The Wise Woman (42 page)

He waited in case there should be a reply and then he smiled his joyless commanding smile and walked from the gallery to seek his father.

Alys was there before him, sitting in the twilit chamber on a stool at the feet of the old lord, giving him the news before Hugo should come.

“Morach’s gone,” she said without preamble.

The old lord looked sharply at her.

Alys nodded. “She and I were up on the high moor together. She was making some mischief with candle-wax dolls and I went with her, to stop her. Hugo was out with his hounds and they saw her, and chased her down a cave and left her there to drown.”

The old lord said nothing, waiting.

“She was a witch,” Alys said harshly. “It’s good that she’s dead.”

“And you are not,” the old lord said slowly.

Alys turned her pale face up to him. “No, my lord,” she said gently. “Not at my ordeal, when Catherine hated me and tested me so harshly; and not now. I have made my peace with Catherine and I am her friend. I am in love with your son, and I love and honor you. Tell me that I can stay in your household, under your protection. I am free of Morach and I am free of the past.”

The old lord sighed and rested his hand on her hand. “What of your power?” he asked. “You lost it when Morach came and when Hugo would not love you.”

Alys gleamed up at him. “I have it back,” she said. “Morach had stolen it from me and stolen my health as well. She knew I would stand between her and you. She knew I would protect you and yours from her witchcraft. She made me ill and weak and she was starting to work her ill will against you all. Now that she is dead I have my power back and I can keep you safe. Tell me that I may live here under your protection, as your vassal.”

The old lord smiled down into Alys’s bright face. “Yes,” he said softly. “Of course. I wanted you by me from the first day I saw you. Don’t make trouble between Catherine and Hugo, I want a legitimate heir, and after this one I want another. You and Hugo can be what you will to each other—but don’t distress my daughter-in-law while she is carrying my grandson.”

Alys nodded obediently, took his caressing hand and kissed it. “I have news for you,” she said. “Good news.”

The old lord waited, his eyebrows raised.

“I am with child,” Alys said. “Hugo’s child. He lay with me the night he came home from Newcastle. I am not like Catherine, hard to please, hard to conceive. I am with child to Hugo. I have missed two times. The baby will be born near the Christmas feast.”

The old lord gleamed. “That’s good!” he said. “That’s good news indeed. And d’you think it will be a son, Alys? Can you tell if it will be a boy?”

Alys nodded. “A boy,” she said. “A strong, handsome boy. A grandson for you, my lord. I shall be proud to be his mother.”

The old lord nodded. “Well enough, well enough,” he said rapidly. “And it means that Hugo will likely stay here until your child is born. Between you and Catherine, I shall keep him fast at home.”

“Yes,” Alys said eagerly. “Catherine could not keep him home but he will stay for me. I will keep Hugo home for us both, my lord. I want him to leave for London or on his voyage as little as you do.”

The old lord barked his sharp laugh. “Enchant him then,” he said. “And keep him by you.” He paused for a moment and looked at her with pity. “Don’t overleap yourself, Alys,” he said gently. “You will never be his wife. You will always be Catherine’s lady. Whatever goes on at court—and I say nothing about that—whatever goes on at court, we are simple people here. Catherine is your mistress, you serve her well. Hugo is your lover and also your lord. I don’t deny I am fond of you, Alys, but if you forget what is owed to your masters I would throw you from the castle tomorrow.

“Serve Catherine honorably and well and let Hugo take his pleasure with you when he wishes. That was how I kept my women. A wife for the heirs, and a woman for pleasure. That’s order and sense. That’s how it should be done.”

Alys kept her head down and her resentment hidden.

“Yes, my lord,” she said submissively.

David took her by the sleeve as she passed him by on the ill-lit stairs.

“I hear your kinswoman is dead,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Alys replied steadily. Her voice did not quaver, her face was serene.

“A hard death for a woman—drowning in cold river water,” David said.

Alys faced him down. “Yes,” she said.

“And what of you now?” David pursued.

Alys smiled into his face. “I shall care for Lady Catherine,” she said. “I shall serve and honor Lord Hugh, and his son. What else?”

David drew her a little closer, pulled at her sleeve so that she leaned down and his mouth was near to her ear. “I remember you when you were a fey wild thing off the moor,” he said. “I saw you naked, changing your rags for the whore’s shift. I heard that you took the ordeal for witchcraft. I saw you sicken and pine for the young lord.
Now
I ask you. What next?”

Alys twitched her sleeve from his grip, straightened up. “Nothing,” she said blandly. “I will serve Lady Catherine and help her during the birth. I will obey my Lord Hugh and honor his son. There is nothing more.”

The dwarf nodded. His smile gleamed at her in the darkness. “I wondered,” he said. “I truly wondered about you. I thought you had the power to turn this castle on its ears. When you brought in the old woman, the witch, with all her power, I thought you were about to act. I have been watching you and wondering when you would make your move. I have had you in my mind for the new lady of the castle. So close as you are to the old lord! So powerful in your witchery to tame Hugo’s wildness! And if you had a child—as you foresaw in your dream—such a wife you would be for him!”

Alys took a sharp breath but she held her gaze steady on his dark, angry, little face.

“What went wrong?” the dwarf asked curiously. “What went wrong between you and the old witch? You were on your way, weren’t you? The old witch was within Catherine’s confidence, you and she would have attended the birth alone. What would it have been? Stillbirth? Strangled with the cord? Breech? Coming backward and drowning in the blood?”

He laughed, a sharp cruel laugh.

“But you were in too much of a hurry, weren’t you?” he said. “Wanted Catherine dead and out of the way and Hugo all your own? I saw you pining and fading and losing your looks. It was eating you inside like a bellyful of worms, wasn’t it, little Alys? So you hexed Catherine into the river, didn’t you? Hexed her into deep water, wearing her thick furs so that she would drown.”

Alys was as white as skimmed milk. “Nonsense,” she said bravely.

“And the old one pulled her out,” the dwarf said. “D’you know? I rather liked the old one, your mother.”

“She wasn’t my mother,” Alys said. Her whole face felt stiff, unnatural. “I just lived with her. My real mother died in a fire.”

“Fire?” the dwarf said acutely. “I never heard that before.”

“Yes,” Alys said. Her voice held a depth of despair. “My mother, my real mother, died in a fire. And nothing has ever been right for me since she was gone.”

The dwarf cocked his head on one side, viewing her like some strange specimen. “So now you’ve lost one to fire and one to water,” he said unsympathetically. “But shall I call you Lady Alys yet? Will Catherine go the way of your two mothers? Fire? Water? Or by earth? Or by air? And what of you? Will it be the castle or a hidden place in town—a bawdy house in everything but name?”

Alys took one angry step down the stair and then turned on the step and looked back up. Her face was bright with spite. “You
will
say Lady Alys to me,” she said passionately. The dwarf recoiled from her sudden rage. “You will say Lady Alys to me—and I shall say ‘Farewell’ to you. For I shall be Hugo’s wedded wife. And you will be a beggar at my gate.”

She turned and pattered down the stairs, her fine gown floating after her, not looking back. David stayed on the step listening to her footsteps going down and around the curving stone stair.

“I doubt that,” he said to the cold stone walls. “I doubt that very much indeed.”

Catherine was heartbroken at the loss of Morach. She wept and clung to Alys when she was told, and Alys put her arms around her and they held each other like a pair of orphan sisters.

“You must stay with me now,” she said. She could scarcely speak for sobbing. “You have her skills, you were there to help me just as she was there to help me when I was nearly drowned, when I nearly lost my life. You’re her daughter, I loved you both. Oh! But Alys! I shall miss her.”

“I shall miss her too,” Alys said. Her blue eyes were flooded with unspilling, convincing tears. “She taught me all that she knew, she gave me all her skills. It’s as if she handed the care of you over to me before she left us.”

Catherine looked up trustingly. “Do you think she knew?” she asked. “Do you think she knew with her wisdom all along that she would leave us?”

Alys nodded. “She told me she saw a darkness,” she said. “I think she knew. When she took you from the river I think she knew then there would be a price to pay. And now the river has taken her.”

Catherine wailed even louder. “Then she died to save me!” she exclaimed. “She gave her life for me!”

Alys smoothed Catherine’s hair with one soft, hypocritical hand. “She would have wanted it that way,” she said. “She, and I, are glad to make that sacrifice. I have lost my mother for you and I do not”—her voice gave a little pathetic quiver—“I
will
not regret it.”

Catherine was sobbing without restraint. “My friend, Alys!” she said. “My only friend.”

Alys rocked her gently, looking down at the puffy, tear-blotched face. “Poor Catherine,” she said. “What a state you are in!”

She raised her voice and called for the women. Ruth came at once.

“Send for Hugo,” Alys said. “Catherine needs him.”

He came at once and recoiled as Catherine, blubbering, reached out her arms to him with a wail of grief. He dropped to his knees before her chair and held her.

“Hush, hush,” he said gently into her hair. He looked up at Alys, not seeing her. “Have you nothing you can give her?” he asked. “Nothing that can calm her? It cannot be good for the child for her to distress herself so.”

“She needs to calm herself,” Alys said distantly.

Catherine sobbed and held Hugo closer. “I know,” she said, sniffing. “But she made me laugh. She made it seem as if everything was a jest. She told me things about her life that made me laugh till I cried. I can’t believe she won’t walk in now and laugh in our faces.”

Alys shot one quick look at the door. The tapestry quivered. For a moment it seemed all too likely that Morach would walk in, trailing water and icy river weed, and laugh in their faces with her blue drowned mouth opened wide.

“No,” Hugo said quickly. “She won’t do that, Catherine. She is drowned. Try not to distress yourself so.” He turned to Alys. “
Surely
you have something to calm her?” he said.

“I can give her a distillation of the flower of Star of Bethlehem,” Alys said coldly. She went to her room. In the linen chest were the little bottles and powders and herbs which she and Morach had amassed. On the bed was Morach’s white cotton nightshift. In the draft from the open door it billowed for a moment and raised itself a little up on the bed, as if it would get up and walk toward her. Alys stared at it hard for several moments. The arms shifted slightly as if they would point at her accusingly. Alys leaned back against the door and stared it down until she could force it to lie flat and limp again.

“Here,” she said, coming back into the gallery.

Hugo took the glass from her without looking up and gave Catherine sip after sip, watching her face and talking to her in a low, gentle voice. When she stopped sobbing, sat up, and wiped her face with her handkerchief, he looked around at Eliza and said, “Here! You! Make her ladyship’s bed ready! She should sleep now.”

Eliza ducked a curtsy and went through to Catherine’s room.

“Have you anything to help her sleep?” he asked Alys over his shoulder.

She went back to the room she shared with Morach. A log had shifted on the little fire and the shadows leaped and danced around the bed. For a moment it looked as if there were someone sitting on the chest at the head of the bed with his face turned toward the door. Alys leaned back against the door and pressed her hand hard against her heart. Then she fetched the drops of crushed poppy seeds for Lady Catherine, so that her ladyship might sleep well in the comfort of her great bed.

Hugo took the draft without thanks and led Catherine—one arm around her thick waist—out of the gallery and into her bedroom.

Alys watched them go, saw Catherine’s head droop to Hugo’s shoulder, heard her plaintive voice and his gentle reassurances. Alys tightened her lips, curbing her irritation.

“Won’t you be afraid to sleep tonight on your own?” Eliza asked Alys as the door shut behind the couple.

“No,” Alys said.

Eliza gave a little scream. “In a dead woman’s bed!” she exclaimed. “With the pillow still dented with her head! After she had drowned that very day! I’d be afraid she would come to say her farewells! That’s what they do! She’ll come to say her farewells before she rests in peace, poor old woman.”

Alys shrugged her shoulders. “She was a poor old woman and now she’s dead,” she said. “Why should she not rest in peace?”

Ruth looked sharply up at her. “Because she is in the water,” she said. “How will she rise up on the Day of Judgment if her body is all blanched and drenched?”

Alys felt her face quiver with horror. “This is nonsense,” she said. “I’ll not hear it. I’m going to bed.”

“To sleep?” Mistress Allingham asked, surprised.

“Certainly to sleep,” Alys replied. “Why should I not sleep? I am going to get into my nightshift, tie the strings of my cap, and sleep all the long night.”

She stalked from the room and shut the door behind her. She undressed—as she had said she would—and tied the strings of her nightcap. But then she pulled up her stool to the fireside and threw another log on the fire, lit another candle so that all the shadows in the room were banished and it was as bright as day, and waited and waked all night—so that Morach should not come to her, all cold and wet. So that Morach should not come to her and lay one icy hand on her shoulder and say once more: “Not long now, Alys.”