Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (41 page)

"Well, enough of that gossip. Where was I, dear? Oh, yes, we were so amazed when Sir Rodger came to us and asked to we
d
Artemis. Actually, 'twas Valentine he spoke to. It was most unexpected. There has been a bit of awkwardness between our families over the years, I'll not deny that.
And
there is a difference in religion. However, all Valentine wanted to know was if Sir Rodger loved Artemis, and, more importantly, did she love him? There was, of course, no need to question the man's antecedents. I hardly think we could find a more gentlemanly courtier in all of England.
And
we all know how wealthy Sir Rodger is.

"Well, it really has been such a whirlwind. But I have never seen Artemis so happy, nor indeed, Sir Rodger," Quinta said, her words droning on in Lily's ears as Lily tried to smile; but her effort felt stiff and unnatural. "We really must have you attend Valentine's wedding if he does marry Cordelia when he returns from this voyage. Perhaps he will have less desire to leave England with a beautiful, bored wife staying behind.
And
with Cordelia, he will certainly have reason to worry," Quinta said, but her laughter came less easily this time.

Valentine and Cordelia Howard to wed by summer. Cordelia had been to Ravindzara. Lily bit her lip, her knuckles whitening around the packages she held to her breast like a shield against the pain caused by Quint
a
's casually uttered words.

"Are you all right Lily? You're so pale," Simon asked worriedly.

"Why, my dear, you are shivering. Why don't you go to your bed chamber and get out of those damp clothes. Simon and I will see to Tristram," Quinta ordered, her tone of voice brooking no argument. "You need a rest after that ride. I can see that you are taking far
too
much upon yourself. I'll have that woman send you up a nice warming posset.
There
really is nothing quite like it for fighting off a chill," Quinta told her with a comforting smile.

Pressing her hand to Lily's forehead, she frowned. "You are a bit flushed, my dear. I really must have a talk with that guardian of yours. He really should have his head examined for allowing you to ride into the village on a day as foul as this one. He has a coach, he ought to use it for more than traveling into London once a year. Now, run along, and I'll make certain you've a fire in your room.
Come
, Simon," Quinta said as Simon continued to stand gazing after Lily. "I swear, sometimes this place is as cold as the grave" Quinta added uneasily as she glanced back at Lily's lone figure disappearing along the shadowy corridor.

We have heard the chimes at midnight
.

S
hakespeare

Chapter Sixteen

T
he storms of February
blew into March with a vengeance and proved false the old proverb:

If Candlemas Day be fair and bright,

Winter will have another flight,

If on Candlemas Day it be shower and rain,

Winter is gone and will not come again
.

It had been a chilling ride to the parish church on Candlemas Day to offer up candles in honor of the Virgin Mary. A fortnight into February, lightning struck the steeple of the church and burned it down to the square tower. And even the grumbling cook at Highcross had been anxious to rise from her cold bed and stir the banked fire in the great hearth of the kitchens for the preparation of the traditional pancakes on Shrove Tuesday.

The narrow lane between Highcross and East Highford became impassable except on foot or horseback, and the waters of Little Highford threatened to rise above its banks. It had been with cold, stiff fingers on St. Valentine's Eve that Lily had written upon a billet Valentine Whitelaw's name and tucked it safely away inside her bodice. And shivering with the other maidens of the
village
, she had carried a garland of flowers, sweet herbs, and ribbons before the casket of the shoemaker's unmarried sister, certain her fate, too, was to die an old maid. Throughout the forty days of Lent, the Candlemas-eve winds continued to bring the icy rains of winter.

Lengten-tide had been a long time coming, but finally it was spring, and already the days of April were becoming warmer and longer as they stretched toward summer. That afternoon had been uncommonly warm, and Lily had unlatched the window in her bedchamber for the first time in months. The soft breeze caressed her while she poured the steaming w
ater T
illie had brought up from the
kitchens
into the large, wooden tub. With care, she measured a
couple
of drops of rose oil into the water. the rising steam carried the heady scent on an aromatic cloud throughout the chamber.

Lily had begun to undress, proceeding as far as her underskirt and chemise, when she paused for a moment and listened to the nightingale's song beyond the casement window. It came so sweetly, yet there was an underlying sadness to the notes that drifted to her from the woodlands. It was the first she had heard since winter's
passing
, but overnight the pale green leaves seemed to be unfolding on the bare branches, and the first crocuses were blossoming under the friendly warmth of the sun.

Lily breathed deeply, expelling her breath on a sigh of pleasure. Although Hartwell Barclay had recently purchased fine carpets for the great chamber and his own private chamber, she still preferred the meadow-sweet fragrance of the fresh rushes strewn across the floor of her bedchamber. Dried lavender and roses scented the sachets tucked beneath the pillows and coverlet of the bed and sweetened the folds of clothing placed in the gilded chest at its foot. Sandalwood, clove, marjoram, and pennyroyal in a pierced potpourri jar on the mantelpiece lent a spicy redolence to the room. a vase on the windowsill held a spray of woodbine, a wild daffodil nodding on its slender
stalk
, and several delicate musk roses plucked from the woods by Tristram. Inside an elaborately carved ivory box on the small bedside table was an assortment of prized vials of exotic perfumes of Araby-jasmine,
orange-
blossom, hyacinth, violet, and patchouli-which had been a gift from Valentine Whitelaw on his return from one of his journeys to the Mediterranean.

"Praaack!
Me arse is half frozen! Lift a leg, my pretty!
Praaack!"
Cisco declared, strutting back and forth on his perch in the corner of the room. "I'll have that bird roastin' on a spit if he don't shut up"
Praaack!"
Cisco cried, his last statement mimicking the cook to perfection. "He nipped me! Ye bloodthirsty knave!"

Lily glanced over at him in surprise, a slight frown marring her brow. At times, it was fortunate that Cisco repeated whatever he heard. Lily would make certain she kept an eye on the cook in order to keep intact those green feathers Cisco preened with such inordinate pride.

"Oooh, Mistress Lily, I don't know how 'tis ye haven't shriveled up or caught yer death of cold by now," Tillie exclaimed as she entered the room, two more buckets of steaming water swinging from a yoke balanced across her shoulders. Setting them down by the tub, she quickly emptied the contents, careful for once not to spill any of the water. With a sigh, she straightened, her hand massaging the small of her back.

"Are ye certain, mistress, 'tisn't harmful bathing? I've heard some bloodcurdling stories, I have. Haven't done it very often, meself, and both times I nearly caught me death of cold. Nearly broke off all my teeth, I was chattering that much. Sneezed fer days afterwards and me skin started to flake off. thought I was goin' to die," Tillie recalled with a shudder. "Reckon a spot of cold water against me face is all I'm needin'," she decided, but Lily could see her eyeing the warm, scented water almost wistfully.

"If you add a drop of oil to the water your skin won't dry out like that. Why don't you soak in the tub after I've finished? 'Tis so sweetly scented, 'twould be wasteful to pour it out. You must be all aches, Tillie. You've been on your hands and knees the whole day. I promise no harm will befall you. And think how please Farley will be," Lily added as a final inducement.

"Oh, Mistress Lily, why, whatever ye be talkin' of?" Tillie blushed and looked away nervously. "Now, mistress, ye do worry too much about the likes of me," she protested, shrugging off her lady's concern. She'd heard Mistress Lily's mother had been a fine gentlewoman too, always concerning
herself
about others. Tillie bit her lip, wondering if she should confide in Mistress Lily.

"And with good reason, for you were scrubbing the kitchens when I was distilling some flower waters, and later you were soaping down the hall," Lily reminded her as she stepped out of her underskirt. "Surely you have completed most of your duties for the day," Lily asked, thinking Tillie was looking more haggard than usual and vowing that she'd hire two more scullery maids when she became mistress of Highcross. She would also make Tillie her lady's maid.

"I've washed up the
dinner plates and scoured the pots, but most likely the master will find something else fer me to do. Ah, but that do smell nice, mistress," Tillie sighed, scooping up a handful of water and patting it on her cheeks. "Hmm, smells like a whole garden of roses. Kinda deep, though, mistress. Ye could drown in less water; why the old Widow Hubbs slipped in a puddle t'other day and could've drowned right there on High Street if that cart hadn't run over her first. 'Tis the truth, mistress. Why, just before ye comes to Highcross, young Dan Barber drowned in a trencher plate at t'Oaks. But then, Farley Odell has always said that Dickie Sawyer serves watered-down gravy at t'Oaks. Too thin, 'tis. If it'd been thicker, bit of oatmeal in it maybe, why, Dan Barber would most likely be alive today."

"Lily smiled. "I don't think I need worry." Pulling off her stockings and chemise, Lily climbed into the tub, sinking down until the water rose just above her bare shoulders.

"Ye can swim, can't ye, mistress? That be amazin'. Not many folk can," Tillie said as she hefted back up the wooden buckets. "I'm always wonderin' how them folk learn in the first place, 'cause if ye don't know how, then how are ye goin' to learn before ye drowns?" she puzzled. "Ain't goin' to do ye no good knowin' how if ye be on the bottom," Tillie said wisely, heading toward the door. "I'll be fetchin' some wood now, then start that fire, mistress," Tillie added with a backward glance over her shoulder.

Lily ducked as the buckets swung around. "A fire?" she q
uestioned doubtfully, glancing over
at the hearth that hadn't felt the heat of a fire in almost a year. Not since she'd been ill with a fever and Quinta Whitelaw had demanded the unhealthy damp be driven from the cold bedchamber. If she hadn't been so ill, Lily would have laughed aloud that day, for Quinta had certainly known how to light a fire under Hartwell Barclay, warning him he'd have many questions to answer if anything should happen to his ward because he was to cheap to allow a fire in her bedchamber.

"Oh, yes, mistress. The master, seein' me bringin' up yer bath water, says 'tis still to chilly fer ye to be bathin' up here without a fire. Says he doesn't want ye to become chilled. Can't have that, no sir, he says with a big smile," Tillie told her, eyeing her mistress curiously.

Lily's gaze narrowed thoughtfully.

"Reckon he be tetched in the head?" Tillie asked, for the master had never before worried about Mistress Lily falling ill.

"I wonder," Lily murmured.

"I wonder he can still stand. Ain't seen him without that fancy silver wine cup of his all day. Started the day off with
several
tankards of ale, then had his claret at luncheon, and more at dinner, and now he's in the great chamber sippin' from a drinkin' horn full of hot spiced wine. Must have drunk up half a hogshead by now. Thinks he's ol' King Harry sittin' there lordin' it over the
household
," Tillie muttered as she hurried to the door, but before she reached it, it was opened just wide enough for a small face to peek inside.

"Oh, Mistress Dulcie! Ye're lettin' in a draft. Want to bring about the death of yer sister?" Tillie told the child.

"Come in, Dulcie," Lily called to her, smiling reassuringly when the door opened
wider to allow Dulcie's thin fi
gure to enter. Lily continued to watch the door and was not surprised when it was nudged wider and Raphael's big head poked inside. He had grown another foot and weighed twice as much since coming to Highcross, and Lily wondered idly if he would ever stop growing. He looked like a small pony trotting into the room. And sitting on his back, a small black hand hooked beneath the tattered blue ribbon, was Cappie, bedecked in his green velvet cap and jacket.

"If they ain't the pair," Tillie said with a grin, but giving the mastiff plenty of room as she slipped out the door.

Humming some unrecognizable song to herself, Dulcie came to stand beside the tub. Cappie hopped off Raphael's back and scampered along the curving rim, his chattering voice rising excitedly when Dulcie began to swirl the water,
disturbing
his reflection in its surface.

"What have you been doing?" Lily asked, flicking water on Dulcie's cheek in response to the splash that had drenched her face much to Dulcie's giggling delight.

"Nothing," Dulcie replied. "I'm glad 'tis warmer. I wish the lake didn't freeze every winter. Our pool on the island never froze over. We could swim all year long. Only time I get to swim now is when I take a bath, and that's not any fun," she said, her hand sending a wave of water toward Cappie's tiny feet. Scolding her, he leapt onto the bed where he took off his cap before curling up against the pillows.

"You left your embroidery in the hall," Lily told her sister. "I noticed you have almost completed it. It was very lovely, Dulcie," Lily complimented her. She had been surprised by the beauty of the needlework. Dulci
e
was becoming an accomplished needle-woman, just like their mother.

"I tried to work slowly, but I just couldn't wait to see it finished. I was very careful with my stitches, just like Jane showed me," Dulcie said.

"It's quite unusual. The flowers remind me of the ones on the island."

"I tried so hard to remember, Lily, but I couldn't remember exactly," Dulci
e
said, pleased by her sister's remark.

"I think they are all the prettier because of that. They look like mythical flowers. We will have to go into the village and buy some more silk thread now that the weather is warmer."

"Really! Do you think we can find some brighter colors this time, Lily? I'm always using up the red. I don't like the pale colors. My flowers and butterflies have to be bright as the sun," Dulcie explained very seriously. With a shy glance, she added, "I was thinking of giving an embroidered length of silk to the queen next New Year's Day if we are invited to court.
Do you think she would like it?

"I am certain she would be delighted," Lily told her, remembering some of the New Year's gifts she had watched Elizabeth receive with a queenly graciousness and an almost childlike delight last year. Jeweled pomanders, scented, lace-trimmed gloves, purses full of gold coin, and all manner of expensive gifts she'd received from her courtiers and others seeking royal favor, and with equal excitement Elizabeth had
also
accepted the more simple gifts from her loyal subjects: a nosegay from a scullery maid, a freshly caught trout from one of her bargemen, an orange studded with cloves from a gardener, and even a freshly baked quince pie from one of her bakers. And their generosity was returned in sundry gifts she handed out of her favorites. "If Jane does not have the silks we need, then I'll have her order some special from London."

"Oh, thank you, Lily!" Dulcie exclaimed, dancing around the room. "This is my favorite room at Highcross," Dulcie confided as she spun on her toes, her skirts floating around her until she came to a halt near the window. She reached out her hand and cupped one of the musk-roses, sniffing its fragrance. "Your room reminds me of the island, Lily. There are always flowers, and even in winter, when there aren't any fresh ones from the gardens, it still smells like spring. Even the bed hangings smell like roses," Dulcie said, throwing herself on the bed with a flying leap that had Cappie scrambling between the pillows and the bolster set against the headboard. Rolling onto her stomach, Dulcie playfully slid her hand beneath the pillow. A moment later, Cappie's dark face appeared, but unable to resist a bit of petting, he crawled out and sat next to her. His eyes closed with contentment as she scratched him under the chin. "I'm glad 'tis spring. Winter is to dark. I don't like it when there's not any sunshine."