did not blame her. I feared him, too, and I could not imagine what her life must be like, needing to watch her every word in the company of a man with so uncertain a temper.
‘Evelyn has spoken little of Pengraic Castle,’ I said, mostly to distract the countess from whatever thoughts troubled her. ‘What is it like?’
The countess stilled, and I was instantly sorry for my question.
‘It is a dark place,’ she said, ‘but I must bear it, as must you.’
I opened my mouth, thinking to apologise for my error in asking such a question, but the countess continued.
‘It is a dismal place, Maeb. Ungodly, and wrapped all about with the mists and sleet of the dark Welsh mountains. The people … the people of that land care more for their sprites and fairies and tales of the ancient ones than they do for the saints and our sweet, dear Lord Jesu. I swear even the stones of Pengraic Castle are steeped in the ungodliness of those Welsh hills.’
‘I am sorry, my lady,’ I said. Sorry to have caused her greater distress, sorry that I should need to endure both the Welsh Marches and this castle myself, some day.
‘Sorrow’s claws have firm grasp on Pengraic Castle, Maeb. But what do we here, speaking of such when the sun burns bright and the apple blossoms? Come, here are Evelyn and Yvette returned, and a servant with cooling cordials, and we shall drink and gossip as women do, and be merry.’
And so we did, our words and smiles chasing away the shadows cast by the final minutes of the conversation between the countess and myself. The sun burned, and it was a good day. Peaceful and gentle, with the scents of spring all about us.
It did not last. The morrow brought with it terrible tidings that meant my days at Rosseley Manor were done.
I would never see it again, in all my days. That was my enduring loss, for Rosseley was a lovely, peaceful place. Even though I spent so little time there, it holds a special place in my heart. Every May Day, when we celebrate the return of life to the land, I think of Rosseley’s sweet meadows and orchards, and light a candle in remembrance of a gentle life that almost was.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next day began as had all my previous mornings at Rosseley. Evelyn and I rose early, washed and dressed, then attended Lady Adelie. We made the countess’ bed while Mistress Yvette helped the countess with her chemise and kirtle, then we knelt at prayers before breaking our fast with small beer and fruit and cheese with some fresh-baked bread. Evelyn and I then rose, meaning to help the nurse dress the younger children, when Ancel and Robert burst into the chamber.
‘Mama! Mama!’ they cried.
‘Sweet Jesu, children, cease your shrieking!’ the countess said. She was out of sorts after a restless night, and Evelyn and I exchanged a glance before turning to the two boys, now at one of the windows, meaning to usher them from the chamber.
‘Mama!’ one of the twins said. ‘Our lord father is home. Look! Look!’
‘And at the head of a great cavalcade!’ the other added.
I started for the window, but Evelyn grabbed my elbow, pulling me back with a warning look. Then she tipped her head very slightly toward the countess, who had risen and walked sedately toward the window herself.
Of course. I gave a small nod, and berated myself for my stupidity.
It was not my place to be first at the window, but that of the countess.
Lady Adelie stood at the window and peered. Then she took a step back, clearly shocked. ‘Mother of heaven!’ she said.
‘My lady?’ Yvette said, going to stand with her.
‘Fetch the house steward immediately!’ Lady Adelie said to her, then beckoned Evelyn over. ‘Ah! Why did I pick such a dull kirtle today? Well, there is no time to change. Evelyn, fetch me a freshly laundered veil and ensure you pick the brightest one. Maeb, make sure the children are dressed and neat, and keep them in their chambers for the time being, even Alice. Ancel, Robert, you can come with me and aid me down the staircase.’
With that she was gone, a twin on either side of her, Evelyn hastening after with a fresh veil for my lady’s head.
I looked toward the window, desperately curious, hesitated, then, remembering my lady’s tone, hurried to see the children were dressed and awaiting in their chamber.
At least the children’s chamber had a window that overlooked the courtyard. Almost as soon as I and the nurse had the children dressed and neat, Alice and Emmette helping, I looked outside.
The courtyard was a flurry of activity. I could see Lady Adelie, Yvette now at her side along with the twins, and the steward, William. Lady Adelie and William were in deep conversation and, as I watched, the steward nodded, then strode away organising some men-at-arms into a presentable line and shouting at two grooms to tidy away some barrels and a laden cart.
Lady Adelie now had her fresh veil, and Mistress Yvette spent a moment fixing it securely to her hair.
Evelyn was nowhere to be seen.
‘What is going on?’ I said, as I turned to look at the nurse and Alice, who now stood by me. ‘Is it always thus when the earl returns?’
Both shook their heads.
‘There is always some ceremony,’ Alice said. ‘My mother likes to greet him in the courtyard together with the steward — but not this fuss. Maybe she is merely surprised by the suddenness of his return. I don’t know.’
‘It is far more than the suddenness of the earl’s return,’ said Evelyn, who had just stepped into the chamber.
She joined us at the window, the four of us standing close so we might all have a view.
‘Then what —’ I began, stopping at the sound of clattering hooves.
Suddenly the courtyard was filled with horses and their riders and a score of hounds. There were men everywhere, horses jostling and snorting, and the newly arrived hounds barking and snapping at the resident dogs. Whatever order Lady Adelie and the steward had managed to arrange was instantly undone by the press of bodies and the raising of voices.
‘The horses are lathered and stumbling,’ the nurse remarked. ‘They have been ridden hard and fast.’
‘All the way from the king’s court,’ Evelyn murmured.
I glanced at her, a dozen questions on my lips, but then Alice nudged me. ‘Look,’ she said.
Somehow a small circle of calm had emerged in the heart of the chaos. I saw the earl dismounting from his horse, and stepping forth to the countess. They took each other’s hands in a light grip, perfunctorily kissed, then the earl and the countess turned to another man, recently dismounted.
He was in dull garb, unlike the earl who shone in azures and vermilions, and I could not understand why the earl and the countess turned to him. Why did Lady Adelie not greet her son, Stephen, now also dismounted and standing close to
