Before returning to Rose House, I walked to the stream. I was still sore, and every step was a reminder of what had transpired. I followed the brook into a small thicket where I could be concealed, and there I cleaned myself in the frigid water. I lifted my skirt and knelt in the water until I was numb. I wanted to wash away the last hour of my life, go back to a time when I felt whole. I knew that something fundamental within me had changed, though I did not yet know what.
I lay sleepless all that night, buffeted by warring emotions. I did not want to think about what had happened, but I could not put it out of my mind. I felt sick when I remembered Fernan on top of me, his eyes closed like a newborn kitten, making sounds that were not quite human. It was an unholy fire that he had awakened in my body, but my heart quickened as I remembered how deliciously it had licked the marrow of my bones. His stories by the pond, the sunlight on his face, his soft kiss on my fingers, those were memories that did not belong to the dark barn, the smell of damp wool and moldering hay. One Fernan I loved, the other revolted me.
In the days that followed, I could think of nothing but Fernan. I changed my mind one hundred times about whether I would return to him, but long before a fortnight had elapsed, I began to frequent the rose garden again.
Fernan reappeared on a summery afternoon. He was as cheerful and jocular as ever, and we fell easily back into conversation. He did not act as though anything had changed between us, and I wondered whether I had dreamt the time in the barn. He remained at the abbey only two days, and on the second day, he brushed his lips softly against mine, telling me that he would return in one week.
I waited eagerly for his return. This time, Fernan brought me a gift, a dark green gown that he had bought in the city. I gasped with pleasure when he unfurled it and held it against my shoulders. The fabric shimmered, and there was gold embroidery over the breast. It was nearly as beautiful as one of Lady Wenslock’s gowns.
During our stroll, Fernan linked my arm with his, so that I held his forearm. When he covered my hand with his, I felt safe. Under the bower in the rose garden, he pulled me to him and kissed me tenderly. Then he looked earnestly into my eyes, caressing my neck with the tips of his fingers, and asked me to sneak away in the night to meet him in the barn. To my surprise, I agreed.
The moon rose nearly full that night and peered into the dorter, illuminating the long row of sleepers with eerie yellow light. I lay awake, studying the stars in the nearest window, my chest thrumming with the pounding of my heart. Sounds of coughs and shifting bodies gradually quieted. Once I judged that everyone was asleep, I rose and removed my nightcap. I had hidden the gift from Fernan beneath my bed during evening services, and now I slid it out, folded it over my arm, and crept silently toward the arcade. In the shadow of the pillars, I pulled the gown over my thin shift and shook my hair loose. I did not pause to think again, but flew barefoot over the darkly lit paths to the barn.
Fernan opened the door when he heard my footstep. Yellow pools of candlelight flickered where he had arranged candles on the floor, and the hay had been moved to one side of the barn and covered with a blanket. Fernan smiled broadly and took my hand, guiding me over the threshold. “You look like a princess, my sweet,” he said, kneeling to kiss my hand. “Will you dance with me?”
“I do not know how to dance.”
“I shall teach you.” He stood facing me. “You will move past me so.” He put his hand on my waist and guided me across the rough floor. “Turn away, now spin and face toward me.”
I did as he asked.
“Now take my hand and we shall take one turn together.”
My hand felt small in his. He looked happy. Soon, I was happy too. As we danced without music, he drew me close at every opportunity, making a game of kissing me when we passed each other. After some time, we were not dancing anymore, only kissing, and I did not want him to stop. Like a plum, I had ripened as spring turned to summer. I was filled with sweet nectar, heavy on the branch, loosening for the fall. He had only to cup me in the palm of his hand and pull ever so gently, and I was his.
There was nothing logical about the way I behaved that summer. I knew that Fernan would never marry me, but I continued to meet him at the barn when he asked. I had no hopes for my future, and that made me reckless. Deep down, I knew that I was careening on the brink of a precipice, but loneliness, love, and the impetuousness of youth drove me on.
It was simple to slip away at night, because anyone who saw me would assume that I had failed to properly take care of my needs at the rere-dorter before bed. The ease of our trysts lulled me into complacency. During daylight hours, Fernan and I rarely met anymore, so my life was sliced sharply in halves by the setting of the sun. In my real life, I was a dutiful servant who was increasingly worried about her ailing mistress. In my dream life, I was the desirable young lover of the handsome, charming son of a knight. I saw myself reflected in the hunger in his eyes, and I liked what I saw. I admired the creamy whiteness of my skin against his, the perfection of my pear-shaped breasts in his hands, the coltish sleekness and strength of my body under him, my long legs wrapped around his waist. Fernan was the blank parchment upon which my dream self was illuminated, and his desire made me wondrous.
Like all idylls, ours had to come to an end. In early autumn, Fernan’s mood changed. He became distracted, testy, and his teasing took on an edge of cruelty. At first, I did not understand what was wrong. I tried to please him, but that only made him withdraw further. He spent less time at the abbey, and our trysts became rarer and more brief. As I felt him slipping away, my desperation grew. My dream life had become the only life I wanted to live, but it was not mine to choose. Only Fernan had that power.
One night, Fernan was late coming to the barn, and when he arrived, I rushed to him and threw my arms around his neck, crying, “What happened? I was so worried!”
He peeled my arms away and then released me. “I am here now.”
“But why are you so late?”
“Why do you pick at me like a villein’s slut?” He began to pace.
“You kept me waiting. I was not sure that you would come.”
“I should not have come!”
My desperation was unbearable. I took his hand. “Lie down, my love, and I shall stroke your brow. I did not mean to upset you.”
“Is going to bed all you can think about? As though you were a common whore?”
“I love you, Fernan!”
“You are not going to trap me by speaking of love or by having that child. You came to me willingly. You threw yourself at me!”
I was bewildered.
“You mean to tell me that you do not know that you are with child, with your swollen belly and breasts like melons? You can hardly fit into your shift!”
It was true that I had grown rounder and that I had not felt well. I was vaguely aware that I had not had a monthly bleed in some time. My hands instinctively covered my belly. As the truth revealed itself, I began to sob.
“Come on now. Stop your crying.” Fernan’s voice softened. “Come here, Agnes. Come here.”
He put his arms around me, but I could not stop my pitiful display. Convulsions shook me as I tried to keep from making a sound. I cowered in his arms.
“I did not mean to be so cruel. Perhaps there will be a miscarriage. Such things happen.”
I pressed my face into his shoulder and tried to shut out the waves of panic. I had felt trapped before, and I had thought that the world could take nothing more away from me. I now understood that I had been mistaken.
The months that followed were bleak. I was fatigued and sore, and I battled an agitation that kept me from sleeping and eating. I had been so blinded by the metamorphosis of my body from child to woman that I had not recognized the signs of pregnancy, but now that I knew I was with child, I could not ignore the relentless swelling of my belly. I wondered how Fernan had noticed the change when there was only a modest hillock below my waist, but now the bulge was undeniable
. I did not imagine a babe within, but a tumor or bubo. If I could have sliced my belly off with a knife, I would have done so.
Lady Wenslock’s health continued to worsen. A physician now resided at Rose House, and nuns from the infirmary had been brought in to tend to the countess at all hours of the day. She rarely rose from bed, which meant that I did not see her anymore. It was whispered that Lady Wenslock would soon die.
Whereas the prospect of her death used to cause me worry about my own security, now I only felt sad that she suffered. Lady Wenslock’s death could no longer alter my fate. Once it became apparent that I was with child, I would be forced to leave the abbey. I had nowhere to go.
I had no more trysts with Fernan, and I mourned him. There were times when I hated him, to be sure, for the part he played in my predicament. Yet I also remembered moments of great tenderness. His eyes had shone when he gazed at me, and I had felt safe in his arms. I thought that he loved me, even while I understood he needed to marry a person closer to his own station.
I believe that it was Mary who made the abbess aware of my condition. She asked questions about my ever rounder figure, and then I was told to report to the chapter house. I was seized by a foolish impulse to run away, but I set it aside. In any event, I was not sure that I had the energy to do such a thing. A terrible lassitude had entered my body, turning my limbs to lead. Even my heart was invaded by metallic coldness. I imagined myself transfigured piece by piece into a statue of dull gray ore, my heartbeat slowing until it stopped altogether and I remained frozen, a parable for future generations, an eternal warning.
Two nuns were sent to escort me to the chapter house. Like a condemned prisoner flanked by guards, I walked with my head bowed in shame. The first snow of the year had fallen earlier in the day, and a few stray snowflakes still floated down. I marveled at the perfection of a delicate flake that landed on my sleeve. Why had God made nature so perfect and humans so flawed?
One sister entered the building ahead of us, presumably to announce our arrival, and there followed an exodus of nuns and laypeople. My remaining attendant then guided me into the nearly empty chamber. I could not look at the prioress or abbess as I approached. Once I was kneeling before her, Mother Elfilda spoke to me in a cold voice. “Is it true what I have heard about your condition?” Her face was a mask.
I could not speak, but I nodded.
“Speak louder. We cannot hear you.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You are aware that fornication is a mortal sin.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Did you commit this grievous sin with full knowledge of the gravity of your offense?”
“Yes, my lady.” No amount of blinking could prevent my tears; they splashed onto my bodice, leaving ragged blotches on the gray wool.
“Were you coerced into this sin?”
“No, my lady.” A loud intake of breath, an aborted sob, escaped my throat and echoed like a thunderclap in the silence.
“Did you commit this sin more than once?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“This is a very grave matter. Your soul is not merely weakened, but dead to God. Your bond to God’s saving grace has been most monstrously ruptured.”
I focused on her white slippers, willing my breath to slow.
“With whom did you commit this sin?”
My gaze snapped to her face, and fear replaced self-pity. I had not thought about what this would mean for Fernan. Mother Elfilda’s face remained expressionless.
“Mother . . . I . . . I do not know his name.”
A flash of anger contorted her lovely features momentarily. “Do not play games with me! What is his name?”
“My lady.” I swallowed hard. “He did not tell me, my lady.”
“Nonsense! Is it not enough that your soul is in mortal peril? Must you compound your shame with dishonesty? I shall discover who committed this grotesque sin with or without you. Tell me his name!”
“Fernan, Mother.”
“I cannot hear you! Speak louder.”
“Fernan, Mother.”
“I thought as much.” She sighed, then turned to the prioress and spoke irately. “This cannot continue. My abbey cannot be responsible for situating every servant girl he beds and gets with child!” The abbess then lowered her voice, and I could hear no more of what she said.
The prioress waved my dismissal as she bent to catch the words of Mother Elfilda. A gray veil dimmed my eyesight as a nun escorted me out of the chapter house and into the gathering dusk. She left me in the cloister, which was crowded with sisters hurrying to supper. The dusting of snow on the ground was now crisscrossed with lines of dark footprints.
After some time, the cloister emptied, and darkness drew closer. The night was moonless, but stars appeared through rents in the scudding clouds. My dizziness passed, leaving emptiness in its wake. I sat on a snow-covered bench, waiting for tears to blur the stars and set them swimming. The sharp pinpricks of light remained, distant and immovable.
10
Old Hilgate
Like a prisoner, I was outwardly passive, but my soul could find no peace. I had fooled myself into believing that I was important to Fernan, that he loved me, that his love elevated me beyond what Abbess Elfilda could see: an ignorant, cringing servant, a stain upon the earth. I blamed myself for my situation more than I blamed Fernan. My self-deception had been willful. Even then, as I waited to be cast out of the abbey, I recalled the tenderness in Fernan’s voice and touch, not the way he discarded me once his desires were satisfied.
I would be sent back to my village, and Emont would ask the reeve to find a husband for me. Every child was a potential asset for the manor, and if I could not be put to use as a servant, I would be put to use as a breeder. The pregnant daughter of a penniless villein is not a wife any man desires, however. I would be given to someone with no better prospects. Someone poor, probably an old widower who needed a woman to raise his children. I hoped that he would not be cruel or violent.
At least I would see my sister again. Lottie would never turn her back on me. In the past, I had felt sorry for her, but now she would feel sorry for me. Her husband was poor, but he was young and decent. I wished that I had never been sent to the manor, that my father had found a husband for me as he had for Lottie.
I did not want to think about feeding someone else’s starving children with the scant, spoiled remains of winter oats, or giving birth to my child on some stranger’s dirt floor amidst rodent and chicken droppings. Still, that fate would be better than finding no husband at all.
My purgatory ended when Fernan himself came to Rose House and asked to speak with me. Mary looked as though she might faint. I was taken aback, but days of stewing in dread and remorse had dulled my feelings. When I asked Fernan to follow me to the library, Mary was too astonished to raise an objection. I knew that she would not bother us there.
The white draperies and tapestries were blinding in the sunlight that poured through the arched windows. I adored the library, and I had cleaned it until it was as spotless as a shrine. In all that time, I had never dared to do more than hover near the mysterious leather-bound tomes, inhaling their musty odor. The books now reminded me of the whole world beyond my petty heartache, and that thought made me calm.
Fernan was unshaven and subdued. He seemed smaller than the last time I had seen him, as though he had shrunk, or I had grown. For the first time, I noticed that his thin wrists dangled foolishly from his too-short sleeves, and his face contorted in an unattractive grimace when he was distracted by thought.
“You wish to speak to me?” The coldness in my voice was foreign to me.
“Yes, I . . .” Fernan looked around, disoriented. “Mother Elfilda is displeased, as you might imagine.”
“I am aware of Abbess Elfilda’s displeasure.”
“She has threatened to end her patronage of me if I do not take responsibility for the baby.” He winced as though the words caused him physical
pain.
After a long pause, I threw my words at him. “You have to marry me?” I meant to hurt him with my sarcasm, but the words hurt me instead.
“I have to take you away from here.”
“And leave me?”
“No . . .” He looked miserable. “The last girl, Lizzie . . . They found her a husband. Mother Elfilda refuses to do it again.”
At the mention of Lizzie, I felt a surge of disgust. It was doubly humiliating that I had been lured into the same pitfall as the girl before me. “Where do you plan to take me?”
“Old Hilgate. I shall rent you a room at the alehouse.”
“What about you?”
Fernan narrowed his eyes. “I am a messenger for the church. My life is on the road. I shall give you the money you need, but do not expect me to keep you company.”
I searched his face for some trace of the old Fernan, the man who had teased me, stroked my hair, taught me to dance. This Fernan looked sullen, like a child denied his supper. It struck me that he had always been like a child. He was charming and flirtatious when he wanted something, but frustration made him petulant. He had scooped my heart from my breast to use as his plaything, but now he was tired of it, and he was angry that he could not move on to other entertainments.
“I understand, Fernan. I shall impose on you as little as possible.”
He looked relieved. “We leave at noon.”
After packing my few belongings, including the green gown that could no longer stretch over my tumescent belly, I left the abbey as I had come, riding pillion behind Fernan on his pretty rounsey. The air was cold but still, the sky a flat, featureless gray that portended snow. I did not look back until we rode through the gate in the outer wall. There, I glanced at the words carved so deeply into the weather-worn stone at the apex of the arch. I could read them now: Ecce ancilla domini. Behold the handmaid of the Lord.
Fernan brought me back to the market town, Old Hilgate, and there he rented a room at the alehouse. The building was as grim and filthy as I remembered, and the room above the brewery was draughty and dark. The first night, Fernan slept beside me, his arm around my thick waist. The wind whistled through cracks in the daub, and our blankets were rough and foul smelling. I lay awake long into the night. The warmth of Fernan’s body against my back and the soft rumble of his snore made me feel lonelier than I had ever felt before.
All the Ever Afters Page 11