“A bloody Scots fool,” Elizabeth mumbled, and then she was silent.
Listening carefully, Nancy heard her mistress’s even breathing.Poor thing,she considered as she left the room. Robbed of her virtue by a duplicitous Scot. Unfit to be any man’s wife now. What was going to happen to Friarsgate now? What was going to happen to them all?
Chapter 12
Elizabeth Meredith awoke with a throbbing head. In all her life she had never had such a headache. She groaned softly. Why did her head hurt so? She struggled to marshal her thoughts. Then she remembered. Her uncle was gone home to Otterly. Maybel and Edmund were retired to their cottage. And Baen MacColl had deserted her. She was alone, and last night she had finished an entire carafe of wine by herself. Her mouth tasted like a stable floor. Suddenly her stomach rebelled. There was no time to get out of her bed. Elizabeth leaned from the bed, almost screaming with the pain that knifed through her head. Grabbing at the chamber pot, she vomited the contents of her belly into it. Then, setting the chamber pot on the floor again, she lay back. Her forehead was speckled with sweat. She felt clammy all over. She was going to die, and she resolved then and there never to drink wine again. Elizabeth closed her eyes.
“Are you awake, mistress?”
How long had she dozed? Had she slept at all? “I’m suffering from too much wine, I fear,” Elizabeth answered in a weak voice.
Nancy swallowed a giggle, then, seeing the chamber pot’s contents, said, “I’ll empty this. You’ll live. No one ever died from a single carafe of wine.” She picked up the vessel and hurried from the room.
Elizabeth closed her eyes again. She still had her headache, but she was actually feeling a little bit better. She didn’t think she could do the book work awaiting her today, but a ride in the fresh air might help her. She considered getting up, but she wasn’t really quite ready for that, she decided. The sun was streaming into her bedchamber, and it hurt her eyes. “Nancy? If you are there, close the draperies.”
“You’ll feel better if you get up,” Nancy said as she drew the heavy fabric across the casements. She came over to the bed. “Let me help you, mistress.” She pushed pillows behind Elizabeth’s back, aiding her to sit up. “How is that?”
“My temples throb,” Elizabeth complained, “but it is no worse sitting up than lying back,” she admitted to her serving woman.
“You need a bit of food in your belly,” Nancy said.
“The thought of food is distressing. I do not think I can eat,” Elizabeth said.
“Some nice bread,” Nancy coaxed. “I’ll go fetch it.” She bustled off, returning shortly with a single slice of warm bread, which she gave to her mistress. Then, fetching a hairbrush, she began to slowly and gently brush Elizabeth’s pale hair as the girl ate the bread a morsel at a time, chewing it slowly, then swallowing. “Is that better?” Nancy queried as the bread was finished.
Elizabeth considered a moment, and then said, “Aye. It seems to have settled the roiling in my belly. Thank you.” She closed her eyes again as Nancy continued to wield the brush. Then, opening them once more, Elizabeth said, “I am going riding. Get my breeks. What time is it?”
“The morning is half gone. ’Tis past ten,” Nancy said. She set the brush aside. “Are you strong enough to ride out, mistress?”
“Because I am a fool,” Elizabeth said, “doesn’t mean I can entirely shirk my duties as the lady. We have much preparation ahead of us before the winter sets in, lass.” She threw back the coverlet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “When I return later, have my bath hot and ready for me.” Then, ignoring the ache behind her eyes, Elizabeth got out of her bed.
Nancy scurried about, quickly gathering her mistress’s clothing. As was her habit Elizabeth dressed herself quickly, lastly pulling her boots on over a pair of knitted stockings. Nancy climbed on the bed behind her and braided the long blond hair up neatly. Without another word the lady of Friarsgate was gone from the room.
In the days that followed Elizabeth was up early, and either out or in her privy chamber keeping her accounts. Other than to direct her servants or shepherds, Elizabeth hardly spoke at all. She sat alone at her high board each night, ate her meal, and was gone to her chamber. Sometimes she would remain by the fire afterwards for a short time. St. Crispin’s Day came, and bonfires were lit that night to celebrate, but there was no feast in the hall for its single occupant. On All Hallows Eve the hall was silent, as usual. The cook served a dish of crowdie, a sweet apple cream dessert. Elizabeth waved it away.
“Give it to the servants as a treat,” she told Albert. She knew that within the dessert had been placed two marbles, two rings, and two coins. Whoever found the rings would find love and marriage. Elizabeth laughed bitterly thinking on it. Whoever found a coin would be rich. She was already rich, for all the good it did her. And those finding one of the two marbles would lead a cold and lonely life. That privilege was already hers. As for those who found nothing, it was their fate to lead a life of uncertainty. There was no uncertainty in her life. She would grow old alone.
The following day it was customary to hold a feast in honor of all the saints. That night her hall was filled with the Friarsgate folk, as she would not punish them for her stupidity. There was a roasted boar, which everyone loved. The next day, All Souls, prayers were offered for the dead, and the children went a-souling, singing and asking for soul cakes, which had been previously prepared and were given them. Martinmas followed on November twelfth, and again the hall was filled with her folk, who this time were treated to roast goose. On the twenty-fifth of the month St. Catherine’s feast was celebrated with cathern cakes in the shape of the wheel upon which the saint was martyred.
The days were growing much colder and shorter, the nights long and dark. Elizabeth had overseen all the preparations necessary to protect her flocks and her folk. She had ridden out almost every day on some purpose or another. She had collected the herbs and flowers she would need to make fresh teas, salves, and poultices for her apothecary. It was her duty as the lady to minister to any in her care who grew sick. But no matter how busy she kept herself she was still bitter at Baen’s defection, and so very lonely. She still could not believe that he had deserted her when he loved her.
A messenger came from Claven’s Carn inviting her to spend Christmas with her mother, her stepfather, and her half brothers. Elizabeth sent him back with a message that she thought it unwise to leave Friarsgate with winter upon them. But the truth was that she had not felt well at all since Baen had gone. The thought of traveling into Scotland was unpleasant. She did not believe she could bear the happiness that surrounded her mother at Claven’s Carn.
A long, newsy letter arrived from Otterly. Lord Cambridge asked after her health, and sent his regards to Baen. The new wing of the house was perfect. He was safe from Banon and her noisy brood, and once more had his privacy. A small gallery had been built connecting the main house to Thomas Bolton’s snug wing. But the doors at either end of the gallery had but two keys that fit their locks. And Lord Cambridge carried these keys on his person at all times. The door at the far end of the gallery was fitted into the paneling on both sides, so unless one was aware there was a door, one could not find it. It opened into a secret passage that opened into a little-used hallway in the main house. Banon had no idea it was there, and Thomas Bolton had no intention of telling her until he lay on his deathbed. Hopefully that would be many years hence.
He was sharing his secret with Elizabeth, he said, in case he be struck down suddenly. She smiled reading this, almost hearing his voice, ripe with glee at having outfoxed her sister Banon. His library was coming along beautifully. He had found some rare manuscripts among his cache from London, including one by Master Geoffrey Chaucer. Will had come upon it among some lesser works, the dear, clever boy.
I shall not invite you to the Christmas festivities here at Otterly,he wrote her.If you were caught by the weather and forced to remain here, Banon’s brood would put you off having an heir for Friarsgate entirely. Besides, I know that you are happy with everything the way it is now, and will be settling down for the winter.He asked after Edmund and Maybel. And then he closed, sending her his dearest love. Elizabeth put the parchment aside, feeling the tears behind her eyelids. She was feeling so fragile lately.
Then, looking up, she said to the Otterly messenger, “I will send you with a reply tomorrow. Go to the kitchens and eat. There is a bed space in the hall for you.” Going to her privy chamber, Elizabeth considered what she would say to her uncle. In the end she simply wrote that Master MacColl had returned north in the autumn.
Reading the missive several days later, Lord Cambridge pursed his lips. It was what Elizabeth hadn’t said that intrigued him far more than what she had. She could dismiss her lover so casually? He shook his head. She was hurt, of course, because she had been foolish enough to make his love a choice between her and his father. But when the spring came Baen MacColl would come south again, Lord Cambridge was certain. He loved Elizabeth Meredith, and she loved him. She would forgive him, and all would be well once more.
The twelve days of Christmas came, and for the first time in memory there was no celebration in the hall at Friarsgate. Elizabeth herself went from cottage to cottage on Christmas morn, delivering the gifts she had for her folk. But there were no gifts for her, nor feasting in her hall. Twelfth Night came and went. The snows had finally come, and Elizabeth knew that her cotters were busily weaving the fine cloth that helped bring wealth to them all. But there was little for her to do now. Her books were in order. There was, praise God, no sickness among them.
Candlemas was celebrated on February second. She presented Father Mata with a supply of fine new candles for the church in the new year. Reports were beginning to come to her that the ewes were starting to drop their lambs. Then one night Elizabeth heard the howling of wolves. The next morning she ordered the flocks moved even closer to the house and barns than they had previously been.
Dressing one morning she said to Nancy, “You must speak with the laundress. She has of late begun to shrink my garments. My gowns are becoming too close fitting.”
