by K. E. Martin
Deliberately ignoring me, she produced another concoction which she proceeded to apply with deft strokes to my bruises.
“Leopard’s bane,” the infuriating woman intoned. “To make the bruising hurt less and fade faster.”
“Lady,” I hissed through clenched teeth, “I swear if you do not answer me this instant I will call for help and then who knows but Lord Rivers himself will burst through the door and take you to task for tormenting me.”
She smiled at this nonsensical idea and then folded her hands into her lap and watched as I donned my clean shirt and breeches.
“Francis, without knowing it you have arrived at the crux of the matter. You ask who ordered your beating? Very well, it was my betrothed.
“Why should he do such a thing, you will ask next, to which I will answer, how can it be that you are so unworldly? Have you not understood that my future husband and the great Earl are of that curious persuasion of men that love their own sex?”
At these words I gaped at Blanche, too astonished to utter any words, and so she continued.
“Since they met several years since they have had, ah, what should I call it? Well, perhaps the genteel description is a friendship of the most intimate kind.
“It was at the house of the Lamberts, those famously wealthy goldsmiths who are close kin to Stephen. He was making his yearly visit to report on Geoffrey’s progress, a visit you may be sure he begrudged most heartily, and my lord Rivers was there to select a pleasing trinket for his jewel-hungry sister. I believe they felt a strong surge of attraction for one another the moment they met.
“For Rivers, you understand, the liaison with Stephen is one of many such affairs. I should know, for when I lived with his lady mother I used often to carry messages from him to his favourites, arranging assignations or delivering little gifts to them. He chose me for this purpose because from childhood I was ever eager to please him and he knew I could be trusted not to spill his secrets. I do believe this is why he feels for me a certain fondness, though it is most likely the fondness a huntsman feels for his most obedient hound.
“Alas for Stephen, his love for Rivers is real and unequivocal. What he feels for him is naught less than a grand passion, a matter that rules his heart completely if not quite his head, for like the true Plaincourt he is, even in affairs of the heart he remains ever alert to the possibility of material advancement. Yet you may be certain that he worships the Earl and guards the precious crumbs of time he has to share with him as jealously as a mother guards her daughter’s chastity.”
Recovering a little from the dumbfounding discovery that Plaincourt and Rivers were lovers, I now recalled that I had once overheard some vulgar tattle to the effect that the Earl had small use for the fairer sex. At the time I had paid it little heed for I believe all men have a right to their private affairs, however incomprehensible such affairs might seem to me. Also, I knew full well that great men are always targets for scurrilous stories. Great women also, come to that, for I had once heard a plainly ludicrous report that the pious Duchess Cecily had consorted with a common archer and that was how she got the King. That this was malicious nonsense I was in no doubt but as for the tale about Rivers, I saw now that there had been truth in it after all.
“But I still do not see why Plaincourt should wish me harm,” I said stupidly.
In my defence, I had just been severely beaten and perhaps the blows I had taken to the head were impeding my faculties. Blanche realised this and answered me with exaggerated patience.
“Because Lord Rivers has taken a fancy to you, Francis, and Stephen has seen it. You have been asked to accompany the Earl to Court. It is a mark of extreme favour for one of your undistinguished rank and you may be sure he expects a particular favour of you in return.
“Small wonder my poor betrothed is mad with jealousy! Too soon he must watch his idol ride for London in company with you, a man both handsome and charming, if pitifully slow-witted.”
“And Rivers knows it was Plaincourt who attempted to kill me,” I interjected, eager to demonstrate that I was less feeble-minded than she supposed. “Surely this will anger the Earl. Will he not exact some revenge?”
Blanche laughed shortly.
“You flatter yourself, Francis,” she mocked. “Handsome you may be, but it is no more than a passing fancy my lord Rivers has taken to you. He is angry with Stephen, yes, for spoiling his pretty new toy but he will forgive him soon enough. And you exaggerate when you say he tried to kill you.”
“How can you be so sure?” I demanded.
“Because you’d be dead if he’d wanted you so,” she replied, but I cut across her words.
“No, I mean how can you be sure Rivers will forgive Plaincourt?” I asked. “I do not imagine that I am of the slightest import to the mighty Earl but I know that such men greatly mislike having their will interfered with. Will that not be sufficient reason for him to punish Plaincourt, if only by ending all intimacy with him?”
No,” she said curtly, “it will not. The ties that bind them are too strong to be broken over such a trifling business.”
Later I would remember her strange reluctance to discuss the matter further but at that moment the relevance of her intelligence about Rivers and Plaincourt was filtering into my brain. Indeed, Blanche could not have known it but her words were washing over me and soothing my mind just as her unguents would soon begin to soothe my hurts.
Rivers had not, as I had feared, connected me with my lord of Gloucester so therefore it was safe for me to continue with my investigation. The first glimmering of this welcome turn of events had come to me when the Earl’s concern for my injuries had struck me as sincere, yet I had been unwilling to take his protestations of protection at face value. Blanche’s surprising words showed me that I could, and my spirits soared. I had been dreading riding back to Middleham on the morrow with the matter unresolved, not for any fear of recrimination from Dickon but because I was ever loath to disappoint him. Now I knew I need not.
Then a new thought occurred to me.
“But what of you, Blanche?” I enquired. “How can you contemplate being tied to a man like that, a man with no appreciation for your feminine charms? He’ll get an heir on you, no doubt, but there will be no joy in it, no happiness.”
Her eyes narrowed and her features took on a stony cast.
“Oh believe me, I’d have happiness enough, for being the lady of Plaincourt Manor would give me all the security and comfort I have ever desired. But I do not believe that is going to happen now. Stephen is never going to marry me, for all that he made a solemn vow at the altar of St Oswald’s that he would.
“I sense that his distaste for me grows stronger day by day. Saying he must delay our nuptials because of Geoffrey’s death is arrant nonsense since they were only announced after the boy’s death! He is merely questing for an excuse, however flimsy, to put off making me his wife. In due course he will find another reason, and then another, and on it will go, on and on, with me living here, hated by his people and hated by him too, if truth be known. I truly believe he would sooner die heirless than suffer me to be his wife.”
There was so much emptiness in her voice that even though I suspected her of murder I could not help but pity her.
“Then what will you do?” I asked gently.
“I know not,” she said bleakly, before collecting up her salves and ointments and bidding me goodnight.
When she had gone, I lowered myself onto the bed and found that already my aches were receding. My body still remembered the pounding it had taken but Blanche’s ministrations had blunted the pain. Against my will I found myself impressed with her skill, dexterity and gentleness. She was a more than competent healer and had shown kindness in coming to repair the damage her intended’s jealousy had inflicted on me. I found the thought troubling since I could not reconcile her tender care with the hideous murder I was certain she had committed.
Sighing, I turned cautiously onto my side and surrendered myself t
o slumber.
I knew not how much time had passed before I was awakened by a furtive scratching at my door. Groggy with sleep, my first impulse was to ignore the sound in the hope that it would cease. It did not. In fact the scratching became more insistent and as my alertness returned I comprehended that anyone who came to my door at dead of night must have a compelling reason for doing so. Reaching beneath the pillow for my rondel dagger, I swung my legs from the bed and rose silently to greet my uninvited guest.
I had opened the door the merest fraction when someone hurled themselves at it, forcing it open just wide enough to be able to push through into the chamber. Since all was darkness I could not yet make out who it was that desired to see me so urgently but a familiar scent gave me a strong clue. Earlier that day my nostrils had detected Blanche’s heady rose concoction on another, filched, I surmised, when this individual had delivered a message to her at my behest. I did not like the fragrance and found it less pleasing still when combined with underlying odours of sweat and smoke and unwashed hair.
Lowering my dagger I slammed the door shut and pushed my visitor onto the bed.
“I’m weary, sore and in no mood for games,” I said softly, “so you’ll indulge me by stating your business without ado, Cuckoo.”
Giving a nervous titter, the wench reached up to touch me but I roughly slapped her hand away and bade her keep her distance.
“Thee didst not ought to be like that, master,” she whined. “I didst only come to see could I comfort thee some. I didst hear thee’d been hurt, see, and didst think mebbe I could make thee feel better.”
Grimacing in the darkness, I told her that was a sweet thought and thanked her for it but said what I needed most at present was sleep. Pretending to take this as an invitation, she patted the bed and cooed at me to lie beside her.
“No, girl,” I said sternly, “I mean it when I say I wish for naught but sleep. You had better go.”
She giggled then and whispered that she would much sooner stay.
“Thee likes me, master, I know thee dost. I seen the way thee dost look at me. And I dost like thee plenty, so here I be. I wants thee to have my maidenhead, master.”
With a sick feeling I realised that the wretched girl had misread my small acts of kindness to her for lust when in fact they had been motivated by nothing stronger than pity. Now I would have to disabuse her of the notion that I desired her, for the thought of despoiling the poor, pathetic child was truly more than I could stomach.
Not wishing my rebuffal to hurt her feelings I spoke lightly to her.
“I do like you, Cuckoo, but not in the way you think. I think you are a fine, pretty girl, deserving of much more than a quick tumble with a rogue like me who’ll be gone from the manor within a few days. And you should put a higher value on your maidenhead, else all too soon you’ll find yourself landed with a fatherless child. Now go back to your fireside and, I pray you, put me from your mind.”
“Dost thee reckon me not good enough for thee then, master minstrel?” she shot at me with an acerbity I guessed she’d learned from Flood, her adoptive father. “I suppose thee dost think thee’s too fine to lie with the skivvy.”
I should have remembered that kitchen drab or duchess, no woman likes to be rebuffed.
“You’re wrong,” I lied, aware that the ignorant chit had come painfully close to the truth, for I was most fastidious about where I took my pleasure. Like most men my age I would gladly lie with any comely, willing woman whatever her station in life, but only so long as I was satisfied she was clean, fragrant and, most important of all, free from the pox.
At that precise moment I did not feel equal to explaining my foibles to the girl so I took a different tack.
“Cuckoo, I cannot lie with you for my heart has been stolen by another and I find it is not in my power to be unfaithful to her.”
I had hoped that this sentimental patter would appease the unexpectedly wanton maid and allow her to leave my chamber with her pride intact. Instead, I saw to my horror that my words had managed to inflame her anger.
“So that’s the way of it!” she screeched, lashing out and raking my cheek with her ragged fingernails.
My patience at an end, I caught hold of both her arms and twisted them ungently behind her back.
“Leave now, you foolish baggage, and I’ll not report your assault to your betters,” I told her in a voice choked with suppressed fury.
Bundling the enraged girl to the door, I managed to control her struggles long enough to shove her unceremoniously into the passageway and then collapsed wearily onto my bed. Perchance I should have dealt more patiently with Cuckoo but I had endured more than enough violence for one day and craved sleep as a starving man craves bread. Yet even after she had gone I was kept awake by the cloying stench of roses which hung obstinately in the air, as repugnant to me as a midden. Eventually I fell into a sleep troubled by dreams of corruption, blood and fire.
I woke next morning feeling little refreshed yet from the weak winter sun pouring in through my window I gathered I had been abed long enough. Rising carefully, I ventured to the hall which I found empty save for Rolf who was occupied brushing cobwebs from the baldaquin over Sir Stephen’s seat. I greeted him affably and asked if the master had not yet risen.
“Risen and ridden,” the creaky old codger answered. “Lord Rivers and Master, they didst take theirselves over to Mablethorpe where they dost mean to dine with Sir Thomas Fitzwilliam. I misdoubt us’ll not see they again afore the morrow.”
This intelligence told me that Blanche had been correct in her insistence that Rivers would not long remain angry with Stephen. I could only hope that his protection would hold sway in his absence as I had little wish to find myself preyed on once more by Sir Stephen’s hairy bully boys. One thing was certain, I would be ready for them this time but even so I was none too sanguine about my chances of besting them in my current tender condition.
There was an unlooked for advantage, however, in Plaincourt and Rivers’ absence from the manor in that it presented me with a valuable opportunity to progress my investigations without fear of interruption. If things proceeded as I hoped, I knew I might soon be able to bring matters to a head. Therefore, having ascertained from Rolf that I would find Mistress Blanche in her still room, I hastened there without delay.
In the small, well-ordered storeroom that served as the manor still room I found Blanche reaching from a stool to retrieve a bunch of dried herbs from the central ceiling rack. Along the shelf-lined walls I spied neatly ordered ranks of flagons and flasks, all in differing sizes and all filled with some kind of physic, standing in readiness for the moment they would be needed. They stood as testament to her industry and efficiency, just as the efficacy of the salves she had used on my injuries stood testament to her healing skills.
Even with the stool increasing her height she was struggling to reach the herbs and I could see she was in imminent danger of losing her balance. Swiftly, to avert such an eventuality, I put one arm about her waist and plucked her from the stool whilst simultaneously reaching up with the other to remove the bundle she required. As my face brushed against her gown I held my breath against the onrush of sweet roses that flooded my nostrils. Setting Blanche lightly on the ground, I was struck by how insubstantial she was, how little effort it had taken to lift her. Truly there was a strangely ethereal quality about the woman.
“Thank you, Francis,” she said, “but you should not be exerting yourself in your condition.”
“Scarcely exerting myself,” I laughed. “Lady, I swear you are not of this world! I vow you are no greater burden than my lute and I trust you’ll not expect me to leave off carrying that while my petty hurts mend.”
She smiled but made no reply and stood facing me, the enquiring look on her face asking plainly enough why I had sought her out. I saw that today she was wearing a modest, square-necked russet gown more suited to her rank than the figured velvet confection I had seen before. Over it she
had tied a linen apron to protect the gown from any still room spillages, and on her head she’d placed a severe linen cap that completely concealed her wondrous hair. She had been lovely in her finery but I liked her better in these simple, workaday clothes as they allowed her sublime features to shine out in sharp contrast to the plainness of her garb. Perhaps also I felt that her attire gave a portrait of the woman she might have been had her heart not been twisted by ambition.
There was a part of me that was reluctant to begin speaking, to say what I had come to say, but I knew that I must if I was to conclude this business for my lord of Gloucester.
“I know it was you that killed Geoffrey,” I said without further preamble. “Don’t seek to deny it for I am assured of your guilt. Yet I am also certain that you did not act alone. In fact, I believe you were brought to Plaincourt for that very purpose.
“The part you played in the vile affair was crucial yet I do not think you are inherently evil, unlike those that incited you to commit the crime. There is something about you, I cannot say what, that leads me to see the best in you in spite of all. Therefore, Blanche, I exhort you, confess everything to me and I will do all in my power to help you.”
Her face had turned ashen as I accused her of murder but when I said I would help her it became contorted with derision.
“You will do all in your power to help me!” she jeered. “Ah well, I can rest easy then. What mighty friends will you call upon to plead for me, I wonder? For if I am as guilty as you pretend to know, I will need friends of passing magnitude to save me. So who amongst his high and noble connections will the rootless minstrel Francis Cranley call upon to speak for me?”
For all that her tone and words were mocking, I heard the underlying desperation.
“Will the Duke of Gloucester suffice?” I asked quietly. “If you confess your crime fully and show true repentance, I believe I can persuade him to look mercifully upon you. With him speaking for you, you may yet keep your life.”
As I mentioned the Duke’s name Blanche’s legs folded and she collapsed onto the stool upon which she had lately been balancing.
