My Lady Imposter (5 page)

She learned to eat, and then how to dress and
how to walk. And how to speak, softening her country dialect, and instilling a little preciseness into each word. She copied Wenna like a parrot, until her pronunciation, if not her voice, was of a likeness. Her head ached, and when she forgot to do her task perfectly, Wenna informed her she was hopeless.

“A peasant!” she cried, throwing up her long, white hands. “How can I change that?”

“I don’t want to be changed,” Kathryn retorted angrily.
“I
want to go home.”

A laugh for that, a bitter twist of those fine, pink lips. “My lord commands you to stay, and as you are his property, girl, you will stay.” They glared at each other, their hatred a tangible thing.

“Home to your pig, Kathryn?”

The two women looked up. Richard stood by the door, blue eyes mocking.

“Richard,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh Richard, I don’t want to learn anymore.”

Wenna’s hand came out like a snake striking, and landed on her cheek. Kathryn stared in amazement, and the grey eyes drew close, dark with fury. “How dare you speak so to a knight! He is Sir Richard Tremaine, or my lord. Do you hear me, girl!”

Tears welled up and slid down her aching cheek. Wenna threw her hands up again, turning to Sir Richard. “What can I do with her? She is a fool.”

He laughed, mocking again, and the laughter pierced Kathryn’s hurt like steel. He lifted Wenna’s hand to his lips, kissing it as a lover might. “You will manage it, sweeting, if anyone can.”

She sighed, and preened herself a little before his gaze. Then, brightening, “What do you here?”

“I’ve come to offer my services for an hour or two. My lord Ralf dislikes you having to work so hard.”

The carefully plucked brows lifted. “You could help with her conversation, mayhap. She refuses to converse with me. And dancing too, if you can abide the thought of her mashing your toes, Richard.”

He bowed slightly, “I am at your mercy, my lady.”

Kathryn wiped her eyes furiously and stared out of the window at the garden below. Herbs grew in neat rows, flowers bloomed and bees hummed. She longed suddenly for the cool greenery, the scent of fresh air. She longed to be away from the imprisoning bustle and clatter of Pristine manor.

“The day is a fine one,
is it
not?” Sir Richard asked her, seating himself beside her. She stared resentfully forward, her lip stuck out like a sulky child, the tears still clinging to her lashes.

“Who would think the weather should hold so long? In London, I’m told, it rains continually. The King roams about like a caged lion, mane
flowing. I don’t suppose you’ve been to London, or even five miles beyond Pristine. I suppose you know nothing of the wars brewing beyond our narrow channel? The French King dislikes ours, and I cannot find it in my heart to blame him, when Henry has stolen his Queen Eleanor.”

This last brought her head around, and he smiled at her, a gleam of triumph dancing in his blue eyes.

“What should I care for kings and queens,” she said haughtily. “What do they care for me?”

“You should care, Kathryn. The thoughts and actions of kings shape our own. They order, we obey. We should make certain we do not have kings who order things we cannot obey.”

She remembered, suddenly, the conversation she had overheard in the woods, and was silent. Outside in the garden a girl was bending to collect herbs. Kathryn watched her a moment, so intent she did not realize that he had bent closer to her, until his breath stirred her veil. “Ladies born and bred do not make it so obvious to their companions that they are bored.” He lifted his brow at her. “They reply demurely and listen to each and every word as though it were Holy writ. Ralf would not be pleased if you acted bored with him.”

His blue eyes almost hurt hers with their intensity. And then he had drawn back and she was left wondering if the moment had ever been. “I am leaving tomorrow for London,” he said
abruptly. “I have my own affairs to attend. My father is dying.”

“I am sorry for it,” she murmured, grudging in politeness.

The blue eyes were cool how, secret. “He has not always agreed with me upon things that matter—I am my own man, always. But I would not desert him for something so petty as revenge.”

She believed it, looking at him. He was indeed his own man.

“Richard!” Wenna, behind them, her voice cool and melodious. He rose and went towards the other woman. Kathryn stared moodily out of the window, pretending not to care. And yet, inside, she wondered at the sudden emptiness his words had caused. He was going to London. She had not often seen him, since her tuition began, but she had known he was here, at Pristine. Why should that comfort her? And why did she feel afraid, now he was to go?

“Girl!” Wenna’s imperious tones were not to be ignored, but she came as slowly as she dared. The grey eyes scanned her with dislike, but it was a cool dislike. The feeling one might have for an insect. Richard was frowning.

“You don’t walk, Kathryn,” he said. “You plod, like an unwilling ox before a plough.”

Wenna laughed, the sound light in the dull chamber. And then, “Make your curtsey to Sir Richard, girl! There will be no dancing today. I
have taken pity and released him from
that
odious task.”

She curtseyed, wobbling a little when she reached the floor. His hand steadied her, the fingers pressing her arm as he helped her to straighten. Wenna sniffed.

There was a pause, and then he said, “The girl will try hard. She has promised.”

His voice was rough, and Kathryn looked up in surprise that it had lost its usual cool detached sarcasm. Wenna raised her lovely, grey eyes to his face and kept them there a long time. “She is a peasant,” she murmured at last. “She can never learn to be a lady, only to mimic one. I shall tell Ralf so, if she does not take that mulish look off her face.”

Kathryn’s lip stuck out even further and she spun for the door, blind to the consequences. Richard’s hand stopped her as she reached to push aside the stiff curtain. His voice, low and rushed and angry, hissed in her ear.

“You fool! If you displease her she will have you flogged. Do as you are bid, child, or you will not be alive when I come back from London.”

She turned to look at him, her mouth trembling a little. “Come back? I thought... if your father dies, you must stay... he has lands and…”

He bowed his head a moment, hiding his face from her. “I am my own man,” he said quietly. “I told you so. I will come back.” His eyes lifted, and looked for a moment directly into hers. She felt something in her chest catch.

But he had turned back to Wenna, with a laugh that grated. “She is a child, my lady. But children learn quickly. You will see.”

Wenna shrugged, and then smiled as he bent to whisper in her ear. Her lips parted in soft laughter, her fingers lingered on his sleeve. Kathryn lowered her big eyes, hiding the sudden anger in them. He had spoken to her so... so sincerely, and now he flirted with his lord’s mistress! She hated him, hated him. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he had already gone.

Kathryn rose slowly from the table, smoothing her gown to her slim hips. The serving girl winked at her, before removing the trenchers and tankards. Wenna sat by the window, hands folded in her lap, waiting until the woman had gone. Kathryn met her eyes, waiting.

“Passable,” she said at last. “Come here!”

Kathryn came at once. She had learned obedience since Richard’s warning. She moved with a fluid grace which had nothing to do with training. Once she had lost her angry nervousness of Wenna, the stiffness in her bearing had vanished.

Now Wenna nodded slowly, grey eyes sliding critically over the other girl. “You progress... a little. Come with me.”

Kathryn opened her mouth, then reluctantly closed it.

Wenna, noting the control over the outburst, smiled. “Just so.” She rose and went to the curtain, her long fingers twisting on the cloth as she paused. “There is something more. A man, a peasant, wishes to see you. He refuses to go away. I would have him whipped, only he will make trouble and my lord dislikes to be troubled. He is waiting for you in the hall.” Another pause, Wenna turned with cold grey eyes. “You will not tell him what we have done here. You will not tell him anything. And you will send him away and see he does not return.”

It was Will.

He looked up, his eyes growing wider and wider as she came towards him in her new gown, her long hair plaited and fastened about her head beneath the loose flowing veil. “Kathryn?” his voice was a croak.

“Yes, it’s Kathryn.”

He swallowed and his eyes flickered away, as if she were too bright for him to look long upon. “Kathy-girl, I... I talked with Grisel and Snuff. They could only tell me you were here, and Sir Richard Tremaine had... Kathy!” His eyes were full of dumb animal pain. “You’re so changed! Are you in truth that man’s mistress?”

Shock held her still, and then pity made her reach to touch his arm. But he drew back.

“You’re his whore,” he whispered, something between terror and pride shining in his eyes. His shoulders shook a little. “I knew it would be so.”

“I am still only a serf, Will.” She bit her lip, “Why did you come?”

“I thought...” but his voice trailed off. She knew well enough why he had come. Because he loved her and still wished to marry her. But now that he had seen her so changed, his eyes told
him he could never marry the woman she had become.

“How is Grisel?” she managed at last.

“Well,” he said, brightening. “Very well. Another baby on the way.”

“Poor Grisel.”

He seemed puzzled, but after a moment said curiously, “You sound different.”

“I’m to be a lady,” she said with mockery. He didn’t understand it, and stood a moment shuffling his feet, uneasy in the little chamber. “Will, it’s of no use to come here. You see that, don’t you?”

He looked at her miserably, but nodded. “I see you’re changed, and if that man’s made his mark upon you...”

She bit her tongue in the longing to tell him it was not so, but did not. If he thought this shameful thing, at least he would think her beyond his reach and find some other girl. At least Grisel and Snuff could continue to be proud of her ‘great’ status. And besides, the truth was so confusing. She did not even know it herself.

“Goodbye, Will,” she said softly.

“Goodbye, Kathy.”

She stood staring at the place he had been, until Wenna came and mocked her for it and sent her away.

She had been learning some of the arts of being a lady’s maid. She had learned to dress Wenna’s long hair, and mend clothes and cut patterns. She had learned to dry herbs and make them into simples. She had learned that every great household had its cellars and store rooms, and what must be kept therein during summer and winter. She had learned until her mind hurt her with all its knowledge, and still they expected her to learn more.

Lord Ralf, however, seemed pleased with her meekness and her sweet voice. He may not have been so pleased, had he been able to see her eyes, modestly lowered beneath thick lashes. They shone black and angry—the eyes of a wild creature, caught and forced to come to heel, but not at all pleased about it.

The weeks passed. The harvest was done. The days came and went, lazy and still, with long, golden evenings over Pristine’s lands. Lord Ralf also went to London, taking most of his men-at-arms. The household slowed down to match the unseasonal heat. Wenna was cross and short-tempered and slapped Kathryn’s hands when she made mistakes in learning to play the harp and lute.

“You have fingers like hoofs,” she said, sourly, turning impatiently aside.

“You play then, my lady,” Kathryn held out the harp, smiling. “You play so well.”

Wenna looked at her, grey eyes considering. “You have a quick tongue, girl. A clever, cunning tongue. Take care it does not grow too
sharp and cut you.” But she took the proffered harp, and sang.

As the first chill winds cut through the drowsy days, and the first dying leaves fell in the woods, Lord Ralf came home, bringing with him many knights, all with squires and pages and servants, and many with their wives and ladies. Pristine was in a turmoil of excitement.