Alys Clare - Music of the Distant Stars

Lady Emma took his hand and said something softly to him. His expression cleared and he managed a smile. ‘We’re grateful, er-’

‘Lassair,’ said Lady Emma.

‘We’re grateful, Lassair, that you came straight to us with this terrible news,’ he said. ‘What more can you tell us?’

I collected my thoughts and then described as succinctly and accurately as I could what my aunt and I had found and what we had done.

I could tell that Lord Gilbert was affected by my tale. He started to speak, and his voice broke with emotion. He paused, and I realized that he was struggling to control himself. ‘This girl — her name is Ida — is, as you say, a seamstress, in the employ of my cousin, the lady Claude de Sees, who is at present staying with us as she prepares for her wedding. My cousin is, indeed, busy sewing her trousseau. Her marriage linen,’ he added helpfully, although in fact I knew the word. ‘Hence, er, hence the need for a seamstress to assist her.’ He stopped, frowning. ‘She — er, Ida was reported missing this morning. She eats breakfast in the servants’ hall, but today she did not turn up. The others waited for a while to see if she had overslept and would soon come hurrying along out of breath and worried because she was late — she loves her food, you see — but she did not. In the end, one of them went to rouse her, but she was not there.’

‘Where does she sleep?’ Not with the other servants, it appeared, or they would have noticed her absence when they’d woken up.

Lord Gilbert glanced quickly at Lady Emma, and I sensed that for some reason he was discomfited. ‘My cousin, the lady Claude, is very protective of her trousseau. Quite understandably,’ he protested, although I had made no remark, ‘for she is a wealthy woman and has amassed household and personal linens of great value, all most beautifully sewn, I have no doubt, although I have not myself seen any examples of the work, nor, indeed, would I expect-’

Lady Emma came to his rescue. ‘My husband’s cousin is very aware of the need to take every precaution against theft,’ she said, and I noticed that her carefully neutral tone did not give away what she thought of Lady Claude’s behaviour. ‘For this reason, she insists that all work on her trousseau is performed in a small room, whose door is kept locked. She also insists on the presence of someone to watch over the precious items at all times, this person being Ida.’ She looked down at her hand, which still clasped Lord Gilbert’s. ‘We arranged a truckle bed in there for the poor girl. I believe she was adequately comfortable. Certainly, she did not complain. She was always ready with a smile and a bright remark.’

I was starting to dislike Lady Claude. I had heard sufficient tales of the way some lords and ladies treated their servants and, in truth, locking a girl into a small room each night so that her presence would safeguard a pile of linen was not bad at all by the standards of the times. It was just that I kept seeing that pretty face, all ready for laughter. The thought of Ida shut up all by herself, away from everybody else and missing any fun that might be happening, was all but unbearable.

Not that I dared say so. I cleared my throat and straightened my back, determined not to give away my private feelings. I also resolved not to mention Ida’s pregnancy; it seemed that she had not been married and, if the lords and ladies here at the hall did not know of her condition, then I wasn’t going to be the one to tell them. Let the poor girl keep her secret.

‘Your aunt has remained with — with the body?’ Lord Gilbert said gruffly.

‘Yes. She felt that the dead girl should not be left alone.’

‘Quite right, quite right,’ Lord Gilbert rumbled. He glanced towards the door through which Bermund had disappeared. ‘Where is he?’ he muttered. ‘What can be taking him so long?’

I decided to risk my luck once more. ‘You said he was to fetch someone called Sir Alain?’ I said, making it a question.

Lord Gilbert’s brows descended in a frown. It was Lady Emma who answered. ‘Yes. Sir Alain de Villequier.’ A Norman, then. Of course. ‘He’s recently been appointed our local justiciar.’

I did not know what she meant. Now was not the moment to find out, however. I stored the words local justiciar away in my head.

‘We shall await his arrival,’ Lord Gilbert announced. ‘Then you, girl, you will take him out to the place where you found her.’

He had, I noticed, spoken of Ida all the time in the present tense. Now, as he spoke of the place where she lay dead, it seemed that finally the truth was catching up with him. Ida was dead; she lay on the fresh summer grass beside my grandmother’s grave.

As I watched, Lord Gilbert’s hazel eyes filled with tears. Belatedly, he covered his face with his hands, and I heard Lady Emma make an inarticulate sound of distress. They had both cared for Ida, I thought. She might have been no more than a sewing girl in Lord Gilbert’s cousin’s employ, but she had made her mark on this household. The children had loved her because she had played with them, cuddled them, and, I had no doubt, had also told them funny stories, tickled them, and made them laugh. Hearing of her death had made Lady Emma swoon, and now as her husband faced up to the fact that Ida was gone, he had given in to his sorrow and wept.

They were all going to miss her.

Wherever they had expected this Sir Alain de Villequier to be, it became clear that he wasn’t there. We waited for him to come, Lord Gilbert, Lady Emma and I, and after a while the wait became uneasy, then embarrassing. For all of us; lords and ladies do not normally spend any length of time with lowly people such as I, and, as for me, I was steadily growing more and more aware of my dishevelled appearance. Edild and I might have tidied each other up sufficiently to approach my Granny’s grave, but standards in Lord Gilbert’s hall were considerably more elevated.

We all exchanged several furtive glances, and I knew they wanted rid of me as badly as I wanted to go. Finally, Lord Gilbert had had enough. He got up from Lady Emma’s couch, strode across the hall and launched himself through the doorway through which Bermund had disappeared.

With his departure, much of the awkwardness vanished. Lady Emma looked up at me and murmured, ‘Oh, dear.’ Then, to my surprise, she smiled.

I smiled back; she has that sort of face. No matter what mood you’re in — and just then mine wasn’t very good, given all that I’d been through since I got up — it’s hard not to be affected by Lady Emma’s smile. ‘I’m sorry I’m still here,’ I said. It was a daft remark, but Lady Emma was quite disarming and I’d said exactly what I was thinking.

‘It’s hardly your fault, Lassair,’ she said. ‘My husband asked you to stay, so that when Sir Alain arrives, you can take him out to where you found poor Ida.’

It was tactful of her to have said Lord Gilbert had asked me. I’d have said ordered or commanded was nearer the mark.

I looked at her, and I guessed by the sadness in her face that she was thinking about the dead girl. I wanted to turn her thoughts elsewhere, but I wasn’t quick enough. Before I’d had a chance to come up with some innocuous remark, she spoke again.

‘Did she — oh, I know I should not ask you this, but it’s all I can think about. Lassair, did Ida suffer?’

I met her eyes. ‘I cannot say, my lady.’ That was true; there had been no time to find out how the girl had died. By now Edild probably had a good idea, for she would not have wasted this long period of waiting by the body.

‘Could it possibly have been a dreadful accident?’ Lady Emma asked. ‘She might have tripped and fallen into the grave, perhaps banging her head as she fell. . Oh, no.’ Her face fell, and there was no need for either of us to say it: if Ida had met her death by accident, who had wrapped her in the shroud and replaced the stone slab over the grave?