The Unquiet Bones hds-1

by Mel Starr

  “You have little opportunity to practice such speech in Bampton,” Lady Joan agreed.

  “Aye. Nor are scholars at Oxford trained to be students of witty repartee.”

  “You think my words call for wit,” she pouted, “and nothing more?”

  “No, m’lady. Such was not my meaning. I…”

  “Pray, tell your meaning…your true meaning.” She leaned to me as she spoke, and gazed unblinking into my eyes. I blinked.

  I thought to change the subject. “Who are these ladies whose hearts I have stolen? None have protested to me, or asked the return.”

  “They are not few, I am sure, but I know only three of a certainty.”

  “Are these ladies known to me?” I asked. This was becoming an interesting conversation. I began to see through the fog of metaphor a possible end to my loneliness and single condition.

  “They are.”

  “I would know who I have robbed thusly. Will you tell me?”

  “Perhaps I should not. The others might take my words as betrayal.” Her hand flew to her lips, and I then realized the significance of the word “others”. “And, in truth,” she continued, once again composed, “not all are ladies.” She smiled at me.

  “I am at a loss, and you toy with me,” I protested.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “You would know of whom I speak? Truly?”

  “I would, for I have observed no sign of this effect you claim for me over female hearts.”

  “Well…” she began slowly. “I overheard the new scullery maid say to Cicily that Master Hugh was a grand man and she hoped for a husband like him.”

  “Alice? A child! And a cotter’s daughter. This is a heart I have stolen?”

  “Do not belittle her, Master Hugh. A child she may be, but she is woman enough to see what others have seen, but child enough to speak it without reserve.”

  “I am well rebuked. Alice is a pleasant child…but a child, nonetheless.”

  “And a cotter’s child,” Lady Joan reminded me. “Heaven knows we must not wed outside our station. You, Master Hugh, must find a wife from the gentry, or perhaps the daughter of some landless knight. Is this not so?”

  I agreed that convention so limited my choice. “But the others; are they of the station you identified?”

  “One is,” she admitted. Before I could ask she spoke again.

  “There is a merchant in Bampton who has a daughter who thinks highly of you.”

  I knew of but one merchant in the town who had a daughter of marriageable age. The girl was moderately attractive, but seemed dull of wit. I had never found myself attracted to her.

  “And the third lady,” I asked, “is she known to me also?”

  “She is. She would be better known did not barriers hinder the apprehension.”

  “And these barriers, may they be overcome?”

  Lady Joan sighed. “Perhaps. But the lady cannot surmount such an impediment alone.”

  “I create no impediment,” I protested. “I would seek a consort. I would beat down barriers did I know what they were.”

  “You are not a bachelor by choice?”

  “No, m’lady. I well remember the companionship shared at my parents’ hall. I would find the same, but it has eluded me. A solitary life among men and their books holds no attraction.”

  “You dislike books?” she laughed.

  “Not so…but no book will warm a bed of a cold night, nor share my joy and woe.”

  “Well said, Master Hugh. It is your intent, then, to marry?”

  “Aye, should the right lady appear, and she be willing.”

  “Might the proper lady be unwilling, you think?” she asked.

  “I’ve not found a lady yet, willing or unwilling, so how can I know?”

  “How will you recognize this lady?”

  “I cannot tell. Until she be known to me, I know not.”

  “Are you certain?” Lady Joan smiled. “Perhaps she is known to you and you mistake yourself.”

  “Perhaps. Does love smite a man suddenly, or does it grow slowly, as a vine upon an oak?”

  “I have seen men smitten of something all a-sudden,” Lady Joan observed.

  “Aye. Whatever that is which smites a man has battered me on occasion. But I think ’tis not love.”

  “Oh? What, then may this be? When did this last occur?”

  My face felt warm, but I answered her. “I think, m’lady, it is desire which so attacks a man.”

  “And when did this fiend last assault you, Master Hugh?”

  I stood, took two paces toward the door, then turned and told her truthfully, “When I last entered this room, m’lady.”

  I walked quickly to the door and escape, but as I approached it swung open and a servant appeared behind an armload of wood.

  We startled each other, and he dropped his burden. On my toes. I jumped back in pain and surprise and might have cursed but remembered the presence of a lady.

  “Pardon, Master Hugh,” John stammered. “Didn’t know as you was there. You’re all right, then?”

  I assured him my toes remained serviceable and helped him gather the scattered logs. While I collected wood I stole a glance at Lady Joan. She grinned at me behind an uplifted hand, and when she saw me peek in her direction, she fluttered her fingers. And then — I am sure of this, though the time was late and the day grew dim — she blew a kiss.

  I escaped through the great hall, where Lord Gilbert’s valets were erecting trestle tables for supper. I had lost my appetite. I should say I had lost my appetite for food. Nevertheless, I met Lady Joan again an hour later when a horn announced the evening meal.

  Since my arrival four days earlier I had been assigned a place at the high table beside Sir John Withington. This was an honor. I was the only layman placed there. My seat was at the far left of the table. On the far right, beyond her brother and next to Lord Gilbert’s chaplain, sat Lady Joan.

  Some lords use every meal as an opportunity to display their plenty. Not so Lord Gilbert, who, as I have related, could be parsimonious. His dinner table was as lavish as any other, but he thought supper should be a lighter meal. This was acceptable to me that day in particular; my stomach was churning, for reasons you will understand.

  I sat before the trencher assigned to me, and washed my hands when servants brought pitcher and towel. Sir John had suffered no event that day to reduce his hunger, so sliced off a large chunk of bread when loaves and butter were brought to the table.

  I remember the meal well. Even now, so long after, it is as if I could sit at the table and relive each course. The first dish was a pea soup; hot, to warm a man on a cold winter eve. The second remove was likewise simple; a dish of squabs and eels. The eels were caught fresh in the River Severn and brought to Goodrich that day. I saw the barrels unloaded from a cart that afternoon. There was ale, of course, and cheese, and to conclude, a dish of baked apples and pears freely sprinkled with spices from Lord Gilbert’s cellar. At the conclusion of the meal, valets brought goblets of hypocras to us who sat at the high table. Others in the hall, the commons and the poor (who had received no squab, either), had more ale poured into their earthen cups.

  During the meal I had opportunity to turn in conversation to Sir John, who sat to my right. When I could do so without his notice, I peered beyond him, past Lady Petronilla and Lord Gilbert, to Lady Joan, who plucked with dainty fingers at her squab.

  It seemed to me that each time I stole a glance at her she was aware of it, and lifted her eyes to mine. How she could feel my gaze I cannot tell, for when I bent round Sir John to view her, I never found her already engaged at looking in my direction. She always caught my eyes on her, rather than the other way round. How she contrived to do this I know not. I think it an intuition of the female sex — to know when a man’s eyes have fallen on them.

  The diners departed the hall when the meal was done, the commons to the east range hall or the huts in the castle yard. We who sat at the high table made our
way to the solar, where a great fire had been laid in the fireplace. Lord Gilbert and Sir John fell to conversation about some unrest on the Welsh border. There is always unrest on the Welsh border. It provides ample topic for discourse if no other offers. An outlaw, or patriot, depending on whether one was English or Welsh, was vexing the country to the west of Abergavenny. I listened, half awake, staring into the fire, until Lady Joan addressed me.

  “Master Hugh, do scholars from Oxford learn chess?”

  “They do, m’lady…some better than others.”

  “I should like to know how well you were taught. Will you give me a match?”

  Chess is a man’s diversion. But I was trapped. How could I deny her? I agreed. Lord Gilbert looked up from his conversation with furrowed brow as we began.

  She defeated me in the first match. I would go on the attack, about to seize a bishop or rook, when she would find a chink in my defense and capture my attacker.

  “’Tis an admirable flaw in a man,” she observed after vanquishing me, “to be aggressive in pursuit of a goal. We women, being weak, must always look to our defenses. Would you not agree, Master Hugh?”

  I agreed. I would have even had I thought her in error. But she spoke truth, and, I thought, imparted a message. I hoped so.

  I won the second match. She seemed close to victory twice, but each time I was able to salvage my position with adroit moves. Whether they were my adroit moves, or hers, I know not. It may be that she allowed me to win.

  I thanked Lady Joan for the entertainment and stood to retire. But before I could depart she asked if I thought it not wise to inspect her injured hand and arm once again before withdrawing. I agreed, and we approached the fire, where the blaze would allow more light on her hand. We stood nearly inside the great fireplace. Its warmth was intoxicating. Or was it the nearness of Lady Joan? I know not.

  She held her wounded arm out in its sling and I took her hand for a careful and perhaps overlong examination. I was pleased to see that what redness was there seemed more a product of the glow of the fire than any toxin. I held her fingers for this close inspection, but when I had finished she would not be released.

  “You will call on me tomorrow? To again measure my recovery?”

  “Aye, m’lady…at the third hour, as today, if so be that is well with you.”

  “Very well, Master Hugh.” I felt her gently squeeze my fingers before she dropped her hand. I turned to watch her as she summoned her maid and left the solar.

  My eyes followed her form as she faded into the darkened south end of the solar. While my eyes followed her, Lord Gilbert’s eyes followed me. I turned from the south door to the settle where he sat with Sir John and saw that, while he listened to Sir John, he observed me.

  I nodded and approached. When Sir John finished his point, I spoke: “M’lady’s hurt does better, m’lord. I was troubled yesterday…even this morning. But now I think the toxin recedes and we may expect good progress.”

  “You have been diligent,” he said with that eyebrow in upraised position, “in observing your patient.”

  “It is my duty, and a service to which I am obligated.”

  “Yes. Onerous, no doubt, but you will perform it nonetheless.”

  “No, m’lord. Lady Joan is not a troublesome patient.”

  “No. I have observed. She is troublesome in another fashion.”

  And with that remark Lord Gilbert turned back to the fire and his conversation with Sir John. I bid him goodnight, but he took no notice. Lady Petronilla sat opposite the men before the fire, her nimble fingers occupied at some work of embroidery. I bid her goodnight also. She replied with a nod and a smile.

  I saw Lord Gilbert next morning. We met as I made my way through the castle yard to call on Lady Joan. I think now he watched and waited to catch me there as I passed.

  “Ah…Master Hugh. We are well met. You slept well?”

  “I did, m’lord.” Actually I had not slept well, but to say so might mean having to explain why I had not. As the matter concerned Lady Joan, this I was unwilling to do.

  “You go to attend my sister?”

  “I do, m’lord.”

  “I think, if she does well today and the morrow you may be released from duty here and return to Bampton. Do you agree?”

  “Aye. If the toxin has gone by tomorrow I will have little work here. Nature must do the work now I have set it in motion.”

  “And I would have you again employed seeking a murderer…two murderers.”

  “That is a labor which nature will not accomplish on its own,” I agreed.

  Lady Joan awaited me in her chamber. I was pleased to see both the lady and her hand. Both looked remarkably well. Almost no discoloration appeared beneath the stiffened linen, and the swelling which had burst up from under the plaster was reduced as well.

  “I improve daily, don’t you agree, Master Hugh? And the hurt is much reduced. I think I will not need your draught today.”

  I did agree, although there were certain things about Lady Joan which would have been difficult to improve upon. I thought this, but did not say it, coward that I am.

  “I am well pleased. I think you are out of danger. I will return to Bampton on Monday and see to my duties there. You have no more need of surgeon or physician until the splint must be removed.”

  She looked out the single narrow window of her chamber, across a snow-dusted meadow to the forest beyond. “It is an ill season to travel. I am sorry to have been the cause of your discomfort.”

  “It has been my pleasure to serve you, m’lady,” I replied in my most chivalrous tone. This was not counterfeit. I much enjoyed Lady Joan’s company, even if she did vanquish me at chess. Her beauty was surely appealing, but I was learning to admire other qualities as well.

  “I think you should remain ’til Christmas is past,” she said suddenly. “’Tis but two weeks hence. My brother will offer a feast, and has already procured entertainers. Bampton will be quiet and you will be quite alone there. That should not be at Christmas.”

  I found the offer appealing, but was not sure Lord Gilbert would.

  “I have duties in Bampton which call me, m’lady.”

  “What is there which cannot wait a fortnight?”

  “Your brother has charged me with finding two murderers. Thus far I have failed him.”

  “Ah, yes. Petronilla told me of the young man you saved from hanging, and the girl who was dead but found alive and well. I congratulate you, Master Hugh. You have skills to save life in many ways.”

  “I must be frank, m’lady…”

  “You generally are, Master Hugh. I find that appealing.”

  I think I blushed. My face felt suddenly warm. Standing before a draughty window as I was would not be the cause of that.

  “The youth…who was to hang…it was my faulty witness which put him near the noose, so ’tis not quite proper to say I saved him. More truthful to say I saved myself from terrible error.”

  “It is a measure of a man that he is able to see and correct his faults. Many men cannot, or will not.” She laughed quietly to herself. “My brother would have me wed one of them anyway, so be it they have lands and a title.”

  She had steered the conversation in a direction I had no wish to follow. Her remark, however, made it clear that no other direction would be ultimately pleasing, for I had neither lands nor title, and was not likely ever to have either. I admit that since the previous day I had entertained thoughts of Lady Joan as my wife — foolish as I knew that hope to be. I thought her words and behavior indicated a disposition in her to consider it as well, although why such as she would consider a poor surgeon, her brother’s bailiff, for a husband I did not understand. I did not want to understand, for then I would recognize the foolish nature of the hope rising in me overnight.

  The blast of a horn from the yard indicated a groom calling castle residents to dinner.

  “I will speak to my brother…you will remain ’til Christmas.” She sai
d this with much assurance. I bowed and followed her out the door into the east range hall. The poor lodged there were arranging themselves to follow us as we passed through the hall. Many spoke soft words of greeting or bowed or curtsied in obeisance as Lady Joan passed.

  I noted several times during the meal when Lady Joan was in deep conversation with her brother. A harpist played at the conclusion of the meal to accompany a final goblet of spiced wine.

  “Master Hugh!” Lord Gilbert called as I rose from my place. “Will you accompany me to the solar?” Of course I would, but a true gentleman’s demand is always voiced as a request.

  “Lady Joan,” he began, when we entered that small, comfortable room, “castigates me for a lack of hospitality. I am unfair, she complains, to send you back to Bampton when you might remain to celebrate Christmas here.”

  I made no reply. Lord Gilbert’s desire for an employee to return to work and earn his keep did not seem to me unreasonable, yet I did wish to enjoy the holiday at Goodrich.

  “I am inclined to agree with her, though I think her concern of another nature than she claimed…do you agree, Master Hugh?”

  “I…uh…esteem Lady Joan’s thoughtfulness.”

  “You do, no doubt,” he laughed. “A politic answer. By heaven, you should have been a bishop.”

  “M’lord, I am confused…”

  “Aye. Well, so am I. But you may stay, if you wish, ’til St Stephen’s Day.”

  “I am much in your debt, m’lord.”

  “Hmm…well, you have given me good service and I will expect the more.”

  “You shall receive all in my poor power to give, m’lord,” I replied.

  “Spare me your humility,” he grunted. “I will be the judge of your poor powers to serve. Modesty becomes a man only when ’tis not hollow.

  “There is a service you may perform for me while you linger here,” he continued.

  “I am at your command,” I replied in my most ministerial tone. Lord Gilbert continued as if he had heard nothing.

  “A guest will arrive next Wednesday. It is Ember Day, but there’s no helping that. Sir Charles de Burgh will remain through the Feast of the Holy Innocents.”