The Devil's Diadem (4 page)

‘Ah,’ the countess said, setting her stitching to one side and putting a hand in the small of her back as she stretched. ‘My eyes fail me, Maeb. I thought I might see the better in this bright light, but … no. They still strain over this work. Will you fetch my book of prayers, Maeb? It is set there, by that basket.’

I bent over, picking up the leatherbound book, taking a moment to marvel at the bright gilding on the edges of its pages before holding it out for the countess that she might take it.

‘No, no,’ Lady Adelie said. ‘You read to me — you can see the passage I have marked with the silken twist. I do not wish to strain my eyes further with the impossibly small letters of its monkish scribe.’

I froze in horror, the book still extended in my hand.

Lady Adelie looked at the book, then at my face.

‘Ah,’ she said in a gentle voice, finally taking the book from me. She set it in her lap, unopened. ‘You have not learned your letters.’

‘No, my lady.’ I dropped my eyes, ashamed. It was not unusual for one of my rank within the lower nobility to not know her letters, but sitting before the countess now I felt like an oaf.

‘You mother did not teach you?’ Lady Adelie said.

I shook my head, hating what I had to say, thinking I sullied my mother’s memory after having so recently praised her. ‘She did not know herself, my lady.’

‘It is a shame,’ Lady Adelie said, ‘that the comfort of sweet Jesu’s words and deeds and those of our beloved saints were denied her in the privacy of her chamber. I could not bear it, if I would always need to wait for the presence of a priest to comfort me.’

I was feeling worse by the moment, and I kept my eyes downcast.

‘And I suppose that wastrel, your father, had no learning.’

I shook my head once more, blinking to keep the tears at bay. I knew that the countess had her children tutored in letters and figures, and I was mortified that even the eight-year-old boys, Ancel and Robert, had greater learning than me.

‘Do not weep, my dear,’ Lady Adelie said, leaning the short distance between us to pat me gently on the hand.

She paused, thinking. ‘We shall have you tutored in letters,’ she said, then paused again. ‘But not with the children, for that should not be seemly.
I
shall teach you, my dear, when I have birthed this child, and am strong again. I have a duty of care to you and I shall not fail.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’ She did me a great honour by offering to teach me herself, for surely her time could be spent on other duties. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and returned her smile.

‘And then we shall find you a gentle husband,’ Lady Adelie said, ‘for your father was remiss in not seeking such for you himself. Did he forget your very existence?’

‘He did try, my lady.’ Not very hard, I thought. ‘But I have little dowry and —’

I stopped, horrified that the countess might think I hoped she would augment that meagre dowry with her own riches. Suddenly I could see the earl standing before me again, his face and tone contemptuous, warning me against harbouring ambitions above my station.

‘You are a member of the Pengraic household,’ the countess said, her tone firm. ‘That alone carries a weight of more import than any wealth of coin or land. An alliance into the Pengraic house is no small matter —’

I wondered what the earl might have to say about this. I doubted
he
would ever think I wielded any measure of influence within his house.

‘— and I am sure that some gentle lord shall seek your hand eagerly. You have a lovely face. Such depth in your green eyes — and that black, black hair! As for your figure — that alone is enough to tempt any man into thoughts of bedding. You shall not remain unwedded long.’

I flushed at her words, but was immeasurably grateful to the countess for her support. Where her husband had been contemptuous, his lady wife extended the hand of graciousness and care. I was privileged indeed, and more fortunate than I could have hoped to have been offered this place at Lady Adelie’s side.

‘You are old not to be wived,’ Lady Adelie said. ‘How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?’

‘Nineteen, my lady.’

‘Ah! At nineteen I already had three children born.’ Lady Adelie sighed, one hand resting on her belly. ‘Stephen I bore when I was but fifteen — the earl only a year older. Such young parents. Ah, Maeb, the lot of a wife is a hard one, but you must bear it. The travails of childbirth litter our lives with danger, and we must keep our faith in the Lord, that we may survive them.’

‘You have so many beautiful children, my lady. They must bring you great comfort.’

‘The earl is a demanding husband,’ the countess said, her face twisting in a small grimace. ‘Although I fear the dangers of childbed I am grateful each time I find myself breeding, that my husband can no longer make such demands of me.’

I kept my eyes downcast, setting my fingers back to stitching, thinking of the whispered fragments of conversations I had heard over the years from women gossiping about their husbands and lovers (and of what I had seen as a curious child in the village of Witenie). Most of these women had spoken in bawdy tones and words, and I thought the countess must truly be a devout and gracious woman, of exquisite breeding and manners, to find distasteful what other women found delightful.

‘The earl is so demanding …’ the countess said again, her voice drifting off, and the look on her face made me think she feared him.

I did not blame her. I feared him, too, and I could not imagine what her life must be like, needing to watch her every word in the company of a man with so uncertain a temper.

‘Evelyn has spoken little of Pengraic Castle,’ I said, mostly to distract the countess from whatever thoughts troubled her. ‘What is it like?’

The countess stilled, and I was instantly sorry for my question.

‘It is a dark place,’ she said, ‘but I must bear it, as must you.’

I opened my mouth, thinking to apologise for my error in asking such a question, but the countess continued.

‘It is a
dismal
place, Maeb. Ungodly, and wrapped all about with the mists and sleet of the dark Welsh mountains. The people … the people of that land care more for their sprites and fairies and tales of the ancient ones than they do for the saints and our sweet, dear Lord Jesu. I swear even the stones of Pengraic Castle are steeped in the ungodliness of those Welsh hills.’

‘I am sorry, my lady,’ I said. Sorry to have caused her greater distress, sorry that I should need to endure both the Welsh Marches and this castle myself, some day.

‘Sorrow’s claws have firm grasp on Pengraic Castle, Maeb. But what do we here, speaking of such when the sun burns bright and the apple blossoms? Come, here are Evelyn and Yvette returned, and a servant with cooling cordials, and we shall drink and gossip as women do, and be merry.’

And so we did, our words and smiles chasing away the shadows cast by the final minutes of the conversation between the countess and myself. The sun burned, and it was a good day. Peaceful and gentle, with the scents of spring all about us.

It did not last. The morrow brought with it terrible tidings that meant my days at Rosseley Manor were done.

I would never see it again, in all my days. That was my enduring loss, for Rosseley was a lovely, peaceful place. Even though I spent so little time there, it holds a special place in my heart. Every May Day, when we celebrate the return of life to the land, I think of Rosseley’s sweet meadows and orchards, and light a candle in remembrance of a gentle life that almost was.

Chapter Four

T
he next day began as had all my previous mornings at Rosseley. Evelyn and I rose early, washed and dressed, then attended Lady Adelie. We made the countess’ bed while Mistress Yvette helped the countess with her chemise and kirtle, then we knelt at prayers before breaking our fast with small beer and fruit and cheese with some fresh-baked bread. Evelyn and I then rose, meaning to help the nurse dress the younger children, when Ancel and Robert burst into the chamber.

‘Mama! Mama!’ they cried.

‘Sweet Jesu, children, cease your shrieking!’ the countess said. She was out of sorts after a restless night, and Evelyn and I exchanged a glance before turning to the two boys, now at one of the windows, meaning to usher them from the chamber.

‘Mama!’ one of the twins said. ‘Our lord father is home. Look! Look!’

‘And at the head of a great cavalcade!’ the other added.

I started for the window, but Evelyn grabbed my elbow, pulling me back with a warning look. Then she tipped her head very slightly toward the countess, who had risen and walked sedately toward the window herself.

Of course.
I gave a small nod, and berated myself for my stupidity.

It was not my place to be first at the window, but that of the countess.

Lady Adelie stood at the window and peered. Then she took a step back, clearly shocked. ‘Mother of heaven!’ she said.

‘My lady?’ Yvette said, going to stand with her.

‘Fetch the house steward immediately!’ Lady Adelie said to her, then beckoned Evelyn over. ‘Ah! Why did I pick such a dull kirtle today? Well, there is no time to change. Evelyn, fetch me a freshly laundered veil and ensure you pick the brightest one. Maeb, make sure the children are dressed and neat, and keep them in their chambers for the time being, even Alice. Ancel, Robert, you can come with me and aid me down the staircase.’

With that she was gone, a twin on either side of her, Evelyn hastening after with a fresh veil for my lady’s head.

I looked toward the window, desperately curious, hesitated, then, remembering my lady’s tone, hurried to see the children were dressed and awaiting in their chamber.

At least the children’s chamber had a window that overlooked the courtyard. Almost as soon as I and the nurse had the children dressed and neat, Alice and Emmette helping, I looked outside.

The courtyard was a flurry of activity. I could see Lady Adelie, Yvette now at her side along with the twins, and the steward, William. Lady Adelie and William were in deep conversation and, as I watched, the steward nodded, then strode away organising some men-at-arms into a presentable line and shouting at two grooms to tidy away some barrels and a laden cart.

Lady Adelie now had her fresh veil, and Mistress Yvette spent a moment fixing it securely to her hair.

Evelyn was nowhere to be seen.

‘What is going on?’ I said, as I turned to look at the nurse and Alice, who now stood by me. ‘Is it always thus when the earl returns?’

Both shook their heads.

‘There is always some ceremony,’ Alice said. ‘My mother likes to greet him in the courtyard together with the steward — but not this fuss. Maybe she is merely surprised by the suddenness of his return. I don’t know.’

‘It is far more than the suddenness of the earl’s return,’ said Evelyn, who had just stepped into the chamber.

She joined us at the window, the four of us standing close so we might all have a view.

‘Then what —’ I began, stopping at the sound of clattering hooves.

Suddenly the courtyard was filled with horses and their riders and a score of hounds. There were men everywhere, horses jostling and snorting, and the newly arrived hounds barking and snapping at the resident dogs. Whatever order Lady Adelie and the steward had managed to arrange was instantly undone by the press of bodies and the raising of voices.

‘The horses are lathered and stumbling,’ the nurse remarked. ‘They have been ridden hard and fast.’

‘All the way from the king’s court,’ Evelyn murmured.

I glanced at her, a dozen questions on my lips, but then Alice nudged me. ‘Look,’ she said.

Somehow a small circle of calm had emerged in the heart of the chaos. I saw the earl dismounting from his horse, and stepping forth to the countess. They took each other’s hands in a light grip, perfunctorily kissed, then the earl and the countess turned to another man, recently dismounted.

He was in dull garb, unlike the earl who shone in azures and vermilions, and I could not understand why the earl and the countess turned to him. Why did Lady Adelie not greet her son, Stephen, now also dismounted and standing close to his parents?

‘Who —’ I began yet once more, stopping in amazement as I saw Lady Adelie sink in deep courtesy before this other man, the earl having to take her elbow to support her as she almost slipped on the cobbles.

Behind her, the twin boys bowed deep in courtly fashion. ‘The king,’ Evelyn said. ‘Edmond.’

The chaos of the courtyard rapidly spread throughout the entire house. Hounds ran up and down the great staircase, snapping and growling as servants and men-at-arms hurried this way and that. As I stood just inside the door of the children’s chamber, watching, I saw William the steward hastening to and fro, barking orders, having bedding rearranged and taken from this chamber to that to accommodate the influx of a score or more men, while stools and benches, trestles and boards, were hurried into the great hall below me.

The earl was home
and
with a king to entertain.

‘What should we do?’ I said to Evelyn.

‘Remain here,’ she said. ‘Lady Adelie will send when she requires us, and I think we’d do best at keeping the children out from under this hubbub. Poor Rosamund and John would be crushed if they ventured beyond the confines of this chamber!’

At that very moment, John, who had recently learned to toddle, managed to slip between both of our legs and totter toward the dangerous mayhem on the staircase.

‘John!’ Evelyn and I cried at the same time, bending down to reach for him.

He tried to evade us, gurgling with laughter, and only after a small scramble did we manage to retrieve him and stand upright again, John now safely in my arms.

I felt Evelyn go rigid, and I looked up.

The earl and the king were standing not half a dozen feet away, on the last rise of the staircase before they would step onto the wooden planks of the flooring.

Both were looking right at us.

I managed to register that the earl was furious, and that the king had an expression of some amusement on his face, before I dropped my eyes and sank down into the deepest courtesy I could manage.