June Francis - The Unconventional Maiden

Jane smiled. ‘That’s right, Mistress Beth, you have a lie down. I’ll go to the kitchen and ask one of the maids where I can wash some of the garments you wore in France.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that now, Jane,’ said Beth, stretching out on the bed and closing her eyes. ‘We’ll be returning to London in a few days.’

‘I’d rather have some work to occupy my hands, Mistress Beth,’ said Jane.

‘Then do what you wish,’ murmured Beth, yawning.

Jane tiptoed out of the bedchamber and the room fell silent.

Beth tried to sleep, but the talk of Old Nick, demons, madness and menace had unsettled her. Briefly she had been able to put out of her mind what had happened in France, but now she wept for her father. Part of her regretted leaving France so swiftly and she could only pray that some kind Frenchwoman would tend his grave until she could return there one day. She gave up trying to sleep and rose and went over to the window. The glass was thick with a whirly pattern embedded in its surface in some of the tiny panes, but others were clear, enabling her to see through them. There was no way of opening the window, so she decided to go outside shortly and get a better view of the gardens. Right now she would use the time to write down her first impressions of this house and the gist of the conversations that had taken place since her arrival.

She took a sheet of paper and picked up her writing implement, sharpening it before removing the top from her ink container. She wasted no time gazing into space, but began to write. When she had finished and read through what she had written, she felt a stir of excitement. Here she felt there could be a thrilling tale in the making; all she needed was a little more information and then she would allow her imagination to take flight. She thought of Sir Gawain. There were questions she needed to ask him, but whether he would provide her with the answers she wanted was a different matter entirely.

Gawain had spoken to his steward before saddling up his horse and visiting the forest that could be seen in the near distance. After having a word with his forester and woodcutters, he returned to the stables and was making his way back to the house when he saw Beth strolling in the direction of the rose garden. He was tempted to call out to her. The garden would be a pleasant place to linger and would delay the moment when he would have to make certain decisions. Yet although drawn to her, he doubted he would ever trust a woman again. Had Beth wanted her father dead? As she had said herself, she had much to gain.

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