The Bear padded to the center of the great hall and stopped on the inlaid stone-oak; then, led by a tall, slender, grey-haired man dressed all in black, a flurry of servants-footmen and butlers-surrounded both Bear and girl. At a signal from the man in black, a footman stepped forward and placed a small stool on the floor, while another held out his hand and murmured, “My lady.”
Camille swung her leg over and took his hand and stepped to the stool and then to the floor. At another signal, the footman whisked the stool away, while others un-clipped the harness from the Bear.
The grey-haired man, who seemed to be in charge of all, said, “Mademoiselle, my prince names me Lanval, and I will show you to your chambers.”
Camille’s heart lurched. “But my Bear: will he not accompany me?”
“No, my lady. There are other things my prince-”
The Bear growled low, and Lanval said no more.
Camille turned to the Bear and flung her arms about his neck and whispered, “Oh, my protector, will you come if I call?”
A soft whuff was his answer.
“My things,” said Camille, releasing the Bear and turning to Lanval and gesturing at the harness and bundles.
“They will be delivered to your chambers,” replied the man, “though I believe that you will find it quite well-appointed to serve the needs of a lady.”
Up one of the long sweeping staircases Lanval led her, to the balcony above and thence through an archway into a corridor wainscoted in cherry wood with red-velvet walls above. Cherry-panelled doorways stood left and right, some open, others closed. Up a short flight of steps he led her, and turned right and right again, passing through richly carpeted and panelled hallways, all hued in a pale green, to come to a massive oak door, which, unlike the others, had the Summerwood crest thereon. Camille’s heart beat a bit faster upon seeing the symbol, yet she breathed deeply and braced herself for whatever was to come.
“One moment, my lady,” said Lanval, and he opened the door to a dimly lit room and stepped inside. Within instants, light flooded the chamber, and Lanval reappeared. “Your quarters, my lady,” he said, standing aside and bowing.
Hesitantly, she entered, Lanval following after. Into a radiant sitting room they came, and though lamps and candles sat upon tables and stood ensconced along the walls for nighttime needs, all was illuminated by daylight streaming inward through a skylight above, its pull-cord shade now open. But it was the chamber itself that caused Camille to take in a deep breath, for it was luxurious: satins and silks of pale yellow and old gold and rich creams seemed everywhere, on lounges and chairs and love seats and the pillows thereon, though several of those were bright white instead. Filling the air with their subtle fragrance, yellow roses in yellow vases sat upon the oak-wood tables standing against cream-colored walls embellished with a gilded tracery. All was arranged for quiet conversation of pairs and trios and more. Camille saw to the left stood an archway and straight ahead an open door, and they led to rooms beyond.
Discreetly, Lanval showed her about the suite: he escorted Camille through the archway and into a small library with tall, book-laden shelves standing against one wall with a rolling track-ladder for reaching the top. Therein as well sat plush leather chairs and lanterns and candles for nighttime reading-though in this chamber, too, Lanval tugged the pull cord to remove the shade from the skylight high above to let in the light of day. Along another wall sat an escritoire and chair, with trimmed goose quills and an inkwell and blotters and talc and a trimming blade, as well as blank journals and foolscap and vellum and parchment with wax for sealing, all arrayed at hand or on the shelves above should she have the need to write. Camille looked about in wonder, and then stepped to one of the bookshelves and reverently ran her fingers across several of the spines of the leather-bound books thereon and whispered, “Oh, so very many.”
They lingered but a moment, and Lanval then led her through a small doorway and into another shade-managed, skylighted chamber; therein stood a great bed, covered with a yellow-gold, satin spread, with pale yellow silk draping down from the canopy above, the curtains held back by yellow-gold, satin ribbons tied ’round the four massive bed-posts. In this chamber as well were sitting chairs upholstered in yellow satin and cream silk. There, too, sat a wide vanity table and bench, an oval, silvered mirror on the wall above; a silver comb and brush and a hand mirror lay ready for use, with powders and rouges and soft brushes and cloths, and vials of fragrances at hand as well.
Lanval then pointed out the bathing room, with its great stone tub and stone basin chased in gold, and soft towels and facecloths and soaps and gentle bath oils and other such lady’s fare. In this chamber, too, a skylight stood above.
Camille looked about. “Is it all gold and yellow and cream?” she asked. “-The rooms elsewhere, I mean.”
Lanval smiled. “Nay, my lady. Elsewhere the rooms are of green and blue and red and white and other hues of the rainbow. These chambers, though, were intended to be a reflection of the gold of your hair.”
“Oh, my,” said Camille, and she glanced back toward the bedroom and the open doors to the rooms beyond.
Lanval cleared his throat. “My lady, the privy is yon.” He pointed to a curtained archway connected to the bathing room.
Camille stepped to the arch and peered into the skylighted chamber beyond-a goodly sized room with a commode enclosing a chamber pot, and a table with a washbasin and pitcher thereon, along with soap in a dish; shelves and racks laden with cloths and towels and additional bars of soap ranged along the walls; therein, too, sat a lidded bucket for disposal of that which was used. As she surveyed the chamber, Camille could not help but to think back to her papa’s stone cottage, with its burlap curtain on a rough hemp cord and the wooden bucket with its lid.
Sighing, she turned back to Lanval, and from her bedchamber he escorted her through a heavily curtained, gilded, glass-paned door, and Camille found herself on the central high balcony looking down onto the great entry hall below, now empty of all, including the Bear.
Camille turned to Lanval. “My lord-” she began, but Lanval raised a hand to halt her words.
“My lady, no highborn lord am I, but merely the steward of Summerwood Manor. Please call me Lanval.”
Camille sighed. “But I am not highborn either, Lanval, for until a handful of days past, and even still, I was and am nought but a mere crofter’s daughter.”
“Nevertheless, my lady, highborn or low-, you are the betrothed of my prince”-Lanval’s blue eyes did twinkle-“and from what I can discern of thy bearing and manner, he did choose most wisely.”
At the mention of her pledged future, Camille did start, for somehow in the display of all the opulence she had managed to forget entirely the reason she had come to this manor, yet Lanval’s words did jerk her back to reality.
Camille took a deep breath. “When will I meet the prince?”
Lanval looked down at the white marble floor far below, with its granite and malachite inlay. “It may be awhile, for he recently returned from a long journey.” Lanval then smiled at Camille. “You, too, have journeyed far, and must needs bathe and rest.” He stepped back into the bedchamber, Camille following, where he tugged on a yellow silk pull cord and said, “This will summon your handmaid. She is close by in her chamber, or mayhap in the servants’ hall. Regardless, these cords are in each room of your suite, and should you have need, simply pull, and aid will be here in a trice.”
“Handmaid? Oh, Lanval, what need have I for such?”
“My lady, you would not have the prince send her away, would you?”
“Oh, Lanval, would he do so?”
Lanval smiled. “I think not, my lady. Still, you must allow her to do that for which she was… intended. She will attend you, as well as show you the house and the grounds, and will speak of where breakfast is to be found, and other such daily matters. Yet I caution you to not ask of the prince, for he has made it plain it is a matter between the two of you.”
Again Camille’s heart leapt to her throat, for who but a monster or creature of some sort would have all keep silent in matters concerning himself, even unto his intended.
As they returned to the sitting room, there came a soft knock on the outer door, and Lanval called, “Enter!”
An ample young woman in a simple black gown stepped into the chamber. In her hands she bore Camille’s goods, taken from the Bear’s harness. Hastily, she set all upon a small table beside the door, then curtseyed and murmured, “My lady.”
“This is Blanche,” said Lanval, “your lady’s maid.”
Blanche looked to be no older than Camille, though she stood perhaps an inch or two taller. Fair was her skin, and black her hair, and her eyes so dark as to be black as well.
“Blanche,” said Lanval, “the lady needs to freshen up after her long journey, and to shed her travelling clothes for somethi-”
“Oh, Lanval,” blurted Camille, looking at the scant bundle holding her meager belongings. “I brought nought but a simple shift with me, one quite threadbare at that. Certainly nothing as elegant as these garments I now wear.”
Blanche smiled knowingly, even as Lanval said, “Show my lady her dressing chamber, Blanche.”
As Blanche clapped her hands together in pleasure, Lanval added, “My lady, now that you are in good hands, I return to my other duties. Even so, should you have need of aught…” He bowed low, and then turned and stepped to the door.
As he exited, Camille called after, “Merci, Lanval.”
“My lady,” said Blanche, a gleam of pleasure in her eye, “if you will but follow me.”
Blanche led her mistress through a small doorway off the bedchamber and into a dim room, where the handmaid tugged on a pull cord, drawing the shade from the skylight above. And Camille drew in a great breath of incredulity, for revealed was a room perhaps even larger than the bedchamber itself; and it was filled with splendid clothes: gowns, dresses, skirts, blouses, chemises, shifts, jackets, lingerie, shoes, boots, gloves, cloaks, hats, ribbons, jewelry cases, and more. Camille gaped at the trove in disbelief, her astonishment reflected in the gilt-framed, full-length mirror affixed to the far wall therein.
“Oh, Blanche, these are marvelous, yet I wonder if they will fit.”
Blanche laughed. “My lady, they were fashioned for you alone.”
“But how? I mean, it’s not as if someone came in the night and took my measure.”
“Do not be too certain of that, my lady,” said Blanche, grinning, pulling at the cord to close the skylight blind above and protect the clothes against sun damage. “And now let us to the tub with you.”
That eve, served by Blanche, Camille, while abed, ate a delicious meal of biscuits and butter and jellies and tea and cream over berries, for the handmaid insisted that she needed rest after such a long journey. And so, bathed and scented, Camille sat propped against many pillows in her great, soft bed, the first ever she had not had to share with a sister or two. And in the middle of that vast expanse, with a bed tray across her lap, her meal half-eaten, Camille fell quite asleep, for it seemed, after all, Blanche was right.
The very next day, Blanche escorted Camille about the great manor, showing her all within, all that is but one floor of one wing-“ ’Tis the quarters of the prince himself, when he’s about, that is, and none but Lanval is permitted therein.-Oh, once a fortnight, maids are allowed, but only under Lanval’s eye.” Camille frowned, for she did not think those chambers would be forbidden to her, for, after all, even though she had yet to meet Alain, she was his betrothed, hence surely she would not be barred; yet she did not gainsay her handmaid.
All through the rest of the mansion they went, with its sitting rooms and guest rooms and ballrooms and rooms of other sorts, some small, some large, some vast. In one of the smaller chambers sat an elegant harp, with violins in cases nearby. Lyres and lutes and tambourines and small drums lay in the chamber as well. In the next room sat a harpsichord, and though neither Camille nor Blanche could play, they sat on the bench and struck the keys and laughed at the plucked dissonance they made. Even so, Camille looked longingly at the music sheet on the board above the keys, and she wondered at the symbols thereon and yearned to be able to read the arcane notations and play. Elsewhere, in several ballrooms, other harpsichords sat, some on stages, others directly on the ballroom floors, others still on balconies above.
Guest rooms abounded, and they sampled a number, and each one they entered was furnished in elegant taste. And with but few exceptions, nearly all the chambers had fireplaces-“Seldom used,” said Blanche, “given the warmth of summer.”
“Yet the rooms are not overwarm in the summer sun,” replied Camille, frowning. “And even though my chambers have no outside windows, still I believe I felt a drift of air therein.”
“Oh, my lady, that’s one of the wonders of Summerwood Manor,” replied Blanche. “I am told by Renaud the smith that on the many roofs, great scoops with fins that catch the wind and turn their mouths into the blow, direct the air down through channels in the walls to the rooms within, and the air does flow onward and out other hidden channels beyond. Only on the hottest or stillest of summer days might it become uncomfortable, but then we all sleep outside.” Blanche pointed up at a wide lattice in one wall, and then down near the floor on the opposite wall to another. “Have you not seen the grillwork in your chambers, my lady?”
“I thought it was just decorative,” replied Camille.
Blanche smiled, and on they went, visiting the servants’ chamber down below, butlers and maids jumping to their feet and bowing and curtseying. Camille merely nodded in acknowledgment, having been instructed by Blanche that such would be sufficient, and onward they went.
They visited the kitchens as well, and here Camille was given a sweet pastry to hold her until the noonday meal, even though she had eaten breakfast in her bed, served to her by Blanche.
Through a laundry room they passed, with its great tubs sitting on platforms, wood-fired heating chambers beneath, cold for the nonce, no laundresses in sight.
They came to a door which seemed about to burst with women’s laughter. Blanche grinned, saying, “Follow me,” and they entered into a sewing chamber filled with gaiety, a half dozen seamstresses laughing. Upon seeing Camille their voices stilled, though mirth yet dwelled in their eyes, and the women rose from chairs and curtseyed. Feeling as if she had interrupted a festive party, Camille did thank them all for fashioning so many lovely clothes for her to wear. And then she and Blanche withdrew.
Later on they entered a ladies’ sewing chamber, with its tambour frames and sewing baskets and daylight streaming in, a place where fine fabric with cross-stitch and embroidery patterns laid thereon would be captured in hoops, and needles and thread and floss and yarn would pop and hiss through taut cloth, while quiet converse murmured about. Camille could not but think that the cheer of the seamstress chamber would be a better place to sew.
In one room they found a nursery with rocker, crib, and toys-cloth poppets, rattles, teething rings, and the like. “In a place such as this your children will sleep,” said Blanche.
“My children?”
“Those visited upon you by Prince Alain,” replied Blanche.
“Oh,” said Camille, reddening, feeling quite naive.
They stopped for the noontide meal, Blanche having deposited her mistress in an elegant dining room and then abandoning her. Camille sat alone at the foot of a great long table, feeling embarrassed at the number of servants waiting upon her-all those eyes looking without seeming to look, watching her every bite-the men ready to leap forward at her slightest need.
Somehow she managed to struggle through, and not a stray drop or crumb fell onto her lovely lavender dress. Thank Mithras for Mistress Agnes and the etiquette lessons she taught to me. “I may be nought but a gardener, young lady, yet manners I do well know, and we wouldn’t want you to embarrass Fra Galanni by acting like a pig, now would we? Here, then, I�
��ll teach you about knives and forks and other such, including finger bowls, though ’tis unlikely you’ll ever see any, much less use one.”
Camille dipped her fingers in the finger bowl and dried them, and, as if by some mystical means, Blanche reappeared, and they took up once again the tour of the manor.
In a grand chamber was a great library, one that made the small library in Camille’s suite look to be no more than a shelf or two by comparison. Books abounded, along with scrolls and pamphlets and journals and other printings and writings. Camille studied the spines of several books, finding poetry, legends, fables, histories, and much more ere Blanche dragged her away, saying, “My lady, there will be time in years to come to learn all, and I would have you see a great deal of this manse.” And so onward they went.
A game room they visited: in the center of the room sat a small table with facing chairs and holding an elegant echecs set of carven jade-pale yellow for one player, translucent green for the other-the pieces arrayed on an onyx-and-marble board. Tears welled in Camille’s eyes as she remembered the wooden set her pere had carved, the set she and Giles had used.
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