Chapter 31
Agnes
It was nearly mid-morning by the time Agnes finally stirred. She had retired early, feeling unwell, the churning in her gut made even more fierce by Hugh’s sudden and unpleasant arrival. Her stomach knotted to consider how she had left Ash with him; but at least he still had Olly by his side.
She rolled over. The bed beneath her transformed into a great, open, empty plane. She was grateful that they had left her alone during her illness – especially these past few days – but the loss was gnawing at her.
She rose reluctantly and headed to the basin at the side of the room.
She splashed the cool water on her face, then got to work cleaning herself up.
As she had expected, the bloodied marks on the linen rags she pulled from between her legs were light, near invisible.
That was one less burden upon her, at least, although her head still pounded.
She had often felt out of sorts when confronted with things she did not wish to confront – she had been so anxious before meeting Nicholas that she had spent a full day and night vomiting into the basin beneath her bed – but rarely did it feel so all-encompassing.
At least Francis, and her family, would be gone soon. And then there would be no reason for her to ever see Francis again. That thought alone was enough to soothe her.
Regardless, her stomach still churned, so she quickly dressed and headed down into the kitchens. Whilst there was nothing at all she could do about Francis’s continued presence, she could deal with the blasted nausea.
The kitchen was, as ever, a hive of activity.
One of the girls showed her where Joan kept the various dried herbs, and soon Agnes had a little square of cloth bursting with fragrant stalks and leaves.
She threw them into a pot of wine to stew over the fire, then finally crept back to her chambers, a warm jug in her hand.
Not wanting to return to bed, she sipped at the wine, vaguely making plans for the next iteration of her cuirass. The medicinal drink helped immensely, and soon the nauseous feeling had settled.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Before she could call out, her unspoken question was answered for her.
‘It is me!’ That was Sara’s voice. She didn’t wait to be asked to enter, opening the door and sliding quickly in. ‘Are you well? Pepper told me you were in the kitchens looking for medicine.’
So she was the subject of gossip, now? Agnes supposed she could not blame Sara – she and Pepper were growing terribly close.
‘Much,’ Agnes said truthfully. ‘But it is just a passing sickness.’
Sara gave her a long look as she sat opposite her.
‘What?’
‘Agnes.’
Agnes sighed. ‘What?’
‘I have known you far too long for you to think you can simply not tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Are you with child?’
Agnes nearly choked on her mouthful of wine. ‘Sara!’
‘What? Are you not?’
‘Of course not!’ Agnes said. ‘My bleeds came on a few days ago.’
Sara seemed unconvinced. ‘You must admit it seemed terribly likely, given how unwell you were.’
Agnes knew she was right. It would not have been impossible for her to be with child. When lying with Ash and Olly, she had not been thinking about begetting children, only chasing pleasure.
‘Perhaps,’ she admitted at last.
What if she had been with child? She had Ash’s stalwart support.
When her body felt wrong, he soothed her.
He allowed her to be herself. But his support was nothing compared to the horrors of her own mind.
She forced herself to imagine if she were pregnant: the changes she would go through, the new form her body would take, the final and irrevocable way she would be named woman.
She had never had to face the reality of what bearing a child would entail.
That was ignorant of her, she now realised.
That lurching, skin-crawling feeling was already threatening to overwhelm her.
She dug her nails into her palms. Had she missed her bleeds, she knew how to bring them on once more.
But could she make that choice that without Ash’s knowledge?
She needed to talk to Ash and Olly. Damn Hugh and Francis: this was more important, especially if they continued to lie together. It was not a conversation she relished. But it had to be done.
‘Sara …’
Sara took her hand. She must have been closer than Agnes realised. ‘Are you well?’
‘I must speak to Ash.’
She headed from her chambers intending to seek them out. As she walked the corridor, she heard a door down the hall slam – the guest chambers within which Muriel was sleeping. Agnes paused.
She could not imagine bringing a child into the mess of her family: a baby whose grandparents hated their father, who may have tried to have him killed. Would a child even be safe in such a family?
There was another conversation she needed to have before she could seek out Ash and Olly. For the first time, it was the preferable choice. She strode towards the guest chamber door, knocked once, then shoved it open.
‘Agnes, what are you doing—’ Muriel spluttered, as Agnes pushed past her.
‘I need to speak to you,’ Agnes said.
‘Can this not wait?’ Muriel huffed.
‘No,’ Agnes said. ‘It cannot.’
Muriel hesitated a moment, then relented. ‘Fine. What is it?’
Agnes sat on the chest at the foot of the bed. ‘I need to know if you have heard anything, anything, about the attack on the road,’ she said.
A small line appeared between Muriel’s brows. ‘The attack on Lord Barden?’
‘Yes. We …’ Agnes took a breath, unsure of how much of the truth she could trust Muriel with. ‘We suspect that the attack was no coincidence. It was planned.’
Muriel did not seem concerned. ‘Are not all crimes planned?’ she said. ‘A wealthy party, travelling by road? It is not unusual to attract bandits.’
Agnes drummed her fingers against the chest. Soon enough, it would all come out: it was not a secret that could be maintained forever. She needed to trust Muriel, for Ash’s sake. She saw the love he had for his siblings: perhaps she could find it with her own as well.
She took a deep, calming breath.
‘I believe Francis arranged the attack,’ she said, keeping her voice steady. ‘As a way to prevent the marriage.’
Muriel’s face was entirely blank. And then she barked a harsh, discordant laugh.
‘Do not be absurd, Aggie! What, you claim that Francis paid this bandit to have Lord Barden killed?’
‘That is precisely what I claim.’
‘That is madness.’ Muriel began to pace the room. ‘You cannot simply accuse a man—’
‘I am not accusing him,’ Agnes said, ‘Not yet. All I need to know is if Mother and Father—’
‘You think they were in league with him, too?’ Muriel looked horrified. ‘This has gone too far. You cannot say such things about Francis just because you do not like the man! He has only ever been kind to you, and this is how you repay him?’
Agnes closed her eyes. She focused on the feeling of the old wood beneath her fingers, calming herself, before speaking again.
‘This is not a baseless accusation,’ she said slowly. ‘And that is all I will say on the matter. I just need to know if you have been made aware of anything, if Mother and Father have been acting strangely, or if they reacted oddly when the news reached them.’
Muriel sighed. She looked almost sad. ‘Agnes, this is absurd.’
‘Please, Muriel.’
Muriel looked at her like she was a stranger.
‘You are wrong,’ she said. ‘Mother and Father were horrified to hear of the attack. They have been behaving precisely as they always do. Which is far more than I can say about you.’
Agnes tried to remember the letter. She tried to remember Pepper’s words, Olly’s confessions. She was not mad. This was true.
‘Muriel … if we could talk …’
Muriel took a step away. She opened the door. ‘I think it is best if you leave.’
‘But there is still so much to—’
‘You should leave, Agnes. We can discuss this with Mother and Father later.’
Agnes’s stomach turned to lead. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Do not mention this to them. If Francis learns—’
‘Enough.’ Muriel stood aside. ‘When they return we will talk. But now, I need you to go.’
There was nothing else to be done. She stood, then moved towards Muriel to leave her with a parting embrace, at least.
Muriel swiftly stepped back.
Agnes did not chase her. She nodded, eyes down, and left the room.