"In there. I do not want to smell her anywhere in my home."
He walked away and through the adjoining door, slamming it hard behind him, leaving the maid to open the windows and sweep up the broken porcelain and dying flowers.
Outside he strode angrily around to the castle garden, to the hot house he had ordered made specially to grow roses for Felice. There was no one about, no one tending the delicate flowers inside. Lord Christopher picked up a rock and threw it, shattering the precious glass and knocking the pots of rose bushes inside off their shelves.
The serf who kept the garden looked up in horror from his spot behind a hedge, where he had been relieving himself out of sight.
"My Lord!" He cried, still adjusting his breeches and terrified His Lordship's anger might be directed at him. "Are you displeased with my work?"
Lord Christopher turned and stared at him, wondering for a moment who he was.
"Get rid of it," he ordered. "There will be no more roses in my home."
***
It was noon before the carriage arrived at Lord Christopher's manor house in the village of Shepton, close to Colchester in Essex. Felice looked out of the window as the driver drew the horses to a stop and her eyes took in the ancient manor house with its peeling plaster and holes in the thatch. It was a lot bigger than Immeth's little hovel, but that seemed the only difference.
The carriage door opened and that same manservant stood waiting to hand her out, that tall man who had stood guard at the door to her bedchamber, who had made certain she boarded the coach.
"What is your name?" She asked him.
"Dennis, My Lady," he answered.
"Dennis," she repeated. "Well, thank you, Dennis, for your attention."
The man frowned, startled no doubt to be thanked for following his master’s orders. She was not quite sure what she thanked him for, but it seemed likely that these five servants were all the company she would have until her husband took her back to his castle for trial. It would be no bad thing to court their favour, to be civil to them.
The chamber she was given was almost as big as the one in the castle, but the floor was bare, rough wood which waited to splinter her feet and there was no form of heating whatsoever. On the bed were straw mattresses, not the feather ones she had known all her life, and although the covers were fur, they were old and moth eaten and likely home to many parasites. She would try to do without. There was no glass in the windows and the shutters looked as though they might fall off if she tried to close them.
She looked out of the window opening at the village close by. It was a tiny village with little wattle and daub cottages, thatched with ancient straw, standing in a circle around a central well. Apart from its size, it was very much like their own village, the village where she had stood and watched her husband find the body of his peasant mistress, where she had watched him deliver his two children into the care of Immeth's sister, another peasant owned by him.
She frowned as she watched a man pushing a cart across the churchyard, carrying a body which Felice was sure was dead. The body was not enclosed within a coffin, or even a shroud. There were no mourners, only the one man pushing the cart and as she watched he arrived at an open grave and turned the cart on its side, tossing the body inside. What sort of irreverent way was that to bury a Christian man? She shivered and turned away, hoping to engage the maidservant in some conversation.
"What is your name?" She asked.
"Daisy, My Lady," she answered nervously with a quick curtsey.
"Well, Daisy," Felice said, "thank you for your help."
Daisy looked startled, wondering what she had to be thanked for. She was only carrying out her orders and doing the job for which she was paid.
"I know my husband likely told you not to speak to me," Felice said. "I will not ask you to disobey his orders. I will not speak of his reasons for sending me here, that would be unfair. But please do not be silent. I can help you comply with his orders easier if I know what they are."
"My Lady," Daisy curtsied. "Lord Christopher is not a merciful man and I must do as he has ordered, which is to keep you here and away from the village. We have all been told we are not to leave the manor house, that no one is to know it is occupied. But how are we supposed to go to mass if we cannot leave the manor house? He has sent no chaplain to care for our souls."
Felice considered the impracticalities of such an arrangement, but still he had every right to expect his orders to be carried out. They were all too afraid of him to do otherwise. As to a chaplain, it would not be in keeping with Christopher's ideals to even think of such a thing. He was far more concerned with the flesh than the spirit and these servants were likely more afraid of His Lordship than the wrath of the Almighty.
"What about supplies?" She asked.
"Food is to be sent from Colchester, My Lady. I expect the villagers to learn of our arrival here very soon, as people will gossip, but they seem to be otherwise occupied at the moment."
"So you are prisoners too," Felice murmured cynically.
"Yes, My Lady. Forgive me, My Lady."
"For what? It is hardly your fault."
She slipped off her cloak and returned to the window where another cart was being pushed across the churchyard toward yet another newly dug grave. Looking beyond the scene, Felice saw in the distance several fresh mounds of new burials.
"What did you mean when you said the villagers had other things to occupy them?"
"There is a pestilence, My Lady," Daisy replied. "It is something nobody has ever seen before and it kills very quickly. The first case was during communion on Sunday and since then there have been several deaths."
Felice stared at her, a sudden ugly suspicion creeping into her thoughts. Was it possible her husband hoped she might become a victim of this pestilence, to save him the trouble of having to deal with her? But would he risk the lives of the innocent servants as well? In truth she had no idea.
"How do you know about the first case?" Felice asked her.
"Donald spoke to one of the villagers who saw us arriving, My Lady. I told him not to."
"I wonder if Lord Christopher knows of this pestilence," Felice murmured, not realising she spoke the words aloud.
"I do not think so, My Lady," Daisy answered. "It has been heard of further west, but never in these parts. The priest says the first victim, the man struck down while taking communion, was struck by God for his sins. He says he gave a false confession, then took the blood and flesh of Christ in communion and it killed him."
Felice frowned impatiently. People would believe that, especially coming from a priest, but she did not. It sounded very unlikely to her, but she would not say so. One had to keep such thoughts to oneself or be accused of heresy. That would be a new thing for her to be accused of, at any rate, and it would not be an accusation made by her husband at least. He would likely think the priest's idea as absurd as she did.
They had brought food with them and now Daisy went downstairs to find the kitchen, which was in a separate little building next to the main door.
Felice sat on the bed and summoned all her willpower not to give way to the hurt that was tearing at her. She wanted to cry, to sob until the ache went away. It was no lie that she loved Christopher; it hurt more than she could say to know he thought her so callous, and knowing he would sentence her to hang was too painful to put into words. But she could recover. What she would not recover from was not being allowed to ever again see her baby son.
Perhaps he could be prevailed upon to let her hold the child just once more before her sentence was carried out, before she was hanged for a murder she did not commit.
***
Felice slept in her clothing that night in a vain effort to keep out the cold. Having no glass in the windows meant a draught blew through the gaps in the ancient wooden shutters and froze her nose and face. The scratching coming from the walls kept her awake half the night, making her jump with fear that the rats would find
their way out of the walls and into her bed.
Daisy came in the morning with broth to keep out the cold and a very worried frown on her pretty face.
"Did you sleep well?" Felice asked.
Daisy looked startled for a moment, and Felice knew it was not a question she would usually hear from her mistress.
"No, My Lady," Daisy replied. "It was too cold. Ruby and I slept together for the warmth, but still it was too cold. We have searched the place for more covers, but there do not seem to be any."
Felice was about to tell her to go and buy some, before she realised she was no longer the wealthy Countess and she had no money.
"You must send word to Lord Christopher," she said. "He will send covers. He would not see you suffer with me."
"My Lady?" Daisy looked terrified.
"All is well, Daisy," she assured her. "His Lordship does not bite. He would want you to be comfortable."
She watched the maid, sure she did not like the suggestion. His Lordship might take a request for more covers as a criticism and then what would happen?
"I am sure we will manage, My Lady," Daisy said at last. "Dennis said I am to ask you if it would be in order for him to go into the village to find more bed linen."
"No!" Felice almost shouted, making Daisy jump. "Forgive me. I do not think it would be wise to go into the village. We have been here but one day and already I have seen six corpses buried in the village churchyard. And those are only the ones I have seen."
"The priest says it is because of their sins, My Lady," Daisy assured her. "I know I have not sinned, so I will be safe."
"That is rubbish! Please, Daisy, listen to me. Our only hope of not falling ill ourselves is to stay here, to have nothing to do with the village. Anyone who defies me and goes there will not be welcome back, do you hear me?"
"Yes, My Lady."
Daisy obviously wanted to say more but was afraid she would go too far.
"What?" Felice demanded. "Do you think perhaps I will be struck down for my sins?"
Daisy made no reply but her flushed cheeks were as good as an admission.
"I have committed no sins," Felice went on. "I know that, and God knows that. It is only a pity Lord Christopher does not."
After Daisy left, Felice stood at the window and watched the village. There were many people gathered around the well, and two women were sobbing in each other’s arms. Despite her orders, she felt sure one of the servants would defy her and go there anyway. Christopher had assigned them duties as her gaolers, so it would not surprise her to find they thought themselves above taking her orders.
Later that day she decided to explore the house and the grounds, if only to give her mind something else to occupy it apart from her plight. It was possible the servants had missed something that could be used for warmth and besides, she wanted to know just how big this house was and in what state of disrepair she would find it.
The cupboards were mostly empty except for some mice that scuttled away through their various secret tunnels as she let in the light. The whole place was filthy and the cobwebs which hung from the ceiling and the corners looked thick enough themselves to be used as covers. It had obviously been many years since anyone had ventured into this house, or even bothered with it, and Christopher had sent her here without a thought for her comfort, or that of the servants. She only wondered why that should surprise her.
She opened the chest in one of the bedchambers and found some old cloaks that could be used as bedcovers for the servants, most made of velvet but one or two fur ones. The dining hall was dusty and full of cobwebs, the small sitting room likewise. As she looked about her, Ruby appeared with torn up cloths to use as dusters.
"My Lady," she said with a curtsey. "I thought I would do what I could with the dirt."
"Please. And thank you." She beckoned the maidservant to look at the cloaks she had found. "I thought perhaps they would serve as bedcovers for you all. There are quite a lot of them here."
"Yes, My Lady," Ruby replied, startled. "I had not thought. They are very dusty though."
"That is as well. At least we will know they have not been worn recently and do not harbour any of the disease."
Ruby frowned and nodded reluctantly. It was obvious she, too, had listened to the wisdom of the ignorant village priest and believed herself safe because she had committed no sin.
Felice went outside to walk around the small grounds and breathe in the fresh air. The air inside the house was stale and overpowering, and she missed the smell of her roses; she needed to feel that fresh air on her face, needed it as much as she needed air to breathe.
Behind the manor house was a thick forest of mostly bare branches, beneath which the frost had not melted and glowed silver in the sunlight. Felice caught sight of a few rabbits running about among the trees. At least they would not starve should food from Colchester fail to arrive.
She was thinking this pestilence might spread to the main town, might cut off their supplies. She doubted her husband would bother to make sure she was safe; it was not what he wanted, was it? She could not shake the notion that he knew about the disease and had sent her here deliberately. Should she die, he would be spared the scandal of having to hang his own wife. She imagined he prayed for God to relieve him of this wife, as He had her predecessor.
***
Lord Christopher was still trying to think of places he might find evidence for his wife’s guilt when he heard the horse crossing the drawbridge and riding into the courtyard. He looked from Felice’s chamber to see her father, his face scarlet with fury as he dismounted.
He summoned the courage to go downstairs and greet him. Lord Sutton had never visited except for the yuletide feast and the baptism celebrations when little Christopher was born; he never came uninvited and Christopher knew well why he was here now.
“Are you mad?” Lord Sutton yelled at him, waving the letter he received that morning from his son-in-law. “You have been wed to my daughter for almost a twelve month, yet you still know nothing about her?”
“My Lord,” Christopher replied. “Please come inside. We can talk of this calmly.”
“Talk? Is that all you can offer? I knew I should never have allowed you to marry her. I knew she was in danger the moment the ring was on her finger.”
Christopher turned and led the way back inside the house, where he poured wine for them both. He owed the man an explanation, certainly, but he had no intention of arguing before the servants.
“Please,” he said, gesturing him to a seat.
“What is this all about?” Lord Sutton demanded, waving away the proffered goblet. “You accuse Felice of murder! The sweetest, gentlest woman in the world who would not even step on a spider?”
“I assure you, My Lord,” Christopher said, “I wish I did not have to. But a peasant woman in the village was found dead yesterday and I have every reason to believe she was poisoned.”
“And? Why do you think Felice poisoned her? What harm had the woman done to her?”
Lord Christopher cast down his eyes, looked uncomfortable. He had not forgotten his own part in the crime.
“She was my mistress, My Lord,” he admitted.
“Ah! And you think you are somehow important enough to kill for?”
Christopher flushed, his anger rising. He was not accustomed to explaining his actions to anyone and he had no wish to do so now, but the man deserved an explanation. Felice might be his wife and under his rule, but before she was his wife she was Lord Sutton’s daughter and he loved her dearly.
“The details are private,” he said, “but Felice was intensely jealous of Immeth. I will admit that is likely my own fault, but she did not have to kill her.”
Lord Sutton got to his feet. Had he been twenty years younger he would have struck the man, despite his size. He had not been this angry in years.
“Where is she?” He demanded.
Christopher shook his head as he also stood up.
“I ca
nnot tell you that. Be assured she is safe, she has servants, she will have sustenance but she must stay there until I can arrange a trial.”
“A trial? You will never find evidence against Felice, My Lord, because there can be none. She would never kill anyone.”
“I pray that you are right,” Christopher replied. “Lord Sutton, I do not want to condemn my own wife to death, but I make no exceptions to the law for anyone.”
Lord Sutton’s eyes opened wide and he stared in horror.
“Death?” He whispered. “You would execute her? Your own wife?”
“If she is found guilty I will have no choice.”
***
Felice heard carriage wheels moving away from the manor house and looked up to see a small cart being driven away, bypassing the village. She took little notice; perhaps it was the promised delivery from Colchester.
On her return to her chamber she stopped inside the door and drew a quick breath as she looked about with wonder and a little spark of hope in her heart. There were three pewter pitchers of roses evenly placed about the chamber and Daisy was busy arranging a fourth. She turned as she heard Felice's gasp.
"My Lady," Daisy greeted her with a smile. "Are they not beautiful?"
They were. There were red roses and white roses, some in bud, some in bloom and their scent filled the chamber, chasing away the staleness. Felice's eyes filled with tears of joy and a happy smile swept over her lovely face; Christopher must have realised his mistake. He had sent the flowers as a peace offering and soon he would be here himself to take her home.
She thought about holding her baby son in her arms again, she could not wait to be back in Christopher’s arms, she could almost feel the warmth of his body, could almost feel his lips on hers.
She took one of the long stems from the vase and held it close to her face, drank in the wonderful smell and swept the flower across her neck and cheek. When he arrived she wanted him to share the perfume with her.
"They are from Lord Sutton, My Lady," Daisy said, shattering her reverie and making her feel she had fallen from a great height.
PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses Page 11