Suddenly, horribly, I remembered how the earl had asked me to take care of his lady, over and over again, so fearful was he of her safety and I was swamped by guilt.
And fear.
A shadow flickered in a corner of the chamber and for one terrifying moment I thought it the imp I had seen in Oxeneford, come to steal my soul for my sins.
Chapter Five
Stephen asked me to go to the kitchen to order food and small beer to be carried to the solar, as well as pitchers of water, and bowls we could use to wash in.
I nodded numbly, deeply relieved to be allowed to again leave the chamber that now stank of burned flesh and death.
‘Then return here,’ he said.
I nodded.
‘You feel able to do this?’ he asked, and I blinked away sudden tears at his kindness.
‘I can do it,’ I said.
‘Do not speak to anyone of what has happened here.’
I shook my head. Gossiping about what I had just witnessed was not something I could have done in any case. I left the privy chamber, pausing in the solar for a long minute as I heaved in great breaths of fresh air to quell the queasiness of my stomach, before descending the stairs.
There were far more people in the kitchen this time — cooks, servants, butchers — and many of them paused to look at me curiously.
I realised I must be an intriguing sight, covered with damp patches, no doubt some soot, and my eyes half wild and braids hanging in disarray.
‘Is the child born yet?’ asked one of the cooks.
I remembered Stephen’s admonition, but what could I do? ‘Yes,’ I said.
‘And …?’ said another cook. ‘A boy,’ I said.
There were smiles and a murmur of conversation.
‘Are mother and child well?’
Oh, sweet Jesu, what could I say? Not truly. Both are blackened carcasses, gone either to heaven or hell, as the state of their souls dictate.
‘Both are well,’ I said. ‘Please send the food and water as soon as you may.’
Then I left, not able to bear any more questioning.
The solar was empty when I returned, and so I clenched my jaw and walked to the closed door of the privy chamber. I tried to open it, but was stopped by the bulk of Owain the moment it had opened a crack.
‘It’s Maeb,’ he said over his shoulder, then he admitted me.
In the short time I had been gone, Stephen had managed to rouse everyone within to effect a remarkable change (I had no doubt it was Stephen, for no one else could have managed this). The bed had been stripped and all its clothes and hangings neatly folded, and placed in piles in the most shadowy corner of the room.
In front of the piles of textiles lay two shrouded bodies, one tiny. They were not immediately apparent, and I noticed them only because I looked for them.
‘When the food and drink has arrived,’ Stephen said, ‘and the water with which to clean ourselves, we shall adjourn to the solar.’
I looked at him, then at the others. They all, as no doubt I, looked haggard and unkempt, everyone’s clothes dampened and blackened here and there, hair straggled, eyes wide and shocked and staring at the horror they had lived through. One alone was bad enough, but I realised that if anyone saw this group as a whole they would know immediately that all sat badly with our lady and her child.
Oh, sweet Mother Mary, our lady. I looked again at the shrouded body, and my eyes filmed over with tears. I had loved Lady Adelie for her gentleness and kindness to me, and for her uncomplaining duty as wife and mother. I hoped I could be as virtuous a wife and mother as she.
I didn’t think, not until later, that my own life now lay in mortal danger, and if I should live to be a wife and mother then that would be only by the grace of one of Lord Jesu’s miracles.
The food, beer and water came, and the servants departed, and only then did Stephen allow us to move from the chamber of death into the solar. He called a guard to the stairwell, giving the order that we remain undisturbed; asking him also to tell the nurse who looked after Rosamund and John to keep Alice and Emmette in their chamber until Stephen came to talk to them. We all washed, taking our turns at the three bowls, and Evelyn, Yvette and I took advantage of the screen which hid Evelyn’s and my bed to change our chemises and kirtles, glad to rid ourselves of our filthy clothes.
Once we were done we sat in a close group about the fireplace which someone, I know not who, had lit. We had all served ourselves some food — ladled meaty broth into bread trenchers, or taken some of the cold meats and cheese — but few among us had great appetite, still lost in the horror of Lady Adelie’s and her child’s deaths.
Jocea and Gilda shared a look, then put down their food.
‘Great lord,’ Gilda said to Stephen, and I looked at her, surprised both for the over-grandness of the title and the strange (for her) clarity of her voice. ‘Great lord, my sister and I beg your leave to depart for Crickhoel.’
‘No,’ said Stephen. ‘You may not leave this castle. I —’
He studied them for a moment, then rose and summoned yet another guard. This man Stephen talked to quietly for a few minutes, then asked Gilda and Jocea to accompany him.
‘He will take you to the dormitories of the outer bailey,’ Stephen said, ‘for you shall be comfortable there, but you may not leave this castle.’
I felt my stomach turn over as I realised why Stephen said this, and I put my bread trencher down blindly by my feet, spilling a little of the gravy to the floor as I did so.
‘My lord?’ said Gilda, completely puzzled, unable to work through the implications of what had happened this day.
‘Do you not realise what you would carry to the village?’ Stephen said, his voice hard-edged. ‘Do you not understand that all of us who had close association with our lady, now likely carry what killed her?’
I could not look at him, and there was utter silence after Stephen’s words. I wondered who would break it, if any would be stupid enough to say something merry to relieve the tension, and jumped a little when a guard who’d been standing in the stairwell now stepped into the solar.
‘My lord, the wet nurse Sewenna is here. Should I admit her?’
I had two thoughts at once: I could not believe she had taken so long to rouse herself to attend her lady — had the child lived it would have been half-starved by now — and I felt some anger that she had indeed arrived to intrude on the strange peace of our little group.
‘No,’ Stephen said, ‘tell her to return to her husband and children. We shall not need her.’
I wondered what Sewenna would think of that.
When that man had gone, Stephen sent the two midwives off with their guard and sat down again.
‘They are going to no dormitory,’ he said, ‘but into close confinement. It is necessary, I am afraid. For the moment I want no word of what happened to my lady mother and her child to spread about the castle. Maeb, what did you say when you went to the kitchens?’
‘My lord, the cooks pressed me on what was happening, for word had spread that your lady mother was in her labour. I said only that the child had been born, a boy. One of the cooks asked if they were well, and I said aye. I am sorry … I did not know what else to say.’
‘That was good enough,’ Stephen said. ‘Thank you.’
His face was haggard, and I felt desperately sorry for him.
‘You must rue your entrance here yesterday,’ Stephen said to Evelyn, and I felt a sudden, terrible stab of guilt. Sweet Jesu, if only I hadn’t insisted, Evelyn would now be safe in Crickhoel, planning her journey back to join her daughter and the de Tosny family as they moved to safety.
Evelyn, sitting close to me, reached out a hand and touched my arm. ‘Is it the plague, my lord?’
I suppose someone had to ask. To confirm.
Stephen shifted his eyes to mine. ‘Aye,’ he said, softly.
‘What can we do?’ Evelyn said, her voice strained but still so very calm. ‘Pengraic Castle is closed,’ Stephen said. ‘Yesterday we were keeping people out. Today …’ He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and managed a wry smile. ‘Today we keep people in. My lady mother, may God and all his saints hold her and bless her, carried it hence, and now … It sits so long unnoticed, spreading silently. We have all been near to my mother and will have carried it further afield within the castle.’