Authors: Emily Murdoch
Catheryn sat and watched, from the middle of her favourite field, another summer come and go without getting one single step closer to her daughter.
She had thought, when she first arrived here, that the pain would lessen as time went on. And in many ways, it had. Every moment of her day was not wrapped in concern over Annis; she did not start every time she thought she saw a blonde girl wander past her; she no longer cried out in the night as she watched her daughter be taken away from her, again, and again, and again.
But Catheryn, watching one of the last golden leaves fall from the trees before her, could not pretend that the pain was gone. This grief, if grief it was, did not leave her alone, but was instead a constant companion. Sometimes silent, sometimes vocal, there was never any doubt that it was there.
Fitz had been gone for several months now. His leaving had been sudden, hurried. The contents of the letter that he had received, the night before he had left, had clearly troubled him. Catheryn could see that they troubled Adeliza still, but the two women had not spoken of it. They had barely spoken to each other at all.
Adeliza had wrapped herself in her children. They were her fortress, and her strength. They were the only things worthy of her attention, and Catheryn left them together.
After the death of Isabella, the family had closed in upon itself, like a creature that had suffered pain and wanted to retreat. Catheryn was not unwelcome, but she was more like a remembrance of a former life than a guest, and more of a servant than a prisoner. To be sure, she was not treated unkindly: but she was barely noticed at all.
Catheryn fell back onto the autumn grass with a sigh. She closed her eyes. She could remember when William, the eldest son, had come to visit his mother.
He had been a gentle man, but Catheryn had seen no love in his eyes. She was sad to see that he understood his mother very well – too well. Oh, young William was still quite clearly grieving at the loss of his sister. Catheryn had been told that his first child had just been born, and they had named it Isabella, after the beloved sister that had been lost. But none of the children – not William, nor Roger, and especially not Emma – could forgive their mother for refusing to comfort and console Isabella in her final hours.
It was this lack of forgiveness that Catheryn was trying to escape. Once again, she was lying on her back in the middle of a field, trying to put as much distance between herself and the awkwardness of the castle as she could.
But she could not avoid it for long, and she could certainly not avoid it forever: not if she wanted to eat. Groaning slightly at the resistance her bones put up to the movement she made, Catheryn rose, and stretched. Parts of her ached that had never ached before. By the position of the sun, Catheryn guessed that it was around midday. Time for her to break her fast.
Catheryn spent the entire day without seeing a single soul after breaking her fast, and she was glad of it. It was easier, not speaking to anyone, not being given the chance to offend. That evening, however, she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to spend some time with the household. Despite being a prisoner, she was still a noble woman.
Roger and Emma looked up when she entered. They were eating in silence, whilst the servants ate further down the table, murmuring quietly as so not to intrude.
Catheryn followed Roger and Emma’s example, and finished her meal quickly. After a brief smile to Emma, she returned to her chambers.
Catheryn followed this pattern for three days – until she realised that there was something amiss. Although she spent almost no time at all with the family, she still
saw
Emma and Roger at least once each day: but the same could not be said of their mother. Catheryn calculated that she had not seen Adeliza for over four days.
“Emma,” she said quietly one evening, “how is your mother?”
Emma smiled wanly. She had still not totally accepted that Isabella was gone.
“My mother?”
Catheryn nodded. “I have not seen her for many days.”
“You know, neither have I,” Emma confessed. “But I know that Roger has been keeping an eye on her.”
“My apologies, sister,” said Roger. Catheryn smiled to see him; his sister’s death and the removal of his father once more had really brought out the man in him. “But I have not seen our lady mother for five days. I had assumed that you were reading with her each of these afternoons.”
“And I had supposed that you were.” The siblings stared at each other in confusion.
“Are you saying,” Catheryn said quietly, “that no one has seen your mother in over three days?”
Both Emma and Roger nodded.
Catheryn stood up. “I must go and see her. There must be – although, I am sure that she just prefers her own company. I will, however, take her some fruit. She must be hungry.”
The worried faces of Emma and Roger stuck in Catheryn’s mind as she hurried down the corridor towards Adeliza’s chamber. She had never been back there, not since that dreadful night. It felt wrong, in a way, trespassing on Adeliza’s privacy. Catheryn bit her lip.
She was standing outside the door to Adeliza’s chamber. Should she go in? Was it really her place to be so inquisitive?
For a moment, Catheryn started to go back. Emma was Adeliza’s daughter; surely she should be the one to go to her mother.
But then she stopped, and shook herself. There was nothing to be afraid of. She should check that nothing had happened to Adeliza.
With a trembling hand, Catheryn knocked on the door.
“My lady?”
There was no answer. Catheryn knocked again, slightly harder now, and three times.
“My lady Adeliza? It is Catheryn. I have brought you some fruit. May I come in?”
Catheryn listened at the door for any sort of reply, but she did not receive one.
She opened the door.
Then Catheryn screamed. There, lying on the bed, was Adeliza. Her face was pale, almost white, and there was a sheen of perspiration across her forehead. Her hair was greasy and lank, and she was shivering.
Catheryn rushed over to her.
“Adeliza!” Her skin was boiling, like a fire. Adeliza opened her eyes, and murmured, but the words that she uttered did not make sense.
“Adeliza?” Catheryn put her hand on Adeliza’s forehead, and felt the fever burn within her.
Adeliza was sick. She had the same illness that had claimed her daughter.
The dark had crept in without Catheryn realising it.
Evening had come, and she had not stirred from the bedside of her patient. Adeliza lay motionless, unable even to draw the energy to turn over. Catheryn’s hair was damp, pushed against her forehead. The heat of the evening had been unexpected, and she had removed her veil when she simply could stand it no more.
Ursule tutted. “She doesn’t want to get well.”
Catheryn smiled, and turned to see the old nurse once more back in the castle.
“It is good to see you, Ursule. I was worried that I might be alone.”
“Children not want to help her?” Ursule shook her head sadly. “It is a sad occasion when a family rips itself apart.”
“Oh, no,” Catheryn hastened to correct her. “I would not allow them near. This sickness has already claimed a life – I will not let my lady Adeliza and my lord FitzOsbern lose another child.”
Ursule moved closer to the candlelight by Adeliza’s bedside, and Catheryn saw that, despite the heat, Reginald had already taken his place around Ursule’s neck.
“You are a wise one, you know,” Ursule said slowly, casting her gaze over Catheryn’s face, “and yet it will bring you no happiness.”
A chill went up and down Catheryn’s spine, but she smiled. “You do not scare me, Ursule. I know you too well. And because I know you, I know that you will help her.”
She did not need to elaborate whom she referred to.
Ursule shrugged off the cat, who complained bitterly, but leapt onto the bed. Slowly, lifting his paws gingerly, Reginald crept to the head of the bed, and curled up next to Adeliza.
“And what good could I do?” Ursule said tartly. “I am but an old woman.”
“This is true. But then, there is no one this side of the water that I would trust with a patient as I would trust you.”
Ursule tried to look unconvinced, but Catheryn could see that she was flattered. After all, did not all those who had lived for many years secretly worry that they would eventually lose the respect of those who had more recently arrived in this life?
“My fees will be doubled,” Ursule demanded, in a soft yet forceful voice. “Now that we know the sickness takes life, it will be twice as dangerous for me.”
“And for me.”
“You are here by choice,” Ursule reminded her.
Catheryn smiled. “And so are you. I did not send for you, and I do not believe that Roger did either.”
Ursule could not look her in the eye.
Catheryn laughed, but tried not to disturb Adeliza. “How did you know?”
Ursule shrugged. “How does anyone know anything? The gossip has already reached the village. All I had to do was listen.”
Ursule leaned over the patient. She put her hand on Adeliza’s forehead, and then paused to feel the lifeblood pumping through her wrist. She shook her head.
“I do not like this,” Ursule mumbled.
Catheryn’s mouth went dry. “You think she is in some danger, then? Just like her daughter?”
Ursule shook her head once more. “I do not think that she is in some danger: she is in the worst danger imaginable. The chance for her to live is slowly ebbing away, I can feel it.”
Catheryn’s mouth fell open. She had no idea that the situation was so serious.
“You cannot mean – she may die?”
Ursule nodded. “This sickness is a dark one, a deadly one. How long has it been since that poor child ran out into the snow? Months, and months, and months: and yet here it is, trying to take another victim with it into the cold lands.”
Catheryn moved the fur over Adeliza, trying to keep her warm.
“She should be getting better, not worse,” she murmured. “She has so much to live for.”
Ursule sighed. “Sometimes, that is just not enough.”
*
Days passed. Catheryn sometimes could not tell just how long she had been with Adeliza in her bed chamber – her sick chamber, now, full of herbs and strange smells, remnants of Ursule’s latest offerings. The nurse had decided to move into the castle once more, but she took a chamber close by. It was Catheryn who never left Adeliza’s side.
There were times when Adeliza was conscious, able to talk, and to understand. It was in those times that Catheryn became convinced that Adeliza would live. How could a woman so full of life, so far from old age, so concerned with her children, die?
“Roger is well?” she would ask of Catheryn, her thin hands clutching at Catheryn’s in desperation to have news of her son. “And William’s Isabella, you have news of her?”
Catheryn would give her all the information that she could, but she was almost as isolated as Adeliza was.
Yes, in those times Catheryn rejoiced, for the sickness seemed to pass. And then within moments, Adeliza would sink once more into the deathly state that the illness drew over her like a shroud, and she was silent. Her breathing would quieten, and it was all Catheryn could do to keep her warm.
In those moments, Catheryn wondered when, not if, she would die.
About a month after the sickness first descended, Ursule sat opposite Catheryn, the two of them keeping the bed between them. Adeliza had managed to eat a full meal that morning, and she was sleeping now. As far as Catheryn could tell, it was a restful sleep. Adeliza was on the mend.
“My lady?”
Catheryn looked up. “You do not have to call me that, you know.”
Ursule smiled. “Are manners in short supply lately? I thought that I would share them about. No use in old women like me keeping a hold of them when the young may require them.”
“That is true,” Catheryn smiled. Ursule was knitting what seemed to be a very large blanket. Reginald kept playing in the parts that she had finished, and every time she attempted to shoo him away, she dropped a stitch. “And I appreciate the courtesy.”
Ursule rolled her eyes, and continued, “I was going to ask, my lady, whether or not you had sent it.”
Catheryn furrowed her brow. “Sent it?”
“Yes. Whether or not it had already gone.”
“I’m sorry, Ursule, but I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
Ursule’s face fell. “Then, you did not get my message?”
“Was it sent by cat?”
Ursule scowled. She did not take well to people mocking her beloved cat Reginald.
“I apologise, Ursule,” Catheryn said hastily, “but I did not receive any message from you.”
Ursule sighed. “Then I hope that we are not too late.”
Catheryn was confused. “Too late for what?”
“To contact Fitz, of course.”
The two women looked down at Adeliza. She slept with a smile on her face.
“Do you really believe that to be necessary?” Catheryn whispered. “Do you really think that she is in such danger?”
Ursule looked at Adeliza sadly. “Do you not recall that this was exactly how Isabella looked?”
Catheryn tried to remember that hazy time of pain and confusion.
“I… think so,” she said slowly. “But she looks so well!”
“So did her daughter.”
Catheryn’s heart turned to ice. “I must send word to him immediately. He must come back!”
“I think we may be too late.”
“No,” Catheryn shook her head. “I will find a fast servant, and we will get to Fitz in time.”
“What shall you write?” Ursule asked curiously, dropping another stitch as Reginald pounced on the ball of wool.
Catheryn shrugged sadly. “I shall tell him that Adeliza may be about to die.”
*
The letter was written, and entrusted to one of the stable boys. He was, according to the family, the fastest on a horse that they had ever seen. Along with a bag of food, and a small purse full of gold to get him to his master, the boy left.
Catheryn did not watch him go. She was tending to Adeliza. Ursule had been right: the momentary revival had passed, and she had never seen a person so unwell. Adeliza seemed barely aware of where she was; eyes open, she cried out for Fitz, for her daughters, and in the depths of the night when Catheryn was desperate for sleep, she cried out for her mother. Tears fell down her face as imagined nightmares tried to take her away from her family, and it was all Catheryn could do to calm her.
Adeliza certainly did not recognise Catheryn, but a calming voice seemed to be all that she needed to settle. And so it continued for three days, until one morning when both dawn and the fever broke.
“Catheryn?”
The voice was faint, and it carried much sadness with it, but it stirred Catheryn from the careful slumber she had managed.
“Catheryn!”
She awoke, and saw Adeliza’s eyes open – and know her.
“Adeliza,” she said sleepily, moving from the chair against the wall to the stool beside the bed. “You are awake.”
“Yes,” Adeliza smiled weakly. “And it feels as though I have been asleep for a very long time. What day is it?”
“It is Sunday,” confessed Catheryn. “The family have just departed for early morning Mass at church, but I wanted to stay behind, to see if you would awaken. You certainly have been… away from us for some time.”
Adeliza nodded, but stopped quickly.
“Does your head hurt?” Catheryn rose quickly, walking towards the little table where Ursule had laid out her concoctions. “I have something here for that if you wish.”
“Catheryn,” Adeliza said softly. “Sit with me.”
Catheryn obeyed, and took the hand that the sick woman held out for her.
“May I ask you… a delicate question?”
Catheryn nodded. “Of course you can, my lady.”
Adeliza blushed slightly before she spoke. “Do you still think of Selwyn? Your husband?”
Catheryn paused before she answered, but she could not deny the truth.
“I do. He was the love of my life, and I cannot go through one day without remembering something bittersweet about the time that we had together.”
Adeliza was staring at her with eager eyes, hungry eyes.
“But then,” Catheryn hesitated, but continued. “I know that Selwyn would not want me to stop living, just because he died. There is so much more that I can do, that I can be. He would not want me to give up on life.”
Adeliza smiled wanly. “I think that you are a wise woman, Catheryn.”
“No,” sighed Catheryn, “but I have had these things to think on for some time.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and then Adeliza broke it once more.
“My marriage to Fitz – it was arranged for us, you know. Our parents wanted us to be together, and neither of us put up any fight.”
“It is common,” Catheryn smiled. “For both my people, and yours. I was rare in that I was given the choice.”
“You were lucky. And yet, I do not think that our marriage has been bad. He has never loved me, but he has been good to me.”
“You have taken good care of each other.”
Adeliza smiled a tired smile. It seemed like a great effort to move. “Love is not necessarily the answer – and yet, it would have been wonderful to truly earn Fitz’s love.”
Catheryn looked at her. Adeliza stared right back. The smile was gone.
Adeliza closed her eyes. The smile slackened. The breathing halted.
Adeliza was dead.