Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6

by Felicity Pulman

  She became aware that her father was looking disappointed at her lack of response. “I thank you, Papa, with all my heart.” She jumped up and kissed his cheek, hoping that he understood how much she valued his faith in her. She could not say as much in front of his family, for she knew it would look as though she was glorying in her triumph at their expense. “I shall do all in my power to carry out your wishes and make you proud of me,” she said, and retreated to her seat.

  Blanche was the first to recover from the shock. “No-one will want to wed a deceitful nobody like her.”

  “She is not a nobody. She is my daughter!” John corrected sharply.

  “And before that she was a nobody,” Blanche retorted, adding, “and she’s a thief! You can’t possibly entrust your estates to her, husband. She will beggar us all!”

  “We will talk of this in private.” John took hold of his wife’s arm and marched her out of the solar, leaving Janna to face the rest of his family.

  “Maman is right. No-one will want to marry you. You know nothing of what it takes to be a lady of the manor.” Richildis smoothed her gown and hair, imitating her mother’s gestures. But her face was set in a disconsolate scowl that twisted her pretty features into ugliness. Janna wondered why Richildis disliked her quite so much, but a moment’s consideration made her realize that the young girl worshipped her mother and was probably only reflecting the hatred and spite she’d found there. The girl looked pale and ill, and was still far too thin. Her expression bore a marked resemblance to her mother’s as she added, “No matter what my father has promised you, you’ll never be happy.”

  How could Richildis say such things? Janna wondered if it was only wishful thinking on her part, or whether she knew something she wasn’t telling. A shiver of fear turned her cold as she remembered the poisoned pastry and the stolen brooch. How much further might Blanche go to protect her family now that so much more of their inheritance was under threat? Janna drew a quick breath as another possibility struck her: How far might Richildis herself go in her search for love and approval?

  Chilled by the unwelcome thought, Janna warned herself to be on guard until such time as she and her father could leave for Wiltune. Although she feared what she might find there, she hoped they could depart soon, before anything else could happen to endanger either her life or her future.

  *

  It seemed to Janna that, having announced his intentions, her father now found endless reasons to delay their departure. It was time to move into the new house and her father wanted to oversee their move. Then a farmhouse on one of the estates was burned to the ground following a dispute. Despite her entreaties to accompany him, John went to sort matters out, taking only his steward with him. This mission kept him away for several days, leaving Janna feeling abandoned and frightened.

  She could almost feel the hate emanating from the family in her father’s absence. Several other things went missing, for which she was blamed. Each time she heard the accusation, she was the first to search her belongings. But the thief, whoever it was, had become more cunning. This time the stolen property was not found, leading Janna to wonder if her father had been right all along and that a servant was responsible.

  But it was not only things that went missing. Other tricks were played too: Giles found a spider in his shoe, which led to hysterical shrieks and tantrums. If Blanche hadn’t been so vicious in her condemnation of Janna, the occasion would have caused her great amusement. She’d had no idea that the lordly Giles was so frightened of spiders!

  The next trick was more malicious: Rosy’s favorite rag baby, Marie, was found lying out in the garden, headless and muddy and beyond repair. Rosy had been looking everywhere for Marie, and her desolate howls brought all the family running outside. Janna’s inspections of the garden were well known, and Blanche was the first to accuse her of destroying Rosy’s baby.

  “But you know I wouldn’t do such a thing, Rosy,” Janna protested. She tried to put an arm around the child, who was sobbing bitterly, but with an extra-loud howl Rosy pulled away. “You were with me all the time I was in the garden yesterday. We went indoors together,” Janna tried again. “Don’t you remember? We walked all around while I told you about the plants I’m growing and what uses they have, and you helped me pick some herbs.”

  “Rosy should not busy herself with kitchen affairs,” Blanche retorted sourly, seemingly unaware or perhaps not caring that she was trampling some of Janna’s precious plants underfoot as she paced. “‘Tis not seemly for a young lady of her station in life.”

  Janna sighed. She was tired of defending herself against the family’s spite, so she stayed silent.

  Blanche stared at her with cold eyes. “You can be sure I’m making a note of everything that’s happened in my husband’s absence. He will hear all about it on his return.”

  Janna shrugged and turned away.

  “Manners!” Blanche hissed. “You will not turn your back on me, miss.”

  Even in her despair, Janna felt a quirk of amusement that someone like Blanche could lecture her on manners. Briefly, desperately, she once more contemplated running away. She could leave word for her father that she’d already left for Wiltune and that he would find her there. The realization that he might not come, and instead believe Blanche’s accusations and decide to cut her adrift, stayed her footsteps.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” she muttered, keeping her eyes downcast so she would not have to look at that hated, sneering face, or the smug smiles of Richildis and Giles. Only Rosy was worth anything, Janna thought, and even she was being turned against her. She wondered at the sort of spite that could wreck a young girl’s treasured possession, and what motivated it.

  She stayed out in the garden, pondering the question after the rest of the family moved indoors. That Blanche would poison a pastry in order to remove the threat to her family’s inheritance – yes, that was feasible. That Blanche would hide her own brooch in order to accuse Janna of theft – yes, she was prepared to believe that too. That Blanche would risk the wrath of St Swithun by putting a spider in Giles’s shoe, knowing how much the insects terrified her beloved son?

  Janna shook her head slowly. That was a child’s trick. And so was spoiling Rosy’s beloved baby Marie. Surely no mother would do such a thing, especially a mother who was so averse to being in a kitchen garden!

  Rosy had suffered, and so had Giles. But not Richildis! Janna stayed perfectly still as she contemplated the possibility. The young girl worshipped her mother and trailed her everywhere. Even, perhaps, to the kitchen to supervise the making of the fruit pastries? She remembered now that her father had asked if his daughter had been in the kitchen during their preparation, and the cook’s slight confusion until John had indicated which daughter he meant.

  Janna would have to visit the bishop’s palace to interrogate the cook herself. She was willing to wager every possession she had that Richildis had accompanied her mother to the kitchen, and that she’d also been with her mother when Blanche had visited the apothecary. She would have heard for herself the warning that would have accompanied the lotion: that it was poisonous and for external use only. But suspicion was one thing – what she needed was proof.

  Janna’s first challenge was to get Blanche’s permission to leave the house without raising her suspicions. She could not go alone, for she wanted a witness to her conversation with the cook. Finally, and in front of Blanche, she asked Rosy to accompany her. “I don’t want you to think that I was responsible for spoiling Marie, Rosy, so I thought I’d take you into the town to see if we can find you a new rag baby.” It was a good excuse for a walk, even though Janna felt uncomfortable not telling Rosy the real reason for it.

  “You may not leave the house unaccompanied,” Blanche objected. “And I am certainly not coming with you again. I did not enjoy tramping about the streets like a common servant!”

  “I don’t want a new baby. I only want Marie. And she hasn’t even got a head anymore!”
Rosy’s lower lip trembled. A tear splashed down her cheek. It was fortunate Richildis was out of the room or Janna would have been sorely tempted to drag the girl over to witness the hurt she’d caused.

  “I know nothing can take the place of Marie.” Janna gave Rosy a quick hug, and this time the child didn’t pull away. “But you know, there might be a rag baby sitting in a stall somewhere, with beads for eyes just like your own baby. And I’ll wager she’s just longing for a little girl to look after her and give her a good home.”

  “Do you really think so?” Rosy looked up with a wet, hopeful face.

  “I know so.” Janna hoped she wouldn’t be proved a liar. She turned to Blanche. “If it would ease your concern, my lady, perhaps one of the servants could accompany us?”

  “Please, Maman? Please, may we go?” Rosy was brightening by the moment, recalling the adventure of their last walk out. “There’s something else we can do,” she added. “We can look for something nice to give to Richildis. She is soon to celebrate the day of her birth.”

  “I doubt you’ll find anything suitable,” said Blanche.

  “Oh, Maman, I’m sure there’ll be some wonderful things to choose,” Rosy pleaded, now quite won over to Janna’s proposal.

  Blanche nodded a reluctant approval. “Take Gervase with you,” she instructed. Janna hid a smile. After all they’d been through together, Gervase would be far more inclined to keep her secrets than spy on her for Blanche – which, no doubt, was her stepmother’s intention.

  But to Janna’s great dismay, they could find no shops or stalls selling rag dolls, although just about everything else seemed to be out on display. A bright glitter stopped their footsteps, and they lingered to admire a small mirror in a goldsmith’s shop front. As soon as he noticed their interest, the goldsmith hurried over. “My son brought this back from the fair at Provins.” He picked up the mirror and held it out in front of Janna. Curious, she studied her reflection, for she didn’t often get the chance to see herself in a proper mirror. Her hair was back to its normal color, but when she tilted her head and looked down her nose even she could see her resemblance to the empress. She quickly dropped her chin, then took the mirror from the goldsmith and gave it to Rosy. “See how beautiful you are,” she said.

  “I know.” Rosy poked her tongue out at her mirror image and shrieked with laughter at the result.

  Janna was struck by an idea. “Do you think Richildis might like this? We could give it to her for her birth celebration.” Perhaps if Richildis could see for herself how thin and pale she was, it might spur her to eat more and take better care of herself.

  Rosy clapped her hands. “If we give it to Richildis, can I look in it too?”

  Janna smiled. “That’s for Richildis to decide, not me.” And she turned to the shopkeeper to ask the cost.

  His answer took her breath away. Even though she now received a generous allowance from her father, it was far more than she could afford. But Rosy was determined that they should have it. “My father, John fitz Henry, shall pay for it,” she said grandly, and turned to Janna. “He’ll want to give Richildis something pretty, I know he will.”

  Janna wondered if the gift would be enough to turn Richildis from the dark path she walked. It was certainly an expensive token of her father’s regard, she reflected, as the merchant agreed to Rosy’s suggestion. But when Rosy held out her hand to take the mirror from him, he said hastily, “This mirror is both costly and extremely fragile. It’s far too dangerous for a young girl to carry it through the streets of Winchestre.”

  “Shall I carry it, my lady?” Gervase stepped forward.

  “Yes, thank you, Gervase. Take it back to the house now, if you please, before any harm may come to it.” Janna turned to the merchant. “My father, John fitz Henry of Alwarene Street, is presently away, but I shall make sure he sends a man with payment for the mirror on his return.”

  Janna hoped her father wouldn’t object to the arrangement. The mirror was costly, true, but it might be money well spent if the gift reassured Richildis that she was loved and valued, especially if it shamed her into repentance for her past actions.

  “Let’s keep walking down the street,” she said, once they’d left the shop. She was glad she’d found an excuse to send Gervase away, but still didn’t want Rosy to know her intentions. She would rather have her believe it was mere chance that took them to Wolvesey Palace. “We may find some stalls selling rag babies further along.” She caught a glimpse of the Bell and Bush in the distance and was sorely tempted to call in once more to tell Sybil of recent developments, but she knew Rosy would pass on the news if they did. It wasn’t worth all the trouble it would surely cause. If only it was easier to escape the family to be on her own. She sorely needed a friend, particularly someone with the sound common sense of Sybil Taverner.

  A ribbon seller stepped into their path, and Janna stopped to admire the pretty display. “Would you like a new ribbon for your hair, Rosy?” she asked, thinking to give the girl something else in lieu of the cloth baby.

  “Ooh, yes!” The child seized hold of first one bright braid and then another. “What color shall I choose?” she asked, holding a fistful in front of Janna for her inspection.

  “Let’s choose a ribbon in every color of the rainbow!” That should lift Rosy’s spirits, Janna thought. With a squeal of delight, Rosy pointed out her selection to the peddler, who cut them into lengths and folded them together into a lustrous loop. Well pleased with their purchases, Janna walked on. Rosy jigged beside her, anxiously scanning the streets for any signs of rag babies for sale.

  “Look!” She pointed eagerly at a bent old woman who had spread a folded cloth out on the street. Janna’s heart lifted in relief as she saw what the woman was pulling out of her pack: rag babies – big and little, fat and thin, with colored beads for eyes. She followed Rosy, who had already rushed to the old woman’s side and was eagerly inspecting her wares.

  “This is a little bit like Marie, isn’t it, Johanna?” She thrust a fat rag baby under Janna’s nose.

  Janna admired the peddler’s industry in turning cast-off rags into a child’s treasure. “It’s just like Marie,” she agreed.

  “Can I have it, then? Please?”

  “Yes, of course you may.” It was wonderful to have sufficient coins to buy gifts, Janna reflected, enjoying Rosy’s pleasure as she fussed over her new baby. She just hoped the mirror would bring as much pleasure to Richildis; if not now, then perhaps in the future. The girl could be beautiful if only she took better care of herself. And, if she regained her spirits, her health and her confidence, perhaps she would regret her acts of spite – if indeed she was the one responsible for them.

  With the rag baby paid for, Janna set off once more.

  “Where are we going now? Can’t we go home? I’m tired,” Rosy whined.

  Janna hesitated, searching for a convincing reason to visit Wolvesey. “We’re almost at Wolvesey Palace, and as we’re so close, I’d just like to call in and ask the cook for a recipe,” she said slowly.

  “What for?” Rosy eyed her suspiciously. Janna sighed. There was nothing the cook had made that had tempted her appetite, other than the fruit pastries. And they had been made to Blanche’s specification.

  “For a special birthday treat for Richildis,” she improvised, making a mental note to ask the cook for such a thing while she questioned him.

  In fact, he proved surprisingly cooperative, listing several sweetmeats for her consideration and obligingly telling her the ingredients once she’d made her choice. “And can you tell me one last thing,” Janna said, wondering how to phrase her question without raising anyone’s suspicions. “The fruit pastries? I’ve a mind to make those as well as the marchpane squares and candied aniseed. Were they made to Dame Blanche’s recipe, or did Dame Richildis tell you what to do?”

  “No, it were Dame Blanche’s instructions I followed. The young lady said never a word about it, just watched what we did.”

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nbsp; “I see. Thank you very much.” Janna did not dare ask anything further, for Rosy was close beside her and listening, already wriggling with excitement at the prospect of the sweet treats to come. The cook’s words confirmed that Richildis had been present, but nothing more. But at least they showed that her suspicion was feasible.

  Janna pondered the problem on the way home and was still wondering how to show Richildis’s hand in past events when she heard her father’s voice out in the yard. She bid Rosy go upstairs to tell her mother they were safely returned, and rushed to meet him. She waited while he gave instructions to the groom and handed over his horse, for she wanted the chance to speak to him before his mind was poisoned against her by Blanche. Yet she hardly knew what to say or where to begin.

  And then the thought came to her: It was time to trust her father, to tell him what she knew, what she’d found out, and also tell him about the past and the truth of how her mother had died. She was desperate now to get away from Winchestre and fulfill her destiny at Wiltune. Hopefully, what she had to say would convince her father that they should delay no longer.

  Yet doubts assailed her on every side. Her father might not believe her account of her mother’s death, nor trust her enough to act on her word alone. Set against those difficulties was the thought that, if she didn’t speak out now, she might lose this chance for ever. Especially if her father decided to disinherit her – and worse, accompanied his family back to Normandy without ever seeing the king or visiting Wiltune.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, Papa,” she said, at last prepared to put into words the reason she had tried so hard to find him.

  “Then let us go inside to talk.”