Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Hamnet had detached the more officious of the entering women from her grip on the other two, and was hauling her towards the front doors. The countess, rigid backed, addressed the other elderly woman who stood close, dishevelled and seemingly terrified. The countess demanded an explanation.

  Ludovic turned to the third, little more than a child, who was standing silent in the shadows. “The meaning?” Ludovic raised an eyebrow.

  The girl stared at the continuing turmoil beside her. “I didn’t want to come. I knew it would serve no purpose.”

  “I didn’t inquire as to either your wishes or expectations.” Ludovic smelled the familiar dreary aroma of dejection and stale poverty. “But I require an adequate explanation for your unwarranted presence, and that of your relatives.”

  She stared down at her clogs. “They aren’t my relatives. One is my nurse Ilara. You met her before. The other is Dulce, her brother’s widow. She insisted we come here.”

  Village brats living in dirt and squalor did not have nurses. Ludovic sighed. “Nor did I ask for a summary of your family tree.”

  The girl said, “I told you. They’re not my family.”

  Ludovic watched her with growing impatience. She had neither curtsied, nor did she address him with respect. “You are impertinent. More than likely her ladyship will have you beaten. Do you now work within the castle, as I arranged more than a sennight past?”

  The girl nodded, still not looking up. “Yes, sir. In the dairies outside.”

  The woman Dulce was struggling to remain on the doorstep. Hamnet thrust her out into the dark. Her boots squelched as she hit the mud. Ilara, twisting her fingers in her apron, sidled to the open doorway. The young girl began to follow. Ludovic put out an arm, blocking her way. He said, “I am still awaiting an explanation. Is this about your brother’s death? The family considers that matter closed.”

  With both her chaperones now outside, the girl stopped suddenly before Ludovic’s outstretched arm and turned to face him, looking up directly into his scowl. Her expression was unexpectedly fierce with an open and vibrant contempt. Ludovic stared into the girl’s green eyes, flecked like quartz crystals. Her pupils reflected the candlelight and Ludovic’s equal fury. He felt as though he looked into his own eyes. The girl said, her voice an angry whisper, “What difference does it make? You won’t care. You won’t be interested.”

  “It will make a deal of difference to you, if not to me,” Ludovic said. He wondered why, on all that was holy, he was choosing to persist. “It will either mean you are thrashed, turned off from your employment here and cast out, or merely ejected peaceably. Now, for the last time. Why did you come here?”

  The other two women having now been removed, the doors were closed. The steward put his back to the handles in case of repeated assaults. Noises from outside subsided. Brice had taken his mother’s arm and they stood behind Ludovic, who spoke briefly to them over his shoulder. “Leave this with me. Go back and amuse our guests.”

  “I imagine they’re already mightily amused,” spat the countess. “What a delightful impression of our family they must now have.”

  Brice nodded cheerfully. “But especially of our dear Humphrey, don’t you think?” and led his mother back into the hall.

  Ludovic dismissed Hamnet and turned again to the girl who remained silent. “You have told me everyone else’s name,” he said. “But not your own.”

  “Do you need to know the names of all your dairy maids? But your steward could have told you. I’m Alysson Welles. And you don’t need to cast me off. I’ll willingly leave your employ.”

  “But since I’ve no intention of letting you go just yet,” Ludovic said, “no doubt you will at some time answer my question. I have considerable patience, but it is running out. You and your companions barged in here in the middle of a social gathering with my brother’s affianced bride and her family in attendance. Your behaviour is insufferable. I am still waiting for a suitable explanation and an unequivocal apology.”

  “We embarrassed you? How – unfortunate.” The girl leaned back against the wall, Ludovic’s arm still between her and the doors. She smiled. “My abject apologies of course, my lord. We should never importune our noble masters.”

  Ludovic clenched and unclenched his fingers. “And the reason for this – importunity?”

  “Simply that your brother attacked me. He tried to rape me. He hurt me. Badly. The dairy master refused to interfere. He told me I should be flattered. He said it was a lord’s business to do whatever he wished. I ran home.” She glared up at Ludovic. “Ilara was frightened and told me to go back to work. Dulce isn’t so easily cowed and considers herself my protector. It’s a long walk from the house to the castle, as you know having been there. Otherwise we should not have arrived so late in the day. And if your steward hadn’t attempted to throw us out and refused even to speak quietly to her ladyship and tell her we desired a private word, there wouldn’t have been this ridiculous commotion. That’s the full story. May I leave now?”

  Ludovic paused, again unclenching his fist. “Which brother?” he demanded.

  “The eldest. Your fine Lord Humphrey. And it doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me. I don’t care if I’m thought a liar, and I certainly don’t care about your opinion of me.” The girl dodged suddenly beneath Ludovic’s arm, thrust herself at the great double doors, tugged one open, squeezed through and was gone into the night.

  Chapter Three

  The servant held out the swathes of crimson silk, assisting his master into his doublet, stepping back to comb out the trailing sleeves, then forwards again to turn up the small tight neckline and pat the baudekyn smooth across his lordship’s shoulders. Ludovic was dressing for Humphrey’s bridal Mass, but he did not bother to look into the mirror before him. There were quite other matters on his mind.

  Of the two women who filled his thoughts, one was about to become his sister-in-law but it was not as a sister that he thought of her. She was deliciously ripe, round breasted, small waisted, and full lipped. She was not a woman he wished to imagine gripped between his eldest brother’s fumbling fingers. He imagined her instead within his own embrace, naked and sweating against his pillows. He imagined the slender softness of those legs now so well hidden beneath her skirts, his hands sliding their length up to where they joined. He imagined his mouth on hers, and his kisses exploring lower. She was not a woman you could see without imagining illicit romping.

  Another shadow strained at the edge of his thoughts, an irritation rather than a temptation. A small boned skinny brat, with thick black hair and eyes vivid with anger. Ludovic did not imagine her within his embrace or in his bed. She smelled of sullen exhaustion and years of weary toil. She smelled of dirt. But his considerable dislike of her rooted in another reason altogether, in that she clearly disliked him even more. He had not yet understood why. The question itched liked the flea bites he had seen on her ankles. The girl was angular, common and rude. But her eyes stayed with him, even against his will, and haunted his dreams.

  His manservant knelt and buckled his shoes. Ludovic sighed, nodded, and sent the dresser away. He tightened his belt and strolled down to the principal hall. The bridal party was already waiting. The bride was sumptuously shimmering, her satins as rosy pink as her cheeks and the full rise of her breasts from their cleavage. Ludovic forgot the black haired village waif and returned to other sweeter contemplations.

  The union between the Lord Humphrey, heir to the Sumerford title and estates and his intended the Lady Jennine, heiress of two northern merchants’ fortunes, was to be celebrated within the porch of St. Edmund’s, the village church. The heiress, although exhibiting no evidence of marital joy, showed no signs of hesitancy. Her new husband’s behaviour seemed to leave her unmoved, while the carefully planned luxury of her wedding arrangements appeared to please.

  An early October frost had spliced the stained glass windows with tiny white studs, like diamonds set amongst the saint’s haloes. The oak
leaves were falling as the final words were read. The elderly priest bobbed, Humphrey beamed and patted him benignly on his tonsure. “If this couple be rightfully trothed and there be no impediment hereby declared,” the priest announced as loudly as he dared, “then in the name of the Father – ,” drenched the ring in holy water and held it out to Humphrey.

  Humphrey, being not quite sure what to do with it, passed the ring to his mother. “Stand up straight and breathe in, Humphrey,” his mother reminded him.

  Her eldest son shook his head. His hair, uncapped for the ceremony, frizzed in the breeze as the bright red curls turned to fire in the sudden sun. “Can’t,” he explained simply. “Belt will fall down.”

  Ludovic, taking one quiet step forward, swung back the huge looped and fur lined openings of his baudekyn sleeves, and took his elder brother’s hand in his. Humphrey’s plump palms were frigid in the cold air. Ludovic rubbed them gently, bringing back circulation, then, carefully controlling each movement, brought Humphrey’s fingertips around the bridal ring. The Lady Jennine held out her hand. The ring was slipped on each of her finger in turn; “In Nomine Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti,” and the gold band finally encircled her wedding finger and rested there.

  Ludovic nodded and moved back. Humphrey grinned, pleased with himself. “Well done, well done. Is that it, then? It’s bloody cold. Can we go home now? Is there more food?”

  “The wedding feast,” Ludovic reminded him.

  “Oh, excellent! Come on then. Let’s hurry.”

  Autumns at Sumerford tended to blaze. The fires were lit huge, jugs of steaming hippocras crowded the tables, the candles’ beeswax sweated. The feasting done, Lady Jennine sat meekly by the fireside, back straight and feet together, her hands clasped in her pink satin lap, her gaze concentrated on the equal brilliance of her wedding ring. Humphrey, partially distracted by the dance of flames, sat beside her. He had finally remembered his bride’s name and repeated it carefully to himself several times, in case he forgot again. His mother, the Lady Gertrude, Countess of Sumerford, spoke at length and for once found her conversation politely uninterrupted. Her three younger sons lounged together far across the hall, cups in hand and shoulders to the tapestried wall. They eyed the bridal pair through the steam of their well spiced wine.

  “She’s certainly gorgeous,” admitted Brice. “But drinks a lot for a lady, you must admit.”

  “Poor soul.” Gerald sighed. “Faced with Humphrey across the church porch, what would you do? She needs to drink for courage.”

  “Besides, she’s not a lady,” Ludovic reminded them. “She’s a rich merchant’s daughter with sobriety neither an expectation nor a duty.”

  “Mother’s a lady.” Brice smirked into his velvets. “And she drinks a lot.”

  “Naturally – since she’s married to Father,” said Ludovic. “I doubt she’d find any advantage in staying sober. She drinks, she keeps out of the way, and she hides her bruises.”

  He watched the young bride under discussion as she lifted her cup. The Lady Jennine met his gaze over the brim, blinked twice and smiled slowly. “The woman flirts,” noticed Brice. “Perhaps not as innocent as we supposed, my dears.”

  “Any female quite that – beautiful,” murmured Ludovic, “would find staying virtuous somewhat challenging, I imagine.”

  “You’re both shameless,” Gerald said, low voiced. “This is our good-sister, entitled to our support and respect. You’ve no right to discuss her personal attributes, nor slander her reputation. It’s atrocious behaviour. You shouldn’t even be –”

  “Thinking what we are all undoubtedly thinking,” smiled Brice. “Hereby speaks the saintly watchdog of our moral scruples, restorer of my conscience, noble traitor of the realm, conspirator and rabble-rouser. What would I do without you, little brother?”

  Gerald blushed. “I admit the lady’s quite delectable. I could hardly deny it.”

  Ludovic drained his cup. “Unexpectedly beautiful. And beautifully unexpected. She shows no sign of – disgust – in contemplation of her bridegroom. I admit I expected neither her elegance nor her manners. Perhaps she was warned after all. But with one briefest glance at the gown she is barely wearing, one can hardly accuse her of an excess of modesty.”

  “Oh, pooh, my dears.” Brice tossed his russet curls. “Have you never seen the ladies of the royal court? They walk virtually bare breasted. Fashion demands it.”

  “We live in a rural backwater and fashion be damned,” Ludovic pointed out. “A woman naked in my arms is always a pleasure. One walking near naked in company is a little more startling. But I do not complain. And I wish Humphrey joy with her. I am fond of Humphrey. He’s never done me injury, and I consider him harmless. So I have absolutely no intention of interfering in his marriage. But I shall keep out of his way as usual, relish my own solitary company, and remind you that my thoughts are my own.”

  “Humphrey – utterly harmless?” Gerald turned his back on the group by the fire. “Didn’t you suspect him of torturing horses just a few days back? I don’t believe he did, but I’m not so sure what he’s capable of. Perhaps none of us are entirely – innocent.”

  “Blood of our esteemed paternal great-grandfather, you think?” Ludovic laughed. “We are all capable of murder, no doubt, if it suited us. But I’ve none planned as yet. Nor plans to seduce my sister-in-law.”

  Yet the Lady Jennine’s place in his thoughts remained warm, and although only imagined, her touch was warmer. Her fingers hovered short and dainty, the palm narrow, the nails gleamed. She appeared discreetly polished. Her white gossamer headdress did not wilt in the heat from the fire, her brow did not perspire and her nose did not scorch or glow. No sweat collected in the deep fold of her cleavage, and she spoke always softly, and with deference. She was entirely controlled and entirely harmonious. Her pretty blue eyes, pink mouth and little pointed chin were perfectly proportioned, her brows plucked, her forehead shaved. She breathed perfume.

  The vision remained welcome and clear in his mind the following day when Ludovic strolled out to the dairies and demanded to see the Master. It was another bright cold morning and the autumn leaves were dropping fast. The dairies were housed in barns kept distant from the kitchens, though the butter churns overlooked the herb garden. The larger sheds smelled rank, of cow dung and sour milk. Huge vats ranged the walls and the master was skimming the warm creamy froth. “My lord?” For fifteen years Alan Purvis had barely seen the noble family for whom he worked, yet had now spoken with several of their lordships in the space of just a few days. He bowed very low. “The girl? Dismissed, my lord. On her ladyship’s direct orders. Dismissed yesterday, my lord, without pay.”

  “I see. Purvis, tell me exactly what happened when the girl complained of being attacked. What, if anything, did you see?”

  The dairy master set down the huge wooden skimmer and wiped his hands on his apron. His experience with the Sumerford estates prompted diplomacy. “My lord, I witnessed nothing. Nothing at all, with respect my lord. The girl was unskilled, and not so quick to learn. Oh, I admit she was willing enough to try, my lord, but had no aptitude and couldn’t tell a yearling from a twelve year old. So I set her to the goats’ cheese instead. But she showed no more talent with that, nor even understood the cooling of the tubs nor the slowing of the starters till I showed her full twice over.”

  Ludovic stared at the master with considerable distaste. “My good man, are you daring to give me a lecture on dairy farming? Let me tell you I consider it a disgusting process. And does no one intend giving a straightforward answer to a straightforward question any longer? I do not wish to discuss cows, goats or udders. I require only information regarding the girl Alysson Welles who was recently employed here until attacked on, I believe, the twelfth day of October.”

  “Forgive me my lord.” The small man chewed his lower lip. “I found the wench one morning, my lord, in a huddle by the ripening vats. Crying, she was, late in the afternoon close to sundown. I gave her a k
ick and ordered her back to work, but she said as how she’d been hurt, and needed time to get her breath back. True, she was bleeding around the mouth and was bad bruised where her gown was torn. When I demanded the reason for it, she gave blame to the Lord Humphrey, though I beg you forgive me for the repeating of it my lord, and said as how she was attacked but fought him off. I didn’t believe a word of it. I gave her a slap and a scold and threatened to send her to Master Hamnet for a whupping. But she ran off, sir. It wasn’t till yesterday when she comes a trailing back, but her ladyship told me to cast the wench off without a penny and tell her not to return. I was only too pleased to obey her ladyship’s orders, my lord. The girl was a liar and a trouble-maker.”

  “Late in the afternoon, you say? And she claimed to have fought her assailant off?”

  “She did, my lord. As if a weak female creature could manage any such thing. I knew it for a lie.”

  Ludovic scowled and stomped back to the castle, to his brothers, the blazing fires and warmed hippocras. There were overripe curds stuck to the soles of his shoes and the stench of sour whey lingered in his nostrils.

  “I’ve no interest whatsoever in the unpleasant complications of this family’s myriad failures,” objected Brice. It was his bedchamber, the shutters closed against the gusting wind. The fire, disturbed by the chimney’s downdraught, flared across the hearth and smoke filled the room, collecting up amongst the ceiling beams. Brice had sent his manservant away and the shadows held only himself and his two younger brothers. “I happily admit being utterly unconcerned by our lady mother’s ambitious machinations, our father’s filthy moods, Humphrey’s marital bliss, any perversely favoured activities concerning thorns and horses, and his possible ravishing of dairymaids. Nor do I care about the looming and well deserved execution of our beloved Gerald when he gets discovered up to his pimpled chin in royal treachery. I have important business tomorrow, and I’m leaving for a few weeks. I shall be glad to see the last of you all.”