by K. E. Martin
Deducing that this must be the manor cook I called out a cheery greeting and made my way towards him, announcing my desire for a bite to eat and friendly conversation if he had time to spare.
The man looked up at me then, regarding me with alert, crinkly hazel eyes that stood out in a face liberally splattered with orange freckles.
“Now then, Master Cranley, sit thee down,” he instructed, “and by all means break thy fast. The lass here’ll fetch thee some victuals,” he nodded towards the pallid wench I had spied at supper the night before, “but as for conversation, I misdoubt I can entertain thee half so well as did Mistress Blanche last night.”
Whether intentionally or not, he spoke Blanche’s name with palpable loathing. Since it was apparent that my lengthy tête-à-tête with her had been reported to him, I realised that it was critical for any hope I had of befriending the man to dispel the notion that I was smitten with her.
“Sweet Jesu, that woman can talk!” I cried, rolling my eyes ostentatiously and slapping the cook heartily on the back as I lowered myself onto a three-legged stool.
“‘Tis a pity that such a fair creature has so much to say for herself, and scarce a word of it of interest. For my part, I prefer a woman a little less handsome and a lot more silent.”
To my relief, the man guffawed at this ungallant sally but he was not yet prepared to let the matter drop.
“Cuckoo here said thee seemed plenty interested in what the mistress was saying, didn’t thee, lass?” he snickered, casting a cursory glance towards the serving girl.
“Said thy heads were bent so close thee were thick as thatch, and thee did keep refilling her wine cup and gazing at her like thee could eat her up.”
It was pointless to deny any of this since every servant in the hall could attest to my shameless flirtation with their mistress. What they did not know, and I could scarce reveal, was that my sole purpose had been to elicit information.
“Well what do you expect, man?” I countered, feigning indignation.
“She’s a vain little trollop if I’m not mistaken, and I’m a man in need of a comfortable billet this Yuletide. What of it if I hoped by my fawning to win an invitation to bide awhile at this pleasant place? Do you know how cruelly the December wind cuts into a man’s bones when he has no roof over his head? I say without shame that I’ll choose flattery over freezing every time, as would any man who’s known the sky for his roof in winter-time.”
It seemed my angry words convinced the cook for he ceased his chopping and sat down alongside me.
“Hush now, Master Cranley,” he soothed, “don’t thee go getting mardy like, I never didst mean no offence. Truth to tell, Mistress Blanche is little liked round these parts and it could be that dost make us a deal too cautious with any that dost share fair words with her. But by Christ I’d as leave feast on Old Nick’s turds than begrudge any honest traveller a warm bed on a cold night.
“I’m Jem Flood,” he announced, holding out a large hand slimed with herring juice, “and thee’s welcome in my kitchen.
“Cuckoo thee’ve met,” he added, “and yonder,” he pointed over my shoulder, “is Matthew, my kitchen lad. He’s a good fellow and though he dost look mazed much of the time, yet he dost have more gumption than most I dost know so mind thee dossent fall for his backward act.”
When I had first entered the kitchen I had spied Matthew warming his buttocks in front of one of its two great fireplaces but had deliberately refrained from acknowledging him. Now I turned to greet him, hoping he would remember my admonition to reveal no sign of our previous meeting.
Studying his pleasant, impassive baby-face, I saw no sign of the vital spark that had encouraged me to believe the youth was possessed of unusually sharp wits. I was beginning to doubt my instincts when a corner of his mouth twitched upwards and for a short moment his expression was alight with intelligence. Then the moment was gone and his dullard countenance returned but it was enough to restore my confidence in him.
“Good day to you, lad,” I called to him genially. In reply he mumbled something indiscernible and idly scratched his behind.
At a signal from the cook, the girl Cuckoo came to the table and set before me a clay beaker which she filled to the brim with barley ale.
“Try that,” Flood commanded, “and tell me if sobeit thee’s ever tasted better.”
I had, and in any case I much prefer fine Rhenish wine over home-brewed ale but good manners dictated that I should heap praise on the manor’s provender, warranted or not. Flood drank also, and beckoned to Matthew to come forward and claim a cup. Only Cuckoo did not drink, so I asked her gently if she was not thirsty.
The wench blushed, and her wan face looked better for the colour it brought to her cheeks.
“I’ll take some if Pa dost say I might,” she answered, looking anxiously at Flood.
She is his daughter, I thought with some surprise. I had not discerned a resemblance between the small pale girl and the strapping, gingery cook, nor could I see evidence of paternal affection in the way he spoke to her.
“Drink then,” Flood ordered surlily, “but see thee dossent take all day about it.”
Turning to face the fireplace at which Matthew had been standing, I saw two pallets covered with fustian blankets lying close by. Flood followed my gaze.
“‘Tis where Matthew and the lass dost bed down of a night,” he informed me.
“And what of you?” I enquired. “Is there not a cosy spot at the fireside for you to rest your head after your labours?”
“There is not,” Flood laughed, “and God be thanked for it. I dost have a tidy house of my own in Plaincourt village, and a bonnie wife to go home to when my work here is done. ‘Tis sometimes hard to make my way across the moat in the dark but I’ve lived in Plaincourt all my days and my feet dost find the path well enough.”
“So you and pretty little Cuckoo spend your nights alone together here,” I said to Matthew with a suggestive gleam in my eye. “That must be passing pleasant for you.”
It was an idle remark, meant as a harmless jest, so I was unprepared for the vehemence with which all three of the kitchen folk rounded on me in denial of any loose behaviour.
“There’s nowt of that sort going on, thee may be assured of that, Master Cranley,” Flood said firmly, while Matthew spluttered incoherently and Cuckoo declared with indignation that she was yet a maiden pure and untouched.
It was plain that I had touched a sore place with my careless remark and I marvelled a little at their reaction. I knew that the other household servants slept in the great hall but it was not uncommon for kitchen staff to lie down next to their own fires where they were guaranteed warmth and an unusual degree of privacy.
What was peculiar was for a young unmarried girl to sleep alone with a lusty youth, especially when her own father went home to a house in the village. I concluded that the bonnie wife Flood had mentioned might not be the girl’s mother. If that was the case, it could be that she was unwilling to share her roof with a grown-up step-daughter, although Flood did not strike me as the sort to suffer a shrewish, domineering spouse, however comely she may be.
Putting the matter from my mind, I returned my attention to the task in hand. In order to bring Mistress Blanche back into the conversation, I asked when she was likely to rise from her slumbers. Flood pulled a disgusted face.
“That vicious piece dost oft-times lie low in her pit half the day,” he sneered.
“She’s made a snug nest for herself in an apartment over the buttery. And having heard tell how much of Master’s best Gascon she didst guzzle last night, I dossent expect her to leave it anytime soon.
“For which,” he added with a shudder, “I dost confess I am nowt but thankful. The longer she dost stay out of my way, the happier it dost make me.”
Matthew and Cuckoo nodded their agreement. Oh Blanche, your gift for making friends has failed you here at Plaincourt Manor, I thought. You would seem to be universally loathed.
“I see you have a high opinion of your master’s future bride,” I jested, hoping to encourage him to speak some more of her. Yet I was destined to be disappointed.
“‘Tis not for me to like or mislike Master’s future wife,” he commented shortly, perhaps regretting having spoken so freely in front of me. “If Master dost want her, I daresay she’ll serve well enough.”
Realising that Flood was not willing to be drawn further about Blanche I abandoned that tack and turned instead to Sir Stephen himself.
“What manner of man is the master?” I enquired, explaining my interest on the pretext of sounding out my chance of securing permanent tenure at the manor. “Does he treat his servants fairly?”
To my relief, this line of questioning met with greater success.
“Sir Stephen, he dost have his merits,” Flood opined carefully. “Mind, I dossent say he’s a good man but serve him well, keep thy nose out of his affairs and he’ll give thee no cause for complaint. And to my way of thinking, that dost make him a better master than his father, may the evil old bugger burn in hell’s fiery furnaces for all eternity.”
My interest was roused by hearing the cook speak of the old master with such open hatred. Sensing a story, I asked what fault there had been with the old master.
“Sir Thomas didst cleave to the ancient view that he didst have the right to force himself on every comely lass in the village, maid or married, whether she didst want him or no,” he answered in a voice rich with bitterness.
At once, I was reminded of Matthew’s story about the witch called Lynet who had been repeatedly raped by Sir Thomas and then all but cast out by her family.
“He didst start as a young ‘un, soon as ever he didst know what his cock were for, and never didst stop ’til the day he dropped dead. Plaincourt’s littered with his bastard bairns, though he didst never recognise them as such, oh no, not he. Our wives and daughters didst bear his bairns and we didst have no choice but to care for them as our own or watch them starve. Even I dost have a cuckoo in my nest!” he spat angrily.
A whimper escaped the kitchen drab’s lips and finally the significance of her odd name dawned on me.
“I see thee has it now,” Flood growled. “Aye, Cuckoo’s called my daughter but in truth the girl were fathered when the shameful old devil didst force open my poor Letice’s legs at knifepoint. Even when he were old and feeble there were no slaking his prodigious lust. He didst die not long after and I didst gave thanks for it, may the good Lord forgive me.
“I never didst blame Letice for what happened, nor should I in fairness blame the girl but I cain’t help it. The very fact of her being is like a sore that dossent heal. She’s allus there to remind me of what that old goat didst to my wife, and how there were nowt I couldst do about it.
“My Letice is a goodly soul and she dost love the brat in spite of all; ‘tis for her sake I didst agree to raise Cuckoo as my own but God forgive me, I cain’t learn to like her. As soon as ever she were old enough to work I didst say she must leave my house and bide here at the manor. Leastways now, though my days are blighted by her presence in my kitchen, I find a smidgen of peace when I dost lie under my own roof at night.”
I felt an overwhelming sense of pity, mostly for poor Cuckoo who had stood limp and dejected throughout Flood’s tale but also for the man and his wife. Much as I deplored his hostility to the hapless girl I could well understand his inability to forget the vile circumstance that had led to her birth. At least her mother loves her, I thought, let that give the wench some consolation.
Glancing at Matthew, I saw that he too was moved by Flood’s story. This I found surprising since I felt it could have been no secret to him. He saw me looking at him and smiled sheepishly.
“When thee didst hear tell I share the same bedding down place as Cuckoo, thee didst think there must be mucky goings on ’twixt she and I,” he muttered, “and I dossent blame thee any for it. But Letice Flood dost know full well her lass’s maidenhood is safe from me for Cuckoo is my sister. Half-blood sister, that is, seeing as her and me dost not have the same ma.
“My ma were a bad girl that didst live near a place called Mablethorpe Hall. I didst never go there but I dost know ‘tis by the coast. Old Sir Thomas didst take a fancy to her one time when he was visiting with the Fitzwilliams up at Mablethorpe, and he didst carry her home across his saddle. He didst give her a house here in the village and didst visit her regular until she didst fall for me.
“Then he didst stop his visiting and Ma didst make shift to earn her bread helping Dulcy the washerwoman. When I was birthed she didst plain bleed away and die, Dulcy didst say there was nowt to be done to save her. Dulcy didst think I looked lusty enough, mind, so she didst pick me up and carry me along to the manor for Sir Thomas to see. He weren’t interested though, and didst bid her be off afore he didst put his fist in her ugly face. ‘Tis not me calling Dulcy ugly, you understand, master, ‘tis what Sir Thomas didst say to her. She herself didst say so many a-time.
“At first Dulcy didst think that the Lord meant for me to die since there were none to suckle me. But she didst pray on it some and then it didst come to her that Letice Flood had just birthed a bairn, so she didst take me along to Jem’s house. Letice didst say she had milk enough to nurse me along of her own babe but Jem didst say as how he didst not have the stomach to raise another of the master’s by-blows.
“So I didst bide with the Floods only ’til I were weaned and thereafter Dulcy didst arrange it so that all the villagers didst take a turn at raising me. Every family didst have me for a spell for Dulcy said bastard or no, it were their Christian duty to keep me alive if they couldst. Before I didst become a burden to any I would be passed on to the next family, and so it continued until the day I were old enough to start work here in the manor kitchen.”
As he finished speaking the thought came to me that Matthew and I had a common bond. Like me, as a babe he had been left motherless, though the cause of his abandonment had been natural death rather than unnatural indifference, and like me his survival had been brought about by the charity of strangers. Indeed, I could have found myself in Matthew’s place, had not the good Duke of York felt moved by an obligation to my dead father to care for me. The thought made me shudder. I was already disposed to like the kitchen boy for the compassion and intelligence that lurked beneath his bovine exterior but now I felt for him a surge of something akin to brotherly affection. I resolved that when my business at Plaincourt was completed, I would do whatever I could to improve his lot in life.
We had been sitting in idle conversation a good while and when Matthew’s story drew to a close Flood became aware of it and jumped to his feet.
“Well, Master Cranley,” he said as he fetched a sack of oats from a cupboard in the corner, “thee dost know our secrets now. As cook-master I am king of this kitchen yet of the three of us that labour here daily, ‘tis me’s the only one as dossent claim kinship with the noble Plaincourts. The bastard maid I am obliged to call daughter dost share no blood of mine but that of my master, and so dost my lowly kitchen boy. Come now, what dost thee think of this merry affair? If nowt else, it’ll give thee a jolly story for the next fine lords and ladies thee dost play for.”
I made to answer but before I could speak he cut me short abruptly.
“Another time, master, another time! Thee’s welcome to sup ale with me again for I dost like thy face and thee’ve a pleasing way, but now thee must leave us to work in peace else there’ll be no dinner to serve.”
At that I had little option but to murmur my thanks for the food and drink and retreat to the courtyard.
***
Mulling over the stories I had heard in the kitchen I came to the conclusion that while they were sad and regrettably not that uncommon, they brought me no further forward with my mission. I was fast becoming frustrated with my lack of progress and felt there was something sinister in the way no one spoke of the very recent death of young Geoffrey.
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Flood struck me as a level-headed fellow and during my conversation with him I had badly wanted to ask his opinion as to who might have engineered the boy’s death. Alas, there had been no opportunity to do so without raising suspicion since I, as a stranger to the manor, could not be expected to know anything of the murder. The only soul who had mentioned it to me since my arrival at Plaincourt had been the kitchen boy. Since I preferred to say nothing of my prior encounter with him in the interests of securing a secret ally, I could hardly name him as my source of information. I found it most damnably annoying. If only someone other than Matthew would speak of Geoffrey’s murder I could begin asking questions but until then I must feign ignorance of the entire affair.
Unsure how to proceed next, I decided to while away a few minutes by visiting the stable to see how my borrowed nag was faring. Of course, Plaincourt hospitality being what it was, I should have known that the beast was being cared for better than it ever had been in its miserable life. I was tempted to toss the stable lads a few coins as reward for their diligence but desisted just in time, remembering that a down-at-luck minstrel would not distribute largesse like a man of means. Instead I contented myself with thanking them fulsomely for their trouble and headed back to the great hall.
As I entered from the anteroom I encountered the servitor I had privately dubbed Old Shuffler. He was struggling to manoeuvre a heavy bundle of firewood into the hall, with little success so far as I could make out. Feeling sorry for the poor old fellow I plucked the burden from him, carried it across the floor to the fireplace and set it next to the remaining stash of logs.
Rather than thanking me for my kindness, the ingrate huffed that if I wanted to be useful there was plenty more kindling I could fetch. Stifling an urge to cuff the wretch for his impudence, I forced a pleasant smile and ventured to make a bargain with him. I would finish his task in return for some information about the master of Plaincourt Manor. Hastily, before he could register suspicion, I trotted out the tale that I found Plaincourt much to my liking and thought to seek a permanent position. It would be helpful to learn what manner of man the master was, I said, that I might know how best to please him.
