by Cathie Dunn
Hilda adjusted her shift, then threw the covers aside and put her feet on the cold stone floor. “I have to speak to him.”
“You should not get up so quickly, Hilda. Besides, the king departed yesterday for Neustria.”
“He has gone?”
Amalberga shuffled her feet, her eyes not meeting hers. “Yes, and…as I said…he has left a man in charge of our defence.”
A cold shiver ran down Hilda spine. With the Carcassonne men returned, Dagobert would be perfectly capable of dealing with any issues.
An unbidden memory returned from the moment of Charles’ arrival. And of the knight who stood beside him when they handed over their horses to the stable boy.
Clovis.
“Not that rude oaf from Carisiacum, is it?”
Amalberga pulled a face and nodded. “Yes, it is him. And he has made himself right at home in the hall.” She snorted in disgust. “He’s pushing Roderic around like a hearth boy. We’re all appalled.”
“Does he? The more reason for me to go downstairs. We need to show him who is in control! I will just get dressed, then I will expel this braggart from my hearth.”
A short while later, Hilda – wearing a gown of loosely-woven green wool over a fresh shift, her hair brushed and tied back in a thick braid – left her chamber and, followed by Amalberga and the baby, made her way down the steep steps. Her heart was beating in her ears, and she still felt the after-effects of the last few days. Her body was screaming for rest, but with Bellon’s fate unknown and her son’s future in danger, she had to be strong.
The cool breeze helped her senses, and she took deep breaths.
Raucous laughter sounded from the hall, and she paused outside the sturdy door for a moment. Something was going on. Slowly, she opened it and peeked inside. Rage tore through her when she saw the merry gathering: men were gathered around tables, playing dice, clearly drunk. Two women she did not recognise drifted from bench to bench, hopping on laps and allowing men to paw them like the harlots they were.
Eventually, she spotted Clovis. Sitting at her table in Bellon’s chair, he was deep in conversation with another man she did not know, a draughts board abandoned beside a pitcher.
Ushering Amalberga inside, she pulled the door closed with a bang.
All heads turned to her, and she swallowed hard before crossing the room.
Clovis’ eyes did not leave her, and she noticed a smug grin forming. How could Charles think she was safe with this man? She would send a messenger when she had returned to her chamber.
“What is going on here?” The sharpness in her voice earned her a few open sniggers. Looking around, she was certain some warriors had known her father. Yet now she faced nothing but…what? Ridicule? Lust? She focused her gaze on Clovis.
“Ah, the lady has risen. Are you feeling better?” He did not bother to get up from the chair nor offer her a seat. What was he playing at in her own home?
“I wasn’t sluggish, if that is what you’re referring to. I have given birth.”
“So I see.” He stared behind her at Amalberga who was cooing the grumbling infant. “This is no place for a child.”
“Pardon? What is not?”
“The hall. You can see the boy disturbs the men. I bet he’ll start screaming any moment.”
“I’ll scream any moment if you and this lot,” her hands waved around the room in a sweeping gesture, “haven’t left by tonight.”
Clovis glared at her. “I’m here on the king’s behalf, to look after a strategic stronghold of our kingdom. You are merely a woman who lives here – for now.”
“What do you mean by ‘for now’? Regardless of what befell Bellon, I am still Countess of Carcassonne, and—“
He sneered. “You are nothing but a spoilt daughter of a dead count and widow of another. The king is considering what to do with you, by the way.” Clovis rose and slowly walked around the table. He stopped bare inches before her, and his eyes wandered up and down her body, making her feel exposed and vulnerable. Perhaps she should have brought Dagobert along for protection?
She tried to keep her voice calm. “Carcassonne is my home and my son’s inheritance.”
“You hold lands off your father in the north. Valuable, I hear.” He raised an eyebrow. “And the boy won’t live out his first year, anyway. They rarely do. Hell, even his father couldn’t stay around for long.”
At this moment, her son gave a lusty cry which stopped her from slapping Clovis’ smug face. The men around them looked away, whether in embarrassment or simply uncaring she could not tell.
Hilda clenched her fists. “I will send a messenger to King Charles. With Dagobert looking after our defence and my son the next count of Carcassonne, we will be able to hold this place for him without your interference.”
“There will be an appointment for who is in charge here, ultimately. For the foreseeable time, however, it is under my command…as are you, Nanthild. Come to think of it, you’re still occupying my chamber.” He gripped her wrist. “Although I could consider an…agreement to allow you to stay there…”
Revulsion tore through her, and she tried to back away, but he seized her arms, his fingers boring into her flesh. The room went silent.
“Let me—”
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” He chuckled then pulled her towards him. “Look where you are now: a lonely widow in need of a strong man.”
She beat her fists against his chest, but he held her in an iron grip.
“Clovis, I don’t think King Charles would approve…” Amalberga berated him.
“Don’t chide me, woman! The king is far away by now, and always open for…strategic alliances.” His eyes raked over Hilda’s chest. “And this alliance is already in hand.” He chuckled at his joke. “A mere administrative delay.”
Hilda blinked hard not to lose consciousness. Behind her, she heard Amalberga whispering to her wailing son. The whole moment felt strange, as if Clovis were talking about another woman, not her.
But his hands on her body brought her back. One dirty paw was moving up her neck, then down her front. Keeping her breathing shallow, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of her chest heaving.
“That is better. We will continue this…arrangement…tonight. But don’t forget who’s in charge now.” A calloused thumb flicked the nipple of her left breast, and she pushed back again, but it only spurred him on. Pulling her to lean into him, his mouth crushed hers.
“No!” She bit on his lip, and he slapped her face.
“Witch!”
“You’re going to pay for this.”
She vaguely heard benches and chairs scraping, and Clovis stiffened. Had these men finally seen enough?
A sword appeared from over her right shoulder, settling at the base of Clovis’ throat, and a strong arm encircled her waist, pulling her away.
“I must reiterate to Charles that you are nothing but a self-seeking rogue, Clovis.”
“Bellon!” She leaned back and fell into her husband’s arm, relieved. Tears stung in her eyes as she stared at his tired face. He gave her a brief, encouraging wink.
All would be well.
Clovis stepped to the side, and his hand reached for his sword, but he found it missing. “So the whelp has returned?” He stepped out of reach of Bellon’s blade.
Bellon did not drop his sword but kept it pointed at the despised man. “Yes, and just in time, it appears. Now pack your bags and be gone!”
“Just as the lady has said,” Amalberga piped up from behind her, and Hilda turned and took her son off her companion before glaring at the knight again.
“Charles has left me in charge—”
“Charles is not here, to repeat your own words.” Bellon took a step towards him. “Carcassonne is mine, as is Nanthild. Now leave!”
Chapter Nineteen
Late April, 2018
“Are you sure it’s OK?” Maddie eyed the rickety ladder that led to the attic and tried to spot Léon.
S
o far, her damned fear of big spiders had stopped her from exploring the top of the house. She didn’t even know if there was anything up there. She hadn’t accompanied the roofer three days earlier when he replaced the fallen tiles, so when Léon had suggested they have a look together, she reluctantly agreed. Who knew what her mother had kept up there – if anything!
A sense of normality had returned after the discovery of the bones, which she had sent to the laboratory for checks. Likely, she’d donate them to the village to which they, in her view, belonged. Perhaps she would keep the cranium and bury it somewhere. With no more fragments found, Monsieur Marti had finished the kitchen floor which was now covered in beautiful – and even – tiles. She had cleaned and repainted the Welsh dresser, bought a new sink and gas cooker with her mother’s bank card, and put the other pieces of furniture back in. Later in the spring, she was planning to paint the table and chairs and the sideboard.
There had been no further occurrences of moving floors or female voices, nor had she noticed the scent of lavender lately. Not since their first kiss…
Room by room, the old house came together, but as her mother’s savings dwindled, she paused any further work and focused on her writing. When Léon left her for the winery in the mornings, she poured herself another coffee and sat by the kitchen table with her laptop and a pile of books. Photographs lay spread out across the surfaces. Until she had turned a spare bedroom as an office, this would do. So far, she had added 3,729 words to her book as her inspiration had returned. A positive result.
Léon appeared at the hole to the attic. “Yes, it’s perfectly safe. Come up!” He knelt and held out a hand.
She blinked as dust fell into her face, still unsure. “If you say so…”
Carefully, she took the ladder rung by rung until she joined him. The walls were high, and she found she could stand up fully.
Crouching as he moved under the eaves, Léon held a torch aloft and pointed into various corners.
“There is no insulation here, so I’d suggest you get some…eventually. It’ll be more energy-efficient and convenient against the heat in the summer and the cold in the winter.”
“A good point.” Maddie nodded and stared where the light hit. “It looks like she didn’t really use this space.”
“No. There are a few ancient travelling cases over on that side stacked against the chimney,” he pointed at the far end, “but otherwise there’s nothing here. I’ve never seen such an empty, tidy attic.” He grinned.
“Nor have I.” She laughed, then stared at the three 1950s suitcases stacked on top of each other. “I wonder why she kept them. There’s a newer case with wheels on her wardrobe downstairs, so she’d have no need of those.”
“Maybe we’ll find something in them.”
Maddie grinned. “Yeah, old curtains most likely.”
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Léon ducked under the broad wooden support beams that criss-crossed the attic and she followed, avoiding the ancient cobwebs. “Hold this!”
She took the offered torch off him and focused the beam on the cases while he knelt in front of them, brushing off dust. Then he picked up the top one. It was the size of a children’s case, a muted red in colour after decades in a dark, musty place. A faint flicker of recognition hit her, but she couldn’t put her mind to it.
“It seems almost empty.” He rattled it, but only a slight whooshing sound emerged.
“It could just be paper. Why would she keep them?”
Léon half-turned towards her. “Perhaps she’d forgotten she had them? Here.”
“Good point.” Maddie nodded and took it off him. Staring at it, her memories returned.
“This was mine. When I was little, we would sometimes go away for a weekend. And she used the black case in the middle – yes, the one you’re pulling off now.“
“Putain, this is full!” He slid it off the biggest one and tried the metal locks, but they stayed unmoving.
Intrigued, Maddie stepped forward and picked it up. “Jeez, it weighs a ton. It barely rattles, it’s so packed. And yes, this was definitely Mum’s.” She put it down beside hers. “But I don’t recognise that large case. It’s almost a trunk.”
“You’ve never seen it before?”
“No. Look! The leather is of excellent quality and that pattern is exceptional.” She touched the brown surface, her hand following the intricate grooves. “We wouldn’t have been able to afford such a beautiful item.”
“Perhaps a man’s?” Léon pulled it away from the chimney, and Maddie stepped back as a large huntsmen spider scurried off into the darkness.
“Yuck!” She shuddered.
He laughed. “It’ll eat your flies and mosquitoes, don’t forget!”
“I know,” she said sheepishly. “So you think this is a man’s case? Why? I can’t remember Mum ever inviting men in long enough for them to need a suitcase.”
“The style isn’t feminine, though you never know. It’s lighter than the last one, but it also won’t open.”
“Hmm. Intriguing.”
Léon brushed off the remaining dust with his hand, then stood. “Shall we take them outside to see what Elisa kept in them?”
“A good idea. But how?”
“I’ll go down first, then you can pass them to me; push them over the edge. How about that?”
Maddie high-fived him. “Sounds like a plan!”
A few minutes later, cases wiped down with a damp cloth, they stood on the terrace, staring at their treasure.
“Do you have a hairpin?”
“Hmm, no. Would a small screwdriver do? I don’t care if the locks break as I don’t really need them.”
“You might change your mind, so I’ll try to open them carefully. You’re sure you haven’t seen any old small keys anywhere?”
Maddie laughed. “I’ve not gone through all of Mum’s drawers yet, and I don’t think I’ll manage in the next week or two. Let’s just break the locks. I’ll get a screwdriver.”
But the locks wouldn’t budge. “That’s quality workmanship, that!”
“I know. What—?”
“Bonjour!”
Maddie’s head shot up, and she waved to Bernadette who stood leaning over her fence. “Bonjour, ça va?”
“Oh, ça va.” Her neighbour brushed off her question. “Have you found more interesting stuff? You look as if you explored a cave.” She pointed at their dusty clothes.
“Yes, something like that.” Léon laughed.
“We were up in the attic.”
“Ah, a good idea. Did Elisa have it insulated?”
“No, she didn’t. I’ll get that sorted.”
“You should. It makes such a difference, especially in the heat.”
“I’ll make sure she does, Bernadette.” Léon winked at her and the old lady beamed, then turned her attention to the suitcases.
“What do we have here? Did you find those in the attic?”
“Yes. Have you ever seen Mother using them?”
Bernadette shook her head. “No. Only a modern case with wheels.”
“Then they must’ve been upstairs all those years. You see, we can’t open them, and I have no idea where to look for the keys in Mum’s hundreds of drawers, but…” She eyed up her neighbour’s hair – it was kept in a bun at the back of her head. “You wouldn’t have a spare hairpin or two, by chance?”
“Bien sûr!” Bernadette loosened her knot and handed over three pins whilst shaking her long grey hair out. “I hope it works.”
“Merci.” Léon took them and sat in front of the little red case.
Maddie held her breath as he tried to manipulate the old lock. After several minutes that seemed like hours, the metal bar opened.
“Yay!” She peered into it. It was empty except a now crumpled bundle wrapped in musty off-white paper.
“You want to see what it is?” Léon moved aside to let her pull the paper off.
“It’s a garment of sorts.” She pulled it ou
t and held it up.
“A baptism gown!” Bernadette exclaimed, her hands flying to her cheeks. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve never seen it before.”
“Well, you wouldn’t really remember, would you?” Léon prompted.
Puzzled, Maddie stared at the delicate lace gown the train of which flowed twice as long as your usual baby dress. The once white fabric had turned a shade of sepia over time, but the fine stitching, inlaid with pearls forming shapes of little flowers, proved it to have been an expensive item. Not something Elizabeth could have afforded.
“No, you’re right. But the weird thing is… I was never baptised. My mother was a Pagan. She didn’t believe in the Church, even though she’s now buried in a churchyard.”
“How strange that she would then have – and keep – such a beautiful item,” Bernadette said, her voice hushed in awe. “May I see it? It looks like it could come from Caudry or Calais.”
Léon stared at it. “The best French lace on the market comes from Caudry.”
“Does it?” Maddie handed it to Bernadette who gingerly held it in her hands. Not in a million years could Elizabeth have afforded something like that – especially for an occasion she’d never use it for.
“Oh yes, it is. Look here, this pattern is typical of Caudry. There is no label, but then, not every item had one. Lace made for the big stars, and for nobility, didn’t require the same type of label you see in clothes in the normal stores.”
“But why would my mother even have such a piece?”
“That, I don’t know, I’m afraid. She never mentioned it to me.” With a wistful glance at the delicate dress, Bernadette handed it back to her. “But I have a sense it was very special.”
Maddie folded the delicate item back into the white paper and put it on top of the otherwise empty red case. Her mother’s actions hadn’t always made sense, but an expensive baptism gown?
It baffled her.The rattling of metal drew her back to the present time.
“Ha!” The locks of the black suitcase unlatched and Léon pulled up the lid.
“What the—?” Maddie stepped closer. The middle-sized case was full of notebooks, some wrapped in faded rubber bands to stop them from disintegrating.
