The Innocent (5 page)

“Anne!” Looming over her was Piers Cuttifer, Mathew’s only son, a tall, thick-muscled man of about twenty-five with hard, gray eyes whom some of the women in the household considered good-looking.

From the foxlike smell of him, and the sour wine on his breath, she could tell he’d been out carousing all night. He stood there swaying slightly, grinning at her.

Melly had long ago warned Anne about Piers. He liked to play “games” with the girls in the servants’

hall; moving silently about the dark house in his felt slippers, he was often able to creep up behind the maids as they did their work, and slip his greedy fingers down their bodices or even up their skirts.

Anne had very quickly learned to stay out of his way as much as she could. Now, gathering herself with dignity, she sketched a small frigid curtsy to the reeking, unshaven man in front of her. “Master Piers.

Good morning, sir, on your father’s name day.”

“So formal, Anne. Come now, let us be friends. Kiss me or I swear I shall die from longing.”

Anne saw that the kitchen staff were watching with interest, particularly Corpus who was skulking near the cooking fires, trying to avoid work while warming his backside. From under decently lowered lids, Anne darted a sharp glance around the kitchen; she needed Maître Gilles’s help for more reasons than one now if she was to get back to the solar before her mistress woke, and avoid another excuse for Aveline to torment her.

“Sir, I have work to do for your mother—”

“My stepmother, Anne. She was eight when I was born to my mother, so an odd parent she would have made then—not so?” He smiled at her winningly, taking a step closer so that she found herself backing up against the wall. Her eyes flicked around the kitchen again—where was Maître Gilles!

“Here I am, little Anne. May I serve you?”

Anne jumped with shock as Maître Gilles touched her on the shoulder. Had he read her mind?

Gratitude made her gabble her request: “Oh, sir, I would be so grateful if you could spare someone to help me bring water for my lady. She’s still asleep but Aveline must wake her soon if she is to be ready for the service.”

“Why did you not say you required assistance, sweet Anne? Here now I stand ready to help my dearest belle-mère. It shall be a small act of penance for me on this holy day.” Piers swept her a deep but somehow mocking bow as if to say, avoid this if you can!

Anne shivered at the image of Piers following her up the dark stair. Without thought she responded,

“No, sir, for then I should keep you from your bath.” There was a real lash in the last words, for his smell truly did offend her.

He smiled at her then like a dog or a wolf, lifting his lips over his canine teeth. Then he moved closer, almost pressing her up against the wall, one thick arm blocking her exit. Fearlessly, she looked straight into his eyes, until he dropped his own. She’d been brought up with animals in the forest, and she knew she could show no fear with Piers.

Maître Gilles broke the moment: “Corpus! Shift yourself here and bring hot water!” The wizened little man grimaced as he moved away from the fire, and the cook turned smoothly to Piers. “Ah, sir, how kind you are to consider the welfare of even the lesser servants in this house: truly God is good. There is no need, however. It is the job of this worthless wreckage”—he waved a hand in the direction of the old man who stood mumbling beside him—“to haul water up to your lady mother’s solar. Do not prevent him, sir, I beg, from performing one of the last services he is still able to render to this house.”

Without waiting to hear Piers’s reply Anne escaped back into the darkness of the stairwell, snatching a torch from a sconce to light the way up to the solar—feeling, with a shiver, Piers’s hot glance as she went. She heard the old man follow her, spitting venom as he hauled up a heavy can.

“Spawn of the Devil you are, bitch. To wash the stinking body invites lewd and impure thoughts—which you know, slut that you are. I saw you, I saw you—out to get Mathew Cuttifer’s son, don’t think I don’t watch you, pit of iniquity. Fiends from Hell, you and that Aveline; hot and shameless, the pair of you. You’ll both get what you deserve…”

Anne hardly heard the insults the old man mumbled at her; ever since that first day in the kitchen she’d seen he treated all women in just this way. He hated women—especially girls—and, it was whispered, loved boys. It was best to let him talk, because he ran out of breath eventually, especially climbing the stairs. Not for the first time Anne wondered why he hadn’t been turned out onto the street years ago.

The first faint light of dawn was filtering through the solar casements as Anne moved across the room and quietly pulled the heavily woven French bed curtains back. The old man, silent for once, poured the water into the washing bowl, while Aveline gently roused their mistress. As Corpus withdrew into the darkness of the stairwell, the woman in the bed stirred, waking with a light heart as she saw the girl standing by the fire warming a dressing robe. “So, Anne, here is another dawn.”

Anne smiled happily and walked toward the bed, holding the dressing robe, while Aveline assisted her mistress out of the sheets, automatically chiding Anne as she did so: “Hurry, girl—your mistress will take cold!”

But Anne was determined nothing would upset her today, not even Aveline. The contrast between the healthy woman standing smiling beside the bed and the near-corpse of that spring morning nearly eight months ago was its own reward and no one could take that from her.

“Are you strong enough to walk to the fire, mistress?” asked Aveline.

“Strong enough, and determined to, Aveline—delighted to!” The happiness in Lady Margaret’s voice made Anne smile again as she helped her mistress to the chair waiting by the fireside.

“Anne, I shall brush Lady Margaret’s hair. You may begin washing. None of your clumsiness, now.”

Anne suppressed a sigh. Young as she was, the girl understood that Aveline belittled her from fear of being supplanted, so with a determined effort she remained impassive. Aveline would only taunt her more if she thought the barb had hit home. Margaret was smiling sympathetically at her youngest maid, and heartened by the sweet expression on her lady’s face, Anne patted the warm damp cloth over her delicate skin until her mistress laughed. “I’ll not break, girl—use some vigor!” Anne rubbed the fine white flesh harder as Margaret talked on to Aveline.

“The robe is completed?”

“I believe it is, mistress,” said Aveline, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Anne, display the dress for Lady Margaret.”

“Not yet, not yet. Dry me first and then I shall be ready for my surprise. We must hurry if we are to be down to the hall before my husband: he deserves a surprise, too!”

Aveline was warm for once. “Ah, yes, lady, he truly does after all the anxiety of this last time; you are sure that…?”

“I am strong enough? Yes, with God’s will and your help I shall be.”

After personally applying scented cream—gillyflower essence in precious almond oil unguent—to preserve the whiteness of Lady Margaret’s skin, Aveline allowed Anne to fetch the dress from where it had been hanging on a wall peg in the garderobe.

When she had first come to Blessing House, Anne had balked at hanging her mistress’s most beautiful clothes in the cloaca as Aveline had told her to do, but then she had found that moths and fleas were much less likely to attach to the figured velvets and damasks because of the smell. And now, as she fetched her work from the anteroom to the latrine, it was a reward to hear Margaret’s sigh of pleasure as she held out her creation for inspection.

“Oh, Anne, it really is very lovely. Come here quickly, I must have it on!”

For a moment, Aveline turned away, blinking tears from her eyes, a complex wave of emotions threatening her usual iron control. Margaret’s joy and Anne’s shining serenity at this moment of accomplishment made her feel unwanted. How had she let this girl wheedle herself so close to their mistress? Something else disturbed her too—an unwilling acknowledgment, deep in her soul, that Anne meant her no harm and, indeed, tried often to offer friendship. Why could she just not accept what was offered, open her heart and trust? Shaking her head to banish these unwelcome thoughts, Aveline deliberately raised her voice.

“First, we must have the underdress, madam. Anne! Hold the gown up off the floor properly! Really, where are your wits today?” Aveline was sharp as she slipped the fine silk underdress over her mistress’s head. “Please, Lady Margaret, do stand still,” she said in exasperation as her mistress jigged up and down, eyeing the lustrous velvet of the gown, impatient to get it over her head.

Margaret laughed. “Aren’t you done yet, Aveline? I swear you’re all thumbs.” Finally, Anne was allowed to drop the deep blue dress over the delicate underdress and help lace the back as tightly as she and Aveline could.

“There, mistress—let me show you.” Aveline brought Lady Margaret the convex mirror that hung on the wall beside the largest window. Though it distorted the reflection it still showed a beautiful picture—a tall woman with a white throat and an oval face that glimmered like a pearl above the night-colored velvet.

Margaret stood silent before the mirror. This was a precious moment. She turned away from her reflection and looked out of the window toward the rising sun. “I thank God that I have been given back life and health, and that I have seen this day dawn. All flesh is grass, I know, but for this day I am deeply grateful.”

Then her mood changed again and she clapped her hands. “And now, I want to thank you for all that you both have done for me over these last months; for your devoted care and the healing power in your tisanes, Anne…” Aveline turned away scowling; the subject of the tisanes was a sore point between the girls. “I have presents for you both!”

The wooden coffer beneath the casement windows contained many of Lady Margaret’s clothes and she quickly rummaged through it, unconsciously inhaling the smell from the little bags of last summer’s lavender strewn among the garments to discourage insects. She lifted out a carefully folded gown of deep blue-green damask and another of fine copper-colored wool with a rich band of marten fur around the neck. “Please me by wearing these!”

After looking at each of the dresses for a moment, Lady Margaret handed the woolen gown to Aveline—a good choice, as the warm ocher would flatter her white skin and thick, almost black hair—and then she gave the green dress to Anne. Lovingly, the girl took the beautiful thing from her mistress’s hand and with Aveline’s willing help, for once, was dressed in less than a minute. The high bodice was loose in places, especially under her breasts, but a broad sash of red ribbon tied tight around the raised waist solved that problem.

“There, that looks fine.” Margaret smiled. “Aveline, this veil and circlet are for you. Anne, you may wear your hair loose. Becoming—and appropriate.”

“Anne, stop dreaming, girl! Fetch Lady Margaret’s best cloak.” Anne hurried to do Aveline’s bidding, while the older girl quickly bound up her mistress’s hair with a great skein of pearls and secured an airy veil of finest silk tissue to the crown of her head with a silver comb. It floated down like smoke around her shoulders.

Anne admired Aveline’s handiwork; she was an artist and understood instinctively just how to enhance her mistress’s beauty by this careful attention to detail. The younger girl sighed; maybe later today she would have the opportunity to talk properly to Aveline. It would be so much simpler if they could be friends and allies. Somehow she would find a way to make Aveline understand.

Lady Margaret was now finally dressed to Aveline’s satisfaction and she stepped quietly toward the door, taking a deep breath as she passed under the lintel. This was the first time she had been out of the solar in many, many months.

Margaret’s husband was on his knees at his prie-dieu in his workroom. Today he had great cause to pray, for he wished to give thanks for the recovery of his wife. She was twenty years younger than he but in the seven years she’d been in his house, he’d come to love her more and with a greater depth and meaning than he had loved either of his previous wives—God rest their souls.

Unusually, the hubbub in the hall found its way into his prayers and for once he abandoned the task he had set himself. The Lord would understand this was a great day: an important one for his household and its standing. After all, how often could a subject entertain his king on his own name day, and in his own house—and on the Virgin’s day too, of course—and with God’s good grace that is what he would do. He took a deep breath to steady himself and stood, almost unconscious of the pain in his knees.

Now was the time for action.

As he strode into the receiving hall, it seemed that his entire household was one heaving mêlée of bodies and hysterical dogs; but no one saw him enter because at that moment Margaret walked down the broad stone stairs supported by her maids, and a ragged cheer started up as, one by one, the people of Blessing House saw her there.

Phillipa Jassy hurried toward her mistress, beaming. “We thank the Blessed Virgin to see you here, my lady.”

“Amen to that. And I shall thank God and His Mother on my knees in their house for all their help and blessings; but now I should like to see my husband. Is your master in the workroom…?”

“No, wife, I am here beside you.”

At the sound of his voice, Margaret, Aveline, and Anne turned and dropped silent curtsies. The household grew quiet. It was as if three angels had flown down from the walls of the Abbey, such was the grace of the tableau in front of them. With tears in his eyes, Mathew raised the three women, first his wife and then the girls, and delighted the household by pulling Margaret to him in a hearty embrace before kissing her gently on the brow.

A loud voice cut through the rising hubbub of the happy crowd: “I say, let us cheer my father and the Lady Margaret!” On occasion Piers found grace and this was one of them.

The hall shook with cheering as Master Mathew draped the fur-lined cloak around his dignified wife and escorted her with ceremony across the hall and out to the portico to await their town litter.