found her.’
He had, I noticed, spoken of Ida all the time in the present tense. Now, as he spoke of the place where she lay dead, it seemed that finally the truth was catching up with him. Ida was dead; she lay on the fresh summer grass beside my grandmother’s grave.
As I watched, Lord Gilbert’s hazel eyes filled with tears. Belatedly, he covered his face with his hands, and I heard Lady Emma make an inarticulate sound of distress. They had both cared for Ida, I thought. She might have been no more than a sewing girl in Lord Gilbert’s cousin’s employ, but she had made her mark on this household. The children had loved her because she had played with them, cuddled them, and, I had no doubt, had also told them funny stories, tickled them, and made them laugh. Hearing of her death had made Lady Emma swoon, and now as her husband faced up to the fact that Ida was gone, he had given in to his sorrow and wept.
They were all going to miss her.
THREE
 
W
herever they had expected this Sir Alain de Villequier to be, it became clear that he wasn’t there. We waited for him to come, Lord Gilbert, Lady Emma and I, and after a while the wait became uneasy, then embarrassing. For all of us; lords and ladies do not normally spend any length of time with lowly people such as I, and, as for me, I was steadily growing more and more aware of my dishevelled appearance. Edild and I might have tidied each other up sufficiently to approach my Granny’s grave, but standards in Lord Gilbert’s hall were considerably more elevated.
We all exchanged several furtive glances, and I knew they wanted rid of me as badly as I wanted to go. Finally, Lord Gilbert had had enough. He got up from Lady Emma’s couch, strode across the hall and launched himself through the doorway through which Bermund had disappeared.
With his departure, much of the awkwardness vanished. Lady Emma looked up at me and murmured, ‘Oh, dear.’ Then, to my surprise, she smiled.
I smiled back; she has that sort of face. No matter what mood you’re in – and just then mine wasn’t very good, given all that I’d been through since I got up – it’s hard not to be affected by Lady Emma’s smile. ‘I’m sorry I’m still here,’ I said. It was a daft remark, but Lady Emma was quite disarming and I’d said exactly what I was thinking.
‘It’s hardly your fault, Lassair,’ she said. ‘My husband asked you to stay, so that when Sir Alain arrives, you can take him out to where you found poor Ida.’
It was tactful of her to have said Lord Gilbert had
asked
me. I’d have said
ordered
or
commanded
was nearer the mark.
I looked at her, and I guessed by the sadness in her face that she was thinking about the dead girl. I wanted to turn her thoughts elsewhere, but I wasn’t quick enough. Before I’d had a chance to come up with some innocuous remark, she spoke again.
‘Did she – oh, I know I should not ask you this, but it’s all I can think about. Lassair, did Ida suffer?’
I met her eyes. ‘I cannot say, my lady.’ That was true; there had been no time to find out how the girl had died. By now Edild probably had a good idea, for she would not have wasted this long period of waiting by the body.
‘Could it possibly have been a dreadful accident?’ Lady Emma asked. ‘She might have tripped and fallen into the grave, perhaps banging her head as she fell . . . Oh, no.’ Her face fell, and there was no need for either of us to say it: if Ida had met her death by accident, who had wrapped her in the shroud and replaced the stone slab over the grave?
I watched Lady Emma closely. I could see the distress rising in her. She was muttering under her breath, one hand clutching at her throat, the other on her belly. My impression was that her health was reasonably robust, but it doesn’t do to take any chances, especially when a woman is in the early stages of pregnancy. I reached down to the small leather bag that hung from my belt, mentally reminding myself of the small store of herbs that I usually carry in it. Yes; I had what I needed.
‘My lady,’ I said softly, ‘will you permit me to make a comforting drink for you? I have a remedy with me that is calming and promotes rest.’
She shot a look at me, and I had the impression that her first instinct was to refuse. Perhaps she wished to remain fully alert because she wanted to hear more news of Ida as soon as there was any. But then she slumped back into her pillows and nodded. She picked up a bell that was on the floor by her couch and rang it, sending the servant who quickly answered its summons to fetch hot water and a mug. I made up a mild sedative, and soon Lady Emma slipped into a doze.
I settled myself on the floor beside her, leaned back against the couch and let my head sink down on to the soft woolly blanket. Time passed, and in the still silence of the cool hall, I almost fell asleep myself.
There was a sudden commotion outside in the courtyard. The sound of a horse’s hooves, then loud male voices. I detected anger. Then someone hushed the speakers and I heard heavy footsteps coming up the steps. Getting hurriedly to my feet, I stepped forward to meet Lord Gilbert as he came puffing into the hall, Bermund at his side. Behind them was a man I had never seen before.
I studied him. He was a big bear of a man, tall and broad. He was younger than Lord Gilbert; around the mid-twenties, I guessed. His light-brown hair was worn long but, unlike many young men who followed the new fashion set by the king and his intimate circle, Alain de Villequier had neither flowing beard nor elaborate moustache. He wore a blue robe cinched with a handsome leather belt with a gold clasp and carried a short hunting knife in a scabbard at his side. He had been riding hard – hunting, perhaps, for the knife was stained – and his light cloak was thrown back. His face was rugged rather than handsome, the mouth wide, the light eyes crinkled at the corners. There was a vitality about him that was very attractive, and I guessed that he was a man whom people liked and who made friends readily.
BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars
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