‘I did not know he was there, listening to our conversation.’ Janna wondered how far she could trust Aldith’s protestations of innocence. The cook, and everyone else, claimed that her mother had taken no food or drink on her return to the manor house. Aldith’s cordial was the only clue to her mother’s death that Janna could find, yet the midwife’s anger and dismay seemed genuine.
‘You are a silly, impudent girl. I understand that your mother’s death has upset you, but you do your case no good by making these rash accusations.’ Aldith leaned closer, so close that their noses almost touched. ‘You would do well to follow my lord’s advice. Go home. Do not meddle in what you don’t understand.’ Cradling the jar with its liquid contents closer to her breast, she stepped away from Janna and followed Robert’s footsteps to the bedchamber, casting a triumphant look behind her as she went.
‘How much of your cordial did my mother drink?’ Janna called after her.
‘We shared the whole jug!’ Aldith disappeared from Janna’s view.
The whole jug? It was true Aldith was proud of her mint cordial, and rightly so. Janna had once tasted some herself, when the midwife had paid her mother in kind for a soothing cream. It was to Aldith’s credit that she’d made no secret of the fact that she’d met Eadgyth on her way to the manor house, or that she’d given her the cordial to drink. Even if Aldith was lying about sharing the cordial with her mother, Eadgyth knew its taste. If she’d had any suspicions about it, she would have spat it out and poured the rest of it away. And she would have broadcast her suspicions up at the manor house as soon as she started to feel ill.
Janna felt uncomfortable as her thoughts followed a logical progression. It was kind of the midwife to share her cordial, especially if she was carrying it to sell. And if she was carrying it to sell, she would never have added poison to it. She couldn’t know that she would meet her rival, that they would share a drink. It was far too great a risk to carry poisoned cordial when anyone might have stopped her along the road to buy some.
Janna came to the conclusion that she had unjustly accused the midwife – and in Robert’s hearing too! She felt a pang of remorse, as well as annoyance that she’d let her suspicions run away with her. Aldith had shown kindness, both to her mother and to her. Now, because of her stupidity, she had one friend less, when friends were what she most needed right now. First Godric, and now Aldith. Soon she would have no friends left at all.
Janna cheered slightly as she remembered the gallant Hugh. And Dame Alice. She had asked Janna to save her baby – but Robert had told her to be gone. It took only an instant for Janna to make a decision. Impatient that she’d already wasted time, she ran down the stairs and set off towards the kitchen to find the garden.
JANNA FELT HER spirits revive somewhat as the sunlight warmed her. The sight of a well set her licking her dry lips. Talk of Aldith’s cordial had made her thirsty. She pushed the thought aside. A drink would have to wait until her mission was complete. She hurried on past several low buildings and an open shed which housed a cart and a plough. Janna stared about her, fascinated by a way of life so different from her own.
She guessed that the herbs and vegetables might be growing close by the kitchen for easy picking, so hastened towards the line of green trees beyond the stone building. There she found the garden situated in a sunny and protected spot between the kitchen and the timber palisade surrounding the manor house and grounds. Apple, pear and plum trees formed the sides of a screen to provide shelter from the worst of the elements. Within their green bounds Janna found much that was familiar, set out in neat rows for easy identification and picking. She took a quick glance around, envying the variety of vegetables and the space available for their growing. It must be wonderful to have such an abundance of food, she thought, as she eyed the long rows of cabbages, lettuces, leeks, turnips, broad beans, peas and onions. She turned her attention then to the herbs, noting with some pride that there was less variety and they did not look so healthy as the specimens in their own garden. Her garden now, she corrected herself. There was great sadness in the thought, but she took some comfort as she spied the thin, fleshy spikes of bushy ground pine. The fragrant steam from boiling its shoots would aid the baby’s breathing. She began to break it off in sections. Would the child survive? Could he survive?
With a heavy heart, Janna recalled her mother’s words some years before when, after several miscarriages, one of the village women had finally succeeded in giving birth to a living child only to have the baby die within a few short hours.
‘I know not how to explain it,’ her mother had said at the time. ‘It seems there is some dis-ease which cannot be corrected. The fact that the mother has had such difficulty carrying other babies to term tells me that there is some deep, underlying problem that we do not understand and therefore cannot treat. Mother Nature’s way is usually to expel the child before it has a chance to form properly, but in this case it seems that the baby’s will to fight kept it alive.’ Eadgyth’s voice had been troubled as she’d concluded, ‘’Tis better, I am sure, to lose a baby early, before it resembles a living child, than to give birth and watch your son or daughter die in your arms.’
Did this child have the will to keep him alive through these early and dangerous days? A brief vision of her dead cat flashed in front of Janna. The kitten had almost drowned, but his will had kept him alive until his throat had been cut. At least this baby had nothing to fear from a vengeful and rejected suitor.
Janna wondered whether that was really how Godric thought of himself. Here, in the peace of the garden, it seemed absurd to think he would go to such lengths just because she’d told him she wasn’t ready to marry.
Janna straightened and looked about for a lavender bush. She knew it grew somewhere in the garden, for her mother had already plundered it. As she plucked the fragrant leaves, her troubled thoughts moved on. Godric’s action went against everything she’d observed of him and that had been reported to her by her mother. Kind, decent, courageous. Those were the words she would have used to describe him. True, he had seemed to dislike Alfred. Possibly he even feared him if he believed, like the villagers, that Alfred was the devil. But would he go so far as to kill him, and in such a brutal manner? Janna shook her head. Godric had seemed genuinely shocked and surprised by her accusation. Yet if he was innocent of the charge, who then had killed her cat?
Mindful of the need for haste, Janna scanned the garden for any other herbs that might prove useful. She spied the hoof-shaped leaves of coltsfoot and hurried to pick them, while her mind continued to puzzle over Alfred’s death.
Godric had heard a noise that night. Janna remembered now that he’d gone outside and looked around. Could someone else have come out to her cottage and seen Godric embrace and comfort her? Could that someone have waited until he was gone, and then killed her cat? Who would want to do such a thing?
Someone who hated her, who thought of her as a rival, and who perhaps had mistaken Godric for someone else. Someone who carried a knife. Hilde’s distorted face, her angry accusations came into Janna’s mind. In that moment she realised, with a chilling certainty, that she’d accused an innocent man of a terrible crime.
For a moment she stood still, stricken to the heart. Godric! She had been so wrong about him, so wrong. How could she ever look him in the eye again? How could he ever forgive her?
There was no time to think of it now. Saving the baby was far more important, but Janna resolved that, somehow, she would find a way to apologise to Godric, and try to make amends. She took one last glance about the garden to see if there was horehound, or anything else that might help, and frowned as she noticed some bright blue caps of monkshood. They were growing close to a clump of parsley, a dangerous proximity when their leaves were so similar. Was it there by accident or design? Had someone at the manor discovered that monkshood eased aching joints and the pain of rheumatics when rubbed in with oil, or were the plants prized for a more deadly purpose altogether? Cou
ld it even have been a portion of one of these plants that Eadgyth had ingested? She gave them a hurried inspection. Rough scars told her that leaves and stems had been harvested, and quite recently. A cold shiver ran up Janna’s spine. She would keep on asking questions, but for now her first and most urgent task was to relieve the child’s breathing. In spite of Robert’s banishment, she must return to the bedchamber. Janna looked down at the fresh herbs she carried. She had a good reason to be there, as well as Dame Alice’s support. Surely no-one could refuse her entry if there was some small chance that she might be able to save the baby’s life.
The first person Janna saw as she entered the hall once more was Cecily. The lady was pleading with Robert, who seemed unmoved by her distress. A scowl marred his handsome face as he said something in return. Janna supposed Cecily was in trouble for leaving the house and abandoning her mistress not once but twice, and without even asking permission to go. He broke off abruptly when he noticed Janna, and gestured for Cecily to leave him. Wiping away tears, she hurried into the bedchamber. Janna was left alone to confront the lord of the manor.
Robert scowled at her. ‘I told you to go,’ he said coldly.
Janna looked up at him, trying to conceal her dislike. Handsome he might be, but it seemed that the power of his position as lord of the manor had turned him into a bully. ‘I have picked some sprigs of ground pine, sire.’ She bobbed a respectful curtsy, then indicated the handfuls of herbs she carried. ‘If you will order these leaves to be boiled, the fragrance of the steam will help your new son breathe more freely.’
‘We want no more of your poisons around here.’
‘This is not a poison, sire.’ Janna choked back her anger with difficulty. ‘It’s common ground pine, picked from the manor’s own herb garden. And these are the leaves of coltsfoot. They should be thrown on hot coals; the fumes will clear the congestion in the baby’s chest and also aid his breathing. These herbs are not for the baby to swallow. They are utterly harmless.’ She recalled the monkshood growing so close to the parsley, and a number of other plants which, if used injudiciously, could cause pain or even death. But Robert was unlikely to have any knowledge of the contents of the kitchen garden, harmful or otherwise, and it was not her place to enlighten him.
‘Do not argue with me. I want you to go. Now!’ Robert stepped closer to Janna, menacing and forceful. ‘No matter what my wife might say, I do not trust you with the care of my newborn son.’ He raised a hand to push her towards the flight of steps outside. From the expression on his face, Janna wondered if he would push her right down if she didn’t obey him.
A loud cry stayed his hand. At once Robert wheeled and rushed towards the bedchamber. After a moment’s hesitation, Janna followed him, still clutching the aromatic herbs.
‘My baby!’ Dame Alice wept as she held out the limp figure for Janna’s inspection. ‘Help him! Save him, please!’
But Janna had taken one appalled look at the child, and knew that help was no longer possible. The baby was dead.
‘Fetch the priest.’ Robert had also taken in the situation at a glance. Now he clicked a finger at Cecily, and jerked his head towards the door. She rushed out, leaving a deathly quiet in the bedchamber.
Janna stepped forward to take the baby but, with a single convulsive movement, Dame Alice snatched him back. Cradling him to her chest, she faced Janna. ‘I asked you for help, and you failed me.’
Janna knew that the accusation was spoken in pain, from the desolation of losing a child. Nevertheless, the words cut deep. ‘I … I am sorry, so sorry, my lady,’ she stammered. ‘Truly, there was little I could do for him.’
‘You’ve done enough!’ Robert’s voice was hard-edged with sorrow and anger. ‘I’ve already told you once to get out. I’ll have you thrown out if you don’t leave now, immediately.’
‘No. Wait.’ Dame Alice sounded tired to her soul as she said, ‘The girl is not to blame. It is God’s punishment for my sins that my babies are taken from me.’
Janna kept silent, grateful for the reprieve. Yet she couldn’t help wondering why Dame Alice thought God would want to punish her so. Her mother had told Janna that the love of God was everywhere, yet the priest would have everyone believe he was cruel and unforgiving; that the smallest misdemeanour would call down his wrath and that he had no room in his heart for love.
‘The girl speaks true,’ Aldith affirmed unexpectedly. Janna hadn’t noticed her standing at the back of the bedchamber. ‘I have seen other babies born and die in like manner, as well as your own, ma dame. In spite of all my physic, there was nothing I or anyone else could do to save them.’ She stepped forward and held out her arms. ‘Let me take the child,’ she said, brisk and matter-of-fact after years of experience. ‘Let me prepare your son for burial.’
‘No!’ Dame Alice’s heartbroken cry filled the room.
‘’Tis better so. There’s naught you can do for him now.’ Aldith bent and quickly scooped up the baby.
Janna sucked in a breath. If she was going to do it at all, it was better to get it over straight away. ‘Mistress Aldith, a while ago I accused you unjustly, and in front of my lord Robert. It was very wrong of me, and I do most humbly beg your pardon.’
Aldith gave a grudging nod. As she bore her small burden away, Robert sent Janna a hostile glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘You accused an innocent woman when it was your mother’s own foul concoctions that caused her death, as well as the death of my child,’ he said angrily. ‘I told you to be gone, and you will do as you are told!’
‘But I …’ Janna searched for the words to defend herself and her mother. She cast a glance of appeal at Dame Alice, willing the lady to speak up for her. But Dame Alice lay still. Tears trickled from her closed eyelids. In her grief, she had no thought for anything other than the loss of her child.
Recognising that this was neither the time nor place, and that anyway she’d probably be wasting her breath if she tried to refute Robert’s accusations, Janna bobbed a curtsy and left the bedchamber. Let Robert think she was obeying his command. In fact, Janna had every intention of doing so – but not yet. For the moment, she intended to stay on at the manor and question all those on her list who might have knowledge of the truth behind her mother’s death. Aldith was no longer one of the suspects, but that still left Fulk, the priest and Cecily.
Janna started off down the hall in search of them, but had taken only a few paces when she saw the priest swooping towards her. He made the sign of the cross when he saw her, but he said nothing, nor did he check his passage as he rushed on and into the bedchamber. Cecily followed him. Hugh, who had also come in answer to the summons, stopped in front of Janna.
‘I understand there is no need for haste, for the baby has died,’ he observed.
Janna nodded, hardly able to speak. To her surprise, Hugh took hold of her hand and led her towards a long bench running along the length of one wall. ‘Sit down,’ he said softly. ‘Rest a while. You have endured a great deal these past few days.’
Janna felt tears prick her eyes at the kindness in his tone. She sank onto the bench, conscious all at once of her aching limbs and the pain across her forehead that spoke of too much emotion and anxiety. She had wanted so much to save the baby, had tried her best, but her best just wasn’t good enough. She closed her eyes, trying to prevent her tears from spilling. She did not want to cry in front of Hugh.
She heard the bench creak as he sat down beside her; she felt his light touch on her face as he pushed back the hair from her forehead. ‘The baby was ailing. You mustn’t blame yourself for his death.’ He seemed to be reading her mind. He began to run his fingers through her hair, soothing and gentling her. Grateful, she leaned against him and started to relax. If only I could stay like this for ever, she thought, lost in the darkness behind her closed eyelids and held in thrall by the light touch of his fingers. If only I belonged here, if only I was the lady of the manor and Hugh was my dearly loved lord. Lulled by his gentle touch,
Janna lapsed into a dream of a life with Hugh. They might take ship and sail away together, sail to the far off lands where the merchant bought all his exotic spices. What sights they would see! What adventures they would have!
And at night, in the marriage bed … A great wave of longing and desire washed over Janna; she felt as if she was drowning. It took all her will and all her courage to open her eyes and pull away. Hugh looked down at her, surprised by the abrupt movement.
‘Feeling better?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you, sire.’ Deeply ashamed of her absurd fantasy, Janna managed to dredge up a shaky smile.
‘You look a little happier,’ he said, observing her flushed cheeks and the brightness of her eyes.
‘You’re an excellent physician, Dr Hugh!’ Not for anything would Janna confess to him the real reason behind her apparent recovery. Suddenly recalling the differences in their position, she added a hasty, ‘I beg your pardon, sire.’
He smiled back at her, seeming to forgive her cheeky remark as he paid her a compliment of his own. ‘I am sure your knowledge of the healing powers of herbs far outweighs any small skill I may have.’ He surveyed her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘And yet you know little of the world outside, I think.’
‘You speak true. My mother and I live … lived a quiet life together.’ Honesty prompted Janna to add, ‘But I’ve had a suitor.’
‘And?’ His eyebrows lifted in an amused quirk.
‘I turned him down.’ It wasn’t quite true, but it would serve to let Hugh know that she wasn’t quite the innocent he took her for.
‘I shall take that as a warning, shall I?’ Janna couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or not. She kept silent, wishing she’d had more practice at this sort of thing.
‘A child of the forest, naive and ignorant of the ways of the world, yet able to speak the language of the nobility. In truth you intrigue me, Johanna.’
Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup Page 14
