The Water Devil (34 page)

“Ah, then you think it's a good idea. I knew it,” announced the old knight.

“Be careful how you ask. I've had experience with Madame. You have to be very tactful,” said Gilbert, but his father had already dashed out of the room.

SIR HUBERT FOUND MADAME
at the head of the cellar steps, giving orders to several girls armed with brooms down below among the casks and boxes. Dust was flying, and there was a chittering and rustling as all the creatures which God made to live in cellars were being put to flight. A mouse whizzed by his foot like a furry round projectile.

“I've sent for a couple of big cats,” said Madame.

“Cats?” said Sir Hubert. “I hate cats.”

“You'll like it far less if the rats that infest this place gnaw through your casks,” she said. “Stamp them out, stamp them out,” she cried down the stairs. “Especially the little nests and the egg sacks!”

“Well, then, I suppose cats have their place,” he said.

“Everything has its place,” said Madame. “But some things have no place in a decent house.” Sir Hubert squirmed and struggled. How best to bring it up? Suddenly it seemed a touchier matter than before.

“Madame,” he said, “some people are not in the proper place.”

“What on earth do you mean?” asked Madame.

“Well, um, for example, you manage very well around here.”

Madame looked at him, her eyes suspicious.“I think, well, I've been thinking—” Madame looked again, wishing to make very sure of what she was hearing. Oh, my, thought Sir Hubert. This way isn't working very well. I'll start it over again. He harrumphed.

“Madame, you are a woman of formidable principles. I appreciate those principles. I propose an honorable partnership.” Madame stared at him, and her jaw dropped. “I mean, I mean, not housekeeping. Um, don't mistake me. I propose an honorable marriage. You are just the sort of person to put this place in order again.” Madame stared at him a long time, and her face grew paler.

“I will have to think it over,” she said.

“GILBERT, GILBERT
, for God's sake, what do I do now? She's turned me down!” Sir Hubert had entered the solar wild-eyed, and now that he spied his son, he hurried toward him, oblivious to the fact that he was reading aloud to Margaret. The two little girls were sitting at the foot of the bed to hear the reading, and at Sir Hubert's approach they tried to make themselves as invisible as possible, so they would not be sent away.

“What exactly did she say when she turned you down?” asked Gilbert. The little girls' eyes were huge, as they took everything in.

“Ghastly. How dare she? Perhaps she mistook my motives. She said she'd have to think it over.” Margaret tried very hard to suppress a laugh, and it came out a hiccup. Sir Hubert glanced quickly at her, but saw only a face composed along the most tragic and sympathetic lines. So he turned back to his son, where he sat on the bench with Brokesford's big book of household stories and recipes across his lap, and spoke again. “Why do you think she turned me down? I have everything—a title, this beautiful manor, the very finest bloodlines in England, a great patron, why, she has nothing. She should be grateful I even thought of her.”

Gilbert looked at his father with a sober face and shook his head. His voice, as he responded, was slow and serious. But his dark eyes were glittering with amusement.

“If my own experience with Madame can be any guide to you, you will have to be prepared to propose three times,” he said.

His father spluttered. “Three times? You mean a woman that age can still be coy? I'd think she'd snap at my offer.”

“If she was the sort of woman who'd snap at your offer, she wouldn't be the sort of woman you'd make an offer to, now would she?” said Gilbert. The old man nodded. He had to admit Gilbert was right about that one. How had he gone and got so subtle about women? It was practically indecent. “I think, given what I know of Madame, you will have to be prepared to offer conditions,” Gilbert said, his voice thoughtful.

“Conditions! This is worse than negotiating with the French!” The little girls turned toward each other, and Cecily gave a knowing nod.“Gilbert,” said the old man suddenly, desperately,“what sort of conditions do you think I should offer?”

“Offer the things you think a lady would like, not the things you want yourself,” said Gilbert.

“I was thinking of a new saddleblanket and her own falcon,” said Sir Hubert.

“That's exactly what I thought,” responded Gilbert. “You'll have to do some more thinking.”

“Ladies! What do they want? Dresses, frou-frou, useless gifts to priests, minstrels and dancing, wasted time and money!”

“If you put it to her that way, father, you might as well save your breath. You'll be proposing until doomsday.”

“But what do I say, what do I say?”

“You have to say it in your own words, father. You'll have to think it over before you speak, or all is lost.”

IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS
, Sir Hubert had plenty of time to think. Time spent riding to and from the coroner's inquest concerning Lady Petronilla's suicide. What did women want? What did women want? How to say it without making it an insult? Oh, God, he wasn't some perfumed dandy with a snake's tongue. Why couldn't
she appreciate that? The inquest was of the most perfunctory. Sir Hugo testified that his wife had often threatened suicide, saying death was better than being married to him. And then after being liberated from all those devils, albeit imperfectly, she had often been despondent, saying she'd be better off if she cast herself down the tower stair. Sir Hubert explained how he had caught up with her and remonstrated with her for throwing the baby into the pond, and she'd said they'd never try
her,
and stabbed herself, and the magistrate, who had departed the manor after the betrothal arrangements had been signed and sealed and cast in bronze, had returned to say he himself had seen the lady's bloody knife. Who was anybody to doubt the testimony of such important men? I'll have to find some wandering grayfriar to confess this all to, thought Sir Hubert as he rode home in Hugo's company—preferably one who doesn't speak English. I don't want a secret like this floating about the shire. Then he turned to Hugo, who had bought a new hat with a tiny brim in the latest style, and had an elegant black velvet doublet stitched up from one of his late wife's dresses so that he would catch the eye of any woman who might possibly turn up at the inquest.

“Hugo, what is it that women want?” he asked. They were still far from Brokesford. The first leaves of autumn were beginning to dry and shrivel on the trees, and there was a hint of chill in the morning air. Summer, generous summer, was coming to a close. The old man was growing to hate that feeling, when his bones could tell that winter was not so far away. The house will be so cold and empty, he thought. The little boy will be gone, and Margaret with all her bustling and interfering, and even Gilbert, who wasn't turning out so badly, though he had certainly taken his time about it.

“Why, women want a man who can renew his passion five times a night or more, like myself,” Hugo said.“They're just ravenous. You have to satisfy them constantly, or their vital fluids all migrate up to the brain, and make them insane. I've given it great thought. Since men can't be interested in one woman only, it is impossible to satisfy a woman within the bounds of marriage, since a man must always share his attentions, while a woman must concentrate on her
own husband only. So a man shouldn't marry, unless it is to several wives, for the stimulating variety, like the Grand Turk.”

“Hugo, those fluids have got to your brain, too. Christian men are required to cleave to one wife only. Or at least, one at a time.”

“True. That's why I need a little rest from marriage. Oh, the tragic black of a handsome young widower. Did you notice how many women have offered to pray with me lately? My consolation goes on apace.”

“Hugo, what made you such a beast?” muttered the old man.

“Why, father, I've always modeled myself exactly on you,” answered Hugo, his voice cheerful. Old men, they always get so morbid. Father would doubtless soon start walking with a stick and complaining about his rheumatism and sitting in the sun like a lizard. Ah, life's mysteries. Luckily, nothing grotesque like getting old will ever happen to
me,
thought Hugo.

“But women, Hugo—”

“When you think women, think passion,” announced Hugo. “It's all their tiny little brains can hold in the way of a thought.”

When they arrived home, after Sir Hubert had seen to the horses, he went up to his chamber and had his groom bring a little bronze mirror in which he studied his features. Not bad, not bad, he thought. Not young, but lines and the scar look noble, welltried. But perhaps, to please a lady, I might need a bit of barbering up. Then he had the groom fetch scissors, and trim his wild white beard and the grey wisps that grew out of his ears like smoke. Then he looked again at his image. There is, he thought, a difference between making oneself more presentable to feminine company and entirely removing all signs of
character.
So he contented himself with having only the long, protruding hairs trimmed off his stormy white eyebrows, rather than having them slicked down like some gigolo. He then slathered his hair down flat with goose grease and parted it neatly in the middle. “I look like a damned dancing master,” he grumbled to himself.

Attired in his Sunday best, he went off to seek Madame, who was in the bakehouse with the little girls and several of the manor
women, popping generous, big round loaves into the ovens on long handled wooden paddles. When they saw the old man, Cecily and Alison, without a word, took Madame's paddle from her and untied her apron in the back, so she could slip it off unobtrusively. Together Sir Hubert and Madame went into Margaret's little herb garden, where the climbing roses on the wall were dropping their petals, and the little red rose hips shone among the briars like ripe fruit. There was the smell of sage and thyme, and all the good things that can be dried for the winter.

“Madame,” said Sir Hubert. “I am a persistent man. I have come to offer you my hand and my heart.” Madame looked at the ground, silent.

“I will arrange for a lady-companion of your own choice, so that you will not be without worthy company of your own sex,” he said. Madame looked at the ground still, but he could hear her breathing heavily. A good sign. “This house—this house has been empty of pucelles and pages, since it has had no lady,” he said. “It could be full of merry, youthful company that would delight your heart.” Madame looked up at him, taking in the neatly trimmed beard, and the goose grease. It's working, thought Sir Hubert. But she hasn't said yes yet. So he forged on. “You shall always have a fine palfrey at your disposal.” Madame was silent, and looked back at the ground again. “And two new dresses a year—ha, hm, not counting one for Christmas,” Sir Hugo added hastily, and Madame looked up again. Her face was very pale.

“And every year, a trip to the City—no, two trips.” He distinctly saw Madame smile, a faint smile. Sir Hubert could feel the blood beating powerfully in his veins. Madame looked at his eyes very closely as she answered.

“You shall, of course, have to apply to my sister's husband as head of the family. I do not believe he will make conditions,”said Madame, her voice even.“My cousin deprived me of my dowry lands, and my sister's husband has always found it odious to support me.”

Sir Hubert looked at her, astonished. His eyebrows grew stormier than ever, and his face turned red. “The man's a fool!” he
shouted. “Why, you're a treasure! What gifts! What elegance! I tell you, if he makes the least peep, I'll challenge him to single combat!”

It was then that an amazing thing happened. Madame blushed. She turned pink to the roots of her hair. Her smile was authentic, and her eyes deeply admiring. Sir Hubert, to his dying day, would never forget that look. His heart expanded and he was sure there was no gentleman in England, no, the whole Christian world, that was more joyful than he was at that moment.

“Mon seigneur,” said Madame, “you are my one, my true knight.”

“JUST THINK, GILBERT,”
said Sir Hubert when he came to consult with his son after the Great Event, “you were WRONG! I only had to ask her
TWICE
!”

Margaret was propped up in bed playing with Peregrine when Gilbert brought the news to her. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, “I suppose this means we have to stay until the wedding is over. Let's see, posting the banns, at least two weeks—” she started counting on her fingers. “And Gilbert, don't be surprised if your father asks you for a loan for Madame's wedding dress.”

“Her dress?” Gilbert was puzzled.

“Of course. She hasn't got one, and this is one time he won't be content with one out of the trunk. He'll want to cut a swathe, you know.”

“Well, Margaret, I suppose it's entirely fair that the Burgundians pay for a wedding. Maybe if the Duke likes the manuscript when he gets back, he'll make it all even out.”

“Gilbert, I think it's all evened out anyway. Give thanks to God, who orders all things mightily.”

“I do, Margaret, I do,” said Gilbert, and very tenderly he kissed first his wife, and then his baby, who pulled his nose and insisted that he pick him up and carry him.

I
WILL NEVER KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BE- tween the time that I walked into the water and the time that I woke up in bed in that ugly solar of my father-inlaw's manor, with all the hounds snuffling around the bed and the mice chittering in the corners. My hand was between my Gregory's two big ones, and my little boy that I had brought home from France in a basket, with such care and pains, was lying beside me, his face as pale as the sheets, and his brown curls all tangled and wet on his head.

“Push him closer,” I said, “I need to feel him breathing.” A round, warm thing was heavy on my feet. I saw my old dog, wheezing and snoring, with blood matted on his coat. “What happened to Lion?” I asked.