The Lily and the Lion (26 page)

His brows shot up in astonishment. ‘Why ever not?'

‘I just cannot. Can we leave it at that?'

‘Non, we cannot. Cécile, look at me. Do you not want to come?'

‘Oui, I do but … I … I … do not …'

‘Yes?'

‘I do not feel well either.' My heart juddered as he placed the back of his hand against my forehead, his voice achingly gentle.

‘You are not feverish.'

I returned to the window seat. ‘Nevertheless, I am unwell and it is a full moon.'

‘A full moon? Good Lord! What has that to do with anything?'

I folded my arms resolutely. ‘I am not tied to you in wedlock, Sir. You are not privy to any further explanation.'

‘Indeed I am! I am your keeper, and your health and well-being are my concern. You
will
oblige me with an explanation right
now
.'

‘Ooh! Have it your way then! I am
indisposed.
'

He stepped back as though he had just encountered a leper. ‘Oh! Your pardon, Lady. I, er, well, that is to say Lady de Caux is waiting and I should go.' He bowed courteously. ‘I am truly sorry that you will not be joining us.'

Long after I had listened to the sound of receding hooves, I roused myself from a stupor of self-pity and went to see how fared Armand and Madame Duvall. Both were fast asleep and snoring. The moon was shining in full glory and lit my room with a celestial radiance. Too restless for my bed, I headed for the garden.

The grounds at Amiens are not quite as splendid as those at Compiègne but they are charming, nonetheless.

Tidy floral beds, bordered on one side by a large yew hedge, girthed the ivy-covered swing seat that beckoned me. I sat, scraping my feet along the ground, and let my thoughts meander down the path my life had taken. I felt hopelessly dejected. My heart ached for company, the need to talk with someone who could understand the events of the last weeks. Someone who would not judge me. And for once my cousin would not suffice. What I yearned for was female companionship of my own age. Only a woman could understand my predicament. There was only one. I needed you, Catherine. Tucking up my feet, my head sank onto my arms and the desperate tears flowed.

I must have fallen asleep, for the clattering of hooves woke me. In dazed confusion, I realised that Gillet and Madame de Caux had returned. Not wishing to be found, I hurtled towards the inn's door but stopped as I heard their voices.

Rosslyn de Caux's words, carried by the crisp night air, tinkled across the lavender. ‘Oh, Gillet, look at the moon. What a wonderful night. Let us not go inside immediately. Shall we sit a while in the garden?'

Gillet's reply was muffled but it enticed a throaty laugh from Rosslyn. Frantic, I dived behind the yew hedge, further horrified when they headed for the swing seat. Crouching in the topiary, I silently cursed my stupidity. A mere few feet separated us and to be discovered now would be to die from shame. I was a rabbit snared in a precarious warren of its own digging.

‘I should check on Armand and Cécile, and Madame Duvall also. None of them were well tonight,' said Gillet.

‘Non,' breathed Rosslyn silkily, ‘they will be fine. Look, no light is reflected in the casements. They are all asleep. Stay with me. I am so, how do you say? Excited after the play. It was most thrilling, was it not?'

‘Hmm? Yes. Yes, it was a fine production. 'Tis a pity Armand and Cécile could not come, both would have enjoyed it immensely.'

Rosslyn de Caux pouted. ‘They are cousins, oui? Yet she is so fair and he so dark. That seems strange, non?'

I held my breath, praying that Gillet was not so besotted by the widow's cleavage that he would let slip the name of Armagnac to impress her. This woman and I were enemies enough!

‘No, not strange at all, Rosslyn. Armand's family has many branches and one descends from the Normans and favours fair hair.

‘Ah. They are very close, oui?'

Gillet turned. The moonlight struck his face casting an ethereal glow. ‘Oui, they are.' He glanced back at the windows and frowned. There should have been at least one candle burning.

‘Then perhaps they will marry.' Rosslyn tossed her red curls provocatively. ‘It is not unusual for cousins to contemplate this.'

‘No, I do not believe so.'

‘Well, maybe he has not yet asked her?'

‘As a matter of fact he did and Cécile refused him.'

My mouth fell open. Was there anything about which this courier was not informed?

‘She refused him? But why?' exclaimed Rosslyn.

Gillet stretched as if he were cramping and the sultry redhead slid nearer. When his arm fell, he had no option but to rest it on the back of the swing, just below her shoulders. ‘Armand would do anything for Cécile.'

Rosslyn lightly touched Gillet's chest, tiptoeing her fingers up his doublet. ‘Is that such a bad thing?'

Gillet offered his smile to the moon as my stomach somersaulted like a tumbler at a fair. ‘Yes, if you knew Cécile.'

She dropped her hand and gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Love can be a precious gift, non? One must take it when one can, for we know not when we shall be denied.' She tilted her head back, her lips glistening in the silvery light. ‘You may kiss me, Gillet, if you so desire.'

I stifled my gasp and craned to see. My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid they would hear it. Gillet appeared frozen as he stared at her but the widow's eyes slowly closed and she surrendered her mouth. He bent slowly and their lips met. His arms slid around her, pulling her close. I screwed my eyes tightly shut and covered my ears, hating a world that held poxy princes and conniving couriers. I had seen enough. Too much, in fact, and I took the opportunity, knowing that they were oblivious to all else in that one moment, to steal away as quietly as I could. My only option was to head for the stable and somehow that seemed preferable to the confines of my room.

The stench of manure greeted me as I pushed open the heavy door, and the equine shadows shifted nervously for the disturbance. Inferno lifted his head with a snort of disgust and thumped his hoof against his wooden stall. His ears flattened as I delivered a whack to his rump. Ruby whickered as I let myself into her enclosure. Gratefully accepting her nuzzling, I felt sickened at what I had just allowed myself to witness. Spying was not a noble profession. What Gillet did with his time was his business, I reminded myself. I had my own concerns.

Raking some hay into a corner, I curled into a miserable, foetal ball and closed my eyes. I had never felt so wretched and numb, beyond even tears. The smell of fresh straw evoked memories of Larressingle, and I clung to them like a person drowning. As I drifted into an uneasy slumber, I wished myself back to the warm comfort of the cellar. So many times I had fallen asleep here, licking my wounds after a scolding from Maman, only to find myself wake drowsily as Papa would lift me into his strong arms and carry me to my room. He had found me again. I felt the weightlessness overcome my body as hands slid beneath me to lift me from the hay. Cold night air rushed against my face and I snuggled against Papa as we made our journey from cellar to house. I roused only slightly when I was laid upon my bed and my cloak and boots were removed. My eyes too heavy to open, and I gave a weary smile for the covers that were pulled around my shoulders.

‘Papa?'

‘Ssh, Cécile. Go back to sleep.' Fingers brushed my forehead and a kiss alighted on my brow.

‘Papa?' I listened to the heavy tread of steps as flint was struck and a candle lit but the effort to wake was too great.

‘Hush, Cécile. Sleep.'

I snuggled into my bolster, smiling with contentment. Papa was here. I need worry no more. He would know what to do.

‘It's a contagion of the throat and highly infectious.' The physician took a needle with a long piece of string from his bag and began to thread live worms. ‘If you wish to avoid the illness, Monsieur, I would advise that you distance yourself from the Demoiselle for at least five days. And your other two companions who suffer the same malady.' He looked up at Gillet, who stood with his arms folded, brooding like a mother hen who had counted her clutch of eggs and discovered one missing. His eyes fell on me with an expression of frustration.

I spluttered a resounding sneeze that sent my head pounding. My lie of the previous evening had become truth.

‘Keep the shutters closed and burn incense. Only liquid foods.' The physician regarded Gillet's clothing for a moment, then added, ‘If you have the coin I shall send a nurse from the hospice to call once a day.'

Gillet grimaced in displeasure. ‘Anything else? An arm? A leg, mayhap?'

The physician held out his grisly necklace, seven slimy worms squirmed from the thread. ‘Have her wear this at her throat and remove it only when they are all dead.' He packed his equipment and with a curt nod departed.

‘You wut tink I hat the plague!' I poked out my tongue. ‘Is it swollen?'

‘Lady, you
are
a plague,' said Gillet, approaching with the grotesque ornament. ‘And you need only worry about a swollen tongue if you have been telling lies.' He fastened the string around my throat and I shuddered as the worms slithered against my skin. ‘Clarissa has offered to tend you all. Madame Duvall is giving instruction for the potions required. In the meantime I have some business to which I must attend.' He moved to the door and, turning, pointed at my neck. ‘
Keep
…
them
…
on
.'

Padding across to the window casement, I opened the shutters and, pulling off the worms, dropped them, one by one, to the ground below. I could not stand the tickling. Two horses clattered upon the cobblestones towards the village. Gillet was riding out with Madame de Caux.

‘Ha! Bidness indeed. Poxy ret-haired bidness!' I let go of the string and slammed the shutter. ‘Watch your owd tong doesn't swell.'

The sickness hit me and for the next four days dizziness and nausea kept my head firmly on the bolster. But Madame Duvall's potions and foul smelling poultices had begun to take effect. By the third day I could swallow without gagging. Physically I was healing but my spirits had never ebbed lower. Gillet had taken the physician at his word and had not visited once. Also a certain guest was still resident at the inn. As though thinking of Madame de Caux had a summoning power, a knock sounded at my door and she entered, delicately holding a silk square over her nose.

‘I wanted to see how you were faring. Oh! But you look just dreadful! All puffed up and red with a swollen nose. Goodness, you are a sight.'

‘Your concern is touching,' I grumbled. ‘Do you not have somewhere else to be? Compiègne, was it not?' That she had materialised from my thoughts was disconcerting enough but for some reason this woman frightened me.

She sat on my bed and lowered her cloth, her voice laced with hostility. ‘Yes, you would like that. I saw how you looked at your guardian and I am here to warn you.'

‘Warn me, Madame? Of what do you warn me?'