Chapter Seven
It was a lazy day. The sun gave muted warmth, accompanied by the rising humidity that came with summer. It was early in the year to experience the moist heat, but it was present nonetheless. Perhaps it was an indication of the unbearable summer to come.
Derica lay on a day couch, fan in her hand.
Her chamber was warm and damp. Every so often, the fan would wave back and forth and then collapse against her breast. The bright green eyes were half-lidded, with thought and boredom, staring into the room as if her mind had been spirited away somehow.
Ever since that dreadful day, nearly a week ago, that she had made the bargain for Garren’s life it was as if something had left her.
The spirit that was normally present had vanished.
Those who knew her well were unsure if it would ever return.
Aglette had long since hidden away the yellow wedding gown that she had worked on so diligently for all those months.
She thought about burning it simply to erase the memories, but she wasn’t sure that would be wise.
She was currently working on a summer gown for her lady, a pale blue garment made of light fabric.
They had purchased the material last year at a fair in Bury St. Edmunds.
Yards of it had lain in Derica’s chest, disregarded, until Aglette rediscovered it.
She thought that a new gown was something her mistress might need at this time.
Anything to brighten the dark days they were all suffering through.
Derica wouldn’t see anyone but Uncle Hoyt and her brother Daniel.
They were the only two members of the family who didn’t represent Garren’s departure.
Her Uncle Hoyt had spent a good deal of time with her, brushing her hair, stroking her back, talking to her about things like goddesses and flowers.
Any mention of anything remotely romantic would send Derica into fits, so Hoyt avoided the mythological love stories he was so fond of.
Cuchulain and the other Celts who had fought so hard for love and kingdom were put aside in favor of discussions on roses and lavender.
It was all Derica could tolerate. Hoyt hurt for her, but deep down, he could not truly understand what she was going through. None of them did.
Daniel’s visits could be particularly brittle because he almost always carried a message from the rest of the family.
As the brother who stayed the furthest away from any manner of politics or family squabbles, he had been coerced into playing peacemaker.
He would bring her meals to her and sit with her while she picked at the food, discussing things like the weather and the quality of the spring foals.
Unlike her emotional outburst in the vault of Framlingham from the week prior, she had reverted back to her normal character of controlling her emotions, only now it was darkly so.
There was no emotion in her face whatsoever.
She mostly lay upon her day couch, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring everything around her.
She had no use for her family at the moment, those people who had ruined her life.
Aglette had stuck to her with the faithfulness of an old dog.
She had known Derica her entire life and had never seen her so miserable.
It was difficult to comprehend that she was making herself ill over a man she had known less than a full week.
Aglette had seen suitors come to Framlingham for weeks on end and Derica had never so much as said more than two words to them.
Garren le Mon, clearly, had been different. They all knew that now.
So the little maid sewed the blue dress and chattered, even though she knew she would receive no answer.
Eventually, she gave up chattering all together and simply sewed.
In fact, the pretty blue dress was almost done save hemming the length.
Perhaps now was a good time to focus her mistress on something other than her misery.
“There we are,” Aglette stood from her stool and held the dress up. “What do you think of this, my lady? Beautiful, is it not?”
Derica didn’t respond, though the fan lifted and waved back and forth a few times. Aglette tried not to become discouraged.
“My lady,” she said, more firmly. “I will need for you to try this on so that I may hem the bottom. Will you do that, please?”
Derica continued to fan herself. Aglette was about to try again when Derica’s head moved, very slowly, towards the dress. The green eyes that focused on it were lifeless.
“The sleeves are sheer.”
“Aye, they are,” Aglette was thrilled that she was getting a response. “In the warmth of summer, it will make it much cooler for you.”
“But everyone will see the scar on my arm.”
Aglette hadn’t thought of that. “Not much, my lady. Not unless they look closely.”
“It is healing quite nicely. Garren did a remarkable job tending it.”
“Aye, he did.”
The fan stopped. “Where do you suppose he went, Aglette?”
Aglette lowered the dress. This was as much conversation as she had gotten out of Derica in a week and she wanted to tread carefully. “I do not know. Perhaps back to Chateroy.”
Derica clasped the fan against her breast and sat up. Her shoulders and forehead glistened in the moist weather. “Do you suppose… if I had Uncle Hoyt write to him, that he would write back?”
“I do not know, my lady. But you can certainly try.”
“Father would not permit it, I am sure.”
“Then perhaps we could sneak a missive out somehow.”
Derica fell back against the couch once more, closing her eyes in anguish. “He said he would not forget me. But I shall wager that he has. What would he want to remember about this horrid place and the horrible way he was treated?”
Aglette didn’t want to argue with her, and she did not want her mistress to fall deeper into despair with the present line of conversation. She laid the blue dress aside.
“I am going down to the kitchens to fetch some cool water. A sponge bath will do you a world of good. Then we shall try on this dress.”
Derica didn’t reply and the fan lay still against her chest. Aglette quit the chamber and descended to the second floor where she took the steps into the ward.
The kitchens were located towards the rear of Framlingham’s bailey.
Her thoughts centered on Derica as she commandeered two kitchen servants to help her carry the water buckets up to her mistresses’ room.
Before she left the area, however, she collected a plate of bread and cheese, hoping to coerce Derica into eating something.
With the bath and dress, perhaps she would feel better. One could only try.
She sent the servants bearing water on ahead as she collected one last bit of fruit for her mistress’ plate, some small green grapes.
The cook also gave her some boiled fruit juice flavored with cloves and honey.
As Aglette crossed the ward towards the western tower, a sharp whistle pierced her ears.
Then the sound came again. Thinking it was one of the soldiers on the wall walk above, she ignored it until she passed near the kiln and saw a figure bundling bunches of straw for the kiln fire.
“Mistress,” the man was on his knees, his face half-obscured by a dirty cloak. “Mistress!”
Aglette was used to aggressive men; it happened quite often. “Go about your business. I have no interest in you.”
“I have been waiting here the better part of a week, waiting for the chance to speak with you,” the man hissed. “You’re Lady Derica’s servant.”
Aglette didn’t answer; she kept walking. The man stood up, a bundle in his hands.
“How has your mistress been feeling this past week?” he asked.
Aglette paused, looking at him pointedly. “I do not know who you are or what you want, but if you do not leave me alone, I shall send the soldiers after you.”
Aglette continued walking. After two steps she had forgotten about the conversation until she heard the man’s voice behind her once again.
“Aglette,” he said slowly. “I bring your lady a message from Garren.”
Aglette came to a dead halt. She turned, eyeing the man with the bucked teeth and bright blue eyes. “What… what do you mean a message?”
Fergus could see the fear in her eyes. “Garren said you are someone to be trusted.”
Aglette was shaken. “I… I serve my lady faithfully.” She lowered her voice. “Who are you?”
Fergus knew their time would be short. He glanced around, seeing that their conversation was going unnoticed for the moment.
“I am Sir Fergus de Edwin, a friend of Sir Garren’s,” he said quietly. “He has asked me to come on his behalf.”
“You are a knight?”
“Aye. You must bring your lady to me so that I may deliver the message in person.”
Aglette’s heart was thumping in her chest, with fear and excitement. “How do I know you are who you say you are?” she whispered. “You cannot possibly expect me to rouse my lady simply because you, a stranger, say that you bear a message for her.”
Fergus turned around, back for the kiln, and picked up another bunch of straw. “I shall be at the stables in one hour. Bring her there so that I may deliver the message.”
Aglette glanced around, wondering also if someone was noticing their conversation. She felt as if she was in the midst of something horribly treacherous.
“I will not,” she was afraid. “I have half a mind to run and tell Sir Bertram that you are here.”
Fergus didn’t look at her, continuing to bind the straw.
“If you do, I shall swear that you helped me gain entrance and that it was you who plotted to spread the rumor that Sir Garren was a spy. I shall tell your lord that you are the root of the resistance within Framlingham and that all covert dealings pass through you. Even if he didn’t believe me right away, I can guarantee you that your days at Framlingham are numbered.
Suspicion has a way of killing all it stalks. ”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Aglette gasped.
“Try me.”