by June Francis
‘Which you tried to save me from — and we both ended up in trouble.’ Harry grimaced.
John shrugged. ‘It’s behind us now. And if we are honest, brother, we might have escaped if I had not been Father’s obedient son.’
Harry frowned. ‘Dorothy?’ He rubbed his chin. ‘You were the elder. One of us had to act in a responsible manner. But that still doesn’t make it any safer for you to go to Cobtree.’
‘I’m going.’ John twisted a button absently. ‘We’ll sail to Dover and you can go on ahead with Thomas to Yorkshire. Best if one of us gets there as swiftly as possible. Consider, Harry; soon it will be the Christmas feast. Imagine Mother’s delight.’
Harry stared at him pensively. ‘Never mind painting joyful scenes for me, Jack. I don’t like what you’re doing. This Mam’selle Saulnier — what kind of wench is she, to be going about dressed as a youth?’
‘Don’t try to dissuade me, Harry,’ said John, his mouth tightening. ‘And don’t interfere! I’ve given my word. I will not go back on it.’
‘Fool,’ said Harry in a hard voice. ‘Do you trust this mademoiselle not to stick a knife in your back? Has Dorothy not taught you that women can’t be trusted? Clotilde said that she hates the English.’
‘The mam’selle needs my help. I’ll make sure that there are no daggers handy when we’re alone.’ He stretched himself out on the bed and closed his eyes.
Harry got up. ‘How long since you’ve had a woman? You say you took a vow.’
‘Mind your own business,’ said John shortly. ‘I presume the fair Clotilde is your mistress?’
‘You presume right.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Dammit, John! She counts herself lucky that I’ve set her up comfortably.’
‘If you say so.’ John twisted his head and stared at him thoughtfully. ‘Where is Mam’selle Saulnier?’
‘Downstairs with Clotilde. She looked none too happy. I do believe that, despite my telling her that you were respectable, her opinion of both of us isn’t high.’
A smile lurked about John’s mouth as he pulled a blanket over him. ‘She pretends to loathe me.’
Harry’s brows shot up. ‘Pretends?’
John got beneath the covers and closed his eyes. ‘She could do with some rest. Is there another room? Another bed?’
‘Then there is nothing between you?’
John yawned again. ‘She needs rest, I said.’
‘You’re mad! Have her and get her out of your system, then leave her here with Clotilde.’
There came an indistinct murmur from the bed and for a moment Harry continued to stare at his twin’s battered face. Really! Sometimes his brother needed protecting from himself! He turned and went thoughtfully down the stairs.
As he entered the parlour Louise and Clotilde lifted their heads from the depths of an enormous chest. Heaps of clothing were piled on the chair and cushioned settle. There were linen chemises, and long-sleeved, full-skirted corsets with tight-fitting laced bodices, woollen, samite and Venetian cotton houppelandes and surcotes — some heavily embroidered, others dagged round the edges of sleeves and hems. There were reds, blues, greens and saffrons. Louise had not enquired where such finery had come from, but the words ‘spoils of war’ had occurred to her.
‘What are all these out for?’ demanded Harry, fingering a heavy silky samite houppelande in pale green.
‘Louise has need of something different to wear, so I am searching for one of my old gowns that might fit her,’ informed Clotilde quietly. ‘That one will not fit her.’
‘Nonsense,’ retorted Harry, smiling at Louise. ‘You’ve gone fatter. This would be fine. This green will suit her colouring perfectly.’
‘But — that gown is one of my favourites!’ said Clotilde in a trembling voice. ‘It is hardly suitable for her needs, Harry.’
He nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Something warm and sensible, that’s the best. But she’ll need a good linen chemise and a corset — and some warm stockings.’
‘And shoes and pattens,’ declared Clotilde, smiling now that he had not given away one of her most expensive gowns.
Louise, concealing well her disappointment concerning the samite houppelande, seized hold of a plain saffron woollen. ‘This will do.’
‘You will have that and this,’ said Harry, bundling a dark green surcote into her arms. ‘Now find yourself some good underclothing. Clotilde has more than she needs — thanks to me. Then go and get changed in the kitchen. My brother is sleeping upstairs and I don’t want him disturbed.’ His smile did not quite reach his cool blue eyes.
Louise wanted to ask whether John was still taking her to England, but this brother’s eyes were so cold, and, turning, she left the room.
It was warmer in the kitchen and an old woman, whom Louise recognised as Clotilde’s mother, was turning a carcass on a spit over a fire. Fat and juices caused the flames to crackle and spit and the smell was so appetising that her mouth watered.
Louise murmured a greeting to the woman, who smiled and raised the long-handled basting spoon. Louise walked stiffly to a corner of the room where there was a scrubbed table with pots and platters on it.
She put the clothes down and with aching arms rid herself of the soiled garments she wore. She took the remainder of the money Thomas had given her and placed it on the table. She wished that she could have washed before dressing. Then she noticed the pail of water on the stone floor under the table and, taking a corner of her discarded shirt, she dipped it in the water and scrubbed at her face and hands. A bath was what she would have liked but knew that was out of the question. She dried herself on part of the shirt before pulling the linen chemise over her cropped head. In that moment she realised that she would need a veil or a headdress to conceal the shortness of her hair, otherwise people might believe she had committed some great sin.
On with fine woollen knitted stockings and satin garters. Clotilde did herself well, thought Louise, picking up the white corset. It fitted snugly about her hips and waist but as she laced up the bodice she made sure that it was not so tight that it flattened her bosom. Then she pulled on the saffron surcote, which was sleeveless and had a scooped neckline, and eased it down over her hips before fastening the belt about her slender waist.
She picked up the coins from the table and slipped them into her pocket. Then it was feet into soft leather shoes. Louise was now ready except for a hair covering, but she had not been given one. She felt excited but a little strange wearing long skirts after such a long time. Her father had wanted her to go back into skirts after they had left Caen but she had possessed none. Besides, she had considered herself safer wearing youth’s garb. Wishing that she could have looked at herself in a polished metal mirror, and squashing the desire to have John in the parlour instead of his brother, she ignored the astonished stare of Clotilde’s mother and quit the kitchen.
Harry let out an oath on sight of her, and exchanged a swift glance with Clotilde, who bit hard on her full lower lip, before saying, ‘Your hair, ma chére amie but it is terrible!’
Louise’s face fell. ‘I know it is,’ she responded ruefully. ‘But it will grow, and in the meantime if you could lend me one of your headdresses? But for the rest — do I look acceptable?’
Before Clotilde could say anything, Harry stepped forward, a faint smile in his eyes that reminded Louise instantly of John. ‘But it is wonderful! A perfect transformation.’ She flushed with delight, allowing him to lift her hand to his lips, only to draw back when he added, ‘But you must not let my brother see you like this.’
‘Pardon!’ The light in her face faded. ‘What do you mean? Why can’t I … ?’ Her voice trailed off at the seriousness of his expression, and her heart sank.
Despite her unwillingness Harry took her arm and drew her a little to one side. ‘If he sees you like this then he might weaken and decide to take you to England after all.’
‘He has changed his mind?’ Louise suddenly felt faint. ‘But why? He gave me his word,’
she stammered. He was silent. ‘It is you who has changed it for him!’ The accusation was flung at him as she gathered her wits together. ‘I don’t believe that he would do such a thing!’
Harry was more than a little taken aback by her vehemence. ‘No. He changed it himself,’ he said strongly. ‘Think, woman, do you really want your sister to go back to the life she was living?’ He paused for effect, before adding softly, ‘Unless it is that you would turn her into a courtesan such as Clotilde? It is a part you could play well yourself and it would be much more comfortable than living in the forest.’
‘I think you are insulting both of us,’ said Louise, keeping her voice steady with great effort.
Harry shrugged. ‘No. Not all women can play the part well. Common whores can be had six a penny. But you aren’t that kind. I could find you a protector here.’
She had paled. ‘Ah, now you are not even suggesting my sister is part of this! You and your brother want me to forget her utterly!’ Her eyes held his. ‘Perhaps it is that you are lying to me? I would like to hear him tell me that he will not take me to England.’
‘My brother is weary and you know what he has been through.’ His voice was frosty. ‘In his weakened state he could so easily be persuaded by your tears if you begged him to take you.’
Louise’s mouth firmed. ‘I have no intention of weeping or begging Master Milburn to do anything for me,’ she said strongly. ‘But he gave me his word!’
He scowled at her. ‘I will not have you bothering him. You will leave this house now. I have friends in Caen with whom you can stay. I will give you money, and once John and I have left Caen then if you wish you can come back here and live with Clotilde.’
Her eyebrows seemed to disappear into the curling copper-coloured tendrils of her fringe. ‘You really do believe that I would be content to be some man’s mistress?’ she hissed, her eyes blazing.
‘It’s not a bad life, and what else is there for a wench such as you?’ he hissed back, a line of scarlet running under his skin. ‘You would have a home in thanks for saving my brother’s life!’
Her hands curled into fists. ‘I don’t want your thanks! I would rather take my chances in the forest!’ She turned from him, her skirts brushing the floor, and, almost tripping over them, she marched across the room and pulled the door open. Clotilde called something but Harry remained silent. She slammed the door so hard behind her that the whole house seemed to vibrate.
Upstairs John stirred.
Heedless of the curious stares of vendors, passers-by, and a woman standing in a doorway, Louise picked up her cumbersome skirts and ran up the street, not caring where she was going. Tears blurred her vision and she savagely wiped them away with the back of her hand. She hated him! Hated both the brothers! How dared they think they could use her and discard her when they wanted? It was back to the forest for her. At least there she could tell at a glance which was the ravening beast and which was not!
Louise came to the bridge and crossed it. She noticed suddenly that it was later in the day than she had realised. Despite her sore feet she began to run once more, quite desperate to reach the city gates before they closed at dusk. With the breath burning in her throat Louise came too late. Her knees gave way and she sank to the ground. Her skirts swirled round her and she buried her face in her hands.
There was a tap on her shoulder, and slowly she lifted her head and looked wordlessly at the guard. He only had one eye and a scar ran down the side of his face. She rubbed at the. tear-stains on her cheeks as she shrank back from him. ‘Now what have we here?’ he said.
‘Pardon, m’sieur,’ she replied unthinkingly.
The guard slanted a sly glance at his mate, ‘A Frenchie,’ he muttered, and caused her to jump as he fingered the fabric covering her bosom. ‘Well dressed! Should be in her shift with that hair! Must have sinned mortally. Perhaps they’ve just cropped her and she got away before they could strip her?’
‘We could do it for them,’ suggested the other man with a grin, crouching down the other side of Louise and lifting her skirts slightly. She reacted violently, slamming her fist into his face. He swayed and clutched at his jaw. ‘Streuth!’ he groaned. ‘You little bitch! I’ll have you for that!’
Louise did not need to understand English to get the meaning of his words and she sought to get to her feet hurriedly to escape him. If it had not been for the other guard she might have managed it, but he seized hold of her sleeve and pulled hard so that she toppled over and on to her back. They were on her quickly and she screamed.
Still struggling and screaming she was hoisted to her feet and dragged into the shadows beneath the wall. Several other guards had come out of the guardhouse to see what the noise was about, and they stood watching, laughing as she kicked and bit, and cursed the two men attempting to get her down on the ground again, away from the prying eyes of folk hurrying home in the bleak November day.
‘Perhaps she’s a damned heretic!’ called one of the men who had got close enough to see her cropped head. ‘They’re possessed by demons, Ralphy! That’s what makes them so strong! Better watch she doesn’t give you a poisonous bite or cast a spell on you!’
‘You’d better hurry up,’ shouted another. ‘Or the friars, wanting their bit of her flesh, will be here before you get going.’
The one-eyed man swore as Louise’s teeth found a fleshy part of his arm again, and he seized her hair, yanked her head up and slapped her face so hard that she bit her tongue. Her ears rang dizzily and she felt herself sliding down through the man’s hands. But as she sank to the ground and the man pushed up her skirts and straddled her, there came a seething voice she barely recognised, cutting through the air like a knife. ‘What the hell do you men think you’re doing?’
Louise was relieved of the crushing weight almost immediately as the man was dragged forcibly off her, and sent sprawling against the wall. ‘Is this what Englishmen have come to?’ his voice roared at them. ‘Attacking defenceless women?’ There was a sudden hush. ‘What would your king say?’ he demanded. ‘He has forsworn women! Could you not at least treat them with compassion for their weaknesses?’
‘This one ain’t weak,’ called a voice in the group. ‘She’s strong — possessed by demons for certain.’ His words were greeted with an approving murmur.
‘She’s a witch,’ muttered the guard, hauling himself up from the wall.
‘Don’t be daft, man,’ said John, frowning at him. ‘If you were scared to death you’d fight tooth and nail. Haven’t you ever gone into battle and had to summon up the last ounce of strength in you?’
‘Ay, but — that’s different!’ The guard rubbed his chest where John had pushed him.
‘How’s it different?’
‘King Henry told us God be fighting on our side and we be fighting against the Devil. And she’s a Frenchie.’
John laughed incredulously and slapped the man on the shoulder. ‘My good yeoman, that would surely make her scared of you.’ He smiled. The King is desirous of marrying a French princess, no less. I doubt he would be pleased if you called her a witch.’
Several of the men, who huddled near the wall, murmured agreement and they began to shuffle towards the gatehouse door. Someone commented on how cold it was outside and that he was for the fire and his ale inside. There was a general drift away from the figure lying on the ground and the two guards.
John stared at the two men. ‘I would mind the gate if I were you,’ he said softly, and, taking no more heed of them, he bent over Louise, and sliding his hands beneath her lifted her in his arms.
‘Who is she to you, anyway?’ the younger of the guards asked suspiciously, stepping in front of John. His jaw still ached from Louise’s punch.
‘My cousin,’ said John, adding without hesitation, ‘The reason that her hair is cropped is because she has a skin disease. I pray that you don’t catch it.’ On these words he brushed past the man, who drew back hastily, and he headed for the bridge, praying that the
guard he had bribed to let him cross would still be waiting to let him back over.
Louise stirred in his arms halfway across the bridge and forced her unwilling eyelids open to gaze up at him. ‘How?’ she muttered.
He glanced at her then looked ahead again. ‘The door slamming roused me,’ he rasped. ‘I got up and looked out of the window and saw a woman running as if there were demons at her heels. I recognised it was you by your hair. It was easy to find someone of your description — you didn’t pass exactly unnoticed.’
‘But why did you follow me?’ Her eyes were bemused as they stared up at his shadowy face. ‘Your brother said — ’
‘Damn my brother. I guess he upset you. I didn’t pause to ask questions.’ Louise was silent, reluctant to tell him the truth.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘I know he thinks I shouldn’t take you to England. Was that it?’
Louise looped an arm about his neck as she slipped a little in his grasp. The act brought their faces closer together and she smelled salve. ‘Yes,’ she replied in a low voice.
‘So you ran away and instantly got yourself into trouble.’ His voice was as quiet as hers. ‘It seems that you need protecting from yourself, mam’selle.’
‘It was these damn skirts,’ she muttered. ‘I would have escaped if it weren’t for them. But — I am very grateful that you came to my rescue.’
He halted. ‘So you should be.’ There was the slightest hint of laughter in his voice. ‘You never fail to surprise me, mam’selle.’
Her other arm went up about his neck, and their breath mingled. His mouth touched hers briefly, butterfly-light. She stared at him. ‘You could put me down. I can walk,’ she said unevenly.
‘But you might trip again.’
‘Perhaps,’ she whispered, and her head drooped against his shoulder. His arms were strong and she felt safe.
They did not speak again as he carried her through the darkening streets. They came to his brother’s house.
The door was opened immediately in answer to their knock. Louise expected him to put her down on the settle but he did not, and she was as astonished and speechless as Harry and Clotilde when John brushed past them and carried her through the parlour, and on, up the stairs.