by Alys Clare
I mustn’t cry, he told himself firmly. I must be as good as gold and I must take my punishment without complaint. Those were Her phrases. She said lots of things like that. Or she used to, before she suddenly stopped talking to him very much. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Oh, he knew he’d broken her rosary, and that was why he’d been sent to his room for two days. But she had started not talking to him and not wanting him to be with her – attend her, that was what she used to say – quite a long time before the rosary got broken.
He didn’t understand.
He didn’t mind not having to be with her all the time. He didn’t mind that at all. But he did mind – very much – having to be here all by himself.
Especially when it was so cold.
So dark.
So scary.
He thought he heard a noise, and his whole body stiffened with terror.
It came from the corridor.
It was the monster, slithering back to its lair beneath the bed. He could hear a sort of clicking sound. That was its long, curved talons, tapping against the flagstones.
He could hear its breath. It came in quick pants, as if the monster had been hurrying.
His eyes wide, he stared in horror at the door.
It began to open.
Something long and sharp and glittery came through the gap between the door and the frame. The door opened a bit more. Something huge and pale was there just for an instant, then a huge black cloud seemed to burst out into the room.
The little boy’s heart was drumming so hard that he could feel it, up high in his throat. He could barely breathe. He thought he was going to be sick.
Deeper black against the darkness, the shape flowed on into the room.
The monster was almost upon him.
Desperate with terror, the little boy dug deep inside himself for courage he didn’t think he had. Wild with panic, he drew air into his lungs. Then he opened his mouth and screamed and screamed and screamed until he thought his throat would burst.
He didn’t know what happened next. He must have thrown himself right under the blankets and the pelts on his bed, for everything went black. Then, some time later – he didn’t know how long – arms were round him, big, strong arms, and a deep voice was speaking quiet words of kindness and comfort.
He dared not open his eyes to look, but instead just pushed himself into the broad chest. A cup was held to his lips, and the deep voice said, ‘Drink up.’
He drank. The drink was quite hot and sweet, but with a bitter aftertaste. The powerful arms held him close. ‘I saw a big black shape,’ he whispered, his voice shaking. ‘It came flowing into the room, and I saw its glittery claws and they were huge.’ Another deep, bone-shaking tremor ran through him.
‘Hush,’ soothed the deep voice. Held so close, he could hear the sound reverberating in the broad chest, above the slow, steady heartbeat. Boom, boom.
Then the big, strong arms laid him in his bed and tucked him in. ‘I am here,’ the deep voice said. ‘I will watch over you.’
The boy smiled as he snuggled down.
The monster might well come back – it probably would, in fact, because monsters were like that – but it didn’t matter now.
He had hoped and hoped and even prayed that the big, strong man who had come out of the shadows and defended him would come again.
And now he had.
Still smiling, relaxing now, secure and snug, the little boy fell asleep.
SIX
Josse half expected that someone – either his cousin Isabelle or Cyrille – would challenge him the next morning for having taken it upon himself to rush to Olivar’s aid during the night.
‘It may well be true that it wasn’t my place to help him,’ he said to Helewise as they prepared to join the household, ‘but I just couldn’t hold back once I heard those screams.’
‘Of course not,’ she said soothingly. ‘But you must have been concerned about the boy already, Josse, to have been within earshot? I didn’t hear him.’
‘Aye, I was in the Old Hall,’ Josse admitted. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I kept imagining how he must be feeling, all alone on such a bitter, savagely cold night.’ He paused. ‘It was almost as if I was waiting for something to happen,’ he added in a low voice.
‘Did he say what had scared him?’
‘No. Just something about a huge black shape with long, glittery claws. He was almost beyond words to begin with, and then whatever sedative Isabelle prepared for me to give him quickly sent him to sleep. I stayed with him till it was light, and then Isabelle came back and relieved me.’
‘Was there no sign of his mother?’ Helewise asked incredulously.
‘Not when I was there. Her chamber is over on the other side of the family’s quarters, so perhaps she didn’t hear him.’
‘Did Isabelle comment on her absence?’
Josse sighed. ‘Apparently Cyrille believes that the best way to cure a child of night fears is to ignore his terror and force him to overcome it.’
‘A little harsh,’ Helewise said, tight-lipped.
Josse was frowning. ‘The thing is,’ he said slowly, ‘this really isn’t a house where children suffer night fears. Do you know, Helewise, the lad sleeps in the same place I did, when I was a little older than him and the first extension had been completed. I used to wake up sometimes and be frightened, but I always sensed that something in the very fabric of the house was watching over me, and the fear went away.’
‘Perhaps things have changed since then,’ she suggested. ‘The house, after all, has been further extended, and maybe the ancient protective spirit has been disturbed.’
But instantly Josse shook his head. ‘Oh, no, it’s still just the same,’ he said, although he had no idea why he was so certain. He smiled ruefully at her. ‘Come on. If you’re ready, I’d better go and face the retribution.’
But to his surprise, nothing was said about the events of the night. Cyrille was not present; once again, Herbert said she was resting and would join the family later. The others greeted Josse and Helewise with the usual friendly courtesy. Henry remarked that there had been a lot more snow in the night, and that if it continued, and there was no rise in the temperature, the roads would very soon become impassable.
‘I hope, Cousin Josse, that you have no pressing business back at home?’ Editha asked him, concern in her pale face. ‘It would not be at all wise to risk the journey under the present conditions.’
‘No, and anyway I want to stay here to be with Uncle Hugh until – to be with Uncle Hugh,’ he replied. Editha nodded her understanding. ‘My family won’t worry,’ he went on. ‘Conditions are no doubt much the same back at the House in the Woods, and they’ll understand if Helewise and I stay away longer than planned.’
As if his kinsmen had been waiting for the opportunity, now they asked a flurry of questions about Josse’s children, his house, what his life was like over there on the fringes of the Great Forest. He answered as best he could, telling them of Meggie and Geoffroi, his own children, and Ninian, his adopted son; how Meggie was hoping to set up home with her Breton blacksmith Jehan le Ferronier and how she had become a skilled healer; how Ninian was now a father; how Geoffroi’s world centred around the animals, both domesticated and wild, with which he had such skill. Although Josse had made it clear that Helewise was not his children’s mother, his kinswomen were too tactful to ask what had become of her. Josse had a swift, bitter-sweet image of Joanna: I do not forget you, my love, and neither do your children, he said silently to her.
After breakfast, Helewise murmured to him that she would like to visit the chapel, and he showed her the way. He did not go in with her, for he had other things than prayer on his mind. He went on into the solar, hoping that, not having been in the Old Hall, the person he sought must surely be there.
He was: Olivar was kneeling up on the padded stone seat that ran along beneath the solar’s small north-facing window. He had pushed aside the heavy wood
en shutter that covered the opening, and was peering out at the snowy landscape far beneath.
Not wanting to take the lad by surprise and perhaps risk an accident – it was unlikely he’d fall, but not impossible – Josse deliberately made his footfalls heavy and loud. Olivar spun round, jumped down as if he’d been poked with a stick and said hurriedly, ‘I didn’t get my shoes on the cushions! I was very careful not to.’
‘Then you did well,’ Josse said, forcing a grin even while his heart went out to the boy’s obvious anxiety. Was the lad habitually punished even for something as minor as that? ‘I bet I couldn’t kneel up there without dirtying at least a bit of cushion.’
The boy risked a small smile. Then, perhaps recognizing something in Josse’s voice, suddenly the smile vanished and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘You – you’re the big strong man!’ he whispered. ‘The man who comes in the night to protect me!’
Josse nodded. ‘Well, I came last night,’ he agreed. ‘I knew something had scared you, and I thought I ought to make sure you were all right.’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Olivar said, ‘but you’ve been to rescue me before.’ He spoke with utter certainty. ‘You always know when I really need you, like that time when she was so cross about – er, well, you just seem to come at the right time to save me or make me feel better.’ He risked a quick look up at Josse. ‘Andtosavemefromthemonster,’ he added in a tiny whisper, running the words together in his fear and his haste as if he hardly dared utter them.
Josse wanted to pick him up and hug him, but he didn’t think the gesture would have helped the boy in his very obvious effort to be brave. To take his mind off his pity – it was so strong it hurt – he wondered just what it was that the lad had stopped himself from saying. She, surely, must mean Olivar’s mother. What had she been cross about, and what did her son fear she would do, to make him so desperate for protection and comfort?
But there was something even more disturbing, and Josse felt he must mention it. ‘I couldn’t have rescued you before, much as I’d have liked to,’ he said gently, ‘because I’ve only been here for a few days, and last night was the first time you needed me.’
But Olivar shook his head, laughing. ‘But you did come before,’ he insisted happily. ‘We can pretend you didn’t if you like, and keep it a secret just between us.’ He hesitated, and, for a moment, fear came back into his wide blue eyes. ‘Just as long as you keep coming,’ he added in a whisper.
Touched, and not a little worried, Josse said, in as reassuring tone as he could manage, ‘I will. You have my word.’
Helewise stood just inside the heavy wooden door of the chapel, looking around in wonder. It was small but perfectly proportioned, and it was clear that the best craftsmen had been employed in its construction. Graceful pillars lined the north and south walls, rising to fan out at their summits into a tracery of lines like the spread fingers of an open hand. The rood screen, of pale oak, was beautifully carved with images of trees, flowers and leaves, and the altar, again of oak, bore a crisp white cloth edged with a deep border of lace and on which stood a simple but heavy silver cross. Along the southern wall, open to the outside world, were two small stained-glass windows. There was another little aperture over on the northern wall, where the chapel backed on to the solar, and Helewise guessed it was for the use of family members who did not wish to join the congregation but chose to hear mass privately. In a church used by the community at large rather than a family’s private chapel, she mused, it would have been called the leper squint …
Leper.
A soft chime of – memory? Warning? – sounded in her head. She wondered why.
Helewise walked on silent feet up the aisle towards the altar. She had believed herself to be alone. Now, spotting the short, veiled figure kneeling in the shadow of a pillar over to the left of the altar, she realized she was mistaken.
She stopped, not wanting to disturb the woman’s private devotions. She began to edge backwards, towards the door, but she must have made some small sound because the veiled woman suddenly started, spinning round to stare at her.
It was Cyrille.
Embarrassed, Helewise said, ‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Cyrille, appearing flustered, muttered something, and Helewise noticed she was fiddling with some small object she had been holding: something suspended on a long piece of thread. Although Helewise quickly averted her eyes – it would be embarrassing, she thought, if Cyrille caught her looking – nevertheless, Cyrille’s hands disappeared beneath the folds of her veil, fumbling there for a few moments as if she was putting the object away in some secret pocket.
Then she turned bird-bright, pale eyes in a flushed face to Helewise and said, ‘You do not disturb me, Lady Helewise, for I sense you are a godly woman, and thus welcomed by Our Lord into this His house.’
It was on the tip of Helewise’s tongue to remark that the Lord, in the wisdom of his love and his infinite capacity for forgiveness, would surely welcome the ungodly just as much, if not more, if and when they came. But something in Cyrille’s rock-steady, penetrating stare deterred her. She had the feeling that, once an opening for discussing the matter had been given, the two of them would still be talking at bedtime.
I am a coward, Helewise reprimanded herself, but I do not wish to be shut away in here all day with such a woman.
She answered Cyrille with no more than a courteous inclination of the head.
Apparently taking this as an invitation to closer intimacy, Cyrille came right up to her, the protuberant blue eyes searching her face intently. ‘I expect you have come to pray by yourself,’ she said with an understanding nod. ‘That’s what I’m doing, too. I find I need to spend much of the day in solitude, and this is one of my preferred places.’ She nodded again, swiftly, repeatedly, as if to verify her own words. Then, her mouth right up to Helewise’s ear, she whispered, ‘You would not credit what a very strange and unsettling house this is, my lady.’ Again, the nodding. ‘I try every day to impose my will upon it, for, in truth, there is so much to be addressed that at times I scarcely know where to begin.’ She sighed. ‘They do not listen, the people who dwell here. They are stubborn, and too firmly set in their ways, and the voice of sense and reason falls upon deaf ears.’
I do not have to listen to this, Helewise thought. Although she tried hard not to jump to conclusions, she sensed strongly that Cyrille was trying to make her an ally; two women who were not of the family’s blood uniting against them.
She wasn’t going to be a party to it.
‘I am a guest in this house,’ she said firmly, ‘invited here simply for the purpose of meeting Josse’s kin, and not to judge them.’ In case Cyrille had missed the point, she added, ‘The private affairs of these kindly people, who have welcomed me so hospitably, are nothing to do with me.’
Cyrille had withdrawn slightly, but that appeared to be her only reaction to Helewise’s snub. ‘You are a godly woman,’ she repeated softly. ‘I see it in you, my lady. You are close to God, and once were even closer.’
Could she possibly know? Helewise wondered. Had she somehow learned that her position in life had once been very different? What if …
Enough, Helewise told herself. ‘Throughout my life, I have always tried to be a godly woman,’ she said quietly.
Cyrille had resumed her nodding. It was, Helewise thought, quite infuriating; as if Cyrille was implying that she knew exactly what you were thinking, and what words would come out of your mouth even before you spoke them.
‘Herbert’s mother resents me,’ Cyrille said suddenly. Even as Helewise tried to adjust her thoughts to the abrupt change of subject, Cyrille went on, ‘She is, of course, Hugh’s eldest daughter, and she sees this as imparting the right to the position of senior woman in the household, whereas of course I, as wife to Hugh’s heir and grandson, should in fact have that honour.’ She shook out a fold of her beautiful gown, as if displaying its quality and costliness for
Helewise’s admiration. ‘Isabelle is a widow, and, in a household where tradition and correct behaviour are given their due, she would by now have moved out into some dower house, leaving Southfire Hall to her son and his wife.’
‘Surely, while Hugh yet lives, to discuss any such arrangement, let alone propose its implementation, is premature,’ Helewise said. She tried to keep her emotions out of her voice, but without success. Even to her own ears, her tone had sounded crushing; almost rude.
Cyrille, however, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the implied reproof. ‘And as for that Emma,’ she said, ‘well, words fail me.’ Unfortunately, however, they didn’t. Leaning close to Helewise once more, Cyrille said in a spiteful whisper, ‘She says she wants to be a nun, but she’s going to find the vows far too much of a challenge, that one, especially the vow of chastity.’ She gave Helewise a knowing look. ‘She was caught with a young man, you know, and he had his arms around her and was kissing her, and his hands were on her hips and buttocks, and on her breasts that she had thrust upwards by tightening her bodice so severely that she could hardly breathe, and—’
‘Did you observe this yourself, Cyrille?’ Helewise interrupted. What was the matter with the woman? Was it just that she enjoyed passing on salacious gossip, or was there something more?
Cyrille shot her an angry glance. ‘No, I did not, but I am perfectly certain it happened. These things are made known to me, my lady!’
The obvious question was to ask, How? But, rapidly coming to the conclusion that conversing alone with Cyrille was something to avoid, Helewise refrained. Instead, she allowed the short silence to extend a little and then said, ‘I am looking forward to getting to know your little boy today. I do hope he has recovered from his night fright.’
Cyrille didn’t answer. Once again, she was toying with the folds of her gown. For a moment, Helewise wondered if she had heard. But then, with a faint sigh, she said, ‘Olivar. Oh, yes, Olivar.’ Then, raising her head, she looked Helewise straight in the eye and said, ‘He must learn not to make such a fuss.’ Her eyes seemed to slide out of focus, and Helewise had the impression that her thoughts had suddenly turned elsewhere. She muttered something – perhaps, ‘It does not really matter, now’ – and then, with the barest of nods in Helewise’s direction, she turned and walked away, the flap-flap of her soft slippers on the stone floor fading away.