Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  The ceiling beams were painted deep red with scrolls of carved ivy, and though they were high, almost high enough to disappear into the gloom, Alysson was impressed to notice there were no hanging streamers of dust or corners woven in cobwebs. The room was well tended, every angle polished by a diligent staff. But even higher, invisible between the ceilings and the great tiled roofs leading across to the castle turrets, came faint squeakings and the scampering of rats.

  Within the chamber, the fire reflected across the rich magenta surface of the wine and over the faces of the two people sitting close, springing demons in their eyes. The words Ludovic spoke were echoed in the leaping flames, stories equally alive, one dancing to the rhythms of the other.

  “My father’s grandfather,” Ludovic began softly, “was the first Earl of Sumerford, but he did not live here as a child. I never saw him of course. I did not even know my grandfather. But I know our family history, as do all those born on these estates. But my father’s grandfather Lionel was born far north from here, in Yorkshire near Hull. Of ancient Norwegian and pagan lineage, he was flame haired with a brutal temper. His father was John Pownsey, a seafarer, part pirate part fisherman and no gentleman. The mother was a third cousin once removed to the noble Sumerfords, barons of Somerset, a wisp of a woman without fortune but with a temper worse than her husband’s. How they met and married I have no idea but it was surely mutual attraction, since their disparate circumstances should have kept them apart. Certainly she had claim to neither title nor riches, but her descent was far better than his. This seagoing man, my great, great grandfather, then fought at Agincourt for the Lancastrian king and came home blind in one eye and popular. Brute courage and luck made him a great fighter, and common sense made him loyal. He was too lowly to be knighted, but the king saw him and remembered his name.

  “This castle, secure beneath the blessed sun of splendid aristocracy, lay far distant and never even seen by the lowly brine seasoned Pownseys. It did not enter their dreams. But when the Baron of Sumerford died of wounds taken at Agincourt, the heir to the title expired with the dysentery soon after, his three sons dead of the pestilence, one cousin of the yellow pox and another suddenly stabbed in a brawl, Lionel’s ambitious Sumerford mother leapt to claim inheritance. It was of course denied. Mistress Pownsey was not direct in line, and although the male heirs had mostly been wiped out within the space of two years, a daughter remained. So one young woman, just twelve years old and sickly, stood adamantly between my ancestors and the power of the Sumerford estates.

  “His parents told Lionel what to do. I doubt he needed telling twice. He was their only surviving son after many infant deaths, and their one hope. He rode to Somerset. He entered across the drawbridge without challenge, being a relative and simply desiring courtesy and conversation with the heiress and her advisors. He charmed the advisors, the stewards, the tutors and the secretaries, and asked to meet the girl. I have no idea if Lady Edith was frightened or suspicious. She was simply a child and accustomed to obedience. Lionel abducted her at once. Killing the astonished guards in his path, he dragged her to her own quarters, those occupied now by the Lady Jennine incidentally, and locked her in with himself. He then proceeded as you might expect.

  “He eventually freed the girl, I imagine there was need for food and water at the very least, now claiming her as his wife. They had exchanged oaths already, he said. Perhaps she had genuinely accepted him during those terrifying days in his power. Perhaps he had charmed her too. I imagine it was initially rape, but afterwards best accepted and quickly interpreted as legal. She was very young, even a little younger than the Beaufort heiress when the ignoble Edmund Tudor got her pregnant with our noble Tudor king. And the Lady Edith Sumerford was also with child. A new Sumerford heir was born in the autumn.

  “So Lionel Pownsey was not immediately arrested for his violent impudence, and instead took up residence in the castle, lord of the estate and husband of the lady. Naturally, on hearing of the outrage, many others in the family objected and appealed to the king for justice. But the noble King Henry V remembered the name of John Pownsey from the battle at Agincourt, and therefore honoured the son Lionel, awarding him the lands he now claimed, and creating him first Earl of Sumerford. Evidently it was the rape of a little girl that now fitted the lowly Pownsey boy for aristocracy. The king had no interest in a twelve-year-old made to bear the child of abuse. My family title was assured.

  “Edith Sumerford died in childbirth but my grandfather Lionel, son of Lionel, was born healthy, with red hair and the foul temper of his line. After Henry V’s youthful death, the Sumerford estates continued to prosper, but the new earls also followed the salt tides surging through their blood. They took to piracy along the Somerset coast. They were as ruthless and brutal as piracy demands, and their newly claimed aristocracy kept them safe from the law. It was shortly after my father’s birth, welcomed as the next son and heir, that the second earl was killed at sea. My father was consequently brought up by his mother, and so escaped, just a little perhaps, the influences of his birth. But he is not a man to be crossed, and my mother knows it.

  “My father is mightily proud of his title and ancestral heritage. I find it unpleasant, but that is my family, and though I am the youngest born and will claim nothing of the estates, I have the same blood in my veins. Do you consider me more noble then? Am I more deserving of respect than the daughter of an alderman?”

  He paused, one eyebrow raised. Alysson, her pale blue silks still neat, sat in silence. The candle in the sconce behind her gave her a halo, the firelight on her face a deeper glow. Eventually she said, “I have no idea who my great, great grandparents were, or their parents before them. Perhaps they were pirates, perhaps they were dung raykers. Farmers I expect. They were certainly not earls or barons, but who knows? I don’t care. Why should you care about your ancestors?”

  Ludovic smiled. “Care? No, I don’t care, child. I am who I am, and have not the slightest interest in any other’s man’s opinion, nor of who I am, of why I live here, or the reasons I might claim aristocratic privilege. I am often accused of arrogance and I have no care for that either. I am telling you something quite different. I am telling you that nobility is not sent by God or the angels, is neither blessing nor curse, and matters no more than the wind that blows the wheel of fortune, or the strength of one man’s determination.” He paused, looking across at her. “I am simply telling you that I give nothing for pretensions of title or power, and that when I invite you to dine with me, it is the request of a friend to a friend, and you are free to refuse.”

  Alysson smiled but shook her head. “No one else in this house would agree with you. But I understand and I’m really very happy to see you again. Of course my reputation’s unlikely to be ruined anyway, even if it mattered, which it doesn’t. It was only the – assumption – of why you wanted to meet me – that was upsetting. The Lady Jennine, you know, is extraordinarily kind to me but her opinion of men isn’t entirely – trusting. She wouldn’t be at all shocked by your grandfathers. She told me – in detail – what to expect from you – and exactly what I should do in return. But you haven’t done what she said at all.”

  Ludovic had seemed morose, sitting deep back in his chair and speaking softly, like the faint chanting of the monks from the distant monastery. Now his face brightened and he chuckled. “I should be fascinated to know exactly how you were tutored to respond to my evil advances,” he said. “Presumably not by shooting me in the leg or knocking me unconscious.”

  Alysson scowled again. “You seem to think it’s all a game. You don’t even seem very surprised at my lady’s assumptions.”

  “I’d wager you weren’t told to scowl and insult me either,” Ludovic grinned. “Perhaps I should point out that nothing the Lady Jennine does would surprise me in the slightest. I have my own assumptions regarding her character, and it’s an opinion she might choose not to hear. But no matter. It’s you I’m interested in, child. I placed you in this p
osition, and am now not at all sure I acted wisely. I hold myself - responsible.”

  “Responsible?” She was still scowling. “Well, you’re not. I’ve thanked you for getting me the position, and it’s helped me a great deal. But now I’m responsible for myself.”

  “Nevertheless, my sense of responsibility has been alerted, and now refuses to sleep.” Ludovic had removed his feet from the hearth. He now sat forwards a moment to watch the glow of the dying flames. “Though it seems high time,” he said, “that you stopped thanking me, or it will soon become abysmally tedious.” He stood and placed another small log far back amongst the charred ashes. He watched it take the heat, sparking into tiny flames along its length, the satisfying smell of burning wood again bursting rich and musty into the chamber. Finally Ludovic wandered over to the table and refilled both cups from the wine jug. His back was to Alysson when he said, quite casually, “But to return to the Lady Jennine’s assumptions. Tell me, how were you meant to react, child, to my supposed seductions? Can a mistress want her maid compromised?”

  He didn’t see her blushes, but knew they would be there. Alysson watched his back, tall, lean and muscular, as he moved quietly around the deep shadowed chamber. His hose, tight knitted silk and close hugging, outlined each movement, and his doublet, half unlaced over a plain linen shirt, was short and revealing. She sighed. “My lady sees the world for what it surely is. She accepts what seems most probable, and tells me to respond for my own benefit.”

  “Which would be?” Ludovic sauntered back, bringing the wine.

  Alysson relaxed and smiled suddenly. “You want me to say horrid things. But I won’t. I’m just so glad you didn’t do – what she thought you would. And anyway, she just told me to – do whatever you wanted.”

  “Indeed? Most interesting. And an enchanting proposition. But when, I wonder, have you ever come remotely close to doing exactly what I want of you?” He returned her refilled cup to her and again sat opposite, legs stretched to the hearth. “You may inform your mistress, my child, that I do not expect either slavish agreement or strict obedience from the women in my life, and least of all from you.” He paused before continuing. “Or did she, perhaps, tutor you in the more interesting arts of elusive temptation, role playing and subtle arousal? And in how to fulfil my desires, however – unattractively capricious – they might prove to be?”

  Alysson blushed roundly and the scowl reappeared. These were exactly the matters the Lady Jennine had spoken about. “Certainly not,” she said with a gulp.

  Ludovic laughed. “Yet it seems the lady is openly encouraging her own personal maid to succumb to the improper advances of her brother-in-law, teaching her to become his mistress. An interesting and highly unusual situation. Which I would guess has troubled you for some time.” She refused to meet his eye and stared adamantly into her lap. “No need to answer me, child,” he continued gently. “I read your face and know your answer. But I can promise you this. I make my own decisions, and do not require the help of the Lady Jennine. I do not respond to the manipulations of others, or allow them to pressure me in any way. Nor will I attempt to compel you.” He leaned forwards suddenly and took her hand. She was startled but he laughed at her. “When I first brought you to the castle and put you into your mistress’s care,” he said softly, “I was well aware of both your innocence and your ignorance. I would be ashamed if you lost both because of me.”

  She let him hold her hand, loose and pleasantly cool, but she shook her head, taking courage. “I might have been – innocent. At least – in the way you mean, I was. I am. But I’m not stupid. I might know a lot more now, but I wasn’t ever ignorant.” She looked up, accepting his gaze and his intensity. “It was you anyway. So you can be ashamed if you want. Before I ever met you, it was you – cured my ignorance.”

  Ludovic raised both eyebrows, momentarily amazed. “Impossible,” he said. “My memory’s certainly not that reprehensible.”

  “Not with me, stupid.” She tried not to scowl. “It was in the forest one day. Two summers ago, and the sun was bright and hot. I was collecting herbs. Then I heard you laughing and talking, and one of the village girls with you. I should have run away but of course I knew who you were. I was – curious, so I hid and watched.”

  “Good Lord.” Ludovic burst out laughing. “You watched me? What did I do? Though I suppose I can guess.”

  “Well, actually,” Alysson looked back down into her lap where Ludovic’s clasp on her hand had tightened slightly. “I didn’t see anything – embarrassing. You had your back to me and you leaned the girl against a tree, and started undressing her. You got about half way, but you didn’t bother to undress yourself at all. Then you just started breathing fast and sort of pushed a lot. It was very boring. After a few minutes you stopped and the girl made funny noises, and then you just turned away, getting your breath back and adjusting your clothing or something – I couldn’t see. I wondered what all the fuss was about. It was quite disappointing. Just a waste of time really.”

  Ludovic appeared to be choking on something. Alysson retrieved her hand, since he was squashing her fingers. She wished she hadn’t said anything, but his assumptions of her ignorance and his own pompous sense of responsibility had annoyed her. Now she glared at him.

  He was, inexplicably, finding speech difficult. “I apologise,” he said at last. “Most profusely. In particular for proving myself such a sadly inept lover, and also for starting your education in such an unpropitious manner. But this is a subject which inevitably leads directly into temptation, so before I risk offending you again by offering a tutorship with considerably more illuminating results, and be tempted to prove myself somewhat less inadequate than you suppose, I shall attempt to make amends in quite another fashion.” He stood, stretching and grinning. “Therefore, before this conversation plunges into more dangerous topics, as it is surely about to do, I shall instead prove my manners and escort you back to your chamber. It is quite late, I believe. Finish your wine, it will help you sleep. Then, when you’re ready -”

  Alysson looked up, surprised. “You’ll take me back yourself?”

  “I believe I owe you a little gallantry, and am still quite capable of walking,” he said, grinning widely. “Or were you expecting to stay here for the night?”

  The Lady Jennine had scalded her when she had suggested otherwise. “Of course not,” she said. “I just thought you’d send for a page. Or probably expect me to find my own way.”

  “Dear, dear,” murmured Ludovic. “Throw you bodily from my bed I suppose, ordering you to get dressed quickly and be off, and not to disturb me on your way out. Is that what your lady led you to expect?”

  Alysson giggled. “She warned me that you might. I knew I’d get lost, so I was going to ask you for a blanket, and then try to sleep outside in the corridor until morning light.”

  Ludovic seemed to be choking again. “My dear child,” he said finally, “I beg you not to let your mistress’s experience of men lead you into a similar distrust, at least not of myself. I am not my great grandfather.” She had risen, and he took her hand, tucking her fingers inside the crook of his arm, nestled inside the bend of his elbow. “And though I cannot always swear to treat you quite so – monkishly,” he said, one hand resting across hers, “I shall certainly always treat you with respect.” He began leading her to the door, looking down at her upturned face at his shoulder. “I shall never order you either into – or out of my bed, my dear. And I’d be obliged if you tell the Lady Jennine exactly that.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  He had not expected to be assaulted by spectres in his own home.

  Resisting all other temptations and one in particular, Ludovic had ridden to the borders of Bedfordshire. He had spent the last of a bedraggled and soggy spring on his mother’s dower lands, one of those few remaining properties of her own personal inheritance, having announced her intention of bestowing these Bedfordshire pastures upon her youngest son subsequent to her own eventual
demise. “It is all I have left,” she had first informed the family, her left temple newly grazed, the marks part obscured by a starched gauze veil. “At present they bring me a small income, my only private means and sadly insufficient at that. But poor Ludovic should inherit something, and this is little enough to give. Brice will receive those substantial Kentish estates, awarded by our late beloved King Edward to the Sumerfords after Towton. Small profit goes with them and little else but a bleak sea wind, but no doubt Brice will know how to expand given time and the capital he appears inexplicably to generate. Then Gerald will have the small holdings outside Nottingham, King Richard’s gift after the Hastings conspiracies. I believe they are barely prosperous, though my dear boy will surely know how to increase the dues. Everything else goes to darling Humphrey of course, and to his own precious heirs after him.”

  The expected heir had been loudly proclaimed. The Lady Jennine was with child. The castle doctor had predicted an October birth, though such matters were notoriously unreliable and the lady smiled, supposing an earlier date. Although the weather was not much improved, the lady walked in the castle gardens each afternoon and refused to be closeted indoors as the doctors recommended. Her personal maid accompanied her at all times, both well wrapped against the April winds, orchard blossoms in their faces and arms linked more as friends than mistress and servant. But Ludovic was not there to see. He remained in Bedfordshire, becoming acquainted with his future tenants and studying how the yield of the land might be improved for a more prosperous living.

  It was late May when he returned and the apple and cherry blossoms had long since blown. Brice had left once again, but Gerald was back home when Ludovic rode up. After sending his steward, his secretary and the four outriders to the stables, Ludovic strode alone into the hall. Gerald was also alone and regarding the empty hearth, but looked up as his younger brother’s footsteps echoed. “By the holy blood, Lu,” he said, “I don’t see why it’s thought so damned obligatory to clean out the fires and fill the hearths with these absurd jugs of greenery just because summer’s officially expected. I’m freezing. It’s been frosty as hell all morning.”