Fugitive Countess

by Anne Herries

  ‘Do you understand what you do?’ Claire’s eyes were upon her. ‘If he should die…’

  ‘I care little what becomes of me if Anton dies. Please let me try, Claire. He will suffer so if you cauterise his wound, and I think my way will work better in this case, for there is no putrefaction to burn away.’

  Claire looked at her oddly for a moment, then inclined her head. ‘I know your heart is good, Marietta. Fetch all that you need, and I will send the servants out of the room when you are ready.’

  Marietta thanked her and hurried away to the stillroom. She soaked the herbs in water that had been boiled, for it was often contaminated, then strained them into a vessel. The mulch would be packed around the wound after she had sewn Anton’s flesh together, and the infusion drunk a little at a time.

  Returning to the chamber where Anton lay, his eyes closed, she found Claire alone.

  ‘I sent the servants to boil more water and heat the cauterising iron,’ she said. ‘It is best if they do not see what you do, Marietta, for it would be thought strange—and servants talk. I would not have your goodness taken as something different.’

  Marietta nodded. Her skill with healing was at times controversial, and had been learned from various sources, but mostly it came from within. Her instincts were strong in this case.

  The wound had been bleeding again. She took a clean cloth and wiped the skin dry, then threaded her needle with white silk. She gathered the open wound, pulling it so that the gap closed, and then pushed her needle through the flesh, pulling the thread behind. Claire made a gasping sound but said nothing, holding the candle nearer so that Marietta could see to work. It took several minutes to complete the seam. Satisfied that only a dribble of blood was seeping through, Marietta packed the mulch of herbs over the wound and laid a patch of clean linen on it. Then she and Claire wound the bandage about him, letting him back gently on the pillows when it was done.

  He had cried out a few times as Marietta did her work, but now he merely lay still, his eyes closed, beads of sweat on his brow.

  Claire went to the door and took the iron from a servant, sending the girl running to fetch more clean linen. She brought the red-hot poker back and laid it in the grate, then stood looking down at Anton.

  ‘He does not suffer as he would had we used the iron.’

  ‘I once spoke to an Arab doctor. He told me that he had seen cases where the iron killed rather than saved life. It was his belief that stitching was the best way if the wound was clean, and he showed me how to infuse the herbs to guard against infection.’

  ‘Was this when you were at the castle?’

  ‘Before—at my father’s house. My father believed in herbs and medicines. As a young man he studied to be a physician, but when his father died he had to take over the ordering of the manor. I think he made a better physician than a baron, for he liked nothing better than studying—and he taught me much of what I know.’

  ‘So it is not witchcraft but the study of medicine?’

  ‘I am not a witch, Claire. If I were a man the methods I use would cause no raised eyebrows. ’Tis because I am a woman, and women should not know these things. Apothecaries have always been men, as have doctors. They are jealous of their privileges and will not share them. My father was frowned on because he accepted new ideas and was friendly with men of Arabia, for they are often not trusted—perhaps because they push the limits of known medicine and dismiss old methods as crude and useless.’

  Claire’s gaze rested on Anton. ‘Will he take a fever?’

  ‘It is possible, indeed likely. He must be made to drink the infusion, though it is bitter and he will fight us—at least until he comes through the worst.’

  ‘Supposing the wound turns putrid?’

  ‘If it does we shall pack it with maggots so that they eat the infection.’

  ‘No!’ Claire looked at her in horror. ‘That is horrible. How could you think of it?’

  ‘I saw my father use the method on a lad whose arm was badly infected, and his wound healed when everyone thought he would die.’ Marietta met her questioning look. ‘I shall do whatever is necessary. Anton saved my life more than once—do you think that I would let him die from neglect?’

  ‘I know you love him.’ Claire said. ‘I will help you to nurse him. But please do not ask me to touch maggots!’ She pulled a face of disgust and shuddered. ‘I cannot abide the creatures.’

  ‘Have you never fished with them?’ Marietta smiled. ‘That is another thing my father taught me—to fish with a pole, thin string and a bent pin.’

  ‘It is no wonder you are different from other women. Your father was unwise to teach you so much, Marietta. Did your mother not object?’

  ‘She died too soon. My father had no son. I became his friend, son, and chatelaine of his home. We were happy until he lost all his money—and then I had to marry to save him from the debtors’ prison. I did not wish to marry a man so much older than myself, but I obeyed my father so that he might live out his days in comfort.’

  Claire nodded. ‘I shall leave you to sit with Anton for a while. If you need me, call me. I shall take your place while you sleep.’

  ‘I shall not leave him until I know he will live. I may sleep at the foot of his bed until then.’

  ‘It is hardly proper…’ Claire began, and then shook her head. ‘You know best. Call me if you need me…’

  Marietta waited until the door had closed behind her, then brought a chair close to the bed and sat in it, so that she could watch over her patient. There was no point in Claire taking her place, for if she went to bed she would not sleep a wink.

  Anton’s fever started in the early hours of the morning. Marietta had been half dozing in the chair when the cry woke her.

  ‘Isabella! Forgive me. I beg you to forgive me. Come back to me. Please come back to me…’

  Marietta fetched a cool cloth and went to stand over him. She washed his face and his shoulders, then his arms. His hair was damp with sweat. Smoothing it back from his forehead, she bent to kiss him.

  ‘It is all right, my love. I am here. Isabella is with you. She forgives you. I forgive you…’ She stroked his head with her hand. ‘My death was not your fault. You must forgive me for hurting you. I did not mean to hurt you. Isabella did not mean to hurt you. Do not grieve for her.’

  Anton’s eyelids fluttered. For a brief moment his eyes opened and he seemed to look at her, then he closed them again, sighing and settling.

  Marietta felt the ache about her heart intensify. He had loved his first wife so much. She could not expect that he would ever feel as much for her. He would wed her, and she would make what she could of her life, but she must not expect too much.

  Anton’s fever lasted two days, but he was a strong man, and though he gagged on the bitter medicine Marietta spooned into his mouth he swallowed it. On the third morning, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

  ‘Have you been here long?’

  ‘Since they brought you home.’

  ‘You should sleep. I shall do well enough now.’

  ‘Your wound is healing fast and should not take harm. The fever lasted but two days. I believe all will be well with you, sir.’

  Anton sighed, his eyes closing. ‘Thank you…’

  Seeing that he had slipped into a peaceful slumber, Marietta sent for Claire and told her that their patient was through the worst.

  ‘His wound appears healthy. It seems he has been fortunate.’

  ‘More fortunate than anyone guesses, I dare say.’ Claire smiled at her. ‘He owes his life to you, Marietta.’

  ‘It was the will of God,’ Marietta said. ‘Please do not give me the credit. I but nursed him as any woman would.’

  ‘You should rest now. Lady Melissa Melford will be here this evening, and Lady Gifford, Countess of Malchester, may be here even sooner. I shall tell them that you nursed Anton, but nothing more.’

  Marietta smiled, and left her to watch over Anton for a while. No
w that she was sure he would not die of a fever she was prepared to leave him in Claire’s capable hands. His wound might yet become infected, but she would watch, and pray that he took no harm.

  When Marietta returned to Anton’s bedchamber she saw that another woman had taken Claire’s place. She was of a similar age to Claire, and beautiful, but when she looked at Marietta there was a flicker of hostility in her eyes.

  ‘Who are you to enter my son’s bedchamber without so much as a by your leave?’

  ‘Forgive me. I have been nursing Sir Anton. I did not know you were here, my lady.’

  ‘You are the Comtesse Montcrief?’ Catherine Gifford’s eyes held the glitter of anger. ‘He was wounded in a battle to protect you, I think?’

  ‘Yes, I fear that is so. I am sorry for it, but nothing would sway him. He would go to search for Rouen. He said that we should never be at peace until my enemy was dead.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Catherine’s brows rose. ‘What are you to my son, madame? I know only what Lady Claire has told me.’

  ‘I am someone who hath reason to be grateful to Anton of Gifford. He has saved my life more than once. I believe that I have in part repaid my debt. Anything more must come from your son, madame.’

  ‘Is there more? You are a widow, and stood accused of your husband’s murder—is that not so?’

  ‘Yes, it was so. I was unjustly accused, for I did nothing to harm my husband and nursed him through illness many times—but someone hated me and craved what rightly belongs to my son.’

  ‘I thank you for your care of Anton. However, I am here now, and I shall nurse him myself.’

  ‘That is your privilege, my lady,’ Marietta said, and smiled. ‘I hope you will continue to use the herbs and infusions I have prepared, for they have seen him through the fever but he still needs them.’

  ‘My mother will be here soon. She is skilled in the use of herbs. I shall ask her advice on this matter.’

  Marietta inclined her head. Lady Catherine was hostile to her. She might try to influence her son to turn away from the marriage he had proposed. Marietta would not hold him to his promise if he told her that he had changed his mind.

  Would the stigma of murder and witchcraft hang over her all her life?

  Marietta was close to tears as she went to her bedchamber. She would begin to make clothes for her son with the cloth she had purchased in London.

  Perhaps it was just as well that Anton had told no one that they planned to marry.

  Marietta had been at her stitching for three hours when someone knocked at the door. She called out that they might enter, looking up in surprise as a woman she had never seen before came in.

  This woman was older, but had a gentle beauty, her once flame-red hair lightly streaked with white, though her face had few lines.

  ‘Madame la Comtesse Montcrief?’

  Marietta got to her feet and curtsied, for she knew at once who the lady must be. ‘Lady Melford, forgive me. I thought when you knocked it must be a servant come to call me. Had you summoned me, I would have come to you.’

  ‘I have come to thank you for your excellent care of my grandson, madame—or may I perhaps call you by your name?’

  ‘I am Marietta, my lady. I did only what was necessary, just simple nursing.’

  ‘You do not need to pretend with me,’ Melissa, Lady Melford, said, and smiled. ‘I saw your work. It was excellent, my dear, and I believe his wound will heal well now. The herbs you used are much the same as I would have chosen—as I told my daughter. Catherine was distressed. If she was a little harsh to you, please forgive her.’

  ‘She had the right to question me, my lady.’

  ‘She loves her son dearly. I am sorry if you felt slighted. You are of course welcome to return to Anton’s chamber whenever you wish.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be best if I left him to his mother and you. I am merely a dependant, living on Lady Claire’s bounty.’

  ‘I think that is not quite the case. My grandson asked for you twice. You will oblige me if you will visit him, for unless you do I fear he may try to leave his bed too soon.’

  ‘Oh…the foolish man…’ Marietta blushed. ‘It is always so. Men are the worst patients. They will never be sensible.’

  ‘I have often found it so,’ Lady Melissa replied, and laughed. ‘As soon as they feel a little better there is no bearing with them. So you will visit him soon?’

  ‘I shall go immediately. I thank you for coming to me.’

  ‘It was my duty and my pleasure. I have not lived this long without knowing the signs of a man in love.’

  ‘Oh…’ Marietta blushed. ‘I am not sure…He feels a kindness towards me, I know, but—’ She broke off as she saw the amusement in Lady Melissa’s face. ‘Do you truly think?’

  ‘I know my grandson, even though I have not seen him for some years. He has not changed much: impatient, a little arrogant, quick to temper and sometimes he sulks. At those times he looks grim and will not speak for hours on end.’

  ‘You do know him!’ Marietta gave a little chuckle.

  ‘I should, for I have been married to a man of the same temperament for some years.’ She nodded to Marietta. ‘You must go to Anton now, but one day, when you have leisure, I shall tell you my story. I think you may understand a little better then.’

  Marietta thanked her and hurried away. She was feeling confused and uncertain, for Anton had cried so pitifully for Isabella in his fever. He must have loved her dearly, but perhaps it was possible to love again?

  When she entered the bedchamber, Anton was lying with his eyes closed. He opened them as she approached the bed, giving her a look of reproach.

  ‘Why have you abandoned me?’

  ‘You were better, and your mother and grandmother are here. You no longer need me.’

  ‘Perhaps I do not need your nursing, but I shall always need you.’

  Marietta looked down at him, her heart racing. ‘I have not told anyone of our…arrangement. If your family do not approve…’

  ‘They may go to the devil,’ Anton said, and gripped her wrist. ‘I want you for my wife. You have promised me and I shall not let you break your word.’

  ‘I do not wish it. I merely offered for your sake.’

  ‘Then rest easy. I am not a man who changes his mind lightly.’

  ‘I did not think it, but I should not wish to cause a breach…’ Marietta smiled as his grip tightened about her wrist. ‘Very well, it is settled—now, tell me how you came to be wounded like that. It looks as if you were struck from behind.’

  ‘Have you seen Miguel since the day I was wounded?’

  ‘No…’ Marietta stared at him. ‘Was it he that wounded you? But he is your friend…’

  ‘He was once my friend,’ Anton corrected. ‘I do not know it all, but I believe he blames me for Isabella’s death.’

  ‘Yes, he said something that seemed to indicate you were at fault as we journeyed here.’

  ‘You did not see fit to tell me?’

  ‘He was your friend. Besides, I thought it was merely a little jealousy. I did not want to sound spiteful, because you were so fond of him and I never thought he would harm you. He seemed to dislike me—but you were his friend.’

  ‘Damn him!’ Anton’s eyes darkened. ‘He waited his chance and this was his way of murdering me. Miguel knows that he could never best me in fair fight, so he struck me from behind as I fought the men who sprang on us from the trees. I killed your first enemy—he will trouble you no more—but I fear we both have another.’

  ‘Was he…was Miguel Isabella’s lover?’ She saw a flash of pain in Anton’s eyes. ‘Forgive me. I should not have asked.’

  ‘You have the right to ask what you will of me. I had no suspicion of it until very recently, but I believe you may be right. Miguel has deceived me all this time. It was only when I saw the look on his face that I began to suspect him of something, but even then I did not realise how much he hated me. He cried out that it was for
Isabella as he thrust his sword into me. I may discover the whole truth, perhaps, when my enquiries in Spain are done. I suspect that someone witnessed what happened the day she died. If the gardener can be persuaded to speak we may have the answer at last.’

  ‘I am sorry Miguel did this to you—not just the wound from behind, which was a coward’s way, but all the rest.’

  ‘Isabella’s death has played on my mind for a long time.’ Anton’s gaze narrowed. ‘In my fever it seemed to me that she was with me—that she forgave me.’

  ‘I am certain she would if she could. Besides, if she had a lover, she should have begged for your forgiveness.’

  ‘Perhaps. However, her father wanted our marriage. I may have pushed too hard. If Isabella obeyed her father while her heart was given to another…’ Anton sighed. ‘Miguel has little fortune, and no hope of a title. I shall be a marquis one day—a long time into the future, I hope, but it is so. My father holds the titles of earl and marquis…’

  ‘You think that Isabella was obliged to obey her father…as I was?’ Marietta looked thoughtful. ‘She should have refused, or if she chose to obey remained faithful to her husband…but that is not for me to say. I never knew her.’

  ‘She was not like you. I do not think she would have dared to defy her father.’

  ‘Then I am sorry for her. It is not easy to marry where there is no love.’

  ‘There was love on my side—at least at first.’ Anton frowned, holding Marietta as she would have turned away. ‘No, do not run away. You must hear me out. I loved Isabella in a way, but she was like a child. She never gave herself to me as you did that night, Marietta. I have come to believe that in time I should have found that we did not suit…though I would always have honoured her as my wife. I might, however, have taken a mistress once we had our sons.’

  ‘But you grieved for her so much…’ Marietta was not sure what to think.

  ‘I grieved for her and my unborn child, and I shall never cease to regret the way she died—but I believe I am ready to move on. I wish to make a new life with you, my love.’