by Alys Clare
Helewise lay back again, thinking about Isabelle. There was no mistaking the fact that she and Josse were kin. Both were big-boned, strongly made people, and of similar height: Isabelle was tall for a woman. There was something in her features, too, that strongly resembled Josse. Their colouring was different, however. Josse’s hair was grey-flecked brown and what could be seen of Isabelle’s, beneath the white bands of her headdress and the light indoor veil, was fair turning to silvery white. Also, Josse’s eyes were brown where Isabelle’s were sea-green, the bright colour surrounded by a band of indigo. Yet the shape of both pairs was the same, as were the golden lights that shone in the irises. And the cousins both had that indefinable air of strength and firm resolve that had first drawn Helewise to Josse, recognizing in him a man to depend on, and in whom to discover a true, loyal friend. A man, in short, to love.
Isabelle, Helewise was sure, would prove to be out of the same mould. Josse had told her that Isabelle’s husband had died five years ago, but whatever the magnitude of that grief had been, she seemed to have learned to cope without him. She would no doubt—
The door to the bedchamber opened a crack, and Josse’s head appeared round it. ‘You’re awake!’ he said, smiling as he pushed the door fully open and came into the room. ‘I’m glad, for I’ve been sent to tell you that the meal will shortly be ready, and invite you to come and meet the household.’
‘Gladly,’ she replied, hastening to get up and straightening the rumpled bed. She washed her hands and face – some time while she slept, the hot water had been replenished – and then she smoothed back her hair and tucked it under her wimple, arranging her soft, silky veil over it. Then she smoothed the creases out of her gown and stood before Josse for his inspection. ‘Do I look all right?’
He grinned. ‘Aye, you’ll do.’ Then he held out his arm to her, and she put her hand on it. Side by side, they left the room and set off along the corridor.
‘This house is a veritable warren!’ she said quietly to him. ‘I’m sure it is going to take me a while to find my way around.’
‘Aye, it’s been extended even since my last visit, and they’ve built a new chapel, within the house.’ Josse pointed ahead. ‘That’s it, in there.’
‘A chapel!’ Helewise exclaimed. ‘May I see it?’
‘Well, not just now, because the family await us, but later, of course. I’ll explain the layout of the whole house.’
‘You’ve been taken on a tour, then?’ she said with a smile.
‘Aye. Young Herbert – he’s Isabelle’s son, and my Uncle Hugh’s grandson – showed me around while you slept. I’ve also met the family, which has grown considerably since I was last here, and I begin to understand the need for more living space. The big building where you and I first entered is the original extension, built when I was a lad, like I told you. That’s where most of the family have their own rooms. Beyond it, stretching away to the south towards the higher ground, there are the kitchens, the servants’ quarters, the ovens and bakehouse, and a series of workshops. The long, low room with the hearth is the original hall – always referred to as the Old Hall – and the building we’re in now houses guest quarters and a solar.’
‘First a chapel, now a solar! How lovely,’ Helewise said wistfully.
‘Maybe one day,’ Josse murmured. He was well aware of her long-held desire for both, in the House in the Woods.
‘What’s it like?’ she asked.
‘The solar? Very fine,’ Josse acknowledged. ‘There’s plenty of space for those wishing to get away from the bustle of family life. There are comfortably padded settles, some groups of stools and benches for those wanting to sit together to sew, or draw, and arched windows facing out to the west to catch the afternoon and evening light. Oh, and a small opening facing out to the north, too, looking out over the valley.’ He gave a mock-shudder. ‘Too high for me,’ he said with a grin. ‘Herbert invited me to lean out and see just how long and steep the drop is, but one swift glance was more than enough. The ground falls away like the side of a mountain.’
‘And now,’ Helewise said, for, even strolling slowly, they had almost reached the Old Hall, ‘it’s time to meet the family.’ For a moment, she tightened her grip on Josse’s arm. Then, hand in hand, they walked on into the hall. A series of trestles topped with long boards had been put up, set with knives and platters, benches set along one side and five fine oak chairs opposite.
Isabelle was looking out for them, and came hurrying to the doorway to greet them. ‘You are refreshed, I see,’ she said, taking hold of Helewise’s hand. Then, leaning close, she added in a voice just for Helewise, ‘I will keep the introductions brief, then we can get down to eating and drinking.’
Helewise suppressed a smile.
‘Now,’ Isabelle said, ‘here is my sister Editha, also, of course, cousin to Josse.’ She led Helewise before a fine, carved chair in which sat a frail-looking woman, thin, a little bent. She looked up at Helewise with eyes as brown as Josse’s. ‘Forgive my not getting up,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Welcome, Lady Helewise. I am very happy to meet you.’
Lady Helewise! It was not a form of address she had expected. ‘And I you,’ she replied. ‘But, please, just Helewise. We are, after all, kinswomen.’
Editha bowed her head in acknowledgement, and a swift smile crossed her lined face. Helewise had the strong impression that she had just passed a small test.
‘Editha is, like me, a widow,’ Isabelle was saying, ‘and here is her daughter, Philomena, and her husband, Henry.’ A blonde-haired woman, beautifully dressed, and a pleasant-looking man whose reluctance to meet Helewise’s eye suggested shyness. ‘These are their children, Brigida and Philippa –’ Helewise recognized the youngest pair of the trio who had earlier been playing with their dolls – ‘and they will just say a very quick good night before their nurse takes them off to bed.’ She frowned in mock ferocity, and the two little girls collapsed into giggles.
‘This is my daughter Jenna.’ Now Isabelle drew forward a strong-faced woman whose face, although not beautiful, was undoubtedly striking. ‘Her husband, Gilbert, is away from home, involved with business affairs that have taken him down to the coast, where we fear he may now be stranded if the threatened deterioration in the weather comes about. Here are my granddaughters, Emma’ – a calm-faced, fair young woman of perhaps eighteen, who made Helewise a graceful courtesy, ‘and my little Cecily, whom you have already met.’ The impish little girl who had earlier hurried to welcome the guests skipped up to Helewise, tried to copy her sister’s curtsey, and fell over. Helping her up – there had come a sharp hiss of disapproval from someone, and the child had blushed and scowled furiously – Helewise whispered, ‘I did that once. It’s not easy to master a decent curtsey but, if you like, I’ll show you how I taught myself to stay on my feet.’
Cecily looked up at her and gave her a look of such gratitude that Helewise knew she had found an ally. Quite why she might need one, she did not know.
‘And, finally,’ Isabelle said, ‘may I present my son, Herbert.’ As a man in perhaps the early thirties came to kiss her hand, Helewise thought, Isabelle is a woman who loves her son very dearly, for I heard something different in her voice when she spoke his name. Herbert straightened up and looked right into Helewise’s eyes. ‘Welcome to our house, Cousin Helewise,’ he said with grave courtesy. Helewise opened her mouth to respond, but Herbert had already turned away. He had grasped the hand of a stocky figure standing right behind him – crowding him, almost – and now he drew her forward. ‘This is the lady Cyrille de Picus,’ he said. His tone reflecting his pride, he added, ‘My wife.’
The woman had edged in front of Herbert, and now stood up close to Helewise, the protuberant light-blue eyes staring at her with a particular piercing intensity, as if they habitually peered into private corners and personal concerns. ‘Good evening, my dear Lady Helewise,’ Cyrille said effusively, and she leaned forward to kiss Helewise’s cheek. Up close, he
r skin was pale, and the plump cheeks shone with a light film of grease. She was dressed in a gown of dove-grey, the fabric fine and costly. Her white headdress and gorget fitted quite loosely, allowing strings of thin, gingery hair threaded with grey to escape and straggle across her forehead. She was short, yet gave the impression of being taller than she was because of the stiff and upright manner in which she held herself. Her thick neck stretched taut above sloping shoulders, and she stuck her jaw in the air as if hoping to disguise a double chin.
‘Good evening to you, too,’ Helewise said politely. ‘How good it is to—’
But Cyrille had already turned away. ‘I must check the board,’ she muttered, ‘since those empty-headed serving girls never listen to orders and undoubtedly will have failed to set out the right knives and forgotten they were told to polish the best glassware.’ She looked briefly back at Helewise. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said, her face falling into lines of resignation and exaggerated distress. ‘But you know how it is in a big household. Unless one sees to things oneself, standards inevitably slip.’
She hurried away towards the table, and her short, flat feet in their soft leather house slippers made a flapping noise on the stone flags of the floor.
There was a brief and slightly awkward silence, and then, as if by pre-arrangement, several people all began talking at once. Herbert – surely with a slight flush staining his cheeks? – asked Helewise about her journey. Isabelle cornered Josse and suggested he accompany her to their seats at table. Editha called out to her niece Jenna’s husband to help her get up out of her chair. The two smallest girls were ushered away, with wails of protest, by their nurse. Cecily, after a brief, furious and unsuccessful protest to her mother, went with them.
And Helewise, making herself concentrate on the small talk of her conversation with Herbert, was at the same time wondering why, when without doubt Isabelle was the senior woman here, it had been Cyrille de Picus who had taken it upon herself to go and check – surely unnecessarily – on the final arrangements of the table setting.
The welcoming feast went on for some time, as dish after dish was set on the long boards. Although there was not a huge amount of anything – the family, like every other one in the land with the exception of those in the topmost echelons, was suffering from the King’s never-ending demands for more and more taxes – someone, probably Isabelle, had gone to a lot of trouble to do the very best with what was obtainable, and many of the dishes clearly included costly ingredients in the recipe: a tray of little honey cakes were coloured the unmistakable yellow of saffron, and the dark, rich gravy for the meats was flavoured with brandy. The wine was excellent. Helewise, savouring a mouthful, recalled Josse telling her that one of the many commodities his merchant uncle Hugh traded was wine. Presumably, she reflected, glancing down the table towards Young Herbert, he was now in charge of affairs. Judging from the extensive additions to the house and the quality of tonight’s fare, he was making a good job of it.
Isabelle sat in the head of the household’s place, on a high-backed, beautifully-carved chair midway down the table. On her right sat Josse, her cousin and her honoured guest, and Helewise was on her left, with Herbert next to her. Beside Josse sat Cyrille. On the opposite side, Helewise faced the invalid Editha, who, she noticed, had been helped to her place on the bench and provided with a couple of small pillows. Helewise wondered why Editha had not been allocated one of the oak chairs, which were surely more appropriate for someone so obviously frail and perhaps in pain. Was the careful assigning of places in accordance with position so important that it overrode consideration and simple kindness?
Henry sat opposite Isabelle, and Philomena, Jenna and Emma took up the remainder of the bench. Emma, Helewise observed, was putting herself out to help her great-aunt, reaching for the dishes that seemed to be Editha’s favourites, retrieving a fallen cushion, and frequently asking, in a softly pitched tone, whether she was comfortable. Perhaps she, too, Helewise mused, sensed the injustice of poor Editha having to sit on the bench. She and Josse, she knew, had no choice but to accept the places either side of Isabelle; for tonight, at least. But it would have been a generous gesture on Cyrille’s part to suggest quietly to Editha that they swap places.
Helewise’s reverie was interrupted by Herbert, asking politely if he might refill her glass.
The long meal went on, and the noise level increased as the wine was consumed. Helewise, trying to gain an impression of both the individuals and of the family as a whole, managed a fair stab at both. She spoke at length to those nearest to her, tentatively concluding that Henry, while indeed very shy, was possessed of an observant eye, a thoughtful mind and a quiet, delightful wit. Editha bore whatever affliction ailed her with courage, and, although Helewise quite often saw her wince with pain, not once did she hear her utter a word of complaint. Emma was modest in her demeanour and preferred to listen than to talk; she must have overheard Josse speaking about the sanctuary that Helewise and the household at the House in the Woods had founded, where the poor, the sick and the desperate came for succour, for, taking advantage of a moment when Helewise was not engaged in conversation elsewhere, she leaned across the table and asked Helewise to tell her all about it.
At the other end of the table, Helewise observed that the two women sitting opposite Cyrille spoke mostly to each other. Sometimes one or other addressed a remark to Josse, but each time Cyrille interposed, deflecting the question as if implying that Josse ought not to be bothered. She is trying to show him consideration, Helewise thought charitably. Perhaps she believes him to be tired by the journey, preferring to eat and drink without interruption. But that wasn’t really very likely; anyone with eyes and ears could see that dear Josse, far from being exhausted, was having a wonderful time, talking, laughing, raising his glass to this person and that as he tried to compensate for twenty years’ absence in one evening.
At last empty platters outnumbered full ones, and even Josse admitted he’d had quite enough wine. The conversation became sporadic, and then, led by Editha, one by one the family members rose and made their good nights. Soon, only Isabelle, Josse and Helewise, Herbert and Cyrille remained at the table. Helewise noticed that Cyrille kept shooting glances at her mother-in-law, as if waiting for some action or signal; was she, Helewise wondered, expecting Isabelle to be the next to leave? Surely it didn’t matter, here in this friendly, informal home, in what order people retired for the night?
She was not to find out. As if Isabelle too had noticed, and was irritated, abruptly she turned to Cyrille and said, ‘Go to bed, Cyrille. I wish to go on talking to Josse and Helewise, if they are happy to stay up a little longer?’
‘Aye,’ Josse said, at the same time as Helewise murmured, ‘Of course.’
Cyrille stood up. Her expression was disapproving, as if Isabelle’s remark had displeased her. She lifted her chin, straightened her back, and, with the barest of nods, turned and strode away. Herbert got up to follow her. ‘Stay, if you wish, son,’ Isabelle said.
But he shook his head. Briefly resting a hand on his mother’s shoulder, he smiled down at her and muttered, ‘Best not.’ Then, bowing low to the three of them who remained, he hurried off after his wife.
The last sounds of their footsteps faded and died. Isabelle gave a sigh. Then, after quite a long pause, she said, ‘It is good to have you to myself at last, Cousin Josse.’ Turning to Helewise, she added courteously, ‘And you too, my lady, naturally.’
Helewise said, ‘Isabelle, please, if you would like the chance to speak privately to Josse, truly I don’t mind! I am more than happy to return to that very comfortable bed and—’
But Isabelle put out a detaining hand. ‘No, Helewise – there is, in truth, nothing private about what I want to say, for the situation is known to every person in this house, except one.’ Again, she sighed.
After another, longer, pause, Josse said, ‘Won’t you share your thoughts with us? We should be glad to hear whatever is on your mind.’
Isabelle flashed a very brief smile. Then, without preamble, she said, ‘My son Herbert was previously wed to Maud, as you probably recall, Josse.’
‘Er – aye.’
Helewise hid a smile. She was quite sure that Josse had no more memory of Herbert’s first wife than she had.
‘Poor Maud wasn’t robust,’ Isabelle went on, with the faint note of condescension so often heard in the strong when speaking of their feebler kin, ‘and she died after only eight years of marriage. They had no children.’ Her sigh this time was even deeper. ‘Herbert, of course, is Hugh’s heir, and it has always been desired that he – or, indeed, his sister or his cousin Philomena – should produce a male child to inherit in his turn. But we in this family have but the one male of the bloodline, and, for the rest, a surfeit of girls.’ She gave a rueful laugh. Then, hastily, less some angry deity might be listening and have some appalling nemesis in mind, she added, ‘Not that I don’t love my Jenna, and Philomena, and Emma, Cecily, Brigida and little Philippa dearly, and not one would I exchange for a boy.’ She gave a firm nod, as if to emphasize her words.
‘What – er, what of the future?’ Josse said. Helewise, knowing him so well, guessed what he was trying to say, although he was employing such careful delicacy that she was quite sure Isabelle didn’t.
‘What do you mean, Josse?’ Isabelle said.
‘I was simply wondering whether – um – whether boy children might still be born.’ Josse, Helewise observed, had flushed slightly, although it might have been from the wine.
Isabelle gave a snort. ‘Emma’s eighteen, and it might be reasonable to look to her to marry and reproduce,’ she said with a touch of anger, ‘but she is not interested in men and does not want to be a wife. She thinks the whole male-centredness of society is wrong and, in her own words, has “no wish to perpetuate an unfair system”. Instead, she intends to give her life to God and enter a convent.’
