The Order of the Lily (56 page)

Alone in her chamber Cécile tried desperately to soothe her child. Rife with disappointment, she collapsed onto her bed. On her lap, Jean Petit was almost blue with his protestations. His little fists were clenched in anger and he kicked until his bands unwound.

Tears of failure pricked Cécile's eyes. ‘Papa,' she whispered. ‘I miss you so.' Her grief welled and overflowed. ‘I
need
you so!' She placed her finger in Jean's mouth and he sucked madly. ‘Oh. Hell and damnation!' She untied her laces at the back and slipped out of one side of her gown. Untying the ribbon to her chemise, she cradled her son to her exposed breast.

‘At least we shall have one moment of peace,' she quipped. He latched on greedily and Cécile felt a tingling sensation, then a great rush of warmth. Jean Petit suckled noisily, emit-ting short, vocal grunts. Cécile stared in disbelief as the babe's mouth slipped in his urgency, his lips wet with milk!

The door flew open and four women rushed into the room. Rosetta held up the clay bottle, its teat looking like a vulgar Pagan offering. They gawked in unison and then, as the reality dawned, jubilation exploded. In this female world it was the equal to soldiers having won a great battle.

‘Did the physician actually
say
you could not feed him, Cécile?' quizzed Margot. The ladies crowded around, observing the miracle with more restraint since their overabundant joy had distressed the baby. There was a tense pause as Cécile steered her son to her other side but it proved as plentiful as the first. Jean Petit slurped happily amidst their whispered chattering.

‘Not exactly. I suppose he thought with the fever …' Cécile ran her fingers through the baby's downy crop. ‘It does not matter now.'

‘'Tis a miracle,' breathed Minette, her eyes shining brilliantly.

‘Yes, it is,' replied Cécile. Jean had taken his fill and fallen into an exhausted sleep. She lay him in his crib just as Veronique joined the hushed, excited women. The maid had not been unable to locate a wet-nurse but it no longer mattered.

Cécile watched her son and then her five companions, unable to prevent the melancholy feeling that swamped her. She stood up. ‘Would you mind watching Jean Petit? I just need a moment alone. I … I feel like a stroll in the garden to clear my head.' She had directed her request to none in particular, but five heads nodded with eagerness.

‘Go, Cécile,'smiled Madame Rosetta. ‘Take a short walk. It is more than time you escaped these walls.'

Cécile ambled along the stone path, the newly-dug gardens already sprouting tender, green shoots just discernible in the diminishing light. The air was filled with a rich, earthy scent. She sat upon a bench and, for the first time in many weeks, looked up into the night sky to search for the evening star – the brightest one. She slid to her knees and, clasping her hands tightly to her breast, stared at the heavens above, then, with a sob, she collapsed to the ground, her nails clawing at the soil as she desperately prayed for just one more miracle.

The weeks had flown into March and Cécile's half-written letter to her sister lay abandoned on the table. Catherine was in Cambridgeshire, so far away. A month ago Cécile had written to Armand, asking for his help to see her home. He had not replied. Feeling abandoned, Cécile's grief was heavy as the end of the month drew closer. She leaned against the window casement, unable to stop the tears. Why had Armand not come? Alone in her misery, she did not hear Margot enter the room.

Margot peeked briefly into the cradle at the sleeping baby. ‘I have come to talk some sense into you,' she said, settling into one of the two chairs occupying the chamber.

Cécile wiped her face and sat. ‘I was thinking about Ruby, and my cats. I was remembering the day Cinnamon gave birth to her kittens in Gil …'

Margot leapt from her chair to embrace the distraught woman. ‘Listen to me. I think it is time you stopped this nonsense. You hide in your room but you fool no-one! We know the truth, Cécile. You spoke much in your fever and we know the real reason you left Gillet. Now I must say my piece. Go to him, for surely he suffers also. We think you owe Gillet the truth.'

‘No!' gasped Cécile. ‘I cannot. Besides, in five days Gillet will marry the King's niece.'

‘Then let him!' exploded Margot. ‘I know better than anyone that love is rarely part of a marriage contract.' She sighed patiently. ‘Cécile, look at me. Do you really believe that, if you were to place yourself within his sight, Gillet could resist you?'

‘You do not understand! Gillet needs heirs to complete his life. He said as much when we were in Chilham.'

‘Pfft! So? Let his wife bear them!' Her voice lowered. ‘But his heart will always be yours, Cécile, and
yours alone
. He will come to you for love, love from the one woman he truly adores.
Gillet can still be a part of your life.'

Cécile rose to stare out of her window. ‘No. He will never forgive me for what I did to him in Calais.'

Margot came to stand behind her. Absurdly, her words were almost identical to those Arnaud had used. The syllables that differed lent an entirely altered meaning. ‘Cécile, how much do you love my brother-by-marriage? Do you love him enough to fight for him?'

Cécile trembled and gripped the splintered sill. Her heart pounded fiercely. Dare she entertain such hope? But how would she endure when, at the end of a day, Gillet would bid farewell to her and return home to his wife and the begetting of his heirs? Each time he left, she would tear open anew and bleed all the more. Now she understood why Gillet had said in Calais that, reduced to an affair of the heart, they would never be whole. Her shoulders stiffened with resolve and she turned to face her friend. ‘No, Margot. I am sorry. Such an arrangement would only destroy us both. Ghillebert d'Albret belongs to England now and I belong to France.'

By the twenty-fifth day of March spring was in the air and the prediction of an early summer looked likely to bear fruit along with the budding trees. Cécile found herself lured into the sunshine, the breeze heavy with the perfume of young, fresh blooms. At the Mesdames' insistence she began to take regular morning walks, leaving her son in the care of any one of five eager sitters. This exercise improved her health, but she always stayed by the river, the nearby forest, and the ‘sprite' garden within it, invoking memories too painful to bear. The closing of the week was drawing near and Cécile knew that meant a chapter of her life would end.

Jean Petit continued to grow at an alarming rate although his appetite seemed curbed every second day.

‘It can happen,' said Dame Rosetta, dismissively, when her opinion was sought. ‘They set their own schedule. I would not worry, dear. He is not suffering.' The elderly woman looked into the sad eyes of the younger, and sighed. ‘Cécile, sit. I have correspondence that requires delivery in England … Kent, actually. My brother had property there. The courier will be travelling through Chilham.' Cécile caught her breath. ‘If you wish,' continued Rosetta, ‘I mean … is there by chance another letter, a note perhaps, that you would have the courier convey?'

Cécile stared blankly for a moment then shook her head. ‘Thank you but no.'

‘Then is there any inquiry you would have him make, on my behalf, dear? Anything at all?'

‘No,' came the reply. ‘No! Wait! There is one thing.'

Dame Rosetta's face lit with hope. ‘Yes dear, anything.'

‘The courier need only approach the villagers in Chilham. The local merchants in the market square will know.'

‘Yes?'

‘I wish to know whether the herons returned to nest in the forest by the day of Saint Valentine.'

Rosetta's brow lifted with bewilderment. ‘The what?'

‘It is a custom in those woods. The herons must return to nest by the day of Saint Valentine. If they do not, it is said that a terrible misfortune will befall the owner of the estate. I simply wish to know if they returned.'

Dame Rosetta shrugged with resignation. ‘Very well. I will see that he asks.'

As the gates of Denny appeared through the mist, Catherine was overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding. She held Gabriel a little tighter and leaned against her husband, drawing from his strength.

Simon alighted the carriage to ring the day-bell. They did not have long to wait. A novice pulled back the hatch and eyed them suspiciously.

‘I wish to see Lady Mary St Pol,' declared Simon.

‘The Countess of Pembroke is not here,' replied the girl.

‘I am her nephew, Lord Wexford. I request entrance and accommodation.'

‘One moment, M'lord.' The novice closed the peephole and could be heard rushing away, her shoes crunching on the stones.

Simon stamped his feet against the chill. ‘Do you know her?'

‘No, but I am sure she will be reprimanded for scurrying in such an unholy fashion,' Catherine observed.

‘Did you scurry?' His grin stretched across his cold cheeks.

Catherine smiled and snuggled beneath her wrap. ‘Often and without discretion!'