Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “You do, sir.” Ludovic smiled slightly. “However, I naturally assumed you’d be in favour of my arrangements regarding Mistress Alysson, considering the circumstances.”

  “You were wrong,” stated his lordship briefly.

  Ludovic shook his head, still smiling. “Perhaps you are not quite – familiar with every aspect of the situation, sir,” he continued. “No doubt I should have informed you of the details at the outset. But I also assumed you would prefer not to have those circumstances broadcast.”

  The earl’s eyes narrowed. “You become daily more like your brother Humphrey. Kindly explain yourself.”

  “I have naturally concluded,” said Ludovic, “that your own – affairs – have been kept strictly clandestine over the years, sir, since none have ever been – let us say – openly introduced within these premises. You have clearly done as you complain I have not, and your mistresses have always been housed at a distance. But although remaining unacknowledged – it seems you have chosen to be less elusive regarding the direct although illegitimate offspring of such liaisons.”

  “You have clearly taken leave of your senses, Ludovic,” the earl said, now seemingly more startled than baleful.

  “I think you understand me perfectly well, sir,” Ludovic said. “And regarding Mistress Alysson, I must inform you that while she requires urgent and prolonged medical attention, she is here as my guest, being, incidentally, a perfectly respectable young woman. She sustained severe injuries during a personal attack instigated by someone whose identity, although as yet unknown to myself, may, I believe, be particularly well known to you. Indeed, this with regard to my reference concerning – bastard offspring – of clearly Sumerford appearance. And I repeat, Mistress Alysson is not my mistress. But your own past conduct, my lord, is naturally your own business. As mine is mine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Lie back,” Ludovic commanded. “Head against the bolster, close your eyes, and if you persist in constantly grabbing at my doublet laces in abject terror, you’ll end up inadvertently undressing me. Which,” he informed her, sitting inappropriately close and leaning over, enclosing her in his shadow, “might please me more than it pleases you.”

  “I’m not terrified. Just nervous,” Alysson admitted. “And I do trust you. It’s just that I don’t suppose you’ve ever done this before.”

  “I haven’t,” Ludovic said, cradling the small bowl of warm herb scented water. “Unsurprisingly, I’ve never had occasion to.” He dipped the soft linen cloth, squeezed it out, and carefully began to wash Alysson’s right eye. “But it’s hardly likely to test my abilities, nor over-excite me, and I promise not to hurt you. Now stay still.”

  Some of the swellings had recently subsided, several of the bruises had paled and many shallow scratches had closed into thin pink scars. But amongst the other wounds remaining, after ten days Alysson had still not been able to open her injured eye. The puffy discolouration had sunk back to normal but hardened puss still glued the long curling lashes to the lower lid like spiders’ legs to a honey pot.

  “So why hasn’t the doctor? Surely - ?” Alysson murmured.

  “Because he hasn’t,” said Ludovic. “And he hasn’t because he’s a fool.” He continued washing the lower lid, the warm water bathing her face and sliding to the pillow where he had laid cloths and a towel. “But the eye no longer weeps so there can be no internal infection. Whatever keeps it stuck so firmly is simply ingrained after being left untouched too long. The pus needs removing.” Then with the corner tip of his own finger nail he began to prise loose the coarse grains, still sticky and clinging like sediment. Gradually each came away, slowly leaving the eyelid clean, pink and tender. Again he washed across the lid, the cloth cleansing between the long black lashes. “Try to open your eye, child,” he said. “Slowly. Don’t force it.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered after a moment. “It’s so sore.” The other eye however, was open and watching him. “Will I be blind forever, perhaps?”

  “What a delightfully positive and trusting expectation of life you have, little one.” Ludovic leaned over her again, bent low and gently kissed her injured eye. The tip of his tongue slid across the line between the lids, easing away the upper lashes from their long attachment to the lower, his breath warm and his tongue firm. Sitting up again, he said, “Try again.”

  Alysson’s eyelid flickered, the wet lashes fluttering free. She peeped warily through the crack of light, making her wince. Ludovic, attentive, smiled. With one and a quarter eyes, Alysson watched the slow smile transform his natural hauteur to gentle amusement. His mouth lifted into tight tucked corners.

  “I can see you,” she said with awe.

  “A dubious achievement.” Ludovic sat back. “Now, avoiding both window and candle, try opening your eye further. And blink.” He grinned, removing the damp sheen beneath her lashes with the ball of his thumb. “Courageous child. How do you find the world? If things seem blurred, I imagine that’s normal.”

  “Not really blurred.” She was delighted. “Just a little sore.”

  Ludovic leaned forward again, one finger smoothing the partially healed wounds which still divided her cheek like dark stripes, the scabs long and raised. “A little bloodshot perhaps. That will soon pass, as this has.”

  She nodded. “Am I really getting better?”

  Ten days in the castle, two weeks since the attack, much had improved. Alysson no longer wore a turbaned bandage and the scratches and grazes across her forehead and temples had paled to a pebbled maze. Many bruises remained, now a sallow and dirty yellow without swelling or internal bleeding, but covering her face like a flung palette of watery and dismal paints. Her lips had quite healed, but the tiny rips on both nostrils remained scabbed and bloody, and her neck still bore the huge weals and scratches from chin down. Most obvious were the great ragged marks down her right cheek from eye to jaw, some now healing beneath dark scabs, others only pale and narrow scars, but one still wide and vicious, blood pocked and painful.

  Away from Alysson’s hearing, Ludovic had argued with the surgeon. “It may mark her for life. It should be stitched.”

  “My lord, the pain might kill her. I cannot risk sewing the wound simply for the sake of one disfiguring scar. There is no dangerous infection and the ointment keeps it safe from harm.”

  “And away from the air so it never closes.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” murmured the doctor with diplomatic reverence, “but I am experienced with injuries such as these, being similar to those taken in battle, and I understand my business, I assure you. If infection should creep in, I shall immediately bleed the patient. Already the worst of the injuries are past and the young woman recovers quickly.”

  “And the broken bones?”

  “Three broken ribs, my lord, bandaged and healing adequately while Mistress Alysson refrains from all unnecessary movement as I have instructed. As for the most serious injury, the broken arm, well that will take considerably longer, my lord. Many weeks. But clearly it mends straight and shows no deformation.”

  “Very well. And the injured eye?”

  “Must be left to heal alone and untouched, my lord. Forced open too soon, the invasion of light might cause irrevocable damage.”

  “Nonsense, man,” Ludovic had retorted, notwithstanding his total lack of medical training. “Stuck too long, and the poor girl will never find sufficient strength to open it.”

  Indeed, now open, Alysson’s right eye was violently blood shot, the lower lid weeping and red. But she could see. “Things seem to be pink striped,” she admitted. “But I think it’s me, not them. At the moment you have three pink stripes down your nose. But you don’t really, do you?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” smiled Ludovic. He took her left hand, no longer roughened and grazed, and held it tightly. “But now I must spoil all the advantage I’ve gained, and probably ensure you dislike me once again. Unfortunately I need to remind you of the attack. I’ve a
few questions I want to ask.”

  “Oh,” she looked down at her lap, tucked within the fur bedcover. “I’m confused about some of it, you know, because I fainted. But I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

  With deliberate care, Ludovic moved back, leaning against the heaped pillows beside her. He kicked off his shoes and swung his legs up onto the bed. Then he stretched his arm quite firmly around her shoulders and pulled Alysson into a gentle embrace. “Now, little one. Remember everything as clearly as you can, and don’t be offended by whatever you imagine I’m thinking. I am probably thinking something quite different in any case. Firstly, you’ve informed me without hesitation that your assailant was Humphrey. I accept you see my brother sufficiently often to know his appearance well, but now describe this man again, without giving him a name. Try to remember exactly what he looked like, and also what he said.”

  Alysson accepted Ludovic’s embrace. It felt safe and comforting. She was by now accustomed to both his brotherly and occasionally less than brotherly intimacies and welcomed them all, whether she admitted it or not. His soft velvet doublet, laced in silver cord, was padded against the cold but beneath its yielding luxury she could feel the hard solidity of the muscled body and the strength of his protection. She sighed. “It was under the trees and he came at me from behind. He strangled me. It’s hard to see clearly with someone on top and all around, moving all the time, and hurting so much. He was very big. As tall as you I think, and much wider. His shoulders were huge and his neck was short and thick. He was massive and layered in fat and his hair was everywhere, frizzy and red and covering most of his face. But his eyes were bright blue and cold, and he looked so furiously angry.”

  “Remember his clothes,” Ludovic commanded.

  She paused, thinking. “Leather. Thick leather, black or brown, and a white bare necked shirt. His belt was heavy buckled. When I was on the ground, he kept kicking me. His feet were enormous and he wore clumsy leather boots. I didn’t really see anything else.”

  Ludovic nodded. “And his voice?”

  “That was the only thing that didn’t seem like Humphrey,” Alysson said. “His voice was very gruff, and Humphrey usually has a soft, childish voice. But perhaps because he was so angry.”

  “Very well. And his accent? What did he say?”

  Her own voice was muffled, murmuring into velvet. “The accent was slightly different as well,” she said. “Coarse, though not really common. But he was so angry, it was hard to tell. And what he said was strange. I don’t remember much of it now, but he said something about trussing me for the pot, and being my destiny. And he said I’d met him before, which was stupid because I’ve met Lord Humphrey many, many times and of course we both know I have. I asked his name before I actually saw him. He said it was unlucky to name the devil. That didn’t sound like Humphrey at all. But when I saw him, it was.”

  “I assure you, my brother’s incapable of speaking that way,” Ludovic said. “And he’s a good hand’s breadth less tall than myself. But these things would be hard to judge under duress. So you fought back and wounded him? Tell me.”

  “I pulled out his hair and scratched his face. I – bit him. His nose was all bloody and I had his blood on my tongue all mixed with so much of my own, it made me feel very sick. I suppose I did little enough damage, certainly not nearly as much as I’d have liked. But some scratches must have showed afterwards.”

  Conveniently close to both the village church and the more respectable of the three taverns, the Kenelm household stood to the left of the market square, off the only paved street in the village of Browny and within sight of the Browny Stream, its swollen pond and boggy banks. In accordance with recent fire regulations, the house was one of the few which had deigned to comply, fitting a new tiled roof, and with a large water barrel squatting outside the door. Being several miles further away from the castle, Browny Village considered its freedom from watchful eyes an integral part of its independence, and fought against compliance on all matters ordained by its overlord.

  The Kenelm cottage boasted a fully equipped kitchen, where the remains of the previous roof thatch was laid down over the beaten earth, offering useful nesting for the chickens to lay their eggs. A goat lived at the bottom of the battered stairway, tethered to the banisters. Mounting these steps was considered inadvisable unless a friendly acquaintance had already been established with the goat. For all but the Captain, his widowed sister and her son, there seemed little relevance in taking the risk.

  There was a distinct smell of sour milk, mutton tallow, goose grease and poultry droppings which Ludovic found sadly familiar. He stepped over the chickens, ignored the goat, and called for the captain. A thin woman appeared, quickly wiping her hands on her apron. “My lord, forgive me. My brother is still at sea. There has not been – I pray – not bad news, my lord?”

  Ludovic smiled, shaking his head. “Nothing of that kind. In fact, I’ve no news at all. I hoped he might have returned without informing me, or at least you’d have heard when he’s expected.”

  “You are always the very first to know, my lord. Fair weather or tempest, my brother never forgets what he owes you, sir, nor wishes to forget it.”

  “And your son?”

  “My boy Clovis has gone with him as usual, my lord. I expect them back before winter sets in, long as the weather keeps favourable, and he’ll be docking at London till the spring. November he said, though December if there’s a delay. But soon as his feet touch land, he’ll finish the ship’s business and come straight to you here, my lord. He’s done nothing wrong, I swear it, and always follows your orders to the letter.”

  “I’ve no complaints,” Ludovic said. “I trust your brother, Mistress, and the boy too. I’ve a particular job for them both, that’s all. But it must wait.”

  On the ride home, it rained heavily. The wind picked up from the east, presumably excellent for speeding the sails through the German Ocean, but significantly less welcome to a solitary rider wearing a light damask coat. One hand to his hat and the other to the reins, he regarded the sudden whisper and flickering light equally unwelcome. The apparition, minute and wavering, did not seem affected by wind or rain. Like a candle flame somehow burning under water, the light swept close. Ludovic sighed. “I have tried to find you,” he muttered into the sleety silence. “But I have found nothing. I have not been able to help.”

  “I have found no peace,” whispered the light.

  “Then I am sorry,” Ludovic answered. “Indeed, I am sorry for many things. But unless you tell me what else I may do for you, there seems no further aid I can offer.”

  “No one helps. No one aids,” whispered the nameless voice. “But I have no home and no rest, so I am blown where I find acknowledgment.”

  The rain bounced from the path, creating its own busy thrum. Ludovic shook his head. “Come where you will and when you will, since I cannot stop you,” he said. “But I admit I have other matters on my mind, and others to protect.”

  The light shimmered, then sank, and blinked abruptly out. The drear gloom moved back. The rain closed off the countryside. Ludovic was not feeling entirely placid by the time he arrived home and called for his father’s steward.

  “I’ve an interest in someone employed here, Hamnet,” he said, stripping off coat, gloves and hat and tossing all three to the page running at his side. “I require information concerning any member of staff known to work on the premises, but who does not hold an existing and adequate position within the kitchen, the stables, dairies or upstairs chambers.”

  Hamnet bowed. “The ladies’ maids, for instance my lord?”

  Ludovic’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a fool, Hamnet. I’m not looking for illicit companionship, and if I was, I certainly wouldn’t require your recommendations. I’m looking for a specific person, certainly male, whose name I do not yet know, who bears – let us say – a remarkable likeness to the Sumerford family. To the Lord Humphrey in particular. And who is employed here on a secre
tive, unexplained or irregular basis.”

  Hamnet bowed low. “My lord, I swear I have no idea, no idea at all my lord.” His expression grew puzzled. “There exists no such person to my knowledge, nor ever has. Nothing of such a clandestine nature has ever occurred, or I would surely be the first to know. Within these walls, my lord, it would never be permitted.”

  Ludovic turned away, speaking softly to himself. “It seems we are all searching,” he murmured. “Nameless, lost, looking for some measure of understanding consistently denied us. Whether dead or alive, we all need answers we cannot find.”

  It was three more days before Ludovic returned to Alysson’s chamber, and found her surprisingly fractious.

  “Well brat, you seem considerably better,” he said, strolling in and throwing his coat to the chair. “In fact, you look very well indeed.”

  Both eyes bright and wide, Alysson glared at him. “As if you would care, my lord. I’m amazed you even bother to notice.”

  Ludovic chuckled. “Since it’s the first time you’ve addressed me as my lord ever since knowing me, I imagine I’m in disgrace,” he said. “You had better tell me what I’ve done.”

  “Nothing at all, I’m sure,” said Alysson, grabbing the covers up around her neck and raising her chin over them with dignity. A small fire had been lit, though a faint haze of sunshine entered through the half shuttered windows. The chamber was therefore pleasantly warm though a little gloomy in the corners. It smelled of lavender. “Being a Sumerford, you couldn’t possibly ever do anything wrong,” she continued with a sniff. “And if you did, it wouldn’t be considered wrong anyway. I’m simply honoured you’ve remembered me.”