Read Music of the Distant Stars Online
Authors: Alys Clare
Music of the Distant Stars (12 page)
Presently, she gave me a rather tight-lipped smile and, taking hold of my wrist, removed my hand from her forehead. ‘The pain has gone?’ I asked. I knew it had, but it would be good to hear her say so.
‘It has. I thank you.’
I studied her. The colour in her cheeks had improved slightly. ‘You should perhaps stay in bed today,’ I suggested. ‘I have brought herbs to ensure that you will sleep. I will make an infusion for you.’
But even as I had spoken she had thrown back the bedclothes, and she now stood before me in her shift. ‘Only the sick and the weak sleep in the daytime,’ she declared. ‘Hand me my gown.’ She pointed an imperious finger. I did as she ordered, picking up the rich, black silk gown and dropping it over her head, helping her with the side lacings. Then she indicated her snowy-white headdress, and I handed her that too. She nodded towards her leather belt with the little velvet bag hanging from it – I noticed that there was also a large iron key suspended on a chain – and took it from me, fastening it around her thin waist. Beckoning me to follow, she led the way to a small room along the corridor, and as soon as she unlocked and opened the low wooden door, I recognized it as her sewing room.
I stared around the chilly, narrow space. Ida, I observed, had slept the nights of her guard duty on a tiny straw mattress with one thin blanket.
‘My linens.’ Claude swept her hand around, and I took in white sheets, linen cloths and personal undergarments, all of the finest fabrics and beautifully sewn with tiny stitches and delicate, subtle embroidery, much of it using the form and colour of our local fenland wild flowers. If this was Ida’s handiwork, she had indeed been gifted.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, and I wasn’t just being polite.
She brushed aside the praise, leading me on towards the end of the room, beneath the window, where a large wooden frame stood. She looked down at what was stretched over the frame, and for the first time I saw a smile on her face. ‘This, now, this is my work,’ she said. ‘These panels will hang around my marriage bed.’
I followed the direction of her eyes. The frame held a large piece of coarse linen perhaps three yards deep and a yard across; only a section of it was clamped in the frame, the remainder hanging down either side. It was, I observed, one of a series that she was working on. I leaned over the work, studying the careful stitches and the pleasing colours. It was only after looking at it for some time that I appreciated the subject matter.
For the intimate place that she would share with her new husband, Lady Claude had chosen to depict the Seven Deadly Sins. She was working on Gluttony, and a fat man sat on a stool cramming food into his mouth even as the cloth of his garment and his own flesh began to tear open, spilling red guts out on to his yellow robe. I glanced around to look more closely at the other panels, which were suspended from hooks along the walls. There was Pride, a pretty but vacuous-faced woman staring at herself in a mirror while her house burned down behind her with her agonized children inside. There was Lust, a scarlet-gowned woman lying with her eyes closed and her mouth wide open in sexual thrall, a man’s dark outline over her while devils with pitchforks edged ever closer out of the shadows. Wrath was depicted as a well-muscled man, red-faced with fury, holding an axe above his head and in the very act of swinging it down on the head of his child – a little boy holding a catapult in one hand and a dead fowl in the other, eyes wide with terror as he pleaded for mercy. Avarice showed a miser sitting on a golden stool, his hands clutching at handfuls of gold coins that were stashed in a sack at his feet, his attention so thoroughly absorbed that he did not see the skeletal woman, child and tiny baby that lay drooping beside him, the woman’s claw-like hand extended palm uppermost in the universal gesture of the beggar.
Sloth and Envy were, it seemed, still to be embroidered.
I was lost for words. The lady’s skill with her needle was extraordinary, and her artistry was evident in the strong emotions that her designs provoked in me. The subject matter was worthy; our priest regularly regales us with the dangers of yielding to all sin, but the perils of the deadliest seven are a theme to which he returns again and again. In the right place, Claude’s panels would have provided a timely reminder that we should watch our behaviour and not yield to temptation. But these vivid, startling, horrifying panels were to go around her bed . . .
I wondered if Sir Alain had any conception of what his future wife was working on. In a flash I knew that he had no idea; she would have coyly said it was to be a wonderful surprise that would be unveiled on their wedding night.
Poor man.
I cast around for some comment that I could make with sincerity. I said, ‘My lady, what outstanding skill you have! These depictions seem almost to live and breathe.’
She nodded. ‘We must ever be on our guard,’ she muttered. She was picking at one of the completed panels: Wrath. ‘The Devil awaits all the time,’ she went on in the same soft, monotonous tone, her eyes burning with fervour. ‘One small slip in our vigilance and there he is, forcing our hand. We—’ Her mouth shut like a trap, and she turned away. Perhaps it was that she had recalled who I was and that such remarks were unsuitable from a lady to a village woman, but I doubted it.
I thought it more likely that the thwarting of her life’s ambition to give herself to God had turned her mind a little and that she might even be slightly mad.
I put out my hand to her, catching her sleeve. ‘My lady, why not do some sewing now?’ I said gently. ‘You are feeling better, and it is peaceful here. If you stay here where it is nice and quiet, you will not run the risk of the noise and the clamour of the hall bringing your headache back.’
She must have seen the sense of that. Nodding – I had noticed that, nunlike, she did not speak unless she had to – she drew up her stool and sat down before the frame. In a gesture that appeared automatic, she reached down for the black velvet bag, putting it on her lap and opening the drawstrings that held it closed. She extracted a thimble, a small pair of sewing scissors, several hanks of different coloured wool and a pincushion in which four or five needles were stuck.
I recalled how I had wondered what was in the velvet bag, that she should clutch at it like a talisman on the dreadful day when Edild and I had come to lay out Ida’s body. Now I had the answer.
Calm now, she threaded her needle and, gazing fiercely at her panel, stabbed it down through the thick canvas. Her other hand was behind the fabric, waiting to receive the needle, and, her fingers moving so swiftly that I could barely follow her movements, she thrust it back up again and started another stitch. I watched her for some moments, listening to the soft grunts of exertion that accompanied her actions; embroidery of this sort was, I observed, quite hard work.
There was, I decided, something of the fanatic about Lady Claude. Uneasy suddenly, I wanted to be gone. I backed away towards the door, murmuring, ‘I will take my leave now, my lady. I have left a potion to help you sleep, but please call me if you need me.’
I very much doubt she even heard.
I needed to be back with Edild, back with my own kind. I hurried away from Lakehall, trying to rid my mind of the image of Lady Claude, hunched over her frame, sewing an image out of hell.
I might have finished with the hall, but the hall had not finished with me. I heard the sound of running feet and a voice called out my name. I turned to see Sir Alain de Villequier hurrying after me. I had no choice but to wait for him.
‘Lassair, Lady Emma says you came to treat Claude,’ he said, panting. ‘How is she? Is she feeling better?’
I wondered that he consulted me instead of going up to ask the lady herself. ‘She is, I believe, sir,’ I replied. Edild stresses that we must not discuss a patient’s symptoms and sickness with anyone else, so I didn’t tell him what had troubled her. ‘I left her in her sewing room.’
‘Her sewing room,’ he echoed tonelessly. ‘Ah. Er, good.’ He flashed a smile at me, and I thought again what an attractive man he was. It wasn’t his looks, which were pleasant but unexceptional; it was the impression he gave of irrepressible good humour and a determination to enjoy life. You just knew he’d be fun to be with and that, I find, is more of a draw in a man than the most perfect features on someone devoid of personality.
He stood there, still smiling, and I said delicately, ‘If that is all, sir, I ought to be on my way. My aunt has work in plenty for me today.’
‘Of course, of course!’ he exclaimed. But instead of turning back to the hall, he nodded towards the village and said, ‘We’ll walk together, shall we?’
I could scarcely have said no.
We paced along in an amiable silence for a while. He might have been a justiciar and a man of wealth and influence, but I felt at ease with him. Drawn to him, in a way, for all that my heart was firmly lodged with another. Perhaps he felt it too; perhaps – far more likely – he just couldn’t resist the appeal of a young woman beside him. Presently, he took my arm, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
He said, giving my arm a squeeze, ‘What of this missing man, then, Lassair? This Derman, who may or may not have attacked Ida?’
‘We went out looking for him last night,’ I gabbled, ‘and they set off again at first light this morning. We’re doing our best to find him, sir!’
‘Are you?’ He looked down at me, quirking an eyebrow. ‘Or are you planning to let him slip off into the wilderness and so leave your Haward free to marry the lovely Zarina without her shambling brother coming too?’
How did he know?
Who had told him?
I tried frantically to work it out, then realized that nobody had told him. He had been appointed to his new position because he was an astute, observant man who didn’t need to be told things because he worked them out for himself.
Who had told him?
I tried frantically to work it out, then realized that nobody had told him. He had been appointed to his new position because he was an astute, observant man who didn’t need to be told things because he worked them out for himself.
There seemed little point in lying to a man such as he. ‘It is true that Derman presents an obstacle to my brother marrying Zarina,’ I said quietly. ‘She is unwilling to impose the care of him on anyone else.’
‘A noble sentiment,’ Sir Alain remarked. ‘Although, of course, disappearing into the wilds is not the only way in which the obstacle that is Derman might be removed.’
I believed I knew what he was thinking and, in the same instant, I knew it was up to me to stop him. Praying I was doing the right thing, I said, ‘
If
Derman did this terrible thing and is caught and hanged, then yes, the way would be clear for Haward and Zarina to marry.’ I turned to stare up at him, putting my soul into my eyes. ‘I have known my brother all my life,’ I said, ‘and I give you my word that he would rather forsake his chances of happiness with Zarina than watch as she suffers the pain of seeing Derman apprehended, tried, found guilty and put to death.’ Haward’s words of that morning flew into my mind:
I hope he runs so far and so fast that we
never
catch him
.
If
Derman did this terrible thing and is caught and hanged, then yes, the way would be clear for Haward and Zarina to marry.’ I turned to stare up at him, putting my soul into my eyes. ‘I have known my brother all my life,’ I said, ‘and I give you my word that he would rather forsake his chances of happiness with Zarina than watch as she suffers the pain of seeing Derman apprehended, tried, found guilty and put to death.’ Haward’s words of that morning flew into my mind:
I hope he runs so far and so fast that we
never
catch him
.
Sir Alain regarded me for some moments. Then he said, ‘I believe you.’
I could have cheered.
‘What will happen now, sir?’ I asked.
‘We’ll have to find Derman,’ he replied. ‘I, too, have sent a search party to look for him.’
My heart filled with dread. We in the village had managed only a handful of people with a limited amount of time. The resources that surely must be at Sir Alain’s disposal would be far, far greater. I doubted if Derman stood a chance.
Sir Alain must have read my expression. ‘Don’t you want Derman caught?’
Before I could think about it I blurted out, ‘I don’t want
your
men to catch him.’
your
men to catch him.’
I thought I had gone too far. But, when at length he spoke, his voice was gentle. ‘He may be a ruthless killer, Lassair. Ida was—’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ida had done him no harm. If she rejected him, as is speculated, she would have done so kindly and gently.’
‘Yes, I know,’ I said wearily. ‘But what if he didn’t kill her? What if he’s just a convenient, defenceless fool who was silly enough to fall for her and just happened to be in the vicinity when she was killed?’
He looked at me for some moments. Then a faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he said, ‘Do you imagine I haven’t thought of that?’
EIGHT
I
was ravenous when I finally got back to Edild’s house. I’d been far too tense that morning to think of food, and my ministrations up at the hall had taken me long past the hour of the midday meal. My aunt had thoughtfully left bread and cheese ready for me, and I crammed the food into my mouth as if I hadn’t eaten for a week. She waited while I took the edge off my hunger, then asked how I had found Lady Claude. I told her, thinking hard to make sure I relayed all my impressions as well as what Claude had actually said and done.
was ravenous when I finally got back to Edild’s house. I’d been far too tense that morning to think of food, and my ministrations up at the hall had taken me long past the hour of the midday meal. My aunt had thoughtfully left bread and cheese ready for me, and I crammed the food into my mouth as if I hadn’t eaten for a week. She waited while I took the edge off my hunger, then asked how I had found Lady Claude. I told her, thinking hard to make sure I relayed all my impressions as well as what Claude had actually said and done.
‘Hmm,’ Edild said when I had finished. ‘Her grief eats at her, it seems. And I would guess there is some battle going on in her head between what she sees as her vocation – to answer God’s call and enter a convent – and her duty to her family.’ She frowned. ‘I am disturbed at these embroideries you describe. They speak of a mind in torment.’
‘And she’s going to hang them round her
bed
!’ I added.
bed
!’ I added.
Other books
Molly Moon Stops the World by Georgia Byng
Folklore of Yorkshire by Kai Roberts
Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat
When Everything Changed by Gail Collins
Justice (Moon Hunters Inc. Book 1) by Catty Diva
Tomorrow They Will Kiss by Eduardo Santiago
The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) by Hamilton, Duncan M.
A Prayer for the Night by P. L. Gaus
Raistlin, mago guerrero by Margaret Weis
Murder at Granite Falls by Roxanne Rustand