Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

‘You’ve been concussed, my Lord. Head wounds are always serious. Delayed shock is a serious risk after a fall from a horse. This is pleasant to take, and will get you on your feet again in only a few hours.’

‘You’d better take it, Nicholas,’ said Jane, looking at him steadily. ‘The monks are great healers. You could drink it later.’

Brother Martin unscrewed the stopper of the bottle and handed it to Nicholas. Nicholas thanked him and put it casually on the table by the side of his bed.

‘Thank you, Brother Martin, I’ll take it when I need to sleep.’

‘So you don’t trust me. Well, let me show you it’s quite harmless.’

Brother Martin picked up the phial and took a sip.

‘Excellent, excellent. I can recommend it, my Lord.’

It would be churlish to refuse. Nicholas took the phial and drank down the contents. In seconds, he felt his body become suffused by a delicious languor. His head stopped throbbing and he felt as if he was lying on a bed of soft sheep’s wool. Jane’s face floated off out of sight, he sank back on his goose-feather pillow, closed his eyes, and sank into a deep void.

* * *

When Jane arrived home, her father was waiting for her by the front gate. She sensed trouble. His face was dark with disapproval and he was propping himself up on his stick as if he’d been waiting a long time.

‘Where’ve you been, lass? People are talking.’

‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip, father. However, let’s go inside, and you can tell me what they’re saying.’

She handed Melissa over to Harold, the old gardener and handyman, who’d been with them as long as she could remember, and walked up the path into the house, her father following more slowly. Their house was stone-built, like Agnes’s, but more substantial and built on a bigger plot of land. The window openings had recently been filled in with glass, which her father approved of, because now the openings let in the light but not the cold. She watched him making his way painfully up the path and realised that he was old and she should make allowances for him.

Once inside the bright, warm room, he sank down with a sigh of relief on to the wooden settle and propped his stick up against the side. The floor was covered with bright rugs, and bowls of flowers decorated the window-ledges. Guy Warrener was prosperous. The monks relied on him heavily when it came to selling their wool.

‘Now, out with it, lass. Where’ve you been?’

‘Up to the Manor to see how Lord Nicholas was getting on.’

‘So they tell me. Seems you found him in the woods, is that right?’

‘Yes, he fell off his horse. I went and got help and I wanted to know how he was this morning. There’s no harm in that, is there?’

‘No harm at all. But I advise you to keep away from the gentry, lass. I don’t want your head turned. He’s not for the likes of you. You might be bright and you’re good-looking all right, but the likes of Lord Peverell don’t marry the daughters of wool traders. He’s charming, I’ll give you that, but I’ll kill him if any harm comes to you.’

‘Now don’t get excited, father. You do exaggerate. I only wanted to pay my respects. Geoffrey Lowe escorted me up to his bedroom…’

‘You went up to his bedroom?’ shouted Guy Warrener, trying to haul himself up from the sofa.

‘Of course. That’s where you usually go if you’re not well.’

‘Don’t you smart-answer me, madam. You’ve no business going into men’s bedrooms. The next time you go there he might not be so helpless, and then what’ll you do?’

‘I’ll do what I please.’

‘I’ll not allow it. What pleases you could be the death of you. Believe me, he’ll take advantage of you. They’re all the same, the gentry. Love you and leave you; it’s always been like that. And no one will ever look at you twice when you’re one of Peverell’s cast-offs.’

‘You do talk rubbish, father,’ said Jane, trying to control her exasperation. ‘Now sit down for a minute, and try to calm down. Let me make you a hot drink. All this shouting’s not good for you and I’ll have you in bed next.’

‘Now stop threating me as if I’ve got one foot in the grave. I’m good for many more years yet. I’ve spoiled you, Jane, I can see that,’ he grumbled, but he did relax back again on the settle, and watched as she took hot water from the pot over the fire and mixed up a soothing drink of honey and lemon balm. ‘I’ve watched you grow up into a beautiful wench; aye, with a brain, too. You can read Greek and Latin better than the monks. Yet you ride round on that horse of yours sitting up there like a boy, no saddle, showing those long legs of yours, and I’ve not said a word. But I can’t abide watching you chasing after the gentry.’

‘I won’t have you saying that,’ she said firmly. ‘Lord Nicholas hardly knows me.’

‘I daresay he doesn’t,’ he said as he accepted the herbal drink she offered him. ‘But I’ve seen you talking to him, and I don’t like the way he looks at you. Keep away from him, lass. He’s up in London with the King and all those grand people. I hear he’s bringing them all down to his house soon, so I’ve been told. All that cleaning and polishing and baking and brewing … Geoffrey Lowe says there’s no end to it. He’s at his wits’ end with worry. Damn me, they even want to go hunting. Prior’ll have to lend some of his horses, I shouldn’t wonder, along with the contents of his cellar too.’

Jane stared at her father in consternation. ‘What are you saying, father? Lord Nicholas has got some people coming to stay with him? Who told you this?’

‘It’s common knowledge. Geoffrey Lowe’s been going round finding people to come and lend a hand with the cooking and the waiting at table. They’re planning a great feast, I’ve heard. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,’ he said, noticing her stricken look, ‘but I thought he would have told you. He’ll no doubt want you to go up there and sing to all his noble friends. Now don’t take it to heart, lass, it’s all for the best. I don’t want you upset by the likes of Lord Peverell. The gentry pleases itself, as it always does and always will do. Now, we ought to get ourselves ready for poor Bess’s funeral. You’re coming, I take it?’

‘Yes, father. We’ll go together. Best to stick to one’s own.’

‘That’s right, lass. You stick with me and you’ll come to no harm.’

* * *

Late on Tuesday evening, Nicholas woke up. His head had stopped aching, he could think clearly, and when he sat up, his body no longer hurt. He got out of bed and pulled on his breeches. Quickly he splashed water on his face from the ewer which Geoffrey had placed ready for him, and turned to find the rest of his clothes. The door opened and Geoffrey came in, looking worried.

‘I’m glad to see you’re better, sir. There’s a messenger downstairs, just arrived from the King. You’ve got to leave for London, sir. This time they’ve sent a coach, and after the horses have rested the man says he wants to leave. Oh my Lord, you’re not…’

Nicholas sighed and finished dressing. ‘No, I’m not being arrested, yet. Thank God there’s not a drop of Yorkist blood in my veins. Now go and look after the coachman, see that his horses are fed and watered, and get some food ready. I could eat a good cut of beef nicely grilled over the fire, then pack my bags – I’ll want some warm clothes as it’ll be cold where I’m going. Oh, and Geoffrey…’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ he said with a long-suffering look. ‘What else?’

‘Did Mistress Jane come back?’

‘After you went to sleep? No, my Lord. There’s been no sign of her all day.’

‘Now I wonder where she’s gallivanted off to! I wanted to have a word with her. Never mind, it can’t be helped. Now go along, Geoffrey. There’s no time to lose.’