by Valerie Levy
“Margaret Attehill is thinking of giving Walter’s strips of land to William Wilkins. In exchange for her support and upkeep for the next twelve years. Richard Reeve thinks this would be a good plan. She can’t work the strips. But William is a strong young man, he’ll manage extra strips with ease, and he’ll make sure she's all right. What else - Abbott Julian told me Brother Anton arrived back in Italy, has left the Augustinians, he's a monk no more - Nicholas de le Haye is going on pilgrimage to Canterbury soon …” She realised suddenly that Rosalind no longer listened.
Her daughter sat immobile, the pawn she had intended to move held suspended over the board, as a smile slowly stretched across her face and her eyes widened. “I knew it! I knew it!” Isabella watched speechlessly as Rosalind rose from her chair and waddled rapidly around the solar, her voice rising with excitement. “Now he’ll be free to come for me!”
Comprehension dawned upon Isabella; she did not think she referred to William Wilkins or Nicholas. “So, Mistress mine, we have the truth at last!”
Rosalind went over to stand in front of her and tipped the chess board so the pieces fell amongst the rushes on the floor. “Yes, mother dear, you have the truth. Anton will come for me any time now. And I’ll go with him - no more sewing, or chess, or being stuck up here for ever. It’s plain what he’s done - he’s rid himself of his monk's robes and his vows, he’s now free to marry me. He’ll be here, for me. Geoffrey Cottreaux - no!” She laughed. “Not when Anton wants me!” Isabella did not interrupt; she thought Rosalind would wear herself out soon, and then she would prise the whole story from her.
“And don’t think I’m staying hidden up here any more,” Rosalind said. “I’m not passing Anton’s child off as yours, I don’t care if everyone in the world knows - in fact, I want them to. Especially Geoffrey Cottreaux - ” At last Rosalind ran out of words, and sat to face her mother once more, flushed and excited.
Isabella sighed and sat back in her chair, regarding Rosalind through narrowed eyes, and considered her words carefully before she spoke. "Truly, child, you amaze me, I must confess Brother Anton is the last man I would have thought of - him being a monk ..."
“He is a man first, my Lady."
“... and so devoted to the Infirmary,” Isabella continued as if she had not heard.
"But more devoted to me! He loves me, mother."
“Abbott Julian told me also that Brother Anton intends to remain in Italy to study medicine. He will never come for you, child.” Her words sounded unconvincing even to her ears, even though she spoke the truth.
“Don’t try to fool me, mother, I know he’s on his way back here, I won’t listen to you any more.” Belief in Anton’s love made her brave. “Don’t lie to me, my Lady! I won’t listen.”
Isabella fought a brief surge of rage and managed to speak calmly. This situation demanded craft; diplomacy; a cool head. "So, tell me, my dear, how did this all come about? How many times did you lie together?"
“I went out at night, twice, when you were asleep, and met him outside the back gate. I know where the key is," Rosalind improvised, not wishing to implicate Sarah. “As soon as Anton and I met we knew we were meant to be together. The day I went to the Infirmary without you, we arranged to meet, and everything - just happened. Mother, don't you realise how much I love him?"
Isabella was tempted to slap her daughter's face but managed to keep her hands in her lap. If she started to beat her she would find it difficult to stop. The baby might be harmed; she had to think only of the baby now.
Rosalind had betrayed her, had thrown all her sacrifices back in her face, but punishment could wait, now she needed to pick up the pieces, had to try to retrieve something from this situation. She had to keep cool, and keep her wits about her. Beatings would come later. Most certainly. Now, she had to keep herself and her daughter calm and as much under control as possible.
Disbelieving that she spoke the words even as she said them, she asked a final question. "Was he a good lover, child?"
Rosalind closed her eyes and pictured Anton as he had stood naked before her that summer day in the forest. "The very best," she murmured.
Chapter 18
Rosalind slept fitfully. She kept waking, wondering where Anton was - had he left Italy? Was he at this moment sailing across the sea to her? Had he arrived in England, was he riding towards Hollingham, thinking that soon he would be with her? What would she take with her when they left together?
After the baby was born they would be able to travel quickly, the two of them. The child could stay with her mother, she didn’t care. Why, they might even take the baby with them, maybe it would be possible – why, anything was now possible! - despite her earlier qualms, to travel still pregnant, disguising her identity. They would live happily abroad - perhaps Italy; Anton's family lived there, he had told her, his family would then be complete, with a wife and a child - children -
The baby kicked and woke her from a doze, and she hugged herself, ecstatic as she remembered. Somebody in this world actually loved her. Not her parents. They ignored her, and did not care a sow's eyeball about her as long as she married well. She meant nothing to them; never had. But Anton …
Tomorrow, she decided, tomorrow this incarceration would end, she would walk out into the courtyard, into the village, she would tell everyone Anton loved her, tell everyone he was on his way to claim her.
After Rosalind had returned to her bedchamber, Isabella sat for a while, thinking. Imagine Anton and Rosalind, she thought. Wicked, wicked girl. Rosalind and a monk - ridiculous. Laughable, even. If she had to be seduced by anyone why could it not have been by a son of a noble family at Court, or even Geoffrey Cottreaux?
And Sarah’s role in this! She should be beaten and then dismissed. She should have supervised the girl more closely, should have known what was hap-pening in front of her eyes.
And as for Anton - should she have him punished, imprisoned, excommunicated? She indulged herself for a few pleasurable minutes with thoughts involving rat infested prisons and slow starvation. But she knew she could never accuse him of fathering this child. It would ruin the plan. And, anyway, he would deny it. It was just as well he remained out the way in Italy. But, she thought, the situation may have been worse, Rosalind could have been raped by a lowly, ugly peasant. At least Anton was a clever, attractive man. A quick flash of envy shot through her that she sup-pressed even before she recognised it.
Arguing with Rosalind was useless, she decided. The girl was too taken up with the thought of Anton to listen to good sense. Over the next few days she would surely calm herself, realise a girl of her rank must marry well, realise there was no possibility of ever being allowed to run off with such as him. Rosalind's wishes were irrelevant, she must understand that.
But Isabella knew her daughter was incapable of such reasoning at the moment and, in her eagerness to proclaim her love for Anton to the world, at any moment she could shout from her window, or even run through the courtyard into the village - Isabella would put nothing past her in her present state of mind. Everything would fall to pieces immediately. The consequences would be devastating. Rosalind would acquire the reputation of lewdness, the Cottreaux would terminate the betrothal and a good marriage would be impossible to negotiate. The only feasible outcome for Rosalind would be incarceration in a convent and no contact with the outside world, including her family, at least until the scandal died down.
To Isabella, the consequences were horribly clear. Lord Roger would remain heirless, and she exposed as a deceiver of the first order, the de Godwynnes the butt of jokes throughout the Court. Her husband would never forgive her, would likely cast her off into a nunnery too. Would probably get rid of her and live permanently with his whore.
She needed to act quickly to stop Rosalind from ruining the plan. She must think - think what needed to be done. Rosalind must be convinced Anton had forgotten her; the notion that he was returning to Hollingham needed to be dispelled as soon as possib
le. That would buy some time; time for her daughter to realise that her mother's plan was her only option. A scheme began to take form in Isabella’s mind. She must go and consult Liza, now. And she would need Sarah. Forget the beating and dismissal, Sarah was needed.
Isabella walked silently down the stairs, through the great hall, now dark and quiet after the festivities and into the courtyard. Sarah was in her cottage, dressed only in her shift, ready to slip into bed. She had been about to bar her door when Isabella entered quietly, without knocking.
“Get dressed. We must go to Liza. Quiet, now, we’ll go out of the back gate, through the wood. Put some warm clothes on.”
As they picked their way along the narrow forest track, Isabella told Sarah what had happened, and what she planned to do.
Margaret lay warm under a pile of old blankets next to Alyce, cuddling the sleeping twins close, her stomach full. “It's taken it out of me, Alyce, love. But with your poor father gone to heaven I'll birth no more babes. We'll have time to get everything sorted, get everything as it should be. It'll give me time to get my energy back, get over the birth and all we've gone through of late."
She knew she should miss Walter, but it had been a great relief when Septimus carted him off to the Infirmary. That was the last time she had seen her husband, must be over four weeks now, and now he would be safe in heaven, she hoped. "William Wilkins'll take our strips of land and he'll give us food, keep our bellies full and the cot warm and mended, that'll see us all through. Won't have to marry anyone that way, won't need no man to provide for us."
She felt Alyce's warm body snuggle to her. "Without your dad to look after all the time, we'll make the cot nice, feed the twins properly, and us of course, get the garden going again. And perhaps William will give us one of his pigs, would you like that, dearling? Maybe he'll sell us a cow, cheap - "
She raised her face up and away from the children as a cough racked her lungs. I must get something for it, she thought, but not from Liza, the old witch, her gossips were saying it was her who put the devil's hoofmark on her baby. She tried not to think of the baby's soul being snatched up by the devil. She was not even certain if the old woman had truly bewitched the child, but Julienne Miller, one of her oldest friends said so. She was glad Brother Geoffrey had sent her the hag stones, they would keep her away. Walter had sworn by them.
But did that mean Brother Geoffrey, a holy monk, also believed Liza meant her harm? She’d ask Julienne what she should do about it all tomorrow, she thought as she fell asleep.
Liza was also sleeping when someone banged loudly on her door. She assumed it must be a summons to a birthing, or to a sick child, and struggled off her mattress wondering who came calling; no-one from the village had sought her skills lately and she was taken by surprise. Warily, she opened the door, Bonney panting behind her, and her Ladyship swept in, followed by Mistress Fletcher.
After Liza had thrown on her old gown, poked the desultory fire into flames and the women were settled on stools, Isabella told the story of Rosalind and Anton once more. “She's expecting that perversion of a so called holy man to come for her at any time, may he rot in hell - anyway, Liza, you must give me strong physick to keep the girl quiet for the next few days. I don’t want her awake enough to move around or even call out, she must stay asleep in her bed.”
So that's who the Mistress wanted the love potion for, Liza thought, so much for one of the young men at Court. A brief dart of anger shot through her at Rosalind's deceit, and she was tempted to tell Isabella how her daughter had schemed to seduce the monk. But, she remembered, the Mistress had beaten out the fire Nicholas had started; without her, Widows’ Cot would no longer be standing in the forest; she would have had to go and live amongst all the gossiping biddies in the village; no peace and quiet. Besides, she was fond of the girl and did not want to get her into even more trouble. She suffers enough at her mother’s hands, she thought.
“Old Liza knows what you mean, Lady,” she said. “But a mixture of such strength as you want will be dangerous for the Mistress, very dangerous. And dangerous for the child within her.”
“I’m sure you possess the skill to mix something exactly right to keep her asleep for a few days. Then the next part of my scheme will be ready. And remember, if Rosalind is discovered, if the plan fails,” she glared at Liza. “you can say farewell to your new cot.”
Liza hobbled over to the fire, lit a rush light, and went over to her shelves. She would not risk losing her new cottage. As long as no evil deed was demanded from her. Her curse on Nicholas had been evil, and the consequences terrible. She would never make that mistake again.
But a sleeping draught – that was harmless enough, and despite the warnings she had given her Ladyship, she knew exactly what to give Rosalind. She turned back to her Ladyship with a stoppered jar in her hand. Isabella nodded a thank you and explained the next part of her scheme.
“Aye, your Ladyship,” Liza agreed thoughtfully. “It does the Mistress no good to brood over what can never be. The sooner she rids herself of such notions, the better.”
The following day, Sarah rode into Reedwich carrying a plain earthenware bowl, with specific instructions for Matthew Pointer who, Isabella hoped, could paint a little, as well as write. The bowl would be ready tomorrow, he said.
Rosalind tried to summon the will and energy to rise from her bed. She managed to struggle upright but flopped back down, dizzy and nauseous. An hour ago Sarah had brought her breakfast, white bread, fish and watered down wine, that she had eaten quickly, anxious to leave the tower, the manor house, impatient for Anton's arrival. Soon after, she felt sleepy and went back to bed. I’ll go out later, she thought, just another hour or two here, then I'll be rested enough to leave. But a wave of warm mist overtook her and she did not come fully awake until the afternoon of the next day, feeling something cool upon her forehead.
Her mother was sitting next to her, wielding a damp cloth, concern on her face. "Thank goodness, child,” Isabella said. “All the excitement Christmas day must have tired you out. You've been feverish, in and out of sleep, we were worried about you. Thank goodness you're better again. Now, I‘ll leave you to rest for an hour or two, and then we must talk. I have an idea."
“You don’t even know if Anton will come for you - he may still be in Italy. You must at least consider the possibility that he's forgotten you. He disappeared quickly enough after learning you were with child.”
Isabella went through the list of reasons why Rosalind would not be allowed any contact with Anton and why she must marry Geoffrey, but as Isabella expected, her daughter refused to be swayed from her course.
She knew that drugging Rosalind was only a short term measure. There was now the danger she would reveal to the village her presence at the manor house - and her pregnancy - and the plan would be over for good. It was time to convince her that he would never come for her.
“Anton will be here for me, my Lady, just as soon as he is able - this very minute he might be arriving at the gate!”
This was Isabella’s chance. “Nonsense, child, for all you know he’s in Italy, just as the Abbott said.” She reached out to touch Rosalind’s arm and saw her daughter’s instinctive recoil. She fears me, she thought, and could not suppress a quick feeling of triumph before turning her mind back to the matter in hand. “I've been thinking about this. What if someone helped you to find out where he is today, what he's doing at this very moment?”
Rosalind looked wary, but intrigued, and Isabella continued. “Once, many years ago," she improvised, "When Lord Roger fought on the Scottish borders there was a great battle and we heard many men were dead. I was told your father had fallen, gravely injured and was not expected to live beyond another few days. I was heavy with child - you - and out of my mind with worry. I asked Liza if she had the skills to bring him forward. She helped me see for myself. Scrying, she called it, I looked into a bowl of water and gradually he appeared, his form appeared in the water, alive an
d well, his injuries minor and healing. As indeed they were, in truth. Maybe Liza would agree to help you in the same way, child, maybe her skills would let you see Brother Anton?”
Rosalind was silent for a moment and then shook her head. “I don't need to know where he is, my Lady, as long as he's coming for me, that's all I need, he'll be here soon enough.”
“It helped me, daughter, when I was carrying you. There's uncertainty enough in the life of us women, why hesitate to seek knowledge when it's there waiting for us to discover? All that's needed is the will.”
Rosalind shrugged. “I suppose so.” She thought a little more. "Then, when I know where he is, when I can see where he has got to on his journey here - will you believe me, my Lady, he is coming for me? And I must be with him?”
Isabella pretended to hesitate. "Very well, my dear, but your father would need to be consulted. There would be many difficulties to overcome if your betrothal is terminated. Geoffrey Cottreaux would not accept the humiliation easily. But if I know for certain his love is strong enough that he is returning to you – if I know that you love each other truly - "
"We do, mother. Very well. I’ll prove it to you. I'll go to Liza, ask her if she is indeed able to help me see him. Today. And if you come with me, you can see him too. Then you’ll believe me?"
“Well,” Isabella paused as though considering. “Perhaps we can fetch her here instead? Sarah will go and tell her what we want. She can come here to us, later this evening maybe, after supper? We can stay in the warm, then.”
In Widow’s Cot later that day, Sarah answered Liza’s question. “Aye, all’s according to plan. The young Mistress sups at this moment. She's agreed to it. In truth she's only too willing, desperate to see him.” Sarah sat on a stool, shivering and flexing her frozen toes until the warmth of Liza’s fire began to penetrate her cloak and damp shoes. “Her Ladyship wants you there soon as possible, before the Mistress changes her mind. Though I doubt she will, she’s that desperate to learn anything she can about him.”