Plague Land (39 page)

‘Tell me, Clemence.’ I paused. ‘Did you write a letter to him? Asking him to meet you at the convent?’

‘Are you questioning me, little brother?’ She slowed her step.

‘It’s just a couple of matters are still troubling me.’

‘You don’t believe he was murdered by a dog head?’ She growled playfully, making claws of her left hand as if to attack me. I was conscious of Humbert moving closer, but she waved him away. I had rarely seen Clemence in such good humour, and in truth I found it slightly disturbing.

‘No. I don’t,’ I said.

‘Or perhaps you killed him? I heard they put you on trial. But then Brother Peter found the deformed boy.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘Wasn’t that lucky?’

I looked away. ‘Cornwall is the guilty one. I have him locked up in the gaol house. Awaiting trial by the royal judge.’

‘Cornwall?’

‘Yes. But I need proof about the letter.’

‘I will answer your question then.’ She poked me in the shoulder like a small girl teasing her best friend. ‘I did not, nor would I have written an invitation to that man. I hated him. And I’m pleased he is dead.’

‘So there was definitely no letter?’

‘That’s what I’ve just said.’ She pulled her arm away from mine. Suddenly the playfulness was gone. In its place was the bad-tempered sister of old. It came as something of a relief.

‘It’s just that Cornwall claims to have seen it,’ I said.

‘Then he’s lying.’

‘Or he wrote it himself.’

She cleared her throat. ‘Maybe so. I can only tell you I didn’t write a word to my dear, dead husband. And I don’t care to be questioned further.’

I offered my arm again by way of apology and we carried on walking to the hedge and then double-backed towards the house. The floor of the orchard was thick with windfall apples. I noted that we should collect these up as soon as possible, and then do something with them. Exactly what, I did not know.

‘When I’ve recovered my strengths,’ said Clemence, ‘I shall return to Versey.’

‘You intend to go back there?’ This surprised me since I had assumed that Versey would hold such bad memories for her.

‘Of course I do. I’m still Lady Versey. There must be some reward for having married such a monster.’

I coughed and took a deep breath. ‘The earl has asked me to take over the Versey estate. You can’t have heard?’

She stopped dead in her tracks. ‘You?’

‘Yes.’

She pulled her arm away from mine. ‘What about his daughters? What about me?’

‘You can’t manage the estate alone, Clemence. And Mary may take over when she marries.’

She produced a howl that seemed to rise from her belly and caused her teeth to clench. Humbert was at her side within moments. ‘You’re making this up,’ she snarled. ‘Do you have an official notification?’

‘The earl will return soon with the papers.’

‘And what exactly am I supposed to do?’

‘Stay here at Somershill?’

It was a mistake to make such a suggestion, and I should have known better. She picked up an apple and threw it at my head, hitting me soundly on the temple. When I went to retaliate, I felt Humbert’s enormous hands about my wrists, and though I struggled, it was impossible to shake him off.

Clemence regarded me scornfully. ‘You? As Lord of Somershill and Versey?’ You could barely steer your own shit into a sewer.’ Then she clapped her hands and Humbert dropped my wrists as if they were covered in nettles.

‘We’ll see about this,’ said Clemence, as she strode away towards the house. ‘You will not have everything.’

Chapter Twenty-One

My day did not improve. Following my argument with Clemence, I decided to break the news of my intended marriage to Mother. It had to be done quickly, since I had made a commitment to break with tradition and hold the ceremony only the day after tomorrow.

I was hardly expecting Mother to be pleased at my news, but I had not expected such a visceral reaction. There were no threats or insults regarding my choice of wife. In fact, Mother was unable to form any words at all, since her response to my news was to vomit. The blood left her face and she became so grey and ashen that Ada and Gilbert had to carry her to bed, from where she could still be heard heaving for the next half an hour.

Absenting myself from Mother’s bedside, I walked to the fields to see how the harvest was progressing. When I reached the demesne I met an old woman struggling to gather the cut barley into sheaves. Her face was drawn and tired, and she repeatedly stretched, clutching her back and groaning before starting her work again. Her skinny dog tried to nip at my ankles until I kicked him away.

Featherby ran over to greet me from the other side of the field. ‘This woman is too old to be working in the field,’ I told him.

He shrugged a little. ‘But there’s nobody else to do it, sire. And she works steadily enough, if we allow the dog in the field.’ The dog barked as if chastising us for allowing his mistress to be worked into her grave.

‘She looks half-dead, Featherby. Couldn’t she be doing something a little less arduous? Some weaving maybe?’

He screwed up his face. ‘Old Beatrice? No, sire. I wouldn’t let her loose on the spinning. She distracts the other women with her gossip. And her hands are like twisted willow. She can hardly hold a carding comb.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Forty-five, sire.’

I turned around to look at Beatrice, and she curtsied to me with a toothless grin. She was thirteen years younger than my own mother, but looked as wrinkled and ugly as a baby bird.

I would take Mirabel away from this life, and was pleased of it.

‘Make sure the water carrier sees to this woman first, when he comes into the field,’ I told Featherby. ‘And don’t let her feed it all to her dog.’

‘As you like, sire,’ he said, beginning to loom.

I could see that compassion was out of place here, so I added, ‘Keep your workers fed and watered, and they will work harder. That’s what Father used to say.’ He used to say nothing of the sort, but my statement seemed to reassure Featherby that he was not working for a simpleton.

Featherby joined the others across the field, and I watched them for a while. Two men bound the cut stems of the barley into sheaves and then tied them with cords of straw, whilst another picked up the sheaves and carried them to the corner of the field where they were neatly stacked like a pile of Roman bricks.

I looked at my large field and wondered if all the barley would ever be harvested, given the lack of hands and the threat of rain. I could not find any extra men to do the work, and could hardly squeeze any more labour from the likes of old Beatrice. Also, the villagers were keen to leave my land and return to their own small strips where they would harvest what they could before the autumn. I had every right to force them to stay in my fields, but they might starve this winter. Then who would plough, sow, and harrow next spring?

When I returned to the house, Clemence demanded an audience with me in the great hall. She shooed everybody away, apart from Humbert, who hung around behind her as ever, like a silent reflection.

I was weary from the heat in the field and did not feel like the next plateful of arguments. ‘There’s nothing I can do about Versey,’ I told Clemence. ‘It was the earl’s idea. Challenge him on the matter.’

‘This is not about Versey.’

I sighed again. ‘So, what’s the trouble now?’

‘I hear you intend to marry Mother’s maidservant.’

I should have foreseen this. Mother’s outline was visible at the squint. ‘I can do as I please,’ I said loudly, so Mother might hear my words.

Clemence scowled. ‘And bring shame to this family? You stupid little fool. You are Lord of Somershill and Versey now. You cannot marry such a lowly girl and expect to go to court.’

‘I don’t want to go to court.’

‘But I do!’ she said. ‘And this ragged union will taint us all.’

‘Mirabel will be a better marriage partner than you chose. At least there is some love between us.’

Clemence went to strike me, but I grabbed her hand and pushed her away – with such accidental force that she fell to the floor. Humbert jumped in front of me to shield his mistress, as if I were one of those rabid dogs that periodically roam the village in search of a victim to bite.

‘Call him off, Clemence. I’m not going to harm you.’

‘How can I be sure?’ she said. Her voice was uncharacteristically nervous and thin.

‘I’m sorry, Clemence,’ I said, trying to look at her face around the bulk of Humbert’s chest. ‘I’m your brother. I wouldn’t hurt you.’

She stood up reluctantly and waved Humbert away to the shadows, where he took up his station by the tapestry and fixed me with accusing eyes.

Clemence smoothed down her hair and patted her money purse to make sure it was still there. ‘Now, let us conclude this business. You cannot marry this girl, Oswald. You must cancel the arrangement immediately.’

‘No, Clemence. I will not. I love her.’

‘Have you lain with her?’

‘No. Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘That is a relief at least,’ she said under her breath. She looked up, and cleared her throat. ‘I had hoped to persuade you to behave correctly for the sake of our family honour. But it seems you won’t listen. So I must tell you exactly why you cannot marry this girl.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It would be a sin. Her father is your father, Oswald. She is your half-sister.’

‘No, she isn’t,’ I said, but immediately felt the first roll of my stomach.

Clemence looked to the roof. ‘Why do you persist in being so naïve, Oswald? We talked about this before. Father has a whole set of bastards about the estate. She is one of them.’

I sat down on a bench, as my legs began to feel unsteady. ‘How do you know Mirabel is his daughter? There’s no proof.’

‘Mother has a list.’

The blood was returning to my legs now. ‘Mother has a list?’ I scoffed. ‘A list of what?’

‘Of Father’s bastards, of course.’

Now I laughed out loud. ‘Mother could write anybody’s name she cared to on such a list. I expect she wrote Mirabel’s name this morning and sent you down here to stop the marriage. I admire your gall, but it won’t work.’

Clemence pursed her lips. ‘The list was written by Father,’ she said.

‘I don’t believe you. Why would he do such a thing?’

She looked to the roof again. ‘To prevent such an outcome as this, you fool.’

I stood up. ‘Let me see this list then.’

Clemence bristled. ‘It belongs to Mother. She won’t show it to you. It’s private.’

‘Then I don’t believe it exists. And I shall marry Mirabel.’ I noticed Mother’s shadow had disappeared from the squint. I hoped that she had gone somewhere to hide from me in shame. I had called her bluff on this pathetic little scheme.

Clemence faltered. ‘Very well. I’ll get it.’

I had rarely seen my sister appear as awkward as she did on leaving the room and climbing the spiral stairs to the solar. Humbert continued to stare at me. He neither turned his head nor blinked.

Raised voices reached us from the solar, as Mother and Clemence argued about how to produce a document in Father’s hand from thin air. Soon I would be rid of them all. In fact, I decided at that very moment to send both of them to Versey. Then Mirabel would be Lady of Somershill, and we would have an idyllic life of love and contentment without the bickering and malice of these two de Lacy gorgons. The idea of it gave me a warm glow of hope, but it was soon to dissipate.

There was complete silence for a while, and then Clemence returned to the hall with a scroll of parchment. She unrolled it on the table and I could see immediately it was written in my father’s hand. I could also see why Clemence and Mother had not been so keen to show it to me.

It was a list of names, under the title of
Filios meos
. My children. I counted twelve names. Some I recognised, such as Godfrey, son of Rose the cobbler. Others I didn’t, such as Clarice, daughter of Cissie Skippe. All but one of the names were crossed out, and against most my Father had written
Mortuus est. Pestilentium
, by which I understood them to have died of the Plague.