The Innocent (10 page)

“Well worked, is it not, Anne?”

Anne whipped around guiltily to find Piers just behind her, leaning on the passage wall with an amused look on his face. Her face glowing with embarrassment, Anne bobbed a panicked curtsy as she went to pull the door of the kitchen open, but she was not fast enough. Piers got there first and his fingers closed around her wrist, forcing her hand away from the iron latch as he made her turn and face him.

“Do you know that some of the men of the house touch this, here, just as you wanted to”—he pulled her over to the carving and forced her fingers to rub the straining loincloth of one of the giants—“before they bed their women?”

“Let me go, you’re hurting me and I have to—”

But now he had her other hand and was forcing her farther away from the kitchen door, pressing her up against the wall, pinning her shoulders against the stone. “I could show you why they do it, Anne—would you like me to? Do you feel that—hard is it not?”

Holding her wrists tightly pinioned with one hand, his mouth was at her throat now and then his tongue was sliding down toward her breasts while he fumbled up under her skirt.

“Piers, let me go—now!”

He was very strong and had her crushed against the wall, dress up around her waist, as he forced his body against hers, legs straddled around her, rubbing himself, panting against her belly.

Anne made a supreme effort and wrenched her knee into his unprotected groin with all the desperate force she could muster. He grunted in pain, dropped her wrists, and she escaped.

Sobbing with anger and fear, she heaved the door of the kitchen open and slammed it again as she stumbled through, her mind a jumble, but conscious that she must compose herself—and fast. The kitchen was a mess, the servants still cleaning up after the feast. Many of them were drunk from having sampled the leftover wine on empty stomachs when they’d cleared the hall, so while happy shouts from here and there greeted her, they were all busy enough not to notice that she looked distressed. Covertly, she pulled the bodice of her gown together as best she could and tried to tuck the torn cloth back into the neckline from where it had been ripped away.

Maître Gilles was counting the nutmegs and putting them away when Anne found him. He saw at once that something was very wrong but did not attempt to interrupt the girl as she stumbled over her request for coals for the solar.

“Certainly, dear one. Now sit here while I have them brought,” he said, pressing her gently down onto a settle beside his worktable. She flinched when he touched her. Then he called out, “Corpus, two buckets of coals for Lady Margaret. Yes, now!”

Gilles turned back to look pensively at the girl, she was visibly shivering though seated very close to the fire. He also noticed that she kept trying to rearrange the fichu of sheer material at the breast of her dress; it looked odd somehow, askew. Striding over to a black pot hanging over the flames, the chef ladled out a quantity of the hot liquid that was simmering there into a horn beaker. “Here—hot wine.”

She smiled gratefully at Maître Gilles as she pressed her hands around the warm cup, but as she quickly looked down again, the cook was alarmed to see her eyes had filled with tears.

“So, will you tell me what has happened?”

Anne swallowed some of the scalding wine and shook her head. “Perhaps God wishes to punish me for my sins.”

She looked so miserable that the chef was nonplussed for a moment. Putting two and two together, he worked out what must have happened—and who was likely to be responsible. “Would you like me to speak to Jassy for you?”

“No! Oh, no, please do not. I’m sure this was just some sort of…that he did not intend…” she stumbled on.

The cook was conscious of a flicker of prurient interest—quickly suppressed. He liked Anne but could not deny the lustful thoughts that her youth—and her body—brought into his head from time to time.

Kindness fought with flesh and, sighing, he brought his mind back to the task at hand—to help, not make things worse for her.

“Corpus! Lazy dogsmeat! Take those coals up. Now,” he bellowed.

As the old man stumbled over to the concealed door, complaining under his breath, two heavy iron canisters of coals swinging from the wooden yoke across his shoulders, Maître Gilles held out a hand to Anne to help her from the settle. “Now listen to me. I’m here and I’m your friend. If you change your mind, I’ll speak for you to Mistress Jassy when you’re ready. But for now, I think it would be wise if you avoided going about by yourself.”

Holding her head high as she crossed the kitchen, Anne swallowed her tears as she followed Corpus up the stairs to the solar, hardly hearing the usual stream of invective. Everything had changed. How could men be so confusing? And so strange in their relations with women?

Piers and Aveline—and Piers and Anne: the initials were the same but the substance was so very different. She could not understand why Aveline would want anything to do with Mathew’s son. Anne felt physically sick as she thought of Piers running his hands over her body—and yet, unwillingly, when she thought of the king, the hot rushing warmth made her head spin…

How could she have woken so childlike this morning, and now, at the end of the day, feel as if she had been swept away on a sea of her own darkly turbulent blood? With Deborah’s help she would pray tonight—to the old gods of the forest and to the Mother of Christ. She would need all the help they could give her.

Chapter Six

Anne hurried into the solar behind Corpus, and found her mistress sitting, eyes closed, in her dressing chair by the fire. Aveline turned as Anne entered the room and the younger girl’s heart sank at the look of venomous triumph that Aveline shot at her.

“See, mistress, here she is at last! So, girl, you thought you would take your own time with the men in the kitchen while Lady Margaret waited on your good pleasure!”

Saying anything was futile. Anne clenched her teeth and silently directed Corpus to fill the warming pans as she turned down the sheets on the bed.

But Aveline seized the chance she’d been waiting for. “Madam, it’s not as if I haven’t told her often enough to concentrate on her work and speak only as necessary to the men. But light girls like her never listen. There, you see—she has spoiled the fine gown you gave her. Ripped at the bodice no doubt while sporting with one of the pantrymen or maybe even the pig man.”

Corpus, tipping the coals into the pans with his back to Lady Margaret and Aveline, leered at Anne and lewdly jigged one forefinger in and out of a circle he made with his other hand, while licking his toothless gums lustfully.

Anne stayed silent though she flushed bright red, a fact not missed by Aveline. “There, mistress, see—her face condemns her!”

Lady Margaret decided to put a stop to the persecution of her younger maid. “Enough, Aveline, quite enough. Bring me the dressing robe. And Corpus, that will do. You may go back to the kitchen.”

As the old man scuttled out with a final flicker of his startlingly red tongue at Anne, Lady Margaret beckoned the younger girl over to her side, while Aveline flounced over to the garderobe.

The older woman could see that Anne was very unhappy about something and also that the girl had tried in vain to disguise the rip in the bodice of her gown. She tried to draw the child out. “Tell me what is wrong, Anne. I can see something is troubling you very much.”

Anne shook her head, steadfastly looking down at the floor, hands locked together.

“Come now. This is not like you. If you do not tell me, it will be hard for me to protect you. Whatever has happened, well, I do not think it can be your fault. Being pretty can be a curse sometimes, you know, until you are a little older and understand how to deal with the face and body the good Lord has seen fit to give you.”

The gentle tone in Margaret’s voice found its way into the girl’s heart and her eyes filled with tears that slid down her cheeks before she could stop them. “Madam, it is nothing. Just a foolish incident.”

Aveline snorted bitterly as she returned.

“Aveline! You forget that Anne is young. Something has upset her very much,” Margaret protested.

“With respect, madam, if something has caused her pain there is nothing more certain but that she has brought it on herself. As I said, she’s a wanton.”

Anne burst out: “I am not! Oh, madam, I am not and you must believe me. This was not of my seeking!”

“There now, child, there now. I believe you. Calm yourself. We shall deal with this sensibly, you and I, but first you must tell me what happened.”

But Anne shook her head again, and Margaret, looking narrowly at the girl, came to a decision. There seemed to be no great harm done, apart from shock. Perhaps sleeping on the matter would give the girl courage to say more tomorrow. She would deal with it then. For now she was bone weary and desperate for sleep herself.

As the two girls undressed their mistress and put her into the warmed bed, some instinct warned Aveline, too late, that she had overstepped the mark in persecuting the girl. Anne was telling the truth and their mistress believed her. Sudden cold certainty came unbidden: Piers. The thought made her head spin with fear and anger. She’d seen him sniffing after the girl, even today. Desperate to know what had happened, she tried to get Anne to tell her without Margaret hearing their conversation. But as they carefully packed Margaret’s beautiful velvet dress away together, cleaned the solar and rebanked the fire, Anne refused to be drawn out. The short winter day was darkening when Aveline released the girl in frustration, telling her to get some food and warning her to return as soon as she had eaten.

Wearily, Anne walked down to the receiving hall as trestle-boards were being set out for the evening meal. She knew that there would be plenty of food if she went directly to the kitchen, but she balked at the thought of going there. She touched the bodice of her gown where she’d managed to repair the rip during the afternoon—remembering Piers tearing the smooth material set her teeth on edge.

As she looked at the cheerful bustle around her, she smiled at one or two of the other servant girls she particularly liked. Melly, who was banking up the ashes in the great fireplace before the men brought in more wood, waved to Anne happily, for once. Melly had really enjoyed today’s excitement and was looking forward to eating some of the tasty leftovers from the feast.

Anne was so tired that she slumped down on a settle near the fire and closed her eyes. The events of this day played through her mind like an entertainment from the mummers and she wondered if it had all been some sort of dream. Had the king really looked at her so warmly or was that a delusion? And was Piers really involved with Aveline? She’d become used to dodging him as he pursued her half-jokingly from time to time, but never before had he tried to seriously molest her. She longed for tonight when she would see Deborah and could ask her advice.

Slowly, the sounds of the receiving hall slipped farther and farther away and she drifted toward sleep, until a hand shook her by the shoulder. It was John, Piers’s body servant. “My master needs you. Now.”

Anne looked at the boy in horror. “But John, I cannot. It would cause terrible trouble for me.” She could not keep the fear out of her voice and the boy shifted uneasily from one foot to another, eyes on the floor.

“He said if you would not come I was to tell you he would be speaking to his father tonight about your unsatisfactory work in this house.” The poor boy hated his message but his tone was clear.

Anne stumbled to her feet, forcing strength into her muscles, but her gut churned with terror. The stone staircase leading from the hall to the upper galleries stretched away into darkness. As slowly as she dared, she followed John as he hurried on, the skirts of her pretty green gown trailing over the rushes.

Too few minutes later, John raised his hand to knock at Piers’s door.

She grabbed his fist and whispered urgently, “John, after you have let me in here, go as fast as you can to Lady Margaret’s solar and tell her…tell her that Master Piers has asked me to speak to him. And please say that it is not of my making and I would be grateful if Aveline could come to fetch me—immediately.”

Nervously, the boy shook his head. “I cannot do that, Mistress Anne. He would beat me and turn me out into the street.”

The girl looked at him in utter despair. He was right—she could not ask for his help because Piers would indeed turn him out of the house for disloyalty. She dropped her hand from John’s arm as he looked at her, guilt and shame in his eyes, before his knuckles beat upon the door.

“Enter.”

John pushed open the door, ushered her through with a hurried bow, and then backed out, closing it again.

Anne was alone in the room with Piers Cuttifer. Deep night had fallen outside. The room was warm and cheerful in the light from the fire and several expensive, fat wax candles. Piers sat beside his hearth in a thronelike chair, watching her silently. She stood just inside the door clenching her teeth against her shivering. “Come here.”

She did not move.

“I said come here, Anne.” Quiet menace this time.

Again she said nothing, but forced herself to walk toward him, stumbling slightly against a rich rug that lay in her path.

“There now, come and stand here: let me look at you properly.”

She was standing about an arm’s length from him now, the glow from the fire picking out the contours of her face and body.

“Do you know that I am disappointed in you?”

“And I you, sir,” she said sharply.

“Oh, ho, this little thing has a tongue like a needle. Spirit is good, but too much spirit must learn obedience. Kneel. Now!” The silky voice became a bark as he fingered the stock of a whip lying across his knees.

The hammering in Anne’s chest was so loud she thought he must hear it but she said nothing as she knelt. She knew he wanted her to plead with him and this she would not do—if she could stop herself.

Silence as he looked at her. He was waiting for her to speak and when she did not, he smiled slightly.