The Lily and the Lion (5 page)

To Lady Cécile d'Armagnac, be this letter delivered.

I wake each morning as the sun rises, the early light of day penetrating the timber shutters. I watch, mesmerised, as the beam creeps across the wooden floorboards, relishing the silence of the usually noisy inn. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine what you might be doing. My heart is filled with a burst of warmth and I cannot help but smile, for you are my own sister, family, something for which I have longed all my life.

Though I rarely ask the Lord for personal considerations, I have done so these last days as I begged him to speed your reply to me. However, I could not have foreseen the manner in which it was delivered.

I had been breaking my fast with Anaïs when Gillet de Bellegarde returned. Never have I seen him so angry, his face a mask of displeasure as he frowned upon me. His dark glance towards Anaïs sent her scurrying from the room.

‘Sister Mary Catherine, I know not where to begin.' His ample saddle bags slipped from his shoulder to land unceremoniously on the floor. ‘I rode with all haste from Paris to ensure your safety and yet all the while you have blatantly disregarded my instructions.'

‘You should not have concerned yourself. As you can see, I am well,' I whispered as my grip on the table tightened.

‘Concerned myself?' he shouted. ‘I have been deeply worried. You seem to forget that I am responsible for you.'

‘No, I do not,' I mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

‘So please explain your actions to me, for I cannot believe what I know must be true.'

‘I am sorry, but what sin have I committed?'

‘I am told,' roared my guardian, pacing like a lion, ‘that you have been parading yourself up and down the village square, dressed in your habit, with your companion walking beside you.'

I nodded, for this was true.

He stilled. ‘So you admit it?'

‘It was early and I only thought to attend mass.'

‘Did you not think that you would be seen? I am surprised that you made it as far as the church! The road is full of thieves and villains who would happily detain you for their personal entertainment.'

‘Not a nun, surely?' I declared, risking a glance at my accuser.

‘I cannot believe your naïveté. Salisbury and his hench-men are looking for a novice from the Abbey and you make no attempt to hide your identity.
Remove your veil
.'

I lifted my eyes to stare at him, for surely I had misheard his command.

‘You are to remove your veil and change from your habit into one of Anaïs' gowns.'

‘But I am to take holy orders! I am a member of the church, a novice!' My disbelief overwhelmed my shy tongue.

‘No,
Catherine
,' he mocked, ‘you are mistaken. You are a fugitive.'

‘Please do not ask me to do this,' I whispered.

‘You will do as I say!'

I felt the colour drain from my face as I meekly stepped away, suddenly afraid of this man.

‘
Remove
…
your
…
veil
.'

His eyes bore through me and I knew that I was unable to refuse. I wanted to turn and run, I wanted to hide my shame, for never had I undressed in such a way before another. My hands were shaking as I struggled with the folds at the back of my neck. Untwisting the wimple, I slid it forward, resting it momentarily in front of my flaming cheeks before placing it on the tabletop. My hair, hidden until my final vows would see it cropped, slowly uncurled, the long blonde tail falling across my shoulder.

Silence filled the room as a single tear slid down my cheek to land on my hands, now clasped in prayer. I was simply too embarrassed to look up at him but knew that he was staring intently at me. His voice was softer now and tinged with despair.

‘I will not allow you to cross me as your sister has.' He turned away, his back rigid beneath his dirt-encrusted cloak. I was filled with remorse, for surely it was I who had caused him such worry and grief.

So I sat, my dear sister, within my room, dressed in a serviceable gown of brown wool, my hair trailing loose, like that of a maiden. I cannot conceive that Gillet will ever forgive my carelessness, so angry was he.

He left for London the following morning and I had no opportunity to speak with him again. His instructions had been plain. I was to remain hidden. It would seem that I have traded one form of imprisonment for another.

My melancholy was not reflected upon the face of Anaïs, so changed is she. I do not expect her to yearn for Denny the way I do, yet the joy she attaches to her freedom is more than a little disconcerting. I often detect her scowling and believe that she may now disdain our friendship. Were she privy to the heated conversation the previous day, she made no mention of it.

‘Do you still want to learn more about your family?' she asked.

‘Of course, you know that I do.'

‘Then perhaps you should thank me, for I may have inadvertently found a way to assist you. Whilst partaking of one or two ales yesterday a gentleman of fine attire boasted of his connections at court. He claimed that he resides in Romsey, which I know is not far from Broughton.' Refilling my cup, she leaned uncomfortably close to my face. ‘He was easily persuaded to meet with you here and share what knowledge he has.' Her eyes flashed with triumph, for she had indeed done me a great favour.

‘Thank you, Anaïs, I am very grateful. May the Lord bless and keep you.'

‘No need for that,' she interrupted. She snatched up the bag of coins, presumably left for us by Gillet and, uncovering a corner of the mattress, picked at a small hole until it was large enough to conceal the item within.

‘Why do people hide things?' I asked.

‘Silly! So others cannot find them.'

‘But why?'

‘You can be so stupid at times.' She sauntered to the door. ‘I hide it because it is valuable.'

I can only conclude then that we must be worth something, to be hidden from not only each other but also from the world. Your betrothal to the Duc was broken on a claim of poor hereditary right. If that be the case, what of your future? I imagine that you will be expected to marry. But what if it is discovered that we are of rank? Surely your chances would increase. Why hide us away if we are of no importance? 'Tis a confusing riddle.

Unwilling to break my promise to Gillet, I agreed to see this man but only if we were to meet within the walls of this establishment. Perhaps any discovery I make might atone for the terrible pain and loss I have caused you, for which I feel enormous guilt.

The gentleman had agreed to visit the King's Arms sometime after noon that same day. By nones I was beginning to suspect that he had changed his mind when suddenly he entered through the main door. Anaïs had slipped the innkeeper several coins for the procurement and privacy of the storeroom, which contained enough food stocks to feed twelve nuns until Christmastide. Smoked fish hung in rows across the back wall, their beady eyes seeming to follow me as I entered the room. Bunches of onions and garlic, dried cloves and cinnamon sticks overflowed from every corner, their distinctive aroma mixed with the unmistakable scent of pickled eel.

‘John Moleyns at your service, my dear. I assume it is with you I am to meet?' he asked.

He was an older man with a large and ugly scar running down his cheek, but it did not make him look sinister or ill-intending – quite the opposite in fact. His countenance was open and friendly and I instantly felt sorry that this mark had so altered what would have been a handsome face.

‘Yes, M'lord, and might I begin by apologising for the secrecy? You see, I have much to lose and no one to trust,' I whispered, lowering my gaze to the floor.

‘You may trust me, gentle lady,' he replied, ‘for I have not come to harm you, only to inquire what you could need of me.'

‘Thank you, Lord Moleyns. I am hoping you can provide me with information concerning the family who lives at Broughton.'

‘Broughton?' His eyebrows arched. Seating himself upon a barrel, his gaze slid scrupulously over me. ‘May I ask who you are?'

‘M'lord, that is precisely what I am attempting to ascertain. I was, until recently, of the belief that I was orphaned, raised instead by a kindly family in Cambridgeshire, who gave as much as they could but whose wealth was limited. I have since discovered that I may have a connection to a family at Broughton and am hoping to discover if there is any truth in this.'

‘I do not know that I will be of any help to you.' A wry smile appeared on his lips, ‘for I barely know the Holland family.'

My heart skipped a beat for here was the connection between the two.

‘Any information you have will be most gratefully received,' I added, in the hope that I would appear convincing.

‘I see,' he began. His hand, resting neatly upon his thigh, opened to reveal a strange sight, his first and second fingers joined together as one. It was as though he had four fingers and not five, the others connected by a thin membrane of skin, much like the tail of a fish. ‘All information is worth something, is it not?' It would appear that the greatest of noblemen are no different from those found begging on the street, for Anaïs knew immediately his meaning and, stepping forward, placed a gold coin into his malformed palm.

‘The family of Holland, Thomas, Earl of Kent, and his wife, Joan, reside at Broughton, a demesne northeast of Salisbury in Hampshire. They have a large family, three of each, sons and daughters. The Lady Joan is a beautiful woman and much admired at court. I am unaware of any wards they may have in their care but should you have any connection to that estate, be it even as a child of one of their many workers, I am sure the Earl would happily find a place for you there, or perhaps in a convent nearby, for you seem quite pious,' he smirked.

‘M'lord, I wish to thank you for your help.'

‘I am only too glad to assist, although I must say you appear almost too finely bred …'

‘I must ask you, Sir, to keep our meeting most private,' I quickly interjected, fearing that Lord Moleyns' assumptions were about to reveal a deeply rooted truth. ‘I would not wish to bring ill repute to an innocent family, should my inquiries reveal little or no connection to the Earl.'

‘Of course.' His hand once again opened in the hope of receiving a payment for silence. This time I nodded to Anaïs and she slipped the best part of our small reserve to the nobleman as he rose from the barrel.

‘I hope that was worth it,' stated Anaïs as we watched the figure retreat.

‘I believe it was.' I would have parted with any amount of gold for what I had learned.

One week later Gillet de Bellegarde returned. He was not alone.

Summoned to our communal eating room I was greeted by a harried Gillet, the depth of his concern very much in evidence.

‘After much consideration I decided to call upon an old friend for assistance,' he began, seating himself opposite me at the long table. ‘Lord Wexford has agreed to remain in England with you whilst I return to Paris and ascertain what must be done with your sister.'

I nodded, keeping my eyes upon Gillet, for the accompanying stranger leaning against the mantel was all but concealed beneath a dark cloak, though it failed to hide his ill humour.

‘Simon has been my friend for many years and will guard you as I would.'

I glanced at the tall gentleman who seemed somewhat disinterested, his stare fixed upon the empty hearth.

‘Catherine, this is important. I expect you to follow his directions. Do you understand?'

‘Yes,' I whispered.

‘Good, done then,' Gillet addressed Lord Wexford.

‘Done,' the stranger replied, turning his gaze upon me.

I was instantly struck by the intensity of his stare. His eyes, though grey, shimmered in the dim light like stars against the night sky. Older than Gillet, his face was wise rather than weathered. He did not smile. His lips pursed yet there seemed a hint of amusement, perhaps annoyance, I cannot say. Struck by a deep sense of vulnerability I turned away, fearing that he had the power to peer within me, to search my soul, and I involuntarily drew a sharp breath.

‘I intend to ride out on the morrow. Can you have a letter ready for Cécile?'

So I finish here, my sister. I pray for your safe keeping and beg you to take care. Now that I have found you, I could not bear to lose you.

I do not know what to say to you of my new protector. He is certainly the biggest man I have ever seen and his girth is also reasonably expansive. He is to be housed in the room next to the one I share with Anaïs. So I am a caged animal, a lamb, sleeping in a den full of lions. I pray the Lord will deliver me.

By your good grace, Sister Mary Catherine.

Written from the King's Arms, village of Aylesbury, Feast of Pope Saint Julius, 12 April 34 Edward III.

Simon Marshall leaned on the mantel and tried not to stare at the girl. In truth, he was exhausted. The ride from the city had been far more strenuous than he remembered. Since settling in London he had spent most of his time at court, sampling exotic wines and playing sedentary games. He'd initially enjoyed the attention, flirting with politics and several attractive widows. But it had worn him down, the gossip, the innuendo, and eventually he shunned the establishment, bored and disheartened. Overweight and unable to find pleasure in life's luxuries he had resorted to keeping his own company, ending most nights sprawled across the day bed, an empty tankard in his hand. Without purpose there was no direction, and each day followed on from the last, fatigue as debilitating as the boredom that had become his life.