by Nina Clare
Master Sidney found his young charge more wearing than usual the following morning. The manor was noisy with preparations for the marquess’s guest, and Arthur was distracted by the sounds of the comings and goings of the servants, and the shouts from the stables and courtyards.
Master Sidney finished the lesson early; it was clear he would get no further cooperation from his student.
Percy had been waiting impatiently for his brother to be released from lessons, and together they charged down the oak stairs to the great hall, barging past Kat who was sweeping up the old rushes, and almost knocking over Penny as she came into the hall with an armful of fresh ones. Her burden was heaped so high that she could barely peer over the top and did not see the two young lords tearing towards her, and about to collide.
Arthur laughed at her cry of dismay as she dropped her carefully gathered pile, and kicked at them as he ran past. Percy imitated his elder brother and took a swipe at them also, but missed and fell down on the heap, his gown rucked up to expose his linen shorts. By the time he had scrambled to his feet, with stalks sticking out of his shoulder-length hair, Arthur had disappeared.
“Arty, wait for me!” wailed Percy. At five years of age he felt keenly his brother’s frequent abandonments. “Arty – wait!”
“Pair of rapscallions,” declared Kat, shaking her broom as though she would like to be shaking the bodies of the unruly boys.
“Little Percy is not so bad,” answered Penny, who spent a considerable amount of time with the boys when assisting Nurse. “He only copies his brother.”
“Which means he’ll turn out just like his brother. Who’ll turn out just like his father.”
“Hush!” said Penny in a frightened voice, glancing over her shoulder in case someone should be near. “You can’t say such things.”
Kat vented her animosity on the dirty rushes, swiping at them vigorously with the broom.
Lady Beck was desolate that morning. Her ama could find no words to comfort her. Madame Labelle herself felt utter dismay at the marquess’s threat the previous night, the threat of tearing her away from her beloved lady, whom she had cared for since her childhood. Could the marquess be so cruel? She knew with bitterness that he could.
It was in an atmosphere of despair that she dressed her lady, and pressed her to break her fast and eat a few morsels of cake while she arranged her long, dark hair. Once dressed, Lady Beck descended from her chamber to oversee the preparations of the day, and to ensure Cook had planned a suitably sumptuous meal for the evening.
The honoured guest arrived late in the afternoon when the pale winter sun was twinned in the sky with the rising moon. Arthur and Percy were watching the arrival of the guest and his retinue with great excitement. They stood peering through the lattice window of their father’s chamber for it was the best window in the manor for overlooking the gatehouse and the courtyard leading to the stables.
They heard their father’s booming voice calling out greetings to his guests, and as the horses passed out of view, Arthur, shadowed by Percy, ran out of the chamber, down to the minstrel’s gallery, where they could watch the party entering the great hall.
They saw their stepmother descending the oak staircase.
“She looks like a queen,” said Percy, watching Lady Beck in her rustling yellow silk skirts glide gracefully down the stairs, her necklace and earrings of yellow diamonds flashing and sparkling as the light from the torches and candles caught their facets.
Arthur did not answer. He had no interest in skirts and diamonds – his eyes were fixed upon the group of noblemen who were standing with his father. At that moment the men were all stood gazing at the beautiful, dark lady in yellow silk moving towards them.
While the men were admiring his stepmother he was admiring the swords at the sides of the confident, well-dressed men. He could see they were much finer in dress than his father. Much newer looking, younger and stronger, and how he longed that he could be just like them with their swagger and their swords, their fur-lined capes, embroidered doublets, and their loud, hearty laughter. Especially he admired the man who seemed to be the leader of the group; the most sumptuously dressed man, with a cap and cape of dark blue velvet studded with tiny pearls that shone like a cluster of stars about his head and body. He was the tallest of all the men, and he had the loudest laugh, and – most impressive of all – Arthur noticed that the hilt of his sword had a golden lion upon it.
His father was presenting his stepmother to the men; the men were removing their caps and making sweeping bows. She was curtseying, and saying something to them that made them all bow again and smile broadly at her. With every pair of eyes fixed upon her, she moved to sit at the long oak table that glittered with silverware and candlelight. The hall and table was decorated with garlands of evergreen and berry-laden boughs, and Percy whispered to his brother that it looked like a fairy queen’s feast in the woods.
The butler and the servers trooped in with jugs of wine and platters of food. The musicians filed in behind Arthur and Percy, taking their places in the gallery and tuning their instruments, so that Arthur could no longer hear the voices and the laughter of the glamorous guests. Then Nurse appeared, flustered and angry because she had been looking for them so long. She grasped each boy by a wrist and pulled them away with fierce chidings.
Next morning Penny rushed up the servants’ stairs to the nursery as fast as her skirt bound legs would allow her. She burst into the chamber where Arthur was striding about with a wooden sword in his hand, and Nurse’s embroidery work draped over his shoulders for a cape. He was ordering a night-gowned Percy to fetch him his wine and bring him his horse.
“Get dressed, quickly!” urged Penny turning in circles as she searched out Percy’s gown and Arthur’s britches and tunic.
Arthur ignored her, and rapped Percy on the arm with his sword when his attention wandered from the game.
“Ow!” cried Percy, rubbing his arm. “You hurt me!”
“Do as you’re told, servant boy!” said Arthur, pointing his weapon at Percy.
“I don’t want to play no more,” said Percy, tears welling up in his grey eyes.
“I order you to!” shouted Arthur, stamping his foot.
“Quickly! Get dressed!” cried Penny, who was frantically searching for a missing shoe. “Your father is coming up the stairs!”
Arthur flung his sword down and folded his arms tightly as Percy skittered away and ended the game. “He is not!” he said. “You always say that to make me get dressed and he never comes.”
Penny looked at him in exasperation. A lock of her light brown hair had escaped from her linen cap and fallen across her small, heart-shaped face; she pushed it aside impatiently.
“Master Arthur, I swear to you by all the saints in heaven that your father is coming up the stairs!”
“And he has his important guest with him,” added Kat, appearing in the doorway to the servants’ stairs. “Quickly!”
“The man in the blue cap?” asked Arthur. “With the lion on his sword hilt?”
Kat hesitated, she had no knowledge of the marquess’s guest’s sword hilt, or what the colouring of his cap was, she had had to avert her eyes whenever they happened to pass by.
“I believe so,” she said in desperation, for Arthur was standing in his nightdress with his arms folded and his mouth in a pout, a sure sign that he was in one of his especially obstinate moods; she would not see Penny punished again for failing to have the boys dressed.
Arthur slowly unfolded his arms, and Penny gave a sigh of relief as he began pulling on his britches while she attempted to tame Percy’s unruly mane of hair.
Arthur had just pulled on his tunic as Penny jammed a cap over Percy’s head to hide the tangles she had not time to comb out, when the nursery door flew open and the Marquess of Stoneyshire stood filling the door frame. Kat and Penny scurried to the far end of the chamber, dropping unsteady curtsies and fixing their eyes on the floor.
“
Here he is!” announced the marquess, stepping aside to let the man behind him enter the chamber.
The tall man who towered over the marquess was indeed wearing a blue velvet cap. Arthur blinked in awe at what seemed like a giant in velvet and seed pearls with gilt spurs on his tall boots that made a wonderful clinking noise.
The tall man bent over Arthur, grasped his chin and turned his face from side to side to examine him.
“Can you ride a horse, my lad?” he asked, releasing his chin.
Arthur nodded.
“Can you speak, my boy?”
Arthur nodded again.
The man laughed.
Arthur’s father scowled. “Speak up, boy! Don’t act like a half-wit!”
“Y-y-yes, sir. I can canter on Nutmeg.”
“Nutmeg!” The tall man threw back his head and laughed. “That does not sound like a fearsome charger!”
Arthur flushed with shame, and hated Nutmeg.
“Should you like to ride a war horse, my lad?” asked the tall man.
Arthur nodded fervently.
His father scowled again.
“Yes, sir!” he said, seeing the warning scowl.
The man’s eyes fell on the abandoned wooden sword close by. “And should you like to learn swordsmanship?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
Show me your sword handling skills,” ordered the man.
Arthur hesitated for a moment, then picked up the sword and began slicing and jabbing the air with passion.
The tall man laughed again. “That will do, my lad!” he said, stepping forward and putting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He turned to the marquess. “The boy has spirit!”
“As well he ought,” said the marquess. “With the blood of Beck in his veins.”
The tall man turned on his gilt-spurred heel. “He’ll do well at Foversham,” were the last words Arthur heard him say as they left the chamber.
Lord Orlan
“You are greatly blessed, Lord Beck,” said the tall guest in the dark blue cap as he walked with the marquess to the courtyard.
“How so?” replied the marquess. “It’s darned work keeping a tight reign on the estates. Tenants can’t be trusted not to keep back my dues. The duke is threatening to invade the north. It’s darned work extracting all the taxes as it is without having to lay out the expense of raising more men for him.” The marquess ran his hand through his thinning, sandy hair. “Never a moment’s peace,” he muttered.
“But you have the consolations of your young family,” said his guest. “That is what I was referring to. Two fine boys and a wife even more beautiful than the king’s eldest daughter.”
The marquess gave a grunt. “Some men have a liking for dark women, I suppose. We’ll see how the lads turn out. See if they’re worthy of Beck blood. Time will tell.”
“Indeed,” replied his guest dryly.
Bellchior came forward with the guest’s horse. The party of noblemen were already mounted, their horses’ hooves clattering on the courtyard as their riders held them in check, waiting for their master to lead the journey home.
“My thanks for your hospitality,” said Lord Orlan. “No doubt I will see you at court in the coming weeks, and I look forward to our family alliance being sealed as planned.”
“Honour to have you under my roof,” replied the marquess gruffly. “I take no pleasure in being called to court at this busy time, but the king’s will must prevail.”
He bowed and the party of men turned their horses and trotted away with shouts of farewell.
Arthur craned his neck and pressed his nose to the latticed window to keep them in view as long as possible.
“Have you heard the news?” Red Harry said to Kat, who was seated next to him at dinner.
“About the baby?” answered Kat.
“That’s yesterday’s news. About Lord Orlan, the Earl of Osmond? The tall fellow, who left this morning,” he added as Kat looked blankly at him.
“Oh. What of him?”
“He’s taking Lord Arthur to his estate, as a page. Going to train him up as a knight.”
“Lord Arthur will be glad,” said Kat. “And we certainly won’t miss him.”
“Little Percy will,” said Penny, who had sat down on the bench beside Kat.
“He’ll be better off without his brother’s example,” said Kat, eyeing the bowls of steaming stew that Cook was ladling out. She racked her mind to think if there was anything Catchpole could have against her that day that would come between her and her dinner. She had done her utmost to keep out of Catchpole’s way.
“There’s more news,” said Red Harry. “Sir Ambrose says the household is to go to the city. And I get to go this year.”
“They go to the city every summer,” said Kat.
“They’re going early this year. In a few weeks.”
Kat and Penny exchanged looks of dismay. Life fared worse for them, especially for Kat, when the family were away in the city, for Old Catchpole was promoted to overseer upstairs as well as housekeeper of the servants’ wing. Kat could not escape her anywhere then. At least when Lady Beck was home Kat was mostly answerable to the cool and calm Madame Labelle, who had never laid a finger on Kat or Penny, or even much chided them in a language they could understand. Her heart sank at the thought of her annual ordeal being greatly lengthened.
Life was such a dreary round of work and worry as it was. The only good thing in her life was that she and Penny were together. As long as she had little Penny to look out for, she had one reason to fight to keep her spirits up.
Lady Beck began the preparations for travelling to the city in a fortnight’s time. It was a dreadful time to undertake such a journey. The roads were bad at this time of year; the weather was cold and wet. But if the marquess said that they must go, then go they must, and she must prepare.
The best furniture and plate must be locked away, for the steward who would occupy the manor and oversee the estate in their absence would not be permitted to make use of the best of the possessions.
The servants must be organised. Cook must remain behind to provide food for the steward and supervise the dairy; Catchpole must remain to oversee the running of all the domestic arrangements.
She would take Bellchior to attend upon her in the city, for she liked to have him with her. He had been with her family in Portgua since the time her father brought him home as a boy, the same age as herself. He had arrived in a sorry state from the slave traders, but had turned out to be an excellent servant. Her father had been generous to make a gift of him to her on her marriage, though no doubt it was at her mother’s persuasion.
Master Sidney may as well be released, she decided, for he had not fared well in keeping Arthur in check. Madame Labelle would teach Arthur in the study of the Francan language, and she would teach him the Latano she had learned as a child. His full studies would resume at Foversham when he left later in the year with Lord Orlan. Such a charming and gallant man Lord Orlan had been on his recent visit. He was exactly what she considered the ideal of a true knight to be. And so exquisitely dressed. She did so wish the marquess would take more consideration of his wardrobe, it made such a good impression to be well dressed, especially in the city and at court.
Nurse had stated that she would not travel to the city again, she said she was too old for such a journey; she would retire to her family in the village. Madame Labelle counselled her lady to wait until they reached the city before engaging a new nurse for the care of Percival and the coming babe.
They could take the young maid, Penny, to help in the meantime. She wondered if she should take her sister also, but no, two were not needed. The elder sister would stay behind under Catchpole’s care.
It was the day before the journey to the city. Kat was crying again as she heaved the water from the well into her wooden pails. She was desolate at the thought of being separated from Penny for months. She managed to keep her tears in check when around people, but as soon as she found
herself alone the sobs broke out. She bent over the pails, putting her hands over her mouth to stifle a moan as a wave of misery washed over her. Suddenly she felt a hand upon her shoulder, and jerked round in alarm to see who had touched her.
“What you wasting all them tears for? Don’t you know the tears of a maiden with a good heart has the power to summon the fair folk? They should be bottled and sold for gold.”
Kat looked into the dirt-lined face of the wise-woman from the woodlands. She wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron and wiped her streaming nose on the back of her hand.
“You can have them if you’ve gold to give,” she said miserably. Gold might pay for her and Penny to live together in a little cottage, away from the wretched kitchens where they had to sleep on a draughty floor listening to the scrabble of the rats, and away from Catchpole who seemed to be bullying her doubly of late.
The old woman chuckled. “That’s the spirit,” she counselled. “Here, young maiden, take this.” She was rummaging in the reed basket she carried on her arm. Kat wiped her nose again while she wondered what the old woman could possibly have that would interest her.
The woman pulled out what looked like a common lump of quartz, about the size of Kat’s thumb. She held it out between two dirty fingers.
“What is it?” asked Kat, still sniffing. She reluctantly took the proffered stone. She did not have time to stand talking to this old woman who reeked of a mingle of rosemary, boiled vinegar, and unwashed body odour.
“ ‘Tis a charm. Will bring you good luck. You look as though you could do with some. When you’re a rich and happy lady, you just remember Old Mother Wheedle who helped you on your way.”
“If this can bring good luck, why don’t you make use of it?” asked Kat, turning the piece of rock over in her hand.