Alys Clare: Music of the Distant Stars

The villagers do not, in the normal way of things, see very much of either the lord or the lady. If we have business at the manor, we speak to the reeve. His name is Bermund, and he is a fair but withdrawn man of early middle age and unprepossessing appearance, being very tall and thin with a sort of poky, pointy face. My little brother Squeak says he looks like an anxious rat. As I hurried into the courtyard, Bermund was emerging from one of the outbuildings.

He saw me, stopped, sniffed and said, ‘Yes? Is it about the eels?’

My father, as I have said, is an eel catcher and so, seeing me, I suppose it was a natural assumption. There’s no reason why Bermund should have remembered that I no longer live under my father’s roof and am a healer.

‘No, sir,’ I said. I took a deep breath. ‘There was a body in my grandmother’s grave. I found it — her — early this morning.’

It seemed to take him a moment to understand what I was telling him. Just when I was wondering if I ought to have explained that the body wasn’t my grandmother’s but a second one, not put there by us, he spoke.

‘Do you know the corpse’s identity?’

I had to admire the way he went straight to the point. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘As soon as I’d made the discovery I ran back to fetch my aunt — that’s Edild, the healer?’ He nodded impatiently. ‘She came back with me to the grave — it’s on the island out in the mere.’ Again that quick nod, almost as if Bermund were saying, Yes I know, get on with it . ‘Together, Edild and I lifted the body out of the grave, and Edild unwound the shroud. It is — it was — a young woman, about sixteen or seventeen, with chestnut hair and wearing a red gown. She-’

The flash of recognition in Bermund’s narrow eyes was unmistakable. He held up an imperious hand and said, ‘Wait.’

I waited.

Not, however, for long. After only moments, Lady Emma appeared at the top of the stone steps that led up into Lord Gilbert’s hall. She looked very distressed, her face pale and her cheeks wet with tears. She beckoned to me, and as I crossed the courtyard and ran up the steps to stand beside her, she reached out and took my hand.

‘Oh, Lassair, tell me what you told Bermund!’ she pleaded.

‘I found a-’ I began.

‘No, no!’ she cried sharply, then instantly said, ‘I apologize. I did not mean to shout. I meant, tell me what this poor girl looks like.’

I repeated the description I had just given, adding details such as the high quality of the workmanship on the red gown, the willing tendency to laughter I’d read in the face, the gloss on the chestnut hair.

As I spoke, I sensed Lady Emma begin to slump. I shot out my arms — I am wiry and pretty strong — and caught her as she fainted.

They couldn’t send for Edild, for I explained to them that she was still out on the island. Instead they had to make do with me. I did my best to put aside the shocking drama of the morning’s tragic discovery and concentrate on my patient. Lord Gilbert and Bermund had carried her to a couch at the far end of the hall, and I sent them off on errands: Lord Gilbert to fetch a warm blanket and make sure the nursemaid kept the children out of the hall, Bermund to the kitchen for cold water.

When we were alone I leaned down to Lady Emma, who was coming out of her faint. Seeing me, her eyes widened in alarm and she tried to sit up. Gently, I pushed her back.

‘You’re quite all right,’ I said. I knew what she was going to ask before she had even framed the words; it’s the same with almost all pregnant women. Speaking right into her ear, I added, ‘So is the baby.’ I felt her relax with relief. ‘You did not fall down the steps,’ I explained, ‘so there was no danger.’

‘I did not fall?’ she echoed, her eyes searching my face.

I shook my head. ‘I caught you.’

She said nothing, but her hand shot out and clasped mine.

Lord Gilbert came puffing back with a lovely warm, soft, woolly blanket, which I told him to drape over his wife; it helps people, I find, if they think they’re doing something useful. I watched him as he looked down at her. It was clear both that he loved her dearly — which was hardly surprising — and also that he knew she was pregnant, for he shot a fleeting glance at her stomach, raising his eyebrows, and swiftly she nodded, a radiant smile crossing her face.

Bermund returned with the cold water — it really was icy cold, as I discovered when I soaked a piece of clean linen in it; he must have drawn it fresh from the deep well outside the kitchen — and then he stepped back, looking worriedly down at Lady Emma. I sensed she wanted nobody but her husband just then — oh, and me, I supposed — and, turning to him, I said very politely and respectfully, ‘I think Lady Emma needs to rest, sir.’

He took the hint. He bowed to the lord and lady, nodded curtly to me and turned to go. Before he did so he looked at Lord Gilbert in enquiry, and Lord Gilbert said, ‘I will send for you very soon, Bermund. Meanwhile, get someone over to Alderhall and find Sir Alain. I must speak with him.’

Bermund bowed again and hurried away.

Sir Alain? Alderhall? I did not recognize the names. Not that it mattered just then. I wrung out the linen cloth and gently bathed Lady Emma’s cheeks and forehead; her faint had made her sweat, and her face was hot and flushed. I looked up at Lord Gilbert and back to Lady Emma and, nerving myself, said, ‘It’s clear that you, my lady, know who the poor dead girl was. Could you — I mean, would it be all right if you told me?’

It was certainly not my place to ask such a thing, and I was quite prepared for Lord Gilbert to command me to mind my own business and get out before he threw me out. But he is, as I’ve said, easy-going. In addition, he is neither cruel nor particularly unreasonable, and I had, after all, just saved his pregnant wife from falling down a flight of stone steps. Perhaps he felt I had earned an explanation.

He sighed, then looked at his wife. She said softly, ‘Tell her, Gilbert.’

He turned back to me. ‘We believe we do indeed know her identity, and her death grieves us both, for in the short time we have known her we have grown to like her.’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘She is an affectionate, cheerful, amusing little thing, and the children love her, for she is generous with her small amount of free time and always ready for a cuddle or a game.’

It sounded as if the dead girl had been employed at the manor as a nursemaid, which was odd because I thought they already had one. Then I remembered something; something I had noticed immediately before Edild had uncovered the evidence of the girl’s pregnancy. Oh, I thought now, oh , but it explained the beautiful embroidery and the well-made gown, as well as the dead girl’s presence at Lakehall.

‘She was a seamstress!’ I exclaimed.

They both looked at me in astonishment. Lady Emma said tentatively, ‘How — er, how did you know that?’

I wished I could say I had gazed into my scrying ball and seen a vision of the dead girl bent over her sewing, but it would have been a lie. ‘I saw her hands,’ I said. ‘In particular, her left forefinger. It was covered in tiny pricks and there was dead skin loose on the tip.’ When you sew, if you are right-handed, the needle repeatedly stabs into your left forefinger. It doesn’t hurt, really, unless you make a mistake and push the needle too hard, but it always leaves its unique mark.

‘I see,’ Lord Gilbert murmured. ‘Very observant, I must say.’ He looked at me, and I saw both respect and resentment in his expression. Typical of his sort, he did not really like observant women. With the exception of his wife, he probably found all clever women a threat.