A Lady Under Siege (18 page)

“This Thomas, what is he like? He looks just like me, correct?”

“His face is the same, but he’s better groomed. He holds himself well. He’s very fit—he spends much of his time in training, for jousts and warfare. So he gets lots and lots of hard exercise. And there’s no junk food in his diet, it’s pretty much coarse bread and meat, from what I’ve seen. So yes, he’s like you, but in better shape, and better turned out. Super-fit people are never slobby, it seems.”

Derek sucked in his paunch and sat up straighter on the picnic table. “I’m actually in pretty good shape for a man of thirty-eight,” he said.

“If you say so,” Meghan answered. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to say a few things to Thomas.”

“As if I could stop you. Round two.”

“All right then. First off, Thomas, I’ve been doing research into natural antibiotics. Those are plants that might help heal Daphne’s arm where that surgeon’s been hacking at it. To help kill any infection there, vinegar and lavender oil are strongly antiseptic. They should be used when cleaning it, although I’m sure they’ll sting. Thyme and tarragon are good in her soup, and onion and garlic too. I was going to suggest myrrh, the same stuff the Wise Men brought to baby Jesus—it’s a tree sap with wonderful antibacterial properties, but it would have to come from the Middle East and I doubt you’d be able to get it. Now secondly, I have a theory, based largely on the sound of that cough of hers, that Daphne might have a lung disease called tuberculosis. The most obvious symptom of it is night sweats. So I’m asking you: does she perspire a lot in her sleep? If she wakes soaked in sweat I feel we’re halfway to a diagnosis.”

“I’ll make sure he gets the message,” Derek assured her. “Maybe I’ll sing a little song for him about tuberculosis—rhyme it with psychosis.”

“Please don’t say things like that. It’s not helpful.”

“It’s my nature,” he said. “I’m just messing with you. I do have some sympathy—I may not believe what you tell me, but I believe
you
believe it. I don’t doubt your sincerity.”

“Right. It’s my sanity you wonder about.”

“Since you put it that way, yes.”

“I have an idea,” she said. “I’m going to ask Thomas something. Thomas, I need to convince Derek here that I’m not mentally ill, and I think there’s a way you can help me. Can you please think of some really private, obscure thing you know about him? Something you’ve observed from being in Derek’s head, something no one else could possibly know? Please, share it with Sylvanne, and I’ll hear it, and then come back to Derek with the evidence, with rock-solid proof, and then he’ll finally have to believe me that there is, in fact, a Thomas in his mind.”

Derek thought a moment. “Thomas, listen up. Porn habits are off limits, bud.”

“Please. That’s the last thing I want to hear about,” Meghan sighed. “I’m fully aware of all the deviant crap that clogs the internet, and if you’re looking at it you’re just one in a billion, apparently. That’s not what I want Thomas to tell us. I’m hoping for something more personal, something absolutely unique to you.”

“If he’s in there, and truly the gentleman you describe, he’ll respect any real secrets I have, and not go blabbing them.”

“His goal is to cure his daughter,” Meghan said. “He’ll do whatever it takes. This could be the swift kick we need to get you motivated to help us save a child. So Thomas, please do it. Give me something good from the private world of Derek.”

24

A
girl in the kitchen offered Mabel some meat from the leg of a boar, yesterday’s supper reboiled. She said no, knowing wild boar was a dish Sylvanne did not care for, but she did manage to take a few pieces and stuff them in her mouth. “Just a wee sample,” she joked. Then she returned with breakfast for herself and her Mistress: boiled eggs still in their shells, some rye bread roughly sliced, a bowl of warmed butter to dip it in, milk in a pitcher, and warmed cider in a jug. The guard helped her carry it from the kitchen to her Lady’s chambers, then excused himself with a nod and a bow. As the door shut, Sylvanne looked upon her maidservant expectantly.

“Well?” she asked. “Did you manage it this time?”

Mabel shook her head regretfully. “No Ma’am.”

“I’m growing impatient with you,” Sylvanne spat. “How hard can it be? From a kitchen full of them I ask only that you slip a small blade unnoticed into your apron, and hurry it to me.”

“It’s not so easy, Ma’am,” Mabel said apologetically. “I’m watched, always. But I promise the day will come when the proper opportunity presents itself, and I will act.”

“Make haste, Mabel,” Sylvanne exhorted her. “The more healthy that child grows, the harder it becomes to contemplate ruining her happiness. Every day I’m taken from this room to sit with father and daughter, where despite myself I’m affected by them. I can’t help it, when I’m exposed for hours on end to the loving attachment I see them share. Then I’m brought back here to be locked up and left to daydreams and queer thoughts. Do you know what I was thinking, just now? That perhaps I should kill the daughter along with her father, for her own good, to spare her a life of wretchedness. She’s already lost a mother—would she really want to go on living, sickly as she is, and fully orphaned? Mightn’t she be happier drowned like an unwanted kitten?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am, you mustn’t think such things,” Mabel cried. “To punish the guilty won’t bar you from heaven, but to harm the innocent surely will. And that child is sweet-natured and innocent.”

“I know that, and thus I contemplate putting her out of her misery. Is it strange to imagine that killing someone could be a favour to them?” Before Mabel could answer she continued, “I’ll kill her father as a favour to my late husband, because it’s my duty to do so, but why stop there? Why not kill the daughter, or kill myself even? I’ve never killed before—I may discover I like it, and go on a spree.”

“Madame,” Mabel pleaded. “I worry for your sanity. You obsess on your singular duty, and that can only be unhealthy.”

“How can I not obsess?” Sylvanne muttered angrily. “Do I have anything else here to occupy my mind?”

In a careful, tentative voice, Mabel asked, “Might I give you some advice, ma’am?”

“Yours is the only voice that speaks to me,” said Sylvanne. “So speak freely.”

“Well then. You’re not making your task any easier by so clearly showing everyone here your true intent. They see it, one and all, in your face, your actions, and even your words. When you are in the presence of Lord Thomas you’re sullen, unhelpful, and your words are ice cold. You claim a desire to imitate the life of Judith, but as I recall the story of that heroine, she didn’t approach that villain Holofernes with fury on her face and foul curses on her lips. Just the opposite—she tempted that great brute. She led him down the garden path to his own destruction using soft sighs and feminine giggles, gestures meant to enchant a man, and make him forget himself.”

There was good sense in these words, Sylvanne knew. Clearly, seduction would serve her better than the brooding anger she displayed to Lord Thomas. In a voice laden with self-reproach, she said, “I haven’t found a way to disguise my unhappiness. It’s too fresh, too strongly felt.”

“Our Biblical model accepted her need to play seductress, ma’am,” Mabel continued. “She behaved uncharacteristically for a greater purpose. And so should you, if I may say. So should you. Be sweet to the daughter, become her friend and companion, so that the father will look upon you tenderly. Match his tender regard with your own. Make him fall in love with you.”

Before Sylvanne could give expression to her thoughts the door opened, and a guard informed her of his orders: she was to be brought at once to Daphne’s bedroom. Pointing to the untouched breakfast upon the table, Sylvanne said, “Give us a few moments, there’s a dear,” in a voice she intended to sound honeyed and demure. To her own ears it felt fake, it fairly reeked of insincerity, but it produced the desired effect on the guard. He looked at her uncertainly, then nodded, and left the two women alone. As the door closed Mabel saw her Mistress smile for the first time in a very long time, possibly since the siege had been laid. “You might be on to something, sweet Mabel,” Sylvanne mused. “Come with me to the girl’s bedside, and let’s see whose heart I can win.”

25

D
aphne sat up in her bed, watching with delight as her father juggled three small oranges. A dozen more nestled in a wooden bowl on her sheets. “They came all the way from Spain, where it’s sunny and warm,” her father crowed. “I expect they’ll soon make you sunny and warm as well. They are sweet, yet almost sour, and that’s very curious. I’m told they only grow in lands that never see snow.”

In a chair by the bedside, the servant girl Beth had been assigned the task of peeling and segmenting one of these exotic, mysterious fruits onto a silver plate to present to the young lady. Thomas glanced at her, and saw that she had grown bewildered and frustrated, for the skin of her orange was tough and dry, and when she ripped at it, chunks of the watery interior came away with it. Her hands were dripping juice onto the plate, yet she dared not wipe or lick them. Seeing the mess she was making of it, Thomas grew ill-tempered. “Useless girl, give me the damn fruit,” he barked, and taking it from her platter, recomposed himself to a more gentle manner, bowed to his daughter, and handed her a new plate with the pulpy fragments upon it. “For you, my dear,” he said grandly. “Now don’t eat the skin, that dry rind, but suck from it the moist innards.”

Daphne picked up one of the least mangled fragments and tasted the pulpy flesh. “It’s good!” she cried, and both Thomas and Beth applauded happily. She tore into it, then another piece, then another.

“For the price of one of these, I can feed a soldier of my guard for a month,” Thomas told her.

Daphne sucked the juice from every segment, licked the plate, and demanded eagerly, “Give me another.”

“That’s two soldiers,” Thomas hooted delightedly.

“Let me unwrap it myself this time,” she said. “I want to lick my hands, and not waste so much as a single drop. Beth, you look so funny, with your hands wet with juice, yet afraid to wipe them. Lick them, go ahead.” The servant girl looked doubtful, but Thomas scolded her to do as told, and she timidly touched her sticky fingers to her tongue, immediately curling her lips and making a bitter face. Daphne laughed. “Perhaps you got the sour part, for I’ve tasted nothing but sweetness.”

Thomas handed his daughter her second orange. “It might be easier if I slice it for you,” he suggested, pulling his table knife from its sheath.

“No, no,” Daphne protested. “You’ll spill the juice, and a knife shouldn’t be licked. There must be a way to do this, so as to keep the segments intact, and the juice trapped within.” She applied herself to the job, while Thomas watched closely. Meanwhile a guard ushered in Lady Sylvanne, followed by Mabel.

Thomas greeted Sylvanne excitedly. “Ah, there you are at last. I called for you because the oranges have just arrived. Have you ever tasted one before?”

“Never,” Sylvanne replied. She met his gaze, and he was surprised to find that her eyes were placid, not the churning seas of rage he had come to expect.

“No, I shouldn’t have thought so. Well here is your chance—you may have one if you like.”

“No thank you,” she said softly. “If I partake, there’ll be one less for your daughter.” Inwardly, she almost gagged on the words. But she could see that Thomas was quite taken aback by them.

“If these do the trick, I’ll get more,” he told her. “For some reason I’m feeling generous, and want to share them. What about your maidservant? Mabel, would you care to try one?”

“I—I don’t know, Sire,” said Mabel cheerfully, unable to hide her pleasure that such a nobleman would remember her name.

“Have one,” he commanded.

“But I’ve never tried one, Sire.”

“Go ahead,” he urged, holding out an orange to her.

Mabel looked to her Mistress for guidance, and Sylvanne, forcing herself to smile, nodded her permission. So she took the orange from his hand, brought it to her mouth, and bit it, unpeeled.