Lily had begun to undress, proceeding as far as her underskirt and chemise, when she paused for a moment and listened to the nightingale's song beyond the casement window. It came so sweetly, yet there was an underlying sadness to the notes that drifted to her from the woodlands. It was the first she had heard since winter's passing, but overnight the pale green leaves seemed to be unfolding on the bare branches, and the first crocuses were blossoming under the friendly warmth of the sun.
Lily breathed deeply, expelling her breath on a sigh of pleasure. Although Hartwell Barclay had recently purchased fine carpets for the great chamber and his own private chamber, she still preferred the meadow-sweet fragrance of the fresh rushes strewn across the floor of her bedchamber. Dried lavender and roses scented the sachets tucked beneath the pillows and coverlet of the bed and sweetened the folds of clothing placed in the gilded chest at its foot. Sandalwood, clove, marjoram, and pennyroyal in a pierced potpourri jar on the mantelpiece lent a spicy redolence to the room. a vase on the windowsill held a spray of woodbine, a wild daffodil nodding on its slender stalk, and several delicate musk roses plucked from the woods by Tristram. Inside an elaborately carved ivory box on the small bedside table was an assortment of prized vials of exotic perfumes of Araby-jasmine, orange-blossom, hyacinth, violet, and patchouli-which had been a gift from Valentine Whitelaw on his return from one of his journeys to the Mediterranean.
"Praaack! Me arse is half frozen! Lift a leg, my pretty! Praaack!" Cisco declared, strutting back and forth on his perch in the corner of the room. "I'll have that bird roastin' on a spit if he don't shut up" Praaack!" Cisco cried, his last statement mimicking the cook to perfection. "He nipped me! Ye bloodthirsty knave!"
Lily glanced over at him in surprise, a slight frown marring her brow. At times, it was fortunate that Cisco repeated whatever he heard. Lily would make certain she kept an eye on the cook in order to keep intact those green feathers Cisco preened with such inordinate pride.
"Oooh, Mistress Lily, I don't know how 'tis ye haven't shriveled up or caught yer death of cold by now," Tillie exclaimed as she entered the room, two more buckets of steaming water swinging from a yoke balanced across her shoulders. Setting them down by the tub, she quickly emptied the contents, careful for once not to spill any of the water. With a sigh, she straightened, her hand massaging the small of her back.
"Are ye certain, mistress, 'tisn't harmful bathing? I've heard some bloodcurdling stories, I have. Haven't done it very often, meself, and both times I nearly caught me death of cold. Nearly broke off all my teeth, I was chattering that much. Sneezed fer days afterwards and me skin started to flake off. thought I was goin' to die," Tillie recalled with a shudder. "Reckon a spot of cold water against me face is all I'm needin'," she decided, but Lily could see her eyeing the warm, scented water almost wistfully.
"If you add a drop of oil to the water your skin won't dry out like that. Why don't you soak in the tub after I've finished? 'Tis so sweetly scented, 'twould be wasteful to pour it out. You must be all aches, Tillie. You've been on your hands and knees the whole day. I promise no harm will befall you. And think how please Farley will be," Lily added as a final inducement.
"Oh, Mistress Lily, why, whatever ye be talkin' of?" Tillie blushed and looked away nervously. "Now, mistress, ye do worry too much about the likes of me," she protested, shrugging off her lady's concern. She'd heard Mistress Lily's mother had been a fine gentlewoman too, always concerning herself about others. Tillie bit her lip, wondering if she should confide in Mistress Lily.
"And with good reason, for you were scrubbing the kitchens when I was distilling some flower waters, and later you were soaping down the hall," Lily reminded her as she stepped out of her underskirt. "Surely you have completed most of your duties for the day," Lily asked, thinking Tillie was looking more haggard than usual and vowing that she'd hire two more scullery maids when she became mistress of Highcross. She would also make Tillie her lady's maid.
"I've washed up the dinner plates and scoured the pots, but most likely the master will find something else fer me to do. Ah, but that do smell nice, mistress," Tillie sighed, scooping up a handful of water and patting it on her cheeks. "Hmm, smells like a whole garden of roses. Kinda deep, though, mistress. Ye could drown in less water; why the old Widow Hubbs slipped in a puddle t'other day and could've drowned right there on High Street if that cart hadn't run over her first. 'Tis the truth, mistress. Why, just before ye comes to Highcross, young Dan Barber drowned in a trencher plate at t'Oaks. But then, Farley Odell has always said that Dickie Sawyer serves watered-down gravy at t'Oaks. Too thin, 'tis. If it'd been thicker, bit of oatmeal in it maybe, why, Dan Barber would most likely be alive today."
"Lily smiled. "I don't think I need worry." Pulling off her stockings and chemise, Lily climbed into the tub, sinking down until the water rose just above her bare shoulders.
"Ye can swim, can't ye, mistress? That be amazin'. Not many folk can," Tillie said as she hefted back up the wooden buckets. "I'm always wonderin' how them folk learn in the first place, 'cause if ye don't know how, then how are ye goin' to learn before ye drowns?" she puzzled. "Ain't goin' to do ye no good knowin' how if ye be on the bottom," Tillie said wisely, heading toward the door. "I'll be fetchin' some wood now, then start that fire, mistress," Tillie added with a backward glance over her shoulder.
Lily ducked as the buckets swung around. "A fire?" she questioned doubtfully, glancing over at the hearth that hadn't felt the heat of a fire in almost a year. Not since she'd been ill with a fever and Quinta Whitelaw had demanded the unhealthy damp be driven from the cold bedchamber. If she hadn't been so ill, Lily would have laughed aloud that day, for Quinta had certainly known how to light a fire under Hartwell Barclay, warning him he'd have many questions to answer if anything should happen to his ward because he was to cheap to allow a fire in her bedchamber.
"Oh, yes, mistress. The master, seein' me bringin' up yer bath water, says 'tis still to chilly fer ye to be bathin' up here without a fire. Says he doesn't want ye to become chilled. Can't have that, no sir, he says with a big smile," Tillie told her, eyeing her mistress curiously.
Lily's gaze narrowed thoughtfully.
"Reckon he be tetched in the head?" Tillie asked, for the master had never before worried about Mistress Lily falling ill.
"I wonder," Lily murmured.
"I wonder he can still stand. Ain't seen him without that fancy silver wine cup of his all day. Started the day off with several tankards of ale, then had his claret at luncheon, and more at dinner, and now he's in the great chamber sippin' from a drinkin' horn full of hot spiced wine. Must have drunk up half a hogshead by now. Thinks he's ol' King Harry sittin' there lordin' it over the household," Tillie muttered as she hurried to the door, but before she reached it, it was opened just wide enough for a small face to peek inside.
"Oh, Mistress Dulcie! Ye're lettin' in a draft. Want to bring about the death of yer sister?" Tillie told the child.
"Come in, Dulcie," Lily called to her, smiling reassuringly when the door opened wider to allow Dulcie's thin figure to enter. Lily continued to watch the door and was not surprised when it was nudged wider and Raphael's big head poked inside. He had grown another foot and weighed twice as much since coming to Highcross, and Lily wondered idly if he would ever stop growing. He looked like a small pony trotting into the room. And sitting on his back, a small black hand hooked beneath the tattered blue ribbon, was Cappie, bedecked in his green velvet cap and jacket.
"If they ain't the pair," Tillie said with a grin, but giving the mastiff plenty of room as she slipped out the door.
Humming some unrecognizable song to herself, Dulcie came to stand beside the tub. Cappie hopped off Raphael's back and scampered along the curving rim, his chattering voice rising excitedly when Dulcie began to swirl the water, disturbing his reflection in its surface.
"What have you been doing?" Lily asked, flicking water on Dulcie's cheek in response to the splash that had dre
nched her face much to Dulcie's giggling delight.
"Nothing," Dulcie replied. "I'm glad 'tis warmer. I wish the lake didn't freeze every winter. Our pool on the island never froze over. We could swim all year long. Only time I get to swim now is when I take a bath, and that's not any fun," she said, her hand sending a wave of water toward Cappie's tiny feet. Scolding her, he leapt onto the bed where he took off his cap before curling up against the pillows.
"You left your embroidery in the hall," Lily told her sister. "I noticed you have almost completed it. It was very lovely, Dulcie," Lily complimented her. She had been surprised by the beauty of the needlework. Dulcie was becoming an accomplished needle-woman, just like their mother.
"I tried to work slowly, but I just couldn't wait to see it finished. I was very careful with my stitches, just like Jane showed me," Dulcie said.
"It's quite unusual. The flowers remind me of the ones on the island."
"I tried so hard to remember, Lily, but I couldn't remember exactly," Dulcie said, pleased by her sister's remark.
"I think they are all the prettier because of that. They look like mythical flowers. We will have to go into the village and buy some more silk thread now that the weather is warmer."
"Really! Do you think we can find some brighter colors this time, Lily? I'm always using up the red. I don't like the pale colors. My flowers and butterflies have to be bright as the sun," Dulcie explained very seriously. With a shy glance, she added, "I was thinking of giving an embroidered length of silk to the queen next New Year's Day if we are invited to court. Do you think she would like it?
"I am certain she would be delighted," Lily told her, remembering some of the New Year's gifts she had watched Elizabeth receive with a queenly graciousness and an almost childlike delight last year. Jeweled pomanders, scented, lace-trimmed gloves, purses full of gold coin, and all manner of expensive gifts she'd received from her courtiers and others seeking royal favor, and with equal excitement Elizabeth had also accepted the more simple gifts from her loyal subjects: a nosegay from a scullery maid, a freshly caught trout from one of her bargemen, an orange studded with cloves from a gardener, and even a freshly baked quince pie from one of her bakers. And their generosity was returned in sundry gifts she handed out of her favorites. "If Jane does not have the silks we need, then I'll have her order some special from London."
"Oh, thank you, Lily!" Dulcie exclaimed, dancing around the room. "This is my favorite room at Highcross," Dulcie confided as she spun on her toes, her skirts floating around her until she came to a halt near the window. She reached out her hand and cupped one of the musk-roses, sniffing its fragrance. "Your room reminds me of the island, Lily. There are always flowers, and even in winter, when there aren't any fresh ones from the gardens, it still smells like spring. Even the bed hangings smell like roses," Dulcie said, throwing herself on the bed with a flying leap that had Cappie scrambling between the pillows and the bolster set against the headboard. Rolling onto her stomach, Dulcie playfully slid her hand beneath the pillow. A moment later, Cappie's dark face appeared, but unable to resist a bit of petting, he crawled out and sat next to her. His eyes closed with contentment as she scratched him under the chin. "I'm glad 'tis spring. Winter is to dark. I don't like it when there's not any sunshine."
Tillie came staggering through the door with an armful of kindling and a couple of split logs, her steps somehow finding their way safely around the sleeping form of the dog stretched out in the middle of the room. Down on her hands and knees before the hearth, she grimaced when a spider came dangling down from the flue, his web undisturbed until now. But soon a crackling fire was spreading its warmth throughout the room and replacing the light that was fading fast beyond the windows.
"A fire?" Dulcie said, staring openmouthed at the dancing flames. "Are you sick, Lily?" she demanded, glancing over at her sister worriedly.
"No," Lily declared with a laugh. "Indeed, I shall wash my hair now that the room will be warmer," she suddenly decided, determined to make the most of this unexpected treat. Pulling the ribbons from her hair, she allowed the long red strands to reach into the soapy water. Closing her eyes, she sank beneath the surface, dampening the thick mass of hair so she could work the soap through it.
"Oh, mistress, ye be temptin' fate," Tillie sighed, for everyone knew migraines and madness came of getting your head wet, and no telling what might happen if a person got water in his ears, she thought, terrified. Saying a silent prayer to protect them both, Tillie helped Lily rinse her hair with the clear water from the earthenware jug on the bedside table, then held up the blanket she'd placed close to the warmth of the fire for Lily to wrap herself in when she climbed from the tub.
By the time Lily moved closer to the hearth, Raphael had changed his position and now lay toasting himself before the fire, his eyelids fluttering now and again as he no doubt dreamt of chasing rabbits across the fields. But he had to share his enviable position, for Dulcie had climbed down beside him and was now lying with her head propped up on his chest.
"Lily?" Dulcie questioned, wiggling her toes closer to the heat.
"Hmmmm?" Lily's voice was muffled as she shook out her hair and tried to wring the water out of its dripping length. Threading her fingers through the long strands, she spread them out to catch the warmth.
"May I brush your hair until it sparkles and crackles with fire?"
Lily smiled, remembering how she used to brush their mother's hair after they'd bathed in the pool behind their hut on the island. They'd sit on the edge of the pool, basking in the warm afternoon sun while they waited for their hair to dry. To pass the time, they would sing songs and talk nonsense until their laughter eventually drew Basil's curiosity. Those were the special times, Lily thought. "Yes, I would like that, Dulcie."
"Lily?"
"Yes."
"Do you think I could sleep in here tonight?"
Lily looked down at Dulcie's dark head resting so trustingly on Raphael's chest, her thin hands held out to the warmth of the fire, and Lily knew she couldn't deny her. Even though she had Raphael for company, Dulcie had never liked having a room of her own.
"May I go get my nightdress now?" Dulcie asked. It was growing dark, and soon she'd have to light a candle to undress by.
"Run along," Lily told her. "Where is Tristram?" she called after her.
Dulcie and Raphael paused in their flight to the door. "Right after dinner, since it was still light, Tristram went out with Farley and Fairfax."
Lily raised an eyebrow. She didn't like the sound of that, for wherever Farley and Fairfax were to be found, trouble soon followed.
"Do you know where they went, Tillie?" Lily asked, not feeling any easier when she saw the guilty expression crossing Tillie's face.
"Me? Oh, Mistress Lily, now I wouldn't be knowin' about such things," Tillie was too quick to deny. "Oughta empty this tub."
"Why don't you leave it until morning? 'Tis getting dark," Lily advised, beginning to worry about Tristram's wheareabouts, especially if he was in the company of Farley and Fairfax Odell.
"Oh, I really should, mistress," Tillie said. "Oughta help Mistress Dulcie into her nightdress," she suggested, edging toward the door.
"Tillie?" Lily said softly.
"Yes, mistress," she answered uneasily.
"Why don't you and I have a little talk while I finish drying my hair?" Lily murmured, eyeing Tillie's stiffening shoulders with interest.
"Yes, mistress,"
"Now, where have Farley and Fairfax and my brother gone?"
Tillie swallowed nervously. "They truly be gone, then?" she questioned doubtfully.
"Where?" Lily repeated.
"Thought fer sure I heard them come back just minutes ago," Tillie said, cocking her head as if listening to approaching footsteps. "Shall I run down to see?" she offered eagerly, not liking the glint that had come into her mistress's eye. "Reckon they could even be out in the stables."
"I did not hear anything. And where
exactly would they be returning from, Tillie?" Lily asked, slipping into the dressing robe Tillie had been busying herself with finding for the last few minutes.
"Well?" Lily asked as the silence continued.
"Reckon they just might've ambled into the village," Tillie finally admitted.
"Into Highford? What on earth for? Except for the Oaks, all of the shops are closed," Lily asked, amazed by Tillie's answer.
"Reckon they might not be goin' in to do any shoppin', mistress."
"Why did they go into Highford?"
Tillie started to chew her bottom lip.
Lily sighed. She knew Farley and Fairfax too well. "What mischief have those two planned now?"
Tillie took a deep breath, meeting Lily's gaze bravely. "Well, Farley says he ain't never met a man who don't have something to feel guilty about, even if 'tis just in his mind, and 'tis about time the good reverend was reminded that he's human, too. Reckon Farley has gotten tired of the Reverend Buxby always pointin' his long finger at him and Fairfax in church each Sabbath. Ye'd think they was the only two who spent any time in t'Oaks. Reckon, too, Farley don't like the way the reverend's been casting suspicion on yer good name, Mistress Lily," Tillie admitted, still feeling uncomfortable about the way the reverend had talked of sin and damnation, and all the while staring down at Lily Christian.
"And just exactly how are they going to achieve their purpose?" Lily asked almost reluctantly.
Tillie's lips twitched just slightly, and Lily could not have sworn if it had been out of fear or amusement. "Reckon the good reverend might see the ghost of St. George a-wanderin' and a-moanin' and a-callin' his name in the graveyard this evenin'. Real eerie, with a full moon risin' over them headstones. Farley swears there really is a ghost a-hauntin' that place," Tillie said with a shiver of foreboding.
Wild Bells to the Wild Sky Page 33