by Jane Feather
No, today she was not going to think of herself. Luisa too had only the gown she stood up in and it was much the worse for wear. Something had to be contrived.
Invigorated by this need, Pippa climbed down to the main room. A shaft of morning sun fell through the open door onto the newly swept floor. The long table was piled with wonderfully painted earthenware crockery and at one end Berthe was rolling pastry.
She greeted Pippa and Luisa with a friendly nod. “If you wish to break your fast, there is bread and quince jelly outside.”
Pippa thanked her and they went outside where the promised meal was set out on a small table in the sun. There was no sign of either Robin or Lionel, but Gilles was sitting on an upturned log mending a fishing net. He too offered a silent but nevertheless friendly nod.
They would need flowers, Pippa thought as she spread jelly on the warm bread. You couldn't have a bride without a bouquet. There were wild flowers aplenty, so that was easy, but Luisa's gown was a different matter.
She left Luisa with her breakfast and returned to the cottage to consult Berthe.
Luisa was licking jam off her fingers when Robin and Lionel strolled into view from around the corner of the church. They saw her and Lionel said something to Robin, then came on ahead. He kissed the top of Luisa's head as he passed on his way into the house, leaving her openmouthed in surprise at his unprecedented carelessly affectionate gesture.
“Robin, is something happening?”
“Why, yes,” he said, with a beam so broad it nearly split his face in two. His eyes danced with joy. “Why, yes. We are to be married this morning.”
Luisa just stared at him. “Married?” she said at last.
“Why, yes.” He looked at her in mock innocence. “You knew surely that we would be married as soon as we reached France.”
“Yes . . . yes . . . but not so suddenly. Not just like this.” She glanced down at her well-worn gown. “Without warning. You can't just surprise someone with a wedding, Robin.”
Robin looked crestfallen. “You can't? I thought you would like it.”
“Oh, men,” Luisa exclaimed. “Of course I wish to be married, but there have to be preparations.”
“Ah, has he told you at last?” Pippa's amused voice came from the cottage doorway. “I was beginning to think I would have to tell you myself.”
She came over to them. “I have been talking with Berthe and she has the most beautiful muslin gown which she would like you to wear. I think 'tis possible it was her own wedding gown but she is not a great one for conversation. Come and look at it.”
Luisa looked at the bewildered and still crestfallen Robin. Then suddenly she laughed. “Oh, you are the most absurd creature, but I do so love you, and, yes, I will marry you even though you haven't asked me properly.”
She flung her arms around him and he hugged her tightly with a sigh of relief, wondering whether he would ever understand her sex.
They were married in the little church that followed Breton custom with its curious roof of rafters shaped to form the ribs of a fishing boat. The wooden pews were filled with villagers, who seemed to regard the four foreigners at the altar with an almost proprietorial air.
Luisa carried a bunch of wild poppies and golden celandine, and Pippa was filled with sisterly pride in her beauty, so darkly exotic with her black hair and deep blue eyes, and yet so delightfully innocent in Berthe's simple white muslin gown embroidered with tiny knots of flowers.
Lionel pronounced the words that gave Luisa to her bridegroom then stepped back to stand beside Pippa. They had barely exchanged a word in the morning's bustle; she had been far too occupied with preparing the bride to engage in any kind of sustained conversation. Now he stood close enough for their bodies to touch at shoulder and hip, but after a minute she took a step away, unable to bear the proximity as Robin and Luisa exchanged their vows.
Her marriage to Stuart had been a lavish affair in Southwark Cathedral, attended by the new queen and the Lady Elizabeth. The wedding breakfast had lasted for two days. Pippa had floated above it all enjoying the party as she always did in those carefree days. But she could remember very little of her real feelings about her marriage. She had not been in love with Stuart. And now she wondered why she had then thought that didn't matter. She had spoken these very same words that Luisa and Robin were murmuring with such passionate sincerity, to a man she merely liked, taking on the responsibility of a commitment that was terrifying in its immensity. And she had thought nothing of it.
She loved the man beside her with every fiber of her being but they could never belong to each other in the way that Robin and Luisa now belonged to each other. They could love each other, they could make love to each other, but they could never make these vows to each other. The vows she had once spoken without thought for their meaning.
Lionel looked down at her, at her bent head and the slight droop of her shoulders. He was filled with a fierce tenderness, and an overwhelming sense of possession. He did not want to leave her but he had no choice for now. He knew that Pippa was contrasting her own future with the happiness that lay in store for her brother and his wife.
He was aware of a frustration he had once felt before with her. She had deliberately fractured the glory of their reconciliation, and he didn't know why in the name of God's good grace she had pushed him from her, accusing him of a breach of faith that she had quite simply and quite wrongly decided would happen.
He had not wanted to spoil the joy of their time of rediscovery on Sea Dream with the reminder of their inevitable parting, but he had not thought then, not even for a minute, that she would decide that parting had to be permanent.
He would not accept it, and he could not bear to see her so unhappy.
He took her arm above the elbow and walked her out of the church amid the disapproving looks of the congregation as the priest intoned the words of the mass.
Pippa was both surprised and annoyed by her sudden removal from the ceremony. “What's the matter?” she demanded when they stood once more in the sunshine in the deserted village.
“I think you're going to have to tell me,” Lionel stated. “You throw a baseless accusation in my face. What have I ever done that you would imagine I would break faith with you, now or at some as yet unknown time? I don't think you understand that you belong to me.”
“How can I?” Pippa cried softly. “We can never make the commitment those two have made to each other.”
“I have already made that commitment to you,” he said, his voice quiet and level. “Can you not make it to me?”
The autumn sun was surprisingly warm on the top of her bare head. She crossed her arms over her breast and stared out towards the green line of the sea. “I would not hold you to it.”
“Forgive me, but you have no say in the matter,” he responded, resisting the urge to shake some life into her. “And you did not answer my question.”
He caught her chin and turned her face towards him. “Answer me, Pippa. Can you not make that commitment to me?”
“What kind of life could we lead?” she said, meeting his eye.
“Will you answer the question?” His fingers tightened on her jaw and his eyes contained both anger and the fear that he might not win this.
“I love you,” she said. “I would commit myself and my life to you. But—”
“There are no buts.” He caught her face with both hands and kissed her. It was a kiss of possession, but also of passion that expressed his anger and his hurt. He felt her relax, her lips part beneath his, and he moved his hands from her face to her back, holding her against him with all the strength he possessed as if only thus could he ensure she would not run from him.
When finally he released her, she looked up at him, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. “I did not mean to hurt you,” she said. “But I thought I was being realistic. I must be strong for this child, I cannot be if I am weakened by my longing and my fear for you.”
“I will never leave you. Underst
and this, Pippa. Even when I am not with you, I will live in your mind, in your heart. You will hear my voice as you go to sleep each night and when you awake in the morning, just as I shall hear yours. This I promise you.”
“For a man who does not easily make promises, that is a most powerful one,” she said, her eyes blurred with tears.
“I only make the ones I can keep.” He took her face once more and gazed intently down at her. “Will you make me the same promise?”
“Yes,” she said. “'Tis one I too can keep.”
“And you will stay here and grow fat and contented and when your time comes Berthe will deliver your child. She is an experienced midwife. And I will promise you that I will move heaven and earth to be with you then.”
She smiled. “And now you must go.”
“Aye, now I must go. But I leave my self behind.”
Later as the evening shadows fell long over the feasting guests, she walked to the clifftop with him. He would not let her come down the cliff path to the beach, so she stood like so many women of this land, watching from the cliff as her man took his tiny boat out through the reef and onto the wild green sea.
Twenty-nine
The first day of May dawned hot and glorious. Pippa rose with the dawn chorus as she had done every morning of the last six months. She stood in her shift and contemplated the new day as absently she cradled her belly.
The child kicked and she chuckled softly. “You're busy on this May morn, little one.” She looked down and smiled ruefully at her inability to see her feet. She had indeed grown fat under Berthe's care. Berthe and Gilles spoke little, in fact none of these Breton folk were quick to give tongue, but they had all watched over her throughout the long, harsh winter months once Robin and Luisa had left to go to the Beaucaire estates in Burgundy.
No strangers ever came to this fishing village. The men fished together, occasionally teaming up with folk from a neighboring hamlet when they ventured far towards Iceland, and when the boats returned safe and laden there would be a mass of thanks and a great feast of celebration, with all the families gathered in the church. Pippa had hesitated to join them the first time but Berthe had come for her and she had been welcomed so naturally that she had never again felt awkward in their company.
She could hear Berthe moving around downstairs and quickly dressed in one of the loose linen gowns that her hostess had fashioned for her. Pippa smiled now to think that she had been concerned about having no money. She had had no need of any. No need of anything at all. At first it had felt strange, frightening almost, to be divested of all possessions, of the power of purchase, but it had not taken long before she had slipped into the rhythm of this life.
The long winter days she had spent curled up with the cat before the fire, sewing for the child growing big within her. Berthe had succeeded in teaching her to enjoy the art of the needle where her mother and her old nurse had signally failed. But now it was spring and Pippa felt herself throwing off the lethargy of winter like a snake sloughing its skin.
She edged down the ladder, an awkward maneuver these days, and greeted Berthe with a few words of Breton that she had managed to master. She took the bowl of new-drawn milk that Berthe insisted she drink every morning, and a chunk of warm crusty bread spread thickly with butter, and went out into the sunshine.
Gilles was whittling a toy for the baby. He had already carved two dolls and a horse with its own little cart. He nodded at Pippa as she came over to him, and showed her the wooden rattle he was carving.
“'Tis lovely, Gilles. The baby will be quite spoiled with so many beautiful toys.”
He cracked a pleased smile and took up his work again. Pippa, still eating her breakfast, continued on her regular morning walk, up to the clifftop where every day, regardless of the weather, she came to gaze out over the cold sea, looking for Sea Dream.
She didn't know whether Lionel would come by sea or on horseback over the rough inhospitable landscape of Finistere. She had had no message, but she hadn't expected one. He would come when he would come.
She gazed out across the sea that today was a calm and glittering blue under the soft May sun. The grass at her feet gave off wonderful scents of sea pinks, clover, and lavender. She sat down on the grass to finish her bread and milk and then began idly to make a daisy chain.
The first twinge she ignored. She had had many in the last weeks and Berthe had told her not to be troubled by them. When delivery drew close the womb began to prepare. This twinge seemed no more severe than the others.
The next one, some ten minutes later, was very different. Pippa put her hands on her belly, feeling it harden then relax as the pain, and it was now a pain, not severe but definitely no longer a twinge, diminished.
She was not frightened but she rose to her feet slowly, picked up her empty bowl, and walked back to the village.
Berthe took one look at Pippa when she came into the cottage and said instantly, “Ah, 'tis time.”
She put her hand on Pippa's belly and kept it there throughout the next pain. She nodded. “'Tis good, but not strong yet. Go and sit in the sun. 'Tis too soon to take to the bed.”
She began to take herbs from the drying racks as Pippa went back outside, feeling curiously peaceful. Her body was in charge now and she could only leave it to do its work.
She sat down on a rough bench that Gilles had put beneath an oak tree whose branches were just beginning to show pale green foliage and closed her eyes. For six months she had waited here in what seemed to her almost a trance, her life suspended, but the waiting would soon now be over. Her mind turned inward, insulating her from the world around her as another wave of pain, a little stronger this time, tightened around her belly.
She didn't hear the horses' hooves on the grassy lane beyond the cottage. She opened her eyes only when a shadow fell across the dappled light that warmed her face.
Lionel stood above her.
“You have come,” she said, not moving, just looking up at him, drinking in the wonderful familiarity of his countenance. He seemed to have materialized out of her trance and fleetingly she wondered if he was indeed a figment of her longing.
He knelt on the grass beside her and touched her face. “I have missed you so,” he whispered. “Every minute of every day I have longed for you.”
“And I for you,” she replied as he cupped her cheek in his palm. “But I knew you would come.” She parted her lips for his kiss and tasted the sweetness of his tongue and his mouth and the long months of separation vanished as if with a magician's wand.
A bubble of energy burst within her and the strange trance evaporated. She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “You are come just in time. This babe is anxious to be born.”
“Now?” he asked in surprise. “Today?”
“I believe so,” she said, and kept her hand over his as her belly hardened again. His expression of confusion and alarm made her smile through the pain. “'Tis quite normal,” she reassured. “I thought you to be the expert on pregnancy.”
“I know little or nothing about birth,” he replied ruefully. “I was never in a birthing chamber.”
“There is a first time for everything.” She stood up as the pain receded and placed her hand on his arm. “I think I need to walk a little bit.”
“Then let us walk this way,” he said. “You must see what I have brought you.”
“I have no need of gifts,” Pippa replied. “You are all the gift I need.”
“Oh, I think you'll find this one pleasing,” he said with a complacent grin. “We will walk to the church, if you think you can manage to go that far.”
“'Tis but a few steps,” she said scornfully, taking his hand. Energy coursed through her and it was hard to remember her inertia of a few minutes ago. She no longer felt peaceful and passive, but vigorous and eager to resume her life, to be done with this birthing so that she could embrace her child.
She didn't at first believe her eyes when they rounded the corner
. A man and a woman stood deep in conversation just outside the church, their tethered horses cropping the grass of the little churchyard.
“Pen?” Pippa breathed. “Pen!” She shouted her sister's name in wonder and delight.
“Pippa . . . dearest Pippa.” Pen gathered her skirts and came running towards her. “Oh, I am in time. I wanted so much to be with you for the birth. But we could not come before because of the winter and the roads were so bad.”
She hugged her sister, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, you're so big. I can't put my arms around you.”
Pippa was crying too. “I have had such need of you, Pen. Ever since—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Pen interrupted her, laying her wet cheek against her sister's. “Lionel told us the whole dreadful story. My poor Pippa.”
“No, not poor Pippa,” Pippa said, smiling through her tears. “I am as happy as 'tis possible for anyone to be. Lionel has come back and he has brought you to me, and this baby is about to be born and—” She broke off with a gasp, a spasm of pain twisting her face.
Lionel rushed over to her, Pen's husband, Owen d'Arcy, on his heels. “You shouldn't have walked,” he said. “Let me carry you back.”
Pippa merely shook her head and waited for the pain to lose its grip, then she straightened. “Do you remember Philip's birth?” she asked her sister with what was now a wan smile.
“'Tis all something of a blur,” Pen said vaguely. In fact she remembered those long hours of agony all too well. She would not wish such a birth upon her sister and she would not tell her of it. “You must go back to the house.”
“Let me carry you,” Lionel insisted.
Pippa managed a half laugh. “I am far too heavy. And I can walk the few steps well enough.” She turned to her brother-in-law. “Forgive me, Owen, I have neglected to greet you.”
“You are a little occupied at the moment,” he said in his low melodious voice that held a smile in its depths. “It seems we arrived just in time. Pen was most anxious to be with you.”
Pippa opened her mouth to speak and closed it abruptly. She clutched Lionel's hand, squeezing until the pain released her again.