“Fulco, are there truly no books at all to be had about the place?” Eden asked, looking up. She found it hard to believe in truth.
“Books?” Fulco tugged his beard, and looked uneasy. “Not much call for books around these parts,” he said. At Eden’s dissatisfied tut, he scratched his head. “That young Cuthbert found a mess of old paperwork when he dragged that old mattress out the box bed to re-stuff it,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Indeed?” Eden’s ears pricked up. “Pray tell me, what did he do with them?” Fulco screwed up his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t use them to start the fire.”
Fulco bridled. “I did not,” he said. “’Tweren’t my place to dispose of em!” Eden sighed in relief. “I think he threw them in that there old trunk, in the main bedchamber.”
“I don’t suppose,” said Eden hopefully. “That you noticed what manner of reading matter they were?”
Fulco shook his head. “Don’t got no call for reading,” he sniffed.
A mess of paperwork, it didn’t sound very promising in truth, but Eden still went to investigate once she was left to her own devices. She soon retrieved a half dozen scrolls and to her excitement three leather-bound books from the bottom of the trunk. The scrolls did not actually look so very old, and when she unfurled the first one, she was surprised to find meticulous diagrams of a structure that she recognized after staring at it a moment or two. Why, it was Vawdrey Keep. There were copious numbered notes in a close cramped-hand which she found hard to make out, and lists of measurements and calculations which seemed to refer to stone, clay, limestone and chalk. Were these the plans for the building of the Keep, she wondered? But no, they did not seem old enough. She glanced up as the door squeaked open and found it was Parnell trailing after her. He flopped down on the rug next to her with a dispirited huff. Eden reached out and patted him before rolling her scroll back up and unfurling the second one.
She recognized the penmanship at once. The author of this one was clearly the same as the first. But this time she did not recognize the building which was on a much grander and larger scale than the Keep altogether, with two matching towers at either side of the main entrance. Her eyes scanned down the page with interest. With a start, she noticed the page was initialed O.V. Oswald Vawdrey, she thought with surprise. She lowered the page a moment and returned to the first scroll. A quick examination showed her this one also bore the same initials. She seemed to remember that Roland said the wooden box-bed had originally been in Oswald’s room, so that would seem to make sense. She had no idea that the King’s Chief Advisor had been so interested in architecture.
Discarding the first scroll, she returned again to the second one, and suffered a shock. For on closer examination, she realized in fact, that it was Vawdrey Keep depicted after all. But Vawdrey Keep after extensive building work had been added onto it, including, she noticed with astonishment, a second matching tower. She gasped at the vision of how the place could look. It was truly inspired. And to think it sprang from the mind of Earl Vawdrey, she marveled. It was remarkable. Had he originally intended to be an architect rather than a politician? The third and fourth scrolls were covered in diagrams showing the various chambers and quarters that the expanded Keep would provide both for family and servants quarters. They were truly fascinating, and Eden wasn’t sure how long she spent poring over them. The fifth scroll was wholly devoted to calculations of the materials involved in such a project. Eden scanned this with interest, but not much understanding. She wondered how old these plans were, and if the projections would still be valid or need updating in any case. After all, they must be over ten years old.
The sixth scroll was blank and Eden folded this one up thoughtfully, thinking to use it for her own purposes of letter-writing. She had been putting off writing to her grandmother and Lenora, but that duty could not be shirked for much longer. Though what she could say by way of apology, she knew not. The prospect loomed heavily on her mind, before she reflected there was probably no ink or writing implements to be had about the place in any case.
She returned the scrolls to the chest, but took the books next door to her own bedchamber where she set them on a small table. She had five days to get through, she reminded herself. It would be no good if she squandered all of the reading material in one morning.
At midday she took Parnell, Seth, Dimon and Nudd on a long walk. She called all the dogs, but Castor and Hector had only followed her a few yards from the Keep before turning back. They then posted themselves outside the tower as if standing sentry, but she could see their ears pricked up as they watched the rest of them walking down the hill.
As she was retracing her steps, it was perhaps not surprising that she found herself going back over the words that Roland had spoken to her the previous day. She tried to imagine the three Vawdrey brothers as boys about the Keep. Oswald the heir, so secretive and reserved, hiding himself away with his books, and sketching out clever plans to transform his rather primitive birthright into something far more impressive. Not knowing he would one day discard it altogether, establishing a glittering career at court. Mason, baseborn and sleeping on a straw mattress in the attic room, who would ever have dreamt he was destined for a dukedom? And Roland, the youngest, his father’s favorite. She would never have imagined that under the swagger and the brashness lay… what? Eden broke off her thoughts abruptly, her steps slowing down. What was she thinking? After all, what did she know of Roland Vawdrey? Did she really imagine she had gained some unique insight into him this past week? How could he simultaneously seem at once so much more straight forward, and yet so much more complicated than she would have ever imagined? Nudd yipped at her, and Eden picked up her pace.
Of course, the most astonishing words he had spoken, had not been about his family at all, but had been when he had made that quite extraordinary claim that he had not been angry when he awoke that disastrous morning and found her in his bed. Like a changeling, she thought, then wondered if the dark fairytale wood was having an effect on her. He had of course, only said that to spare her feelings after she had grown over-emotional. That had been unfortunate. Thinking of Lenora was when she was at her most susceptible.
Seth barked, and when she glanced down, sure enough he had brought her a stick. She retrieved it, and flung it, under-arm as her aggravating husband had suggested. In truth, it did go a lot further, curse him! She noticed that while Seth, Dimon and Nudd took off after the stick, Parnell dogged her heels, keeping her well within his sights. She smiled to herself. Really, was it any wonder she had a favorite?
They were a good three hours, and Eden was just divesting herself of her cloak and mittens in the disarming room, when Fulco came hurrying in. “She’s here now,” he said breathlessly. “Brigid Hamble. I daren’t leave her in the kitchen with Baxter, not after what Master Roland said this morning. So, I’ve set her to cleaning out the dining chamber.”
Eden blinked, wondering what exactly Roland had said about Baxter that morning. “Very well, Fulco,” she said, wondering why he looked so distraught. “Thank you.”
Fulco took himself off, muttering under his breath, and shaking his head. Eden arched an eyebrow at Parnell who was watching her carefully. “What ails him, do you suppose?” she murmured. Parnell’s tail thumped against the stone flagstones. The other three had all barged their way past Fulco and gone running up the stairs at the first opportunity, but faithful Parnell waited for her. They mounted the staircase and Eden even remembered the location of at least half of the trip steps. The last one caught her out and she pitched forward, clutching at the door in front of her. One of these days, she thought. She practically tumbled through the door, and found herself eye-level with a young woman on her knees, scrubbing the floorboards with a brush.
“Not another great dirty-pawed beast!” she scolded Parnell, who eyed her coldly.
“You’ll find we keep scores of them here at Vawdrey Keep,” said Eden, straightening herself up, and dusting her skirts. “W
here are my other dogs who came up before me?”
The girl suddenly grinned. “Don’t you worry, milady. I opened that door and banished them to the other chamber. They’re in there, snoring their great hairy heads off.”
“Oh, good,” said Eden. “I apologize for the muddy paws. We’ve been abroad for hours, and I did not think of it.”
“Bless you,” said the girl, “Looks like you’d be the first one in decades if you had, by the state of this place. I’m Brigid.” She bobbed a curtsey. Brigid had a pleasant, open looking face, with freckles across her nose, fair coloring, and extremely curly, sandy-colored hair which was escaping from her headscarf. Eden immediately took a liking to her.
“I’m very happy to meet you, Brigid. I understand that you are the bravest girl in all of Sitchmarsh.”
Brigid laughed. “Well I’ve been called bold-faced before, but never brave!” She cast an admiring look at Eden’s fancy blue dress, which quite frankly, had seen better days. “You must be the Lady Vawdrey. Mr Fulco said you was as fine a lady as ever seen round these parts.”
“How nice of him,” said Eden in surprise. “I hope you will ignore whatever Baxter says of me. I’m afraid he is not half so complimentary.”
“Oh, I knows Mr Baxter alright,” said Brigid with a gleam in her eye. “I knows him of old from the village. A right old curmudgeon. He don’t have no time for the fairer sex, and no mistake.”
“I don’t expect he does,” agreed Eden. “Do your family reside in the village, Brigid? Only your accent sounds more Aphrany, than Sitchmarsh.”
Brigid’s eyes widened. “Fancy you recognizing that!” she said. “Mr Fulco never said as you was well traveled.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Eden modestly. “But I have spent the past two winters at court in Aphrany.”
If anything Brigid’s eyes grew wider. “Well, it’s like this my lady. I’m Aphrany born and bred. But my late husband Will was from Sitchmarsh. He was apprenticed in Aphrany, but returned to his home village and brought me with him.” She shrugged. “I lost him three summers ago. Many’s a time I thought about upping sticks and heading back to the city. But I never did it yet.”
“Do you not miss the hustle and bustle of city life?” asked Eden. If Brigid was a city girl, maybe that explained her scorn for country superstition.
“Oh yes,” said Brigid. “But I don’t miss the pick-pockets and the cut-throats and the swindlers. Least,” she amended with a wink. “Not much.” Eden smiled. “But you mustn’t stand about here in the draught my lady,” Brigid, said jumping up. “If you’re back now, I’ll lay the fire and let Mr Baxter know he’s to set about your dinner.”
“Thank you, Brigid.” said Eden. In truth, she had a good feeling about the new maid’s appointment. Which was why she was surprised to find Fulco hovering by her elbow as soon as she’d finished her supper, a glum expression on his face. “What is it, Fulco?” she asked, for Brigid had already taken away the trenchers and bowls.
He cleared his throat. “Just to say, my lady. That if Brigid Hamble doesn’t give satisfaction, you can tell me, and I will give her her marching orders.”
Eden frowned at him a moment. “If I was not happy with Brigid, I would not hesitate to tell her so myself,” she told him firmly. “But as it happens, I think she will do very well indeed.” Fulco could not have looked more astonished if she had announced that Brigid was her full-blood sibling. When he still stood there, looking at her doubtfully, she added in a dismissive tone: “You have done very well in appointing her.” He finally took this as a cue to leave and did so.
Eden only managed an hour in the unwelcoming sitting room, before retiring upstairs to her bedchamber. Brigid had lit the fire for her in there, and Parnell and Nudd followed up the stairs after her. With some misgiving she let them in with her and watched them settle in front of the fire with wide yawns. Eden got on with the business of washing and undressing for bed. Once ready, she picked up the three books she had left on the table and her candle, and opened the small doors to the box bed, clambering in. Looking about her, she found the handiest niche for her candle holder and stowed it there, above her head. Then she selected the uppermost of the three books which was a decent size with little metal clasps holding it shut in the shape of small, clutching hands. To her surprise, after unfastening it, she found it was an illustrated storybook giving an account of the adventures of some knight she had never heard, of called Sir Aguillerd. Eden’s lips turned downwards. She was not personally fond of chivalrous romances and the popularity of the insipid Sir Maurency of Jorde had spawned a slew of even more bland imitations.
Casting that one aside in disappointment, Eden reached for the second book which was a red leather-bound tome which had the first few links of a chain still attached to its spine. It had clearly been part of a chained library previously, and Eden wondered where Oswald Vawdrey must have come across his few prized books. The inside flap contained a rather nasty curse which it said it would befall anyone who stole this book belonging to one Jeffrey John Nokes of Cantonville. Except that Jeffrey John’s name had been firmly scored through and Oswald Vawdrey’s written above it in an audacious, bold hand. Eden’s eyebrows rose. Well, she thought. Nothing bad had ever happened to Earl Vawdrey that she knew of. Perhaps he came by it honestly?
When she prized it open, she found it was a compendium of beasts with an illustration and a paragraph about each one, listing their characteristics, virtues and vices. Flipping through the book Eden found the every-day creatures listed side by side with more fantastical chimeras. On impulse she looked up ‘dog’ and found ‘Most loyal creature, faithful to its master, come what may. Distance cannot dim a hound’s devotion. Be it mastiff or lapdog, its’ heart be of the same substance.’ There followed a drawing of a man lay on his deathbed and his dog’s head flung back in a mournful howl. At his bedside sat a nun in holy orders. On her lap, a little white lapdog, who was looking up at his mistress with eyes only for her. Eden smiled, and pushed open one of the cupboard doors to check on the two dogs. In the glow of the fire she could see their sleeping bodies, stretched out before the hearth.
Returning to the book, she spent only about an hour reading, before she found herself yawning, and her eyelids drooping. It must have been that long walk, she thought as the book slipped from her fingers. She caught it, but noticed it had fallen open at a page which was not fastened to the others but had merely been inserted into its pages. With surprise, she noticed that the illustration was that of a naked man. Her eyes opened wide. Whoever heard of finding an entry for man in a bestiary? ‘Ambiguous, and changeable creature with potential for either good or evil, sometimes both. Untrustworthy.’ Eden read in astonishment. She stared at the page. Why had it come loose? she wondered, examining it closer. She turned it over. It bore no marks of binding. Returning to the drawing again, she blinked at the unflinching realism of the pen strokes. On the entry for mermaid, the sea creature had her breasts strategically covered with a conch shell she was holding, but there were no fanciful flourishes or strategic fig leaves on this one. Slowly, she came to the conclusion that this page was a good imitation of the other entries, but had been added at a later date. She closed the book thoughtfully. But who had added it? Jeffrey John Nokes or Oswald Vawdrey? Whichever one it was, they were an excellent forger, and held rather misanthropic views.
Suddenly she wanted to ask Roland’s opinion. What would he be doing now? She wondered, blowing out her candle and rolling onto her side. She remembered the pavilion he had shared with his friends at Tranton Vale. I always have the right bunk, he had said, so they clearly always shared a tent between the three of them. Would his friends Sir Edward and Sir James be asking him how he found married life? And how would he reply? She shifted about on the mattress. In truth, it seemed to her that he was adjusting to this life rather better than she was. She huffed and rolled onto her other side, thumping at the pillow.
When she contemplated her husband’s re
turn, her stomach lurched. No doubt he’d be wanting to commit outrages on her body again! She pressed the backs of her hands to her heated cheeks and frowned. She wasn’t anxious for a repeat of that she told herself briskly. No, not at all. Her thoughts halted abruptly as an image of his face swam before her eyes, when he’d cried out her name the last time. Why had he done that? And why did she keep thinking of the transported expression on his face? And not only that, but he’d been happy. She knew it. Just because he’d lain between her thighs and committed ‘that act’ with her. It was very odd, but the suspicion entered her head that ballad singers and poets had it all wrong after all. Maybe they were just over-complicating the whole thing? Of course, she knew full well that any beast in the field felt a compulsion to rut. That part was understandable, and she’d been forewarned as such. The part she didn’t understand was why he wanted to kiss and fondle her afterwards. What possible purpose could that serve? All it did was make her feel confused and awkward when she remembered it now. She wished he wouldn’t do it. Why could he not just roll off her and go about his business, like everyone said men did! The way he acted was like he felt somehow closer to her because of a physical intimacy they’d shared, but that was nonsense!
She lay brooding over Roland Vawdrey for far longer than she’d ever admit, before her thoughts flitted to her cousin. She must try and write to Lenora on the morrow. Then she made a list in her head of all the people she owed letters to. Lenora, Gunnilde, Fenella, her grandmother. She really must speak to Fulco tomorrow about pen and ink. Or perhaps she should ask Brigid? Her new maid seemed a resourceful girl, where Fulco could be a little surly and uncooperative. Gradually she drifted into an uneasy and fitful dream where the beasts started to crawl out from the pages of the compendium, large as life. Strange to say, it was not the lions or tigers that bothered her most, but the man, who still had no clothes on, and turned out to be Roland Vawdrey. Oh dear, she thought, is he really so untrustworthy? Then he held out his arms to her, she walked straight into them. Like a total fool.
An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) Page 21
