Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  It was to the privy that Ludovic went. Two cubicles occupied an angle on the lower stairs leading from the hall to the pantries. Here the seats were built into ledges within the dark corner, wide enough for a man to sit in quiet contemplation. Though without doors to close, the spaces were private enough within their shadows and good manners prescribed that no one would interrupt or speak to anyone seated upon their business. But one cubicle was not empty. With a flush of skirts upturned, a young woman, her upper parts squashed downwards through the circle of wooden seat, had been abandoned there. Her bare legs curled within the flounced hems of her shift, her feet still snug in little tight shoes.

  Ludovic threw off his coat and rolled up his doublet cuffs. The girl wore the castle livery. Nothing else of her could be recognised. He put his arms around her waist and brought the body carefully up from its miserable oblivion. Her expression was obscured only by the darkness, the smears from the privy and her own silenced screams. Ludovic laid the small corpse gently down on the cold stone ground, rearranging her skirts to cover her legs and her modesty and the violence done to her. He did not know her. He supposed she was Helena, who had once perhaps been proud to take Alysson’s place as Jennine’s maid. Her limbs were stiff and distorted so he could not lay her flat, but he gave her what respect he could, and quietly left her there alone.

  Father Dorne was discovered crouched sobbing beside his own altar, and Ludovic called him to come and absolve the dead of the sins they could no longer confess. They should receive final absolution now, while their souls still struggled to enter purgatory. Ludovic also discovered Master Pembridge the doctor and young Nobb the apothecary. He sent them scurrying to Humphrey’s quarters.

  It was the second privy where he himself knelt, swore, and was brutally ill. It was some time since he had eaten, and thanked God for it. He had drunk two cups of wine, and now returned both to the cesspit. He remained slumped there, the smell of his own vomit strong in his nostrils.

  It was someone else who found Vymer and came pounding along the passageway to report the discovery.

  Skewered with a great meat iron hook, Vymer’s body hung upside down in the cold pantry amongst the carcasses. Mutton, venison, beef and pork was suspended, gutted and slit, waiting for the slow spit over the fire and the merriment of castle feasts. Vymer hung silent amongst them. His throat had been cut through, severing his windpipe. His eyes stared down at his own black puddles, and his bright red hair was mired in dried blood, its drips suspended globulous from the long strands. Red hair, red blood, both turning gelatinous and dark in the dry chill, but the body was now strangely white and almost luminous. It took three men to bring him down and lay his body outside the door beside that of the dead guard, ready for collection and Christian burial.

  Ludovic was still searching the castle and its outhouses when the sheriff arrived, soaked and breathless, his horse rolling its eyes at the thunder. Ludovic led the man to Humphrey’s apartments. He found his father still there, seated on a low chest, Humphrey’s smiling corpse lying at his feet. Her ladyship was not visible but her choking sobs echoed, partly stifled, from the far room. Across the chamber the small boy’s mutilated body, now reunited with its head, lay beneath a sheet. The earl looked up and nodded. His eyes were bloodshot.

  “There is much to be done, Simples, and you will need to call for your assistant,” he said without expression. “You’ve known of my son’s personal problems for some time, I believe. His intellectual weakness has never been a secret, but I did not personally suspect him of brutality. Today on my return from Westminster however, I discovered him more distracted than usual. No doubt you have already heard something of the story.”

  The sheriff was gaping and stuttering.

  “The problem,” the earl continued, his voice level, “is now solved. Your particular skills will not be required. However your presence is essential. My son suffered an attack of great irregularity this morning during my absence, and was moved to terrible violence. Due to his state of imbalance, I do not hold him personally responsible for his own actions but I regret them deeply. Humphrey was my son and heir but he caused much misery here today, and you will inevitably be shown the results of his – unusual predilections. However, I will not permit this day’s wretchedness to be broadcast beyond these walls and I expect your discretion and loyalty in this matter. You will do what needs to be done, and you will keep your mouth shut.”

  Sheriff Simples already kept his mouth shut. He could not find words, but nodded a little wildly. Ludovic remained standing behind him in the doorway. He also kept his silence.

  “My son,” the earl proceeded, “realising too late what he had caused, then took his own life. But he will be buried in the family vault on sanctified ground with the full blessings of the church, and I will hear no argument on any count. Is this clear?”

  “Indeed, my lord.” The sheriff managed to bow low.

  “What is more, you will,” the earl informed him, “accept the events as I describe them. You will not in any manner question my word. You will not speak to the staff or to my family. This is a time of tragedy for us all, so you will be discreet and keep your distance. This is also quite clear?”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “Her ladyship,” continued the earl as the sobs from the inner chamber lessened, “will not be consulted on any matter, nor spoken to concerning any of this.”

  “Certainly, your lordship. I would never think of intruding at such a time.”

  “Very well.” The earl nodded, dismissing him. “I trust your compliance, Simples, and will no doubt have occasion in future to remember your loyalty with gratitude. I shall speak to you again before you leave the castle.”

  Ludovic watched the man depart hurriedly, his hat clutched under his arm, his head bowed. “Are you all right, sir?” Ludovic asked, regarding his father with some caution. “Can I get you something? Wine? Your manservant?”

  The earl continued staring at Humphrey’s body. “Don’t be a fool, Ludovic,” he said quietly.

  Ludovic left and returned downstairs. He followed the stone steps deeper, holding his torch high, his footsteps echoing. The cellars were lightless, windowless and musty. Here in the driest chambers the wine was kept. In the lower tunnels many other stores were stacked, kegs, sacks and chests veneered in mildew and mould. Once there had been dungeons, but the old chambers with their low ceilings and dripping walls no longer needed to be locked. The keys were lost, the locks rusted, the requirement forgotten, the seep of the moat outside making them icy and rank. Ludovic hurried through every corner, bringing the sudden flare of torch flame to explore each angle. He called but there was no reply. He heard the rats running, but nothing else moved. He hurried back upstairs.

  It was still raining. Ludovic went out into the smaller courtyard which led away from the stables, the drawbridge and the main gateway, to the second entrance where the sounds of the surf pounded loud as the thunder. The lightning tore across the battlements, sparkling vivid reflections over the tiny window high in the east tower where Alysson had once been held captive.

  The little courtyard, open to the sky but enclosed on all four sides by the massive castle walls, sheltered the kitchen garden with its rows of beans, herbs and salads. The tufts of greenery lay wilted and sodden beneath the storm. Behind the small plot was a shed, thatched and neat and angled between wall and shrubbery. It was large enough for the tools of gardening and little else, but sometimes the chickens wandered there, finding sacks of grain. It was the only place Ludovic had not yet searched.

  She was curled amongst the brooms, with folded hessian as a pillow. She seemed to be asleep. Beside her, wrapped tight, was Clovis. His nose was bloody but there was no sign of deeper hurt to either, no other blood and no stench of pain and death. But the child’s eyes were closed as Alysson’s were. Ludovic slumped heavily back against the open door, catching his breath. The rain lashed in over his shoulder, soaking the soiled blue hems of Alysson’s skirts. The
n he knelt quickly beside her, shielding her from the cold, and smoothed his hand across her cheek. He believed her dead. When she blinked and gazed up at him Ludovic thought himself dreaming. He was almost sick again, this time with fear, and hope, and the sour bile of utter disbelief.

  “My God,” he whispered, and gathered her up into his arms.

  She gulped, crushed against him and shivering. Clovis woke with a start and scrambled up, ready for battle. Then he saw his master and stopped, frantic hands still raised and clenched.

  Alysson’s voice was muffled. Ludovic could hear no words. He steadied himself, standing quickly with her still nestled tight to him, bent his head and kissed her words away. Her mouth responded and her hands crept up around his neck. She was bitterly cold and her clothes were sodden. She rested her wet hair against his chest and sighed.

  Ludovic looked down at the startled boy. “Are you hurt?” Clovis shook his head, hair in his eyes, mouth open. “Good,” said Ludovic. “Then come with me.”

  The snuggled body in his arms seemed as fragile as coloured glass. Her natural warmth had begun to dry her silks and he felt her yielding softness, the curve of her shoulder tucked beneath his own, his fingers enclosing her waist and beneath her knees. He touched her heartbeat, quick and uneven, pounding just above his palm. She stopped trembling and closed her eyes again to the world, as though disbelieving her rescue. Ludovic held her as though breakable, and as the most precious thing he had ever known. He marched with her across the dripping courtyard and into the sudden dark seclusion of the castle corridors. Clovis scurried behind.

  Ludovic strode directly to his own quarters, not bothering to seek elsewhere. He kicked open the door to his bedchamber, sending the hovering servants into a flurry. There he laid Alysson very carefully on his bed. The rich fur and velvet bedcover cocooned her. She snuggled into warm feathers, breathing deep.

  He took her hand and sat beside her, speaking in a whisper. “Open your eyes, my beloved. I swear I shan’t leave you again. Everything is safe now, I promise, and always will be. I will always look after you now and stay close forever.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Ellis regarded his rival with disgust. “Thought the little bugger were dead,” he muttered.

  “You can’t speak to me like that,” objected Clovis. “I’m a bloody hero, I am. Ain’t I, m’lor?”

  Ludovic smiled. The smile had recently become persistent. “Indubitably.”

  “He is a hero,” said Alysson. “Clovis has looked after me most wonderfully for all the time you were away, and nearly lost his life for it.”

  She had been ceremonially removed from Ludovic’s quarters and settled once again in the grand chambers she had previously occupied during her convalescence. Aired, warmed, glass newly sparkling and the bed laid with clean pressed linen, the rooms smelled of fresh herbs and the cut flowers clustered in the empty hearths. Now well wrapped within a brand new sarsenet bedrobe trimmed in miniver, Alysson sat in her very own solar, curled on the cushioned settle, legs tucked beneath her, and her own smile as permanent as Ludovic’s.

  With an imperceptible nod from Ludovic, her guests were leaving. It was Kenelm who accepted the quiet dismissal and quickly ushered the two boys away. “Time we was gone, I reckon my lord,” he said with an improper wink. “In fact, I got a lady o’ my own to see to now. And I’ll sort them little bastards out, don’t worry. As fer heroes, well I reckon that’s not a matter o’ who done what, but more of who didn’t have no choice.” He bundled the boys from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Ludovic stood by the hearth, his elbow to the high mantle, one foot to the iron grating. He looked down on Alysson, his eyes fixed on her smile. He said, “This still seems a miracle to me. I thought you dead.”

  “I thought you dead.” She clasped her hands in her lap, but no attempt at maidenly calm could stop her fingers twitching or disguise her nerves.

  It had been just three days. Within those three days everything had happened. Funerals had been arranged, services read, the household reorganised, the castle aired, cleaned and polished. All signs of the great tragedy were carefully and strenuously removed, but a faint stench of fear lingered on. Humphrey’s great bulk lay in quiet state in the chapel. Within the lead lined coffin, his head cushioned, he slept. The gash through his heart had closed to a dark hole and had been washed, salved and bandaged as if to alleviate the sufferings of a man still living. He was almost naked, the wallowing belly now slumped and hollow. The cloth across his loins was embroidered with the Sumerford arms, once worked by the countess herself for her eldest son’s cradle. Now he smiled a little, as he had within her embrace as she raised the knife and killed him.

  The Lady Jennine slept regal beneath the chapel candles, though few came to stand witness and she would be buried without pomp, taking her place once again at her husband’s side. That she lay dead at his hand was no longer mentioned.

  It was accepted that Humphrey had, in contrition, taken his own life, but Father Dorne obeyed the earl’s command and no shame was put upon the corpse. The heir’s memory would be forever stained with the fear and horror he had generated, but not sullied with the taint of suicide. He would be buried with some ceremony and take his proper place in hallowed ground. The priest dutifully chanted his prayers for the departed soul beneath the rows of flickering candles, but the staff did not file past the coffin to pay their last respects. The echoes remained muted.

  The countess attended neither funerals nor chapel services, but took Mass within her private chambers. She received no visitors there. The earl did not approach her quarters and nor did her remaining son. She refused to open her doors to any except the priest, her female companion and her personal maid. Nothing was seen nor heard of her and it was as if she had ceased to exist. She was consulted on no matter, her opinions were not sought, nor her wishes considered. Only her desire for solitude was adhered to.

  The earl was unusually quiet at first. He gave orders in a voice more mellow than before and asked for very little. He barely ate but drank a good deal.

  On the third day he called for his son. “Well my boy. You are the heir now. That is one aspect of this foul business which I do not regret. But it will no doubt require a considerable adjustment for you and your intended.”

  “Intended what?” inquired Ludovic with some suspicion.

  The earl smiled faintly, the first smile in three days. “You have grown strangely untrusting recently, Ludovic,” he said. “Beware becoming too much like your father, my boy. Indeed, I was not casting aspersions on your future plans, but merely referring to your intended bride. Although you have chosen not to inform me of it, I presume you have asked the lady?”

  Ludovic sat down abruptly. “No.” He shook his head, staring bleakly up at his father. “Alysson’s been imprisoned for months and threatened with appalling abuse by members of this family. I also carry the same bloodline. Marriage with me would seem a – brutal destiny. How can I ask it of her?”

  “Your sanity has, as far as I recall, only rarely been in question,” sighed the earl. “And whatever your inadequacies, my boy, the female under discussion most certainly needs a husband. She has been singularly compromised in every way. Perhaps this family owes her a more settled future. And incidentally, in spite of certain qualities sadly lacking, I have always considered that you took more after myself both in looks and character.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” Ludovic said while showing very little respect, “your own bloodline seems just as dubious. I prefer not to speak of Brice, but that creature Vymer bore no relationship to my mother but only to yourself, and I question both his appalling character and his sanity.”

  “Ah. The Wapping girl,” nodded the earl. “A vacuous mare, but always dutiful and exceptionally trim. A mistake in fact. But am I to believe you now have your own regrets? You no longer desire the intimate companionship of Alysson Welles?”

  Ludovic glowered. “I’ll certainly marry her
if she’ll have me, and desire little else. But she needs time to recover first, and to recognise what risks she takes by accepting me. If she turns me down, I’ll set her up wherever she wishes, somewhere away from the scandals here. She has a respectable nurse as chaperone, and I’ll buy them a house. I’ll buy them anything they want.”

  “There are few lady’s maids – forgive me – daughters of aldermen – given the chance to become a countess. I imagine she’ll consent to take you rather than a lonely obscurity.”

  “She wouldn’t –”

  The earl raised one hand. “Spare me your protestations, my boy. I am sublimely disinterested in this female’s moral character, or indeed in any other. My opinion of the fair sex has been honed over many years and is unlikely to alter, while your own present opinion is undoubtedly ingenuous and utterly biased. I should therefore not believe whatever you say. I should, however, appreciate being kept informed of your imminent plans. I have been daily expecting your collapse, your departure, your marriage, or all three simultaneously. Since my every reasonable expectation has recently been shredded and my hopes for the future of this family ruined, what little remains now seems of more particular interest. I trust you will deign to entrust me with some knowledge of your intentions.”