His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Oh yes,” said Fenella. “We were to start on our tapestry this morning.”

  “And she sent no word?” asked the Queen.

  Fen hesitated, but only for a second. “No, none,” she said brazenly. If she admitted to that, they would no doubt ask to see the note.

  The Queen’s gaze flickered over her face, and she smiled. “You two are the very good friends, are you not?”

  Fen cleared her throat before answering a muted, “Yes, very.”

  “If you truly are a friend to my Mathilde,” broke in Lady Doverdale harshly. “Then you would tell me exactly what you know about her current whereabouts.”

  Fen did not look at Lady Doverdale this time. “I’m afraid I can tell you nothing,” said Fen firmly.

  “Cannot or will not?” asked Lady Doverdale, seizing only on the part that interested her.

  “In this instance, they are one and the same, I assure you.” said Fen quietly.

  “Why do you not return to your rooms, Berengaria?” suggested the Queen. “It may be that your staff have some new information for you? Or have uncovered some clue as to her direction?”

  Lady Doverdale made a muffled exclamation and threw up her hands. “Pray to the gods, you are right!” she said in a voice of long-suffering and strode from the room without any other word of farewell.

  A silence fell upon them for a moment, before the Queen made a thoughtful noise and tapped her chin. “I do not think you have told to us everything that you know, Fenella,” she said. “Which is unkind of you, as I very much wish to share everything that I know with you!”

  Fen blinked at her. “You mean-?”

  The Queen nodded. “I have every fascinating detail of how it was discovered that the little Mouse had up and left us.”

  Fen gave a start. So the Queen already knew that she had left of her own accord? She took a deep breath. “I can tell you nothing else, your majesty. Except that she has not been coerced and that wherever she is, it is of her own free will.”

  The Queen smiled at this. “Ahah!” she said triumphantly. “She did send word to you. But of course she did!”

  “Only that she had left, your highness,” said Fen coloring up. “Nothing of her plans or her intent.”

  The Queen nodded gravely. “This she probably did to protect you from such an interview as her mother just subjected you to. The Queen looked thoughtful. “On the whole, I am inclined to believe you are in the right of it,” she said drifting over to the window and looking out over the wintry landscape. “And that Lady Martindale has not fallen prey to some wicked plot. That, extraordinary as it may seem, the scheme was of her own devising.” A smile curved her lips. “Have you heard yet how she concealed her escape?”

  The Queen flicked a hand at Lady Jane who hastily uncovered a platter of sweetmeats and delicate treats. It dimly occurred to Fen, that she had progressed to the figure of guest now, rather than potential witness or co-conspirator.

  “No, I have heard no detail,” she croaked, licking her dry lips. Jane hurried around with a goblet of wine for her and Fen took a long draught. It was sweet and rich and deceptively light. It was not until she felt her head swim slightly, that she remembered she had not broken her fast. To her surprise, Jane did not automatically refill her cup but instead silently offered her water instead. Fen nodded quickly. It would not do to grow loose-lipped around the sharp-eyed Queen, though truth be told, she knew precious little. Jane topped up her goblet and fetched a tray of delicacies. Unfortunately, Fen could not face any of them.

  Queen Armenal re-settled herself comfortably in her cushioned, tasseled seat. “Very well. Despite the fact you have been so stingy with your knowledge, I am more generous and will share with you! The little Martindale announced she felt unwell on Monday evening and would retire early to bed with a putrid sore throat,” said the Queen, continuing with her story. Jane hurried forward and helped arrange her voluminous skirts as Fen recalled Mathilde’s feeble claims that she had a cough. “Her nurse put her to bed with a honeyed posset.” The Queen paused as Jane topped up her drink and then backed away to stand unobtrusively in the background. “Do not neglect your own cup,” Queen Armenal told her new favorite graciously. She turned to Fen. “You do not object that Jane remains with us?” She did not wait for her reply, but instead carried on. “I find her entirely useful to me.”

  “Of course not,” Fen murmured.

  Jane blushed in gratification and poured herself a drink of half-water, half-wine before settling on a seat in the corner.

  “The next morning,” continued the Queen, selecting a snack from the tray. “The nurse found her charge huddled under the bed-clothes in a sorry state and streaming with cold. Her mouth she covered at all times, with the handkerchief. She sneezed, she coughed, she had a shawl wrapped around her aching head, you comprehend?” The Queen nodded, “I think that is a clever touch, no? She asked only to be left in peace. The poor nurse, she did not wish to catch the affliction. She left the water, had the servants build up the fire and left the lady to sleep it off.”

  Fen nodded, taking a sip of her water.

  “At intervals, most regular, the nurse she peeks past the door, but Lady Martindale she is still bundled up and shivering. Her voice is scratchy. She asks most pathetically to be left quite alone. And so it continues,” Queen Armenal held up two fingers. “For two whole days.”

  Fen placed down her goblet. “Poor Mathilde, it must have been a very heavy cold, I think.”

  “Your sympathy it is not shared by her Mother. But no! Lady Doverdale, she has no sympathy for the invalid. On the third morning, when the Nurse reports to her that the Lady Mathilde she is no better, she marches to her daughter’s bedchamber, and demands she rise from her sick bed.” The Queen looked from Fen to Jane in expectation. “But what does she encounter?” The Queen held up a finger. “I will tell you. Refusal. Point blank refusal. The invalid, she hunkers down further in the bedclothes. She protests, oh so imploringly, that she has caught a deadly chill. That she will expire clean away if she emerges from her bed. Lady Doverdale, she is furious to meet such resistance from her heretofore meek child. It is unheard of! She stamps her foot and demands the obedience! The poor Nurse, she is clutching the curtains, crying,” said Armenal dramatically. “She is sure the little Martindale is in deadly peril for her health. When suddenly, the Mother, she scents the rat.” She paused and took a sip of wine, enjoying the moment.

  Fen glanced across at Jane Cecil who looked as mystified as she.

  Queen Armenal waved a hand before continuing excitedly. “Suddenly, she pounces! The Doverdale, she drags the huddled figure from the bed, when what does she find…?” She sat back triumphantly taking in Fen’s astonishment.

  “I hardly know,” stammered Fen.

  “An imposter,” The Queen enunciated precisely. Fen and Jane both gasped. “An imposter who wears her daughter’s shift and her daughter’s shawl and lies in her daughter’s bed, making the cough-cough and covering his face with the bedsheets!”

  “An imposter?” breathed Jane.

  “His face?” repeated Fen shrilly.

  The Queen smirked. “Quite. For it was a youth, a mere boy. In short, one of the palace pages. As Lady Doverdale, she drags him from the bed, her daughter’s long hair it falls from under the bed-cap and scatters all over the floor.”

  Fen’s mouth fell open. “Her hair?” she uttered faintly. It was starting to sound like some sort of awful nightmare.

  The Queens eyes gleamed with amusement. “She-cut-it-off!” she said punctuating each word with a stab of her finger in the air. “She cut it off and donned the page’s suit three nights previously and ran away from court.”

  Fen collapsed back in her seat aghast. “I can hardly believe it!” she uttered in a stifled voice. But something about it rang true. The pages. The pages that Mathilde had said were her only friends before she arrived.

  “Nor I,” said the Queen with a trace of regret. “And to think, all this
time, I thought the Lady Martindale to be a little bore, with nary a word to say for herself.” She clicked her tongue.

  “But where has she gone?” demanded Fen. “Has she left no word?” The Queen gazed at her so pointedly, that she felt herself turn red. “I mean, did she leave no word for her mother?” she forced herself to say.

  The Queen narrowed her eyes, but conceded, “She did leave a very short note for her mother, telling her not to worry and saying she would send word at some later point.”

  “But – but-” Fen stuttered helplessly. She could hardly bear to think of Mathilde careering around the countryside with a shorn head and dressed in boy’s clothes! What on earth would become of her! “What is to be done?” She looked around wildly. “What is Lady Doverdale doing to recover her?”

  The Queen was giving her a rather hard stare. “Do not alarm yourself, my dear Fenella,” she said slyly. “For did you not say yourself, that she had left of her own will and not been coerced?” She turned back to the tray of refreshments and picked out a small stuffed pastry.

  That bought Fenella up short. She thought of her own letter. That was true. But whatever had her friend been thinking of? “Wherever she has gone,” she said slowly. “She had a destination in mind.”

  The Queen smirked.

  “Is her father still alive?” asked Jane.

  “No,” replied Fen absently. “He died several years ago.”

  “Some friend of his?” Jane hazarded. “An uncle or a godparent...?”

  The Queen sent a look her way and she lapsed into silence. “What say you Fenella?” she asked instead.

  Fen frowned, thinking furiously of her letter. What was it Mathilde had said? Something about seizing her lot in life and running with it? Her lot in life? Dimly, she thought of Mathilde stood holding baby Archie with tears streaking down her face. Mathilde was a married woman, not a child. A married woman who had been wed by proxy. She sat forward in her seat, her face tight as she tried to marshal her thoughts. Suddenly, she knew without a shadow of a doubt where her friend had gone. She had gone to her husband, the shadowy Lord Martindale. She gulped, and hastily looked up to find the others keenly watching her. “I – I hardly know,” she lied. Though in truth, it was barely a lie, for she had not the first notion where Lord Martindale was to be found, any clue as to his character, or the reception Mathilde would find there.

  The Queen sat back in her seat with a satisfied smile curving her lips. She sighed happily. “And I was wrong about you too,” she said. “Tell to me, Fenella, how would you like to be one of my ladies-in-waiting?”

  **

  Fen spent the afternoon with Linnet and the children to distract her from her woes, though she did not fool herself that she’d made good company. Luckily, the girls weren’t at all shy around her now, and were determined to show her all their treasures. This meant she could sit with them and exclaim over their books and hair combs and trinkets without much more being expected of her. Linnet was kind and did not press her for any more information about Mathilde’s disappearance, for which Fen was profoundly grateful. When she’d dragged herself to bed after supper, she’d thought herself exhausted. But as soon as she’d pulled the covers up to her chin, she was prey once more, to her clamoring fears. What would become of her? What would become of her friend Mathilde? She’d received a letter from Orla before supper which she’d tucked into her purse unopened. She debated now whether to go and fetch it, as it was hard to imagine sleep would ever come, but she didn’t want to wake her sister-in-law’s family. She had been completely stunned by the Queen’s proposition to elevate her to the ranks of her attendants. She had fallen from grace with her husband, at practically the same time her stock had significantly risen with the Queen. How ironic that she would have been delighted by such a triumph a few weeks previously. The problem was, the person she would have wanted to please would have been her husband. And he no longer cared for her presence at Court.

  She glanced down to the fireplace where Bors now dozed. He’d been most put out by Roland’s disappearance, but had finally consented to join his mistress in her bedchamber. He raised his head from his paws now, to look at her.

  “All is well, my boy,” she told him softly and he lowered his head again, happy to take her at her word. If only she could allay her own fears as easily. She rolled onto her other side and stared at the grey light coming through the window. It was late, so she thought it meant more snow. Her thoughts turned to the King’s party. Would they be warm enough in their tents overnight? She wondered if Oswald was lying awake thinking of her. Her heart broke a little more to think that if he was, then it would only be hard, unforgiving thoughts. Probably regretting the day she’d come back into his life, wreaking havoc on his reputation. She sighed, thinking of the fact that she was now tied up in yet another scandal. One he remained in blissful ignorance of, but that would not continue. Lady Doverdale viewed her with frank suspicion. She was sure to be implicated when it all came to light, no matter how hard Mathilde had tried to keep her out of it. Perhaps it was just as well she was being bundled off to Sitchmarsh. The King was sure to be outraged by such goings-on. She dozed off again at some point around dawn, and woke around the hour of nine. She could already hear the Cadwalladers moving around in the other rooms, and made haste to join them around the table. Cuthbert made a noise when she appeared, his mouth full of herring. He reached into his tunic and produced a note for her.

  “Thank you,” she said flipping it over and recognizing the handwriting as Eden Montmayne’s. “Good morning,” she greeted Meg and Lily who were sat in their shifts having their hair brushed by Nan.

  “Morning, Aunt Fenella,” they caroled.

  “The mistress is just feeding master Archie,” Nan told her grimly through a mouthful of hair pins.

  “I see, thank you Nan.” Her own hair was still loose as Trudy had not yet appeared. She wore her rose pink gown with the gold cuffs and seated herself at the table to finally read Orla’s letter. Meldon plunked some toasted bread in front of her and she turned to smile at his crabby face.

  “There’s this too,” he said handing her a bowl of spiced red wine to dip the toast in. “I noticed as you don’t like fish of a morning.”

  Fen nearly dropped her toast in astonishment. “That’s very kind of you, Meldon.”

  He nodded, and disappeared with his stomping gait.

  “You’re his favorite,” said Cuthbert.

  “Really?” asked Fen skeptically. “I don’t think I’m anyone’s favorite.”

  “Everyone says so,” answered Cuthbert, serenely.

  “Well, maybe it’s because I employed his god-daughter,” suggested Fen.

  Cuthbert shrugged.

  “Did I see you throwing apples at the players the other night?” Fen asked him.

  “No,” he answered, looking untroubled.

  “It looked very like you.”

  “It was apple cores,” he corrected her. “What did your friend want?” he asked nodding at her unopened note.

  Fen exclaimed, she’d forgotten all about it. She broke it open and scanned the note written in Eden’s elegant fine hand. “Eden writes that she has my finished portrait in her rooms. That’s funny,” she said lowering the note. “I would have thought signor Arnotti would have wanted the remaining balance before he relinquished it.”

  “He’s done a runner,” said Cuthbert, taking a large bite of bread.

  “Pardon?”

  “In the night,” he chewed his bread and leant against his hand. “With some heiress. Everyone’s talking about it below stairs.”

  Fen gaped at him. “W-when?”

  “Last night,” said Cuthbert. “He’s cleared out.”

  “What heiress?” she asked faintly, almost dreading the answer.

  “That half-batty one,” said Cuthbert. “With all the dogs.”

  Fen moaned, placing her head in her hands. “No, it can’t be!”

  But somehow, something clicked into pl
ace. Bess’ oddly resentful attitude toward Eden. It must have been mere jealousy. Remembering her own feelings about Lady Anne Sumner, Fen even felt a sympathetic pang.

  “What is this? What has happened?” asked Linnet, drifting over to the table with Archie in her arms. “Fenella, is all well?”

  Fen shook her head. “Cuthbert, tell your mistress.”

  Cuthbert took a piece of toasted bread from his mouth and reached across the table to dip it into Fen’s mulled wine bowl. “That heiress who’s a bit peculiar,” he said taking a bite of soggy bread. “She’s up and run off with that artist fellow.”

  Linnet looked back at Fen. “Which heiress?”

  “I think,” said Fen looking at her between her fingers. “He means Lady Bess Hartleby.”

  “That’s her!” said Cuthbert clicking his fingers. “She’s taken all six of her dogs with her too,” he said. “And her two hawks and four horses. Her uncle’s seething.”

  “Is that the uncle who means to marry Lady Constance?” asked Linnet with interest.

  “And the artist – is it signor Arnotti?” asked Fen, wanting to be doubly sure.

  “Yes, that’s him. The one with the eyebrows.”

  “This is terrible,” said Fen. “Now I have a second friend who has run away from court!”

  Linnet returned her horrified gaze. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she whispered aghast. “But I don’t see how you can be held to blame.”

  “Lady Doverdale seemed to feel differently,” Fen pointed out. Then another thought occurred to her. “Is not Bess’ uncle on the privy council?”

  Linnet gave a hesitant nod. “I believe he is…”

  “So, he is sure to bring it up with Oswald,” said Fen in a small voice. “And be most put out.”

  Linnet bit her lip before urging her, “You must not take on so.” She shifted Archie to her hip. “It would be most unfair of him to blame you. And unreasonable. After all, you had no prior notion of such a thing happening. Did you?” There was a questioning note in the last two words.