“Do you not think Marion seems strange of late?” Sibbi asked. She had arrived two days ago in anticipation of Hawise’s wedding and the young women were talking together in the bridal chamber.
Hawise looked surprised at first, and then thoughtful. “Perhaps it is because you have been away from Ludlow and dwelling with your husband’s kin,” she said. “I suppose she does not chatter like she used to, but then we are no longer close like we were as children.” She grimaced. “I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me or our parents for my betrothal to Brunin.”
“It must be hard for her to watch you marry him then,” Sibbi remarked with her usual sympathy for those in difficult circumstances.
“She hasn’t said anything.” Hawise’s tone was defensive for Sibbi’s gentle concern had filled her with guilt. Perhaps she should try to be kinder and take more notice of Marion, but then Marion herself had made no effort to bridge the troubled waters between them. Indeed, now Hawise thought about it, Marion spent very little time in the bower these days. She wasn’t just quiet, she wasn’t there. “I’ll speak to her,” she said reluctantly.
Their mother entered the chamber, a frown set between her eyes and her lips drawn in a tight purse. “Ridiculous,” she snapped, hands on hips. “Sheets and tablecloths do not walk out of the coffers of their own accord.”
The maid at her side was wringing her hands and declaring with loud distress that she could not explain their absence from the locked linen chests. “They were there yester eve when I looked, my lady. I swear on my life they were!”
“Then either someone is a thief, or they have been mislaid by one who has no more wit than a headless chicken!” Sybilla snapped, and lifted and let fall her hands in an exasperated gesture. “Jesu, I do not have the time for this now; our guests are almost here. Take a couple of the serjeants and go into the town. Ask the mercers for a dozen yards of bleached linen. I’ll sort this out later.”
“Yes, my lady.” Relieved to have escaped so lightly, the maid ran.
Sybilla breathed out hard, looking decidedly harassed. “The FitzWarins are almost here,” she told her daughters. “Their outriders have just arrived.” Summoning another maid to attend her, she hastily stripped her gown and donned a fresh one of rose-colored linen.
Hawise swallowed and involuntarily set her hand to her throat and then her veil. Her hair was confined in a net beneath so that it couldn’t straggle anywhere and rend propriety, and she was wearing a sober charcoal-gray wool enriched with silver embroidery.
“You look fit to greet a queen,” Sibbi said soothingly, and hugged Hawise.
“A queen perhaps, but not the lady Mellette,” Hawise said ruefully.
“It’s not the lady Mellette whom you should be bothering about,” Sibbi said, gentle mischief sparkling in her eyes. “I can remember the days when you didn’t care what anyone thought of you. You would greet visitors from the top of a store-shed roof with a rip in your gown and a smudge on your nose.”
That had the desired effect. Hawise thrust out her chin and drew herself erect. “I do not care now,” she said loftily, “but I am old enough to know that some folk judge not only yourself by appearances, but all your kin too. I won’t give the lady Mellette cause to open her mouth.”
“She does not need cause, that one,” Sybilla said as she twitched the folds of her gown into place, then raised her arms while the maid wrapped a braid belt around her waist. “But it is only for a few days and I suppose we can manage. It’s annoying about the linen though.” She clucked her tongue. “I should have kept a closer eye on the women. They all swear they are innocent, but someone must know what has happened to the things.”
“What’s missing, Mama?” Sibbi asked.
“The napery for some of the lower tables. Sheets that would have covered at least two guest beds. Towels that should accompany the fingerbowls.”
Sibbi and Hawise shook their heads, as baffled as their mother. Marion, who would have been consulted too, was nowhere to be seen, but since the castle was like a beehive at the height of summer, her absence wasn’t sufficiently out of place to remark upon.
The women went down to the bailey to await their guests. Hawise felt queasy and took herself to task for being foolish. She knew Brunin; she had met his family before. The standard courtesies ought to come as naturally as breathing, but just now breathing was difficult. It was as if a tight band were constricting her from throat to midriff. She was wishing that the wedding had been postponed to Michaelmas as her parents had originally suggested.
“Courage, daughter,” her father said, arriving by her side and squeezing her shoulder beneath his broad, warm hand. Joscelin was clad in his court robe of purple wool and wearing his sword. He had dampened his hair and the comb marks lay through it like a layer of feathers, complementing the hard jut of his features. He looked every inch the stern warlord and Hawise was moved to feel pride and awe.
As the guards shouted from the walls and horns blared to greet the entry of the FitzWarin party through Ludlow’s gates, Marion joined the welcoming group. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was, if anything, swifter than Hawise’s.
“Where have you been?” Sybilla demanded with a frown.
“One of the pantry men asked me about bread for the chamber cupboard, and then someone else wanted to know about candles,” she panted, smoothing her hands down her blue gown. “I’m not late.”
“No one said that you were, child,” Sybilla said, returning her attention to the fore and thus missing the narrowing of Marion’s eyes.
“I’m not a child,” she muttered under her breath, pressing her right hand to her breast where a close observer could have discerned a small lump beneath the blue woolen fabric.
As the riders approached, Hawise noticed a horse-drawn litter in their midst. At first she thought that it must be for Mellette, but then she saw the old woman riding with her menfolk, her spine as straight as an ash lance, the angles of her face made harsh by the bleached linen wimple supporting and framing her jawline. Brunin rode at his father’s side. Jester’s comical face was adorned with new harness, enamelled red and gold discs decorating the buckles and jingling at the browband. He had a fine saddle cloth of red and gold too, and these were the colors that Brunin wore, his tunic the deep hue of vein-blood and hemmed with dark yellow embroidery. His complexion was already summer-brown and with his raven hair and dark eyes he had an exotic look like one of the Syrian silk traders she had seen at Shrewsbury Fair. His gaze engaged with hers and for a moment the surroundings blurred and she was locked into the hot, brown stare. And then her father was stepping forward to greet FitzWarin and his sons, and her mother to welcome Mellette, and Hawise was able to disengage and look elsewhere.
The curtains to the litter parted and Brunin’s mother was helped out by two attendants. Hawise went forward to greet her, and was shaken out of her own anxieties by the sight of Eve FitzWarin’s pallid, almost gray complexion. “Welcome to Ludlow, my lady.” Hawise curtseyed to her future mother-in-law, managing to hide her shock at Eve’s appearance
“Thank you, daughter. It will be easy to call you that.” A tired smile curved Eve’s lips, but didn’t light her eyes, which remained quenched and dull. She extended her hand and Hawise noticed how swollen her fingers were and how cruelly her gold rings bit into the flesh.
“Will you come within and rest?” Hawise took the proffered hand, which was clammy and hot and made her want to recoil.
Eve laid her other palm to her belly. “Thank you,” she said. “I have had better experiences of carrying my children and in truth I am weary.”
There was no opportunity for Hawise to see Brunin alone. The women retired to the domestic chambers to discuss the forthcoming marriage and indulge in gossip; the men formed a similar group in the hall. The maid returned from the town with new linen to replace the missing napery and Sybilla set her women to hemming with haste.
“When I was married, my father held a grand tournament,” Mellette boasted to the gathered women. “Knights came from miles around to compete and there was feasting for a week. In those days we knew how to celebrate.”
“Indeed, my lady,” Sybilla said politely. “Then I hope you will not be disappointed with lesser celebrations here. Our preparations by necessity are to join King Henry’s muster, although perhaps we can entertain you with some feats of arms on the sward. Besides, you would not want to sit in a draught for too long and Lady Eve’s condition is delicate. Another cup of wine?”
“I am no wilting flower,” Mellette retorted. “I have the iron of the Conqueror in my blood.”
Hawise watched the battle of words and wits between her mother and Brunin’s grandmother and felt a little sick when she thought that soon this fight would be hers. Her tongue was quick, but she was no good at subterfuge. Rather than responding with a soothing murmur as Sybilla had just done, Hawise would have replied that iron was wont to go rusty. The thought provoked a nervous giggle and she had to smother it against the back of her hand as Mellette’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, my girl,” she said, lips curling back from the stumps of her teeth. “The iron of the Conqueror. Your sons will share the same ancestors as the King.”
Ancestors that included a common Falaise tanner, a madman, and a washerwoman, but that wasn’t safe or polite to say either. She swallowed hard, but the laughter continued to bubble inside her.
Mellette took a taste of the wine in her refilled cup and fastidiously dabbed her upper lip. “I hope your daughter knows how to conduct herself on the morrow.”
“She has been well instructed,” Sybilla answered frostily. “I am sure that neither she nor your grandson will disgrace themselves.”
“And what of the night duty? Have you instructed her in that too? Does she know what to expect?”
“She knows,” Sybilla replied, tight-lipped.
“You think me an interfering old woman.” Mellette gave a sour smile. “But I was asking for the girl’s sake. No one told me anything. They put me in bed with a stranger and instructed me to do my duty and obey his will.” She looked at Hawise. “It was rape by any other name, like being stabbed with a blade, and there was enough blood to make me think that he had indeed mortally injured me. She should know what to expect.”
Eve made a small sound and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. With a gasp she excused herself to the garderobe in the corner and the sound of her retching echoed back into the room.
Sybilla looked furious. “Your experience has no bearing on my daughter’s. You are vindictive to frighten her.”
“Better to know than to harbor fond dreams,” Mellette said harshly.
“I am not frightened.” Unable to silence her voice any longer and emboldened by her mother’s loss of patience, Hawise spoke out. “Brunin will not hurt me.”
“There speaks the voice of experience.” Mellette’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “What do I know of men with all my years, eh?”
Hawise sprang to her feet. “Naught but malice and envy and hatred! You don’t see the sunlight because you never look up!”
“Hah, and thus I don’t tread in dung!” There was a glitter in Mellette’s eyes that was almost relish. “You have a lot to learn, my girl.”
“Then I will learn it with Brunin, and I will rejoice.” She turned to her mother who was watching her with a mixture of dismay and approval. “May I have your leave to retire, Mama?”
“I think you had better,” Sybilla said in a neutral tone. “Before manners deteriorate further.” She did not say whose manners.
Head high, Hawise turned from the venomous crone, deliberately omitting to curtsey, and swept into the small chamber that would be hers for the last time that night. “Bitch,” she muttered and fought scalding tears of rage. She suspected that inducing such emotions in others was half Mellette’s pleasure. She enjoyed watching her victims lose their tempers while retaining her own. Probably it gave her a sense of superiority and power and a purpose in the world.
When her breathing had calmed and she felt less like hurling a table at the old woman, she tiptoed softly from the room and onto the landing, intent on making her escape. Eve FitzWarin was sitting on the stone window-bench, looking out across the bailey, clearly having made a small escape of her own. She was breathing deeply of the fresh air flowing through the narrow channel of the window and her gaze was fixed upon the summer green of the trees beyond the castle walls.
Hawise halted. She could not just walk past and pretend not to have seen her. This was Brunin’s mother; imminently to be her own mother-in-law. “My lady?”
Eve turned from the window and studied Hawise with her sad, smudged eyes. “I hope you were not upset by Lady Mellette’s words.”
Hawise frowned while she pondered whether to speak the truth or a path-smoothing platitude. “I think that she intended them to upset, my lady,” she answered after a moment. “And not just myself.”
Eve gave her the pale semblance of a smile. “I am not carrying this babe well,” she said, laying her hand upon her belly. “The sickness comes suddenly and as it will with no regard for propriety.”
It was an excuse, not the truth, Hawise thought. “I am told that I have no regard for propriety either,” she murmured.
Eve’s smile developed a wry twist. “All to the good,” she answered softly. “I have never had the backbone to hold my own with her.” She glanced toward the door, not needing to say which “her” she meant. “She chose me for her son because I was dutiful and biddable and she knew that I would not take her place in the bower. Now she is growing old…and so am I. It is time that there was a new challenge…new blood. From what I have seen, you will take up the battle that I could not fight.”
“It doesn’t have to be a battle,” Hawise said, but with a note of uncertainty in her voice.
Eve looked bleak. “It already is, and one you have to win…unless you want to follow in my footsteps. I would wish such a fate on no woman.”
Hawise swallowed, feeling out of her depth. “Your husband, my lady. Could he not…”
“My husband is no Joscelin de Dinan,” Eve replied bitterly. “He does what he sees as his duty toward me, but he has no more notion of what women want than a pig has of flight. Nor, if the truth be known, does he want to become embroiled in ‘women’s business.’ As long as I am there to place a cup of wine in his hands and warm his bed, he cares not. In my turn I am no Sybilla Talbot to stand my ground, but you…” She looked Hawise up and down. “You are different.”
“So is Brunin.”
Eve nodded. “Yes, he is,” she said. “Lady Mellette is right. He is much like his grandfather.” Her gaze grew soft and sad. “I have often wondered how Warin de Metz would have fared with a less abrasive wife.”
“She brought him the land and the prestige,” Hawise said.
“As you are bringing Brunin one half of Ludlow. I pray that you can both set everything to rights. Whatever Mellette says or does, I want you to know that you are most welcome within our household, and I am pleased to call you daughter.”
“And I am glad to call you mother,” Hawise answered gracefully.
Eve shook her head and gave a knowing laugh. “No, you are not. The best you can do is adapt and tolerate.”
Before Hawise could decide how to respond, there were footsteps on the stairs and Marion arrived, breathless and pink from the steep climb. She stopped short when she saw Hawise and Eve, then came on, pausing to curtsey to the latter.
“Where have you been?” Hawise asked.
“That’s my own business.” Marion tossed her head. “I’m not always asking you where you have been, am I?” She swept into the main chamber and Hawise winced.
“Matters are difficult between us,” she told Eve. “Marion used to be sweet on Brunin and it has stung her pride that I am to marry him.”
Eve looked thoughtfully at the space through which Marion had just passed. “I remember her from a visit your household made to Whittington,” she said. “She tried very hard to impress Lady Mellette, which indeed she did, but…”
“But Lady Mellette wanted Ludlow to add to the FitzWarin gains,” Hawise finished the sentence. “I know my worth in her eyes.”
“It is the value you set on yourself that matters.” Suddenly Eve’s voice dragged with tiredness. “I think I will go and lie down awhile.”
“You can use my bed if you don’t want to go back into the main chamber,” Hawise offered.
Eve gave her a grateful look. “Bless you, daughter,” she said.