“Hell is generally considered to be particularly warm,” Ludovic said, stripping off gloves, hat and surcoat. “There’s no frost in Hell. I have it on the best of authority. In fact, I recommend it as a pleasant option. Not that I need to tell you. No doubt it’s precisely where you’re already expected.”
Gerald smiled. “As a traitor to the crown, or as an ungrateful brother?” he said. “Both apply, I suppose.”
Ludovic stretched himself into the chair beside the spreading willow boughs in their pottery jug. He pointed his legs towards the non-existent fire. “Gratitude? Not to me, surely?”
“You appear to have forgotten you recently gave a very large sum of money into my keeping.”
“Oh, that.” He hadn’t forgotten. “I’ve made plenty more since that. Have you wasted it all already?”
Gerald shook his head. “As it happens, no. In a month or before, we may see just how useful it’s been.”
“You’d better not tell me anymore.” The open road was never comfortable and the weather had been foul, but there were other reasons he was pleased to be home. He sighed. “I’ve heard the court gossip. Bedfordshire’s closer to London, and the slander arrives there first. So I know little has changed, though they say trade is prospering again after the embargos were lifted.”
“Who cares about trade?” objected Gerald. “Tudor deserves no credit for England’s growth, and in fact, he’s increasing taxes again. The rural communities are complaining of dreadful poverty, and London’s slums are certainly seeing no benefit from Tudor’s rule. In fact, our sweet natured monarch has proclaimed loudly that if he can’t be loved, since Heaven help us, who would condescend to love such a creature, – then he aims to be feared. And that’s one thing he’s been successful at achieving, I assure you. But other more important matters are about to change, though I won’t tell you if you don’t want to know.”
“I don’t want to know.” Ludovic sunk his chin into the thick fur of his doublet. The draught, creeping down the empty chimney and fluttering the willow boughs, still found his neck. “Tell me instead, how’s the rest of the family?”
“Mother has a split lip, and Father’s out hunting.”
Ludovic frowned. “Can you really imagine I want to know about them? No, tell me about Brice. Is he still astonishing us lesser mortals with his burgeoning wealth and its unknown source? And what of our beloved Humphrey? Is he excited about the imminent arrival of the fruit of his loins? Or is he like mad Henry VI, seeing the arrival of his own infant as far less believable than visions of the saints in the chapel?”
Gerald looked away. “Brice is gone off on mysteriously profitable business again. Humphrey’s out hunting with Father. Seems to think of a child of his own as a welcome new playmate.”
“Personally,” murmured Ludovic, “I’d never considered him capable of producing one, but perhaps I was wrong. No one, including himself, ever believed Henry VI sired his own heir either, but who can ever be sure? In such issues the father remains always the dupe and only the woman can tell.” He looked up suddenly, catching Gerald’s eye. “And the lady in question? Does her condition keep her tucked away, or does she continue to present her increasing charms?”
“Keeps regular company and looks fine as ever.” Gerald gazed with severity at the turkey rug beneath his feet. “I’ve never had anything to do with women in delicate conditions before. Frankly, this one seems ever more beautiful. Is that normal? I hadn’t expected it. I admit it’s distracting.”
“Any distractions, brother dear, should be welcome.” Ludovic nodded. “Let us hope they keep you from the block.” He paused, as if deciding to say nothing more. Then he sighed, and said, “And the lady’s personal maid? You may remember that I know her. Is she still employed here?”
“Oh yes.” Gerald wrinkled his very fine nose. “Father made some disparaging remark about your particular predilection for servants and chamber maids just yesterday. Appears to think she’s your secret trollop or some such. But the girl walks with her mistress every day. You’ll see her.”
“Father’s indelicate opinions rarely interest me,” said Ludovic. “As long as he doesn’t personally insult the girl.”
“Father? Speak directly to a chamber maid?” Gerald grinned suddenly. “You must be mad. He’d never demean himself. No – he was rude enough about your supposed taste for the gutter, but even ruder to me. Says I’ve never even approached a woman to his knowledge, and can’t achieve anything more than pollutiones nocturnas. Probably thinks I’m into buggering my page. In the meantime, he’s arranging a decent marriage for Brice.”
“About time, I suppose. And Brice says?”
Gerald shook his head. “Brice smiled, stroked his new baudekyn and sables, and rode off without a word. But he won’t object. She’s rich.”
“It’ll be your turn next, my sweet.”
“I don’t have time for women,” said Gerald at once. “And it’s not because I’m a pederast. I’ve far more important matters to consider, and you know exactly what they are.”
But Ludovic did not see either the Lady Jennine or her personal maid that day, for a fine sleet dampened the afternoon and the lady’s dinner was served to her in her chambers. Nor did she appear at supper. A minor stomach upset kept her in bed, and the doctor was called. He announced later, to an interested audience, that the complaint was caused by a chill in the digestive system, but since he could not administer a purge due to the lady’s delicate condition, he had ordered her to remain indoors for at least a week. The unborn infant, however, seemed to have suffered no adverse effects and remained decidedly active.
That evening the moon presented its crescent horns through a mist of diminishing drizzle. A silver sheen caressed the grass, drifting like cobwebs across the moat. Ludovic was walking. Hat pulled low against the damp, he wandered down to the outer courtyard, nodded to the lounging guards and strolled over the drawbridge. The castle slept. He looked up to the high windows of the Lady Jennine’s quarters and saw neither the pale luminosity of flickering candle light nor the deeper glow of a fire lit to warm the chambers. He had been gone more than two months and wondered, amused at himself, if he had been missed. But there were other considerations, more urgent. The probable paternity of Humphrey’s child did not bother him, and Brice’s further activities were of no greater concern. But he wondered just how much danger Gerald was in.
He was not expecting the assault. He did not at first recognise it. There were footsteps, soft as a child running through mud. Ludovic, briefly irritated and surprised at anyone approaching him in the small cold hours of the night, wished to be alone and intended avoiding all interruptions. He turned. But there was no one there.
Confusion, once quite unknown to him, had recently become a more frequent companion. Ludovic smiled to the moon and returned to his own thoughts.
Then the whispers came, an interruption he could not command away. “Can no one find me? Will no one look?” Ludovic turned, pivoting, almost unbalanced. The blue light hovered one breath’s space from his eyes.
Accepting the unbelievable, his own whispers as soft, Ludovic breathed one deep breath. “I think perhaps I know who you are,” he murmured. “But why do you come to me? Or do you search this place for anyone who will listen?”
The light floated, tiny within the mist. “I am drawn to you,” it said. “Don’t you want me? Does no one want me anymore?”
Ludovic focused more clearly. “The living do not usually seek the company of the dead. Do the dead seek the living then?”
The light remained still, as if considering. “Am I dead? Is it sure?”
Ludovic smiled. “I have never known a living soul travel in such a way. I believe you are dead.”
“How did I die?” whispered the voice. “And why am I so lost? Does no God tend to His Heaven? Are there no angels to mind the wandering departed?”
Ludovic, sighing, shook his head. “I am no priest nor do I know where you are, either dead or living. Bu
t I will promise you this. Tomorrow I shall begin a search for your body.”
“You know me then?” The light blinked, then reasserted. “Will you tell me my name,” it begged.
“I cannot be sure.” Ludovic answered softly. “Are you drawn to others besides myself? Has no one else called you by name?”
The whisper intensified, as if excited. “I feel others, perhaps people I knew once. I search for anyone who will listen and who might care. There was a woman. She was old, and sad, and sat alone in silence. I thought she was my mother. But when I went to her, she cried. I cannot bear the misery of others, when I feel such misery myself.”
Ludovic nodded. “And others? Did you have a sister?”
The voice faded, perplexed, as if remembering. “Yes. I remember a sister. And there’s a man, but he fears me. He turns away and hides. Only you answer me, though give me no name.”
“I will continue to answer, though I cannot say I welcome the ghosts of the mists.” Ludovic looked back towards the moat. “And tomorrow I shall begin to search. Is that what you want from me? Someone who cares, and will look for you?”
The light flickered, streaming its own small aura along the grass. “I want many things. To remember what it was like to be loved. To be with those who care for me and find the brightness and the warmth. To be safe again, instead of always lost.”
“It may be difficult. You must be patient. But I’ll try and discover where you are,” Ludovic said. “Perhaps if I find where you died, you’ll be free to move on to your place in the Heavens. At least rest assured I care, and am looking.”
Chapter Nineteen
“He’s back,” said the lady.
“I don’t care,” said her maid. “Besides, I already know. And anyway, it was much better while he was away.” He had not told her he was going, nor said goodbye. It had been two days before she had actually discovered his absence. Nor had he sent word on his return. From the window she had seen him ride in, and felt her heartbeat stop. She had then waited for some message, but received nothing. And although she was learning not to scowl, she was disappointed.
“You used to be so polite,” sighed the Lady Jennine. “If he does send for you, you’ll frighten him off with that horrid temper of yours. I’ve told you a hundred times, stupid girl. Mistresses must always be pleasant, light hearted, and help the man forget his worries and his nagging wife.”
“I’m never going to be his mistress,” Alysson objected. “He told me – and I told you. He doesn’t think of me that way. He says we’re friends.”
“No man between the ages of eight and eighty sees a beautiful woman simply as a friend. Unless of course – but never mind about that – your education can absorb only one important matter at a time. This young man wants you in his bed, however much he may choose to deny it, and for whatever capricious arrogance of his own making. And neither he nor you will spoil my plans my dear. I have never allowed such a thing. When I decide something, it must be done. Now, we will practise your next meeting with him. Change that frown to a smile, and repeat what I’ve been teaching you.”
Alysson was staring at her fingers, tightly clasped in her lap. “Am I really beautiful?” she asked.
“My dear child, you are becoming tiresome.” The lady leaned forwards, tipping Alysson’s chin up with her finger. “You’ll do, which I’ve told you before. Dark hair is not fashionable, but with regular combing and smoothing with silk, at least it gleams. It’s thick and frames your face prettily. Your nose is well shaped and your mouth has a charming curl when you smile, though that’s rare enough. Your eyebrows are too thick and hard to pluck, but your chin is neat and your neck is long and smooth. Your skin takes colour too readily, and there are dangerous signs of old weathering from rough living, but of course your figure has improved vastly. Now it’s swelling in just the right places, though you persist in this ridiculous modesty and wear your necklines too high. But your eyes, my dear! Yes, your eyes are truly beautiful. And once a man looks into your eyes, he will believe that everything else about you is perfect too. Which is why you suit my purposes very well, if only you’d be less petulant and self-willed.”
Alysson wrinkled her nose. “I don’t understand when you talk about your purposes. Why do you care if I end up as Ludovic’s mistress? You’re very kind, and I don’t mean to sound rude. But it’s all very odd.”
Jennine smiled. “Because I care for you, silly child, and this is the only answer which will suit. I am far too experienced to mistake your feelings for him, and I’ve no wish to see you lonely, simply because you’re too shy and ignorant to get what you secretly want. Besides, your foolish young man has almost exactly the same eyes himself, which must surely prove a connection of sorts. Now, fetch me the new pink gown and I shall help you brush out the creases. He’ll send for you today, I’m sure of it.”
The message came shortly after dinner. The page, bowing low, addressed the Lady Jennine. “My lady. Lord Ludovic begs permission to invite Mistress Alysson Welles to walk with him today, at three of the clock this afternoon in the castle grounds, weather permitting. With respect, my lady, should you be gracious enough to agree, I shall return at the appointed hour to escort Mistress Alysson to the hall.”
“See?” insisted the lady after the page had been sent off. “I knew it. I am always right.”
“And I’m right too,” said Alysson, struggling into the pink camelot and trying not to catch her hair in the laces. “Daytime, not night time. And walking in the garden, he said. Not romping in the bed.”
“I admit,” Jennine admitted, “he is keeping unusually circumspect. I’ve never known a man to be so patient. Perhaps he isn’t quite as aroused as I imagined. We shall have to work on that. Don’t worry, he’ll be as eager as a falcon for a mouse once I’ve finished with you.”
Alysson looked up, the scowl reappearing. “I’m not a mouse. And I don’t want –”
“Oh for goodness sake, Alysson,” sighed the lady. “Just get those sleeves fastened while I do your hair. And keep quiet for once.”
Ludovic was waiting for her at the foot of the staircase, leaning on the turn of the great wooden balustrade. He watched her careful descent, each footstep hesitant since she wore new shoes and was frightened of slipping. The page’s narrow back hid Ludovic’s smiles. He took her hand as she reached flat boards, and led her over to the main doors.
“It may be chilly outside,” Ludovic said. “Will you be warm enough?”
She wore a light wrap over the pink camelot, but knew she would freeze. The Lady Jennine had refused to countenance enclosing her in coarse wool, and a fur cape would seem incongruous on a chamber maid. Alysson nodded cheerfully. “I’m never cold. Especially if we walk fast.”
They walked together through the smaller and then the larger courtyards into the bailey, skirting the long stable block and heading out beneath the massive iron portcullis across the drawbridge. The moat was sluggish as always, its dank surface algae slimed and stagnant where the banks rose shallow into muddy grass, but choppy and impatient where the huge stone walls rose sheer from its dark waters. Ludovic led Alysson beyond the sight of her own quarters, amongst the low hedges, the holly bushes and blackberry thorns, and on into the orchard where the thick trees hid even their shadows. No one could now see them from anywhere within the castle and only the long rows of the kitchen gardens, sloping down towards the farm pastures beyond, stood between them and the horizon. Then finally Ludovic stopped, and turned. He shrugged out of his own thick fur lined surcoat and slipped it around her shoulders. “Now stop shivering,” he said, “and listen to me.”
Alysson thankfully snuggled into the luxurious furs and velvet. “You’ll get cold now.”
“Then our wearisome doctor will insist on confining me to bed for a week, and I shall blame you,” smiled Ludovic. “It would hardly be the first time in my sick bed due to your reprehensible behaviour.” He took her hand. “But I need to talk about matters somewhat less – frivolous. Sadly,
I must be serious, and risk reminding you of things you may prefer to forget.” He was watching her expression, and paused a moment before continuing. “I need to talk about your brother,” he said.
She was startled. “Pagan?”
“You may think me quite mad,” Ludovic said, “and indeed, I have thought it myself at times. But I believe your brother calls to me. There’s a voice, lost and searching, and I can put no other name to it. Do you know anything of him, since he disappeared?”
Although she was well wrapped and now quite warm, Alysson was shivering again. She peeped up through the sables. “No. And I don’t understand why he’d choose you to call to. But he cannot possibly be alive after all this time. He wouldn’t have run away like some boys, not run off to the city to make his fortune or anything like that. He was very young, and a little frail. I believe he died though I don’t know how. Near here, perhaps, since this was where I last saw him.”
Ludovic nodded, watching her closely. “I promised the voice to begin a new search for the remains,” he said. “Though frankly, I’ve little hope of success.”
She shook her head. “It would help.” Her fingers now gripped his, hoping for reassurance. “I’d hoped, being so young and quite innocent you know, that Pagan was at peace. It’s helped me, believing he was in a happier place – with Gamel and our parents. Knowing there was nothing I could do to help him anymore. But now, if you say he calls – then is he miserable? Is purgatory so lonely then? He should be safe with the angels.”
“I’ve no answers to such questions,” Ludovic said. “I’m no priest, and rarely believe what the priests tell me since I doubt they know any more than the rest of us. But I promised this – apparition – to look for the child’s body. And I shall do that. Though I suspect he fell victim to the moat as others have before him, and no one can see beneath those waters. If he’s there, he’ll stay there and no one can find him. Nor do I understand why he comes to me. I’m not the master of this estate, nor hold final authority. I had no hand in his death, nor knew him when alive. It seems strange.”
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