Alys Clare - Blood of the South

‘You have found the home of my kinsmen?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘I go there, now?’

Jack turned to look briefly at me, and there was something in his expression … it was compassion. I realized he didn’t like what he was doing. As if he sought some final proof before he revealed what we had discovered, he said, ‘Your late husband’s mother was called Gabriela de Valery, wasn’t she?’

Lady Rosaria looked flustered. ‘I – yes, I believe she was. I did not meet her,’ she hurried on, ‘for she had died before I entered – before I was wed to my husband.’ Rallying, she straightened her spine and glared at Jack. ‘What of it?’ she demanded haughtily.

‘My lady, there is no noble family,’ Jack said gravely. ‘No great house and no rich estates.’

‘There is!’ she cried. Then, her eyes holding growing horror, ‘There must be!’

‘Lassair and I have discovered the truth,’ Jack went on, ‘and we can reveal that Harald, son of Leafric, was born into a family of fenland fishermen and fowlers, who had lived here in this place for generations and whose descendants still do.’ Again, he turned to me, holding out a hand to draw me forward. ‘Lassair is Harald’s great-niece, for her grandmother was his sister.’

Lady Rosaria was staring at me, her eyes wide with anguish. ‘ No ,’ she whispered.

Lord Gilbert, I noticed, had taken quite a large step away from his guest, his action saying more plainly than words that, now the truth was emerging, he wished to distance himself from her. His face reddening, he snapped out at Jack, ‘Is this true, Chevestrier?’

‘We believe so, yes, my lord,’ Jack said calmly.

Lord Gilbert backed further away, going to stand close beside Lady Emma. She, good woman that she is, frowned at him disapprovingly, murmuring something under her breath which I assumed was a reproof. ‘Woman’s an impostor,’ he muttered back, his flabby cheeks shuddering with the force of his anger.

‘I think, my lady,’ Jack said, watching Lady Rosaria very closely, ‘that Harald lied to you. He wished to impress you, I imagine, for to have a woman of your blood marry his son was a great honour, and he probably wanted to elevate his own kin so that their status stood a little closer to yours.’

Lady Rosaria seemed to have been struck dumb. She stood very still, swaying slightly, and I thought I could hear her whispering.

I remembered the state she’d been in when I first met her. She was in shock, for something had recently happened – in all likelihood, as we now surmised, the sickness and death of her maid – and she had been on the brink of despair.

I knew she wouldn’t welcome me – my family and I were a far cry from what she’d believed she was coming to England to find – but, nevertheless, I wanted to stand by her. What we were to each other was irrelevant just then; she was in dire need, and I was a healer.

I moved to her side, reached down and took her icy hand in mine. ‘Let me take you to your room, my lady,’ I said, keeping my voice soft and low. ‘You should lie down, I think, for you are all alone and have suffered a grave disappointment.’ She turned to me, panic in the huge eyes. ‘We will support you,’ I went on. ‘Your baby son is part of my family, and we will not desert him. You are his mother, and you too will have our help.’

Quite how we were going to help her, I had no idea.

I moved forward, one small step at a time, and she came with me. She was sufficiently aware to remember where to go, and led me down a long passage, up a short flight of steps and into the guest chamber where Lord Gilbert had housed her.

She sank down on the wide bed, and I swung her legs up, pushing her gently back on the heaped pillows. ‘Shall I remove your veil, my lady?’ I asked. ‘There is only me to see you, and-’

‘ No. ’ The one, brief word came out in a tone as hard and cold as ice. I had raised my hand towards her face, about to unfasten the veil, and she caught my wrist, holding it in a fist like a steel bracelet.

I bowed, backing away. ‘Very well. You should try to sleep, Lady Rosaria. I will prepare a draught for you.’

But she turned her face away and did not answer.

The door closed softly behind the healer girl. Rosaria was alone. At first, she just lay there on the sumptuously comfortable bed, barely conscious, barely thinking.

Then slow tears began to fall from her eyes, soaking into the rich fabric of her veil.

She reached out her fingers and stroked the smooth silk of her gown. She touched the pearls around her throat, then moved her hand to the coverlet on which she lay. It was fur: smooth, glossy, warm.

I thought I would be going to a home like this , she thought, still hardly able to absorb the devastating disappointment. I thought I would be kept in comfort, security and warmth for the rest of my days, fed with good, abundant food and given fine wine in a silver goblet.

Deliberately she conjured up all the little luxuries of Lord Gilbert’s house, accepted so casually by the lord and lady, given willingly to her, their guest, with the generosity of those who had plenty.

She curled her hands into fists, the knuckles showing white against the taut skin. ‘You lied, Harald,’ she whispered. ‘You bastard .’

For a disorienting instant, she thought she saw Harald in the room, standing straight and tall. He was pointing his finger at her.

And then, welling up from deep inside her, terrifying in its intensity and quite unstoppable, came the bitterest emotion of all.

Much later, when the raised voices in the hall had long ceased, the hurrying footsteps had stopped and the house was quiet, she got up. On silent feet she left her room, then, keeping to the shadows and out of sight, she made her way out of the great house where for the past days she had lived the life of which she had dreamed. They had treated her like a lady. She had worn beautiful garments, slept in a luxuriously soft bed, with sheets of clean, fine linen, soft blankets of finest wool, and, when night fell cold and chill, she had been comforted by a merry fire in the hearth.

She slipped out through the gates. Night was drawing on, and people were busy with the final outdoor tasks of the day. She huddled into her cloak, drawing the hood up. She did not want anyone to identify and stop her, to ask where she was going at such a late hour, to offer to come with her to make sure she returned safely.

She listened for the sound of water. It was close; here in this bleak marshy land, it was always close. She shivered. It was so different from the home she had left so far behind. No sun, no brilliant colours, no deep blue sky.

Oh!

Her grief, her pain and her guilt rose up in a devastating flood.

She walked on, the pretty, unsuitable indoor slippers sliding in the muddy ground. She hoped she could find the place. She had listened carefully when they described it, on that terrible day when the news came. It had been the beginning of the end: somehow she had known it, even then, some time before today’s devastating discovery of the true nature of Harald’s kin. There is no rosy future for me , she thought, the words running through her head again and again as she hurried on. I have struggled so hard, and it has all been for nothing.

Remorse hit her like a fist to the heart.

She walked on. One of the little shoes came off, and cold mud oozed between her toes. She bent down to put the slipper on again.

Then, after quite a long time, suddenly, she was there. She had found the right spot, and she stood for a moment staring down at the meandering little waterway. Torn branches and bits of dead vegetation clung to the steep sides of the banks, and she saw that the water level was lower now as the flood receded.