The Order of the Lily (54 page)

‘No, you may not,' she rudely retorted.

‘Then perhaps you could convey my best wishes and inform her that I meant no harm. If what you say is true, and Ghillebert is in love with your sister, then I am truly sorry for the circumstances in which he now finds himself. You must understand, Lady Wexford, 'twas your own father who insisted that Cécile be evicted from this house, and from Ghillebert's arms. We merely accepted his offer which is, as Mary says, irrefutable. The King himself has approved the marriage.'

‘It matters little to me. I am simply pleased that Cécile will no longer be tied to your family, sir, given her recent treatment at your hands.'

‘I assure you that Ghillebert was not aware of our decision to send your sister back to France.'

‘This much we know to be true,' Simon added as he grasped Catherine's hand and turned to leave.

‘I can have accommodation made available for you. I know that Ghillebert would make you most welcome in his home,' offered Amanieu, but Simon and Catherine shook their heads simultaneously.

Simon summoned the young servant girl, who scurried away to retrieve Gabby. Catherine withdrew to the corridor and sat down to wait. Several servants appeared at the top of the stairs, struggling with a succession of chests. They were followed by a number of well-dressed maids, all fussing over Lady Mary.

She sighted Catherine and made her way over. ‘You may be the daughter of Joan, but you are no cousin of mine!'

‘It is difficult, is it not? One cannot choose one's relatives,' said Catherine.

‘You underestimate my position. This marriage was one I approved but I will not have you make a fool of me to the court!'

‘You would never have been happy in this marriage, Mary. Gillet loves Cécile and always has. There is something magical between them that neither of them can resist nor deny. You never stood a chance.'

‘I hate you,' shrieked Mary. ‘I hope you and your sister go to Hell!' She spun on her heel and marched through the door, her entourage falling in line behind her.

‘I hope you are never in need of assistance from your cousin,' said Simon, leaning against the banister, ‘for you made an enemy today.'

‘I don't care if I never see her again,' replied Catherine coolly.

The maid returned a few minutes later with a content baby Gabby, along with a large basket of refreshments. As Catherine reached forward to take the infant, the girl tentatively bent and kissed her fingers. ‘Thank you, Lady Wexford,' she said. ‘If it pleases M'lady, we would like your sister to know that we care for her horses, and the kittens do well.'

‘Thank you,' acknowledged Catherine, warmly. ‘I will make sure she is told.'

As they joined the road to London, Catherine could not help but stare in the direction of Dover.

‘We cannot go back to France, not yet anyway,' said Simon.

‘I know,' whispered Catherine. Relief from the last few hours swept over her but the pain of separation was immense. Tears slid unhindered down her cheeks. ‘It seems such a small thing to want, but a far greater thing to achieve.'

Cécile and Minette endured two days of torturous travel in freezing weather. Beneath the heavy canvas covering that kept out most of the icy wind, they tried to pacify the babe. Every rattle of the cart sent hot knives of pain down Cécile's back and legs. Jean Petit cried for longer than he slept. By the time they reached Arras the babe was exhausted and Cécile was consumed with fever. The vendor wasted no time in delivering his distasteful load. The woman and child were sick and everyone knew pestilence travelled from the ports.

Minette cradled Jean Petit in one arm, his dwarfish face screwed in a restless sleep, as she assisted his barely conscious mother from the cart. The vendor threw their possessions onto the ground and, with a grunt, quickly departed. The front door of the manor opened and Mesdames Rosetta and Violetta stuck out their heads curiously. Recognising Cécile, they rushed forward, alongside them, Margot and Veronique, all squealing with delight.

Cécile managed a weak smile before falling into the flames of her own Hell.

For two weeks Cécile d'Armagnac lay in a delirious state, fighting for the will to live. Many times the good ladies placed Jean Petit into her arms, urging her to recover.

In despair, Margot would remove him and rock the squall-ing babe to sleep. ‘It's as though she wishes for death,' she muttered sadly. The three ladies sat around the bed and gazed at one another in anguish. In her delirium, Cécile spoke of much.

Rosetta stood up and tied her hanging sleeves behind her back. ‘Well I, for one, will not sit here and watch her die! I shall prepare every potion I know to get this girl back on her feet. She has a child who needs his mother.'

Under Dame Rosetta's constant brewing and the dedicated administering from the women, the infection invading Cécile's body gradually abated. Slowly, even against her will, she began to recover. A pallet had been placed in her room and Minette stayed by her side, day and night, faithfully attending her. Margot and Veronique devoted themselves to the care of the baby. A wet-nurse had been employed and, for most part, Jean Petit was content.

‘He doesn't need me,' whispered Cécile feebly, waking one morning to watch as her son was fed. Five female faces anxiously peered over her.

Margot picked up Cécile's limp, waxen hand and stroked it. ‘Of course he does, and so do
we
.'

Cécile lapsed back into sleep. Margot turned to Madame Rosetta. ‘The infection has all but gone. Why does she not stay awake?'

‘Her body heals but her heart does not,' answered Rosetta. ‘She has no wish to wake, for then she must face what troubles her. But sooner or later she must. Only the dead sleep forever.'

By the middle of the following week, Cécile was able to sit up in bed and cradle her son for short periods. It was during one of these sessions that Rosetta told Cécile that she must make a short journey. The Mesdames' brother had passed away in England and, having no heir of his own, had left his inheritance to his sisters.

‘He dabbled in the wool trade,' she rolled her eyes. ‘Thought more of sheep than women!' She brushed aside Cécile's condolences. ‘Bah! We were never close. I'm surprised he remembered us at all.' But Rosetta's smile lit up her wrinkled features and she clasped her hands beneath her chin. ‘At last,' she breathed ecstatically, ‘we shall have the much needed coin to repair our beloved home.'

In Rosetta's absence, Dame Violetta tutted over Cécile's ‘skin and bone' appearance and plied her with platters and ton-ics. Cécile had little appetite for food, or life in general outside her chamber. Her only comfort was her son and, though she could no longer feed him, she kept his cot by her bedside. She began to tend him for herself, doting upon his every whim.

Dame Rosetta returned from her trip and she brought with her a letter from Catherine.

Cécile dismissed Minette, who had now been relocated to the next chamber with Veronique, and glancing at her sleeping infant, eagerly cut open the laced edge upon the missive. Her heart bled when she read that little Gabriel was the creation of Moleyns. Did Gillet know? Was this God's plan, to wipe Gillet's slate clean before his new marriage? He could raise his own heirs without fear or shame now. When she read of Catherine accompanying Simon to Denny Abbey, Cécile knew herself to be truly alone. She fell beside the cot, wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and rocked slowly. Tears welled in her eyes as a desperate longing for Larressingle filled her. ‘I will take you home to your namesake,' she whispered to her son. It had been so long since she had seen her dear papa, Jean d'Armagnac. The babe squirmed in his sleep, grunting as he relieved the wind in his belly.