Authors: Alys Clare

Music of the Distant Stars (9 page)

BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars

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She had edged away from him slightly and was holding herself very stiffly. ‘It is of no matter, sir,’ she replied politely. ‘I have been adequately entertained by my cousin and his wife.’

‘I should have been here to look after you at this dreadful time,’ Sir Alain persisted, his voice pitched low, but nevertheless audible. ‘You have lost your seamstress and your friend, and all we here who knew Ida, albeit briefly, are aware how deep the grief must go for you who were so close to her.’

He was sitting beside her on her bench now, his arm around her thin waist as he tried to comfort her. Again she seemed to slide away from him, and I wondered if she might be embarrassed at his attentions. He meant well, I could see that, but perhaps it was not done to show your emotions so blatantly in the lord’s hall.

At last her reluctance penetrated even Sir Alain’s well-intentioned determination, and abruptly he stood up. Then he turned to look at Edild and me and said, ‘I wished to speak to you both, which was why I asked Lord Gilbert to keep you here until I arrived.’

He wanted to speak to us! Instinctively, I prepared myself, although I am not sure what it was I feared. But it was not what I had thought. Instead of starting to bark out questions – which, before this tense, taut audience, it would have been very hard to answer – he stepped forward, took my aunt and me by the arm and, turning us neatly around, ushered us towards the door. ‘I shall escort you back to the village,’ he announced, ‘and we shall talk as we go.’

The three of us reached the door, turned to bow to the lord, the lady and to Claude, and then we were outside, hurrying away across the courtyard and off down the track.

SIX

I
t was quite apparent that he had wanted to get us on our own, for why else would a man of Sir Alain’s standing offer to escort the two of us back to our house? Quite what his intention was, he did not immediately make clear. We would just have to wait, for it would be improper for the likes of us to ask a man of his position what he wanted with us.

He relaxed visibly almost as soon as the three of us had gone out through Lord Gilbert’s impressive gates. As we strode off down the path to the village, he turned to Edild and said, ‘So, you are the village healer.’

‘I am.’ Her answer was dignified, and clearly she saw no need to elaborate.

‘And Lassair here is your assistant?’

‘She is my apprentice.’

He looked from one to the other of us. We were dressed for work – well, we had just been working – and both wore white aprons over our plain gowns, our hair covered by neat kerchiefs. We are often told we are alike, and I suppose that the garb emphasized our similarity. ‘You look more like mother and daughter,’ he observed.

Neither of us responded.

We walked on for a few paces, and then he said, ‘About Lady Claude.’

Edild shot me a glance, and I raised my eyebrows in reply. We waited. Watching Sir Alain closely, I could have sworn he blushed slightly. Then he said, ‘She is very shocked by Ida’s death. When she knew she was to marry me, it was arranged that she should come here to meet me and stay for these weeks before our wedding with her cousin, Lord Gilbert. She had no hesitation in bringing Ida with her, so impressed had Claude become by Ida’s skill with her needle.’

I badly wanted to ask a question, but was not sure if I dared. He might appear relaxed with us, but if I stepped over that invisible but very high fence that divided a man like him from a girl like me, he would no doubt freeze me and clam up, and then we would learn no more. Ask or stay silent? Ask.

‘When did she come to Lakehall, Sir Alain?’ I asked meekly.

He smiled down at me. ‘When did she come?’ He appeared to have to think about it. ‘Let me see, it must have been a month ago – perhaps a little less.’ I thought I had got away with it, but then his eyes narrowed slightly and he said, ‘Why?’

I had prepared an answer. ‘Oh, I was just wondering why we in the village didn’t know she was there. Sometimes when Lord Gilbert has important guests, some of us are summoned to serve them in some way. But Lady Claude was here to work on her trousseau, and she brought her own seamstress with her, so had no need to call on any of us.’ I gave him my best ingenuous, wide-eyed, not very bright look, hoping he’d take me as a simple village girl who had taken a hopeless fancy to him.

He did. He was, as I’ve already said, a flirt. He had been astute enough to ask why I wanted to know when Lady Claude had arrived, but, like many attractive men, he was susceptible to a young woman’s admiration. He was still looking at me and so, maintaining the pretence of the smitten young maid, I gave him a shy little smile and modestly lowered my eyes.

I had learned what I wanted to know. Ida had already been pregnant when she’d come with her mistress to Lakehall.

‘You must understand about Lady Claude,’ Sir Alain was saying. ‘She dearly wanted to be – that is, her life has not taken the course she originally envisaged. Dutiful daughter that she is, she has bowed to the wishes of her mother and agreed to marry me.’ He hesitated. ‘Both our families greatly desire this union.’ And Edild and I both knew why, even if Sir Alain did not explain. ‘Lady Claude—’ Again he hesitated. Then his words emerged in a rush, and I knew what he was trying to do. ‘She brought Ida here to her death. She feels so very guilty. If she sounded unfeeling back there –’ he nodded in the direction of the hall – ‘it’s only because of the shock of what has happened and her quite natural sense that, had she not selected Ida as her seamstress, the poor girl would still be alive.’

As an apology for the lady, it was well reasoned, and I ought to have been convinced. My estimation for this man rose considerably, for he was gallantly defending his future wife’s actions. More than that, he had agreed that she would be his wife, yet all that I had seen of the two of them – admittedly not much so far – shouted out that they were vastly different people and their chances of happiness slim. Still, as I well knew, people in their level of society married for many reasons, and love rarely featured at all.

I was unconvinced by his words, though, because I had also heard what Lord Gilbert had to say of his cousin. I had formed a clear and not very flattering impression of a purse-mouthed woman who treasured her precious linens above the comfort of her sewing girl, forcing Ida to sleep locked away in the sewing room to guard them. And, of course, I had met the lady. Whatever Sir Alain might say, I had already made up my mind about Lady Claude.

I became aware that Edild was speaking, saying something courteous and, I thought, insincere about Lady Claude’s distress and its cause, and offering her professional help if it became necessary. I made myself listen.

‘That is very kind, Edild,’ Sir Alain replied. ‘I will pass on your offer to Claude.’ He fell silent, frowning, then said, ‘I wished to speak to you concerning the simpleton who has been dogging Ida’s footsteps.’

My heart gave a lurch, and I could feel its hard, fast pounding right up in my throat. All my terror for Derman, for Zarina, for my own family, came surging back. It was all the more powerful because Sir Alain’s well-meaning defence of Claude’s behaviour back in the hall had allowed it to fade to the back of my mind. My awful suspicion that Derman might be responsible for Ida’s death would surely be visible in my eyes, so I kept them down and surreptitiously eased my kerchief forward over my face.

‘Simpleton?’ Edild echoed the word, making it plain by her tone that she queried its use.

Sir Alain waved an impatient hand. ‘I do not know what you would call him,’ he said tersely. ‘He’s a big lad, shambling gait, large head, loose mouth. Little intelligence, so they say.’

‘He is an unfortunate who was born lacking wits,’ Edild said coolly. ‘He is in the care of his sister, who lodges with a village washerwoman. He helps with some of the heavy work. His name is Derman.’

She did not say, as I’d hoped she would,
he is quite harmless
. Oh, perhaps she, too, had her suspicions . . .

‘Derman,’ Sir Alain repeated. ‘Well, it appears that your Derman fell for Ida. I am told that he saw her out collecting wild flowers and followed her back to Lakehall. That was two or three weeks back, and since then he has appeared regularly at the hall, lurking outside the gates in case Ida should appear. He makes – he used to make little posies for her, clumsy things of a few grass stems woven together with a couple of flowers stuck in. He’d leave them outside the kitchen door, although oddly enough nobody ever saw him there or worked out how he got in without anyone noticing him. Both the courtyard gates and the smaller, rear entrance behind the kitchen are always watched in the daytime, then locked and bolted at night.’ He shot Edild a glance. ‘He is sly, your
unfortunate
.’ He emphasized the word she had used.

Edild did not speak for some moments. Then she said calmly, ‘If, as you say, Derman had fallen in love with Ida, then surely you cannot be suggesting that he
harmed
her in any way?’ She managed to make the suggestion sound quite absurd.

Sir Alain had the grace to look abashed. Then, rallying, he said, ‘The man is not like the rest of us. How can anybody say what he would or would not do? If he felt Ida had rejected him, he might well have attacked her.’

Edild shook her head firmly. ‘I think not, Sir Alain.’

He muttered an oath. Then, grabbing both Edild and me by the arm, he urged us on towards the village. I knew where we were going, and my heart started hammering again. I wished there was some way I could rush on ahead and warn them, but, as if he knew my intention, he held me fast.

Inexorably, the distance between us and the humble little house of the washerwoman grew less.

Sir Alain banged on the door – which, it turned out, was ajar and not fastened. It fell open at his pounding, revealing a small room crammed with a disorder of objects, with a narrow bed in one corner and a cot opposite the hearth. Both beds were too small for a big man like Derman, and I guessed that he slept in the lean-to on the side of the house. He would bluster about in this confined space like a maddened bull, knocking over the cooking utensils, the crudely-made stools, the bundles of kindling beside the hearth, the display of personal possessions beside the bed in the corner. The cot was the only orderly space in the room, and I knew instinctively that it was where Zarina slept.

There was another little door at the rear of the room, and it, too, was open, giving on to a narrow path that wound away to the water’s edge. I could see two figures out there: on the bank was the rounded shape of the washerwoman, kneeling down and rubbing hard at whatever item was receiving her attention, her large bottom up in the air. I could hear her humming to herself as she worked. The other figure was slim, straight-backed, graceful, and walking up the path towards the house.

We all stared at Zarina, and she stared right back.

She wore a gown of the coarsest cloth, and over it she had tied a sacking apron. The hems of both gown and apron were soaking wet, and there were splashes all over her front. Her hands were red and raw; in places the flesh had cracked open. I could not see that detail just then, but I knew all about Zarina’s hands. I made the remedy myself.

Her throat rose gracefully from the rough neck of her gown. Zarina always holds herself like a dancer, and just one look at her reminds you of her past, when she lived and worked with the troupe of entertainers. Her luscious hair was wound in a plait and pinned on top of her head; rarely among us, she never covers her head. Her golden eyes and her fine-boned face were illuminated by the sunlight, her firm, pale-oak skin glowing from her exertions.

I thought she looked lovely. Sir Alain’s sudden indrawn breath suggested he thought so too.

Zarina came into the house and deposited the bundle of dry, folded linen she was carrying on to her cot. She greeted me, nodded to Edild and looked enquiringly at Sir Alain. He took a step towards her and said, ‘Your name?’

‘I am called Zarina.’ Her voice was quite deep, her tone assured.

‘You have a brother, Derman?’

She hesitated. Then she nodded.

‘Where is he?’

‘I do not know.’

Sir Alain muttered a curse. ‘But he lives here, or so I am told.’ He looked around.

‘Derman does indeed live here,’ Zarina said. ‘He sleeps in the lean-to.’

‘So where is he?’ Sir Alain repeated. He sounded angry.

Zarina raised her chin. ‘I have not seen him since yesterday evening.’

Was she telling the truth or was she trying to protect her brother? I searched her face, trying to decide.

‘Explain.’ Sir Alain’s single word bit through the tense atmosphere.

‘Derman went to bed as usual yesterday evening after supper. We eat and retire for the night early, for our day’s work is hard. This morning he did not appear for breakfast and so I went to call him, thinking he had overslept. He was not there.’

‘His bed had been slept in?’ Sir Alain demanded.

Zarina shrugged. ‘It is hard to say. Probably, yes.’

‘So he ran away some time during the night . . .’

BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars

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