CHAPTER SIX #2
In the wake of Galen’s departure four days ago, she’d spent most of her waking hours in a quandary, uncertain what her duties as countess entailed.
Since her mother died when Laoghaire was only three years of age, she’d had an unconventional upbringing.
While other young girls were taught how to weave and embroider, she’d been taught how to ride and hunt.
She could not fault her father or brothers; they had no way of knowing that one day the king of Scotland would order her to marry an earl.
Putting her pride to the wayside, Laoghaire glanced over to where Coira was now busy choosing between two different lengths of sendal, one yellow, one white.
After nervously clearing her throat to garner the other woman’s attention, she said, “I have need of yer counsel. This is a large castle and . . . and I am uncertain how I should be spending my time. Given that Dame Winifred handles the duties of chatelaine, I have nothing to do.”
Coira’s brow furrowed. “I dinna comprehend yer meaning.”
“I don’t know what my duties entail. Moreover, I don’t know how to be a countess,” Laoghaire elaborated.
Several moments passed as Coira stared at her, clearly agog at hearing her confession. Then, with a good-natured chuckle, she said, “Ach! Were ye not taught by yer mother how to maintain a household?”
Laoghaire shook her head dolefully. “My mother died when I was young.”
“Poor pet.” The other woman gave her a commiserating smile. “As for yer duties, the old earl had three wives, all of whom were renowned for their fine embroidery. In addition to spending their days engaged in needlework, each of them was a gracious hostess to all who visited the castle.”
The other woman’s reply caused a knot to tighten in Laoghaire’s stomach. “Should I ply my fingers to needle and thread, I will surely die from boredom.”
“Milady, ye do not have to sew or oversee the daily menu to be a great asset to yer husband.” Several moments passed in silence as Coira contemplatively tapped her forefinger against her chin.
Then, her eyes suddenly glimmering with an infectious excitement, she said, “I have just thought of a way in which ye can be a worthy helpmate to the earl.”
Although Laoghaire had no desire to be a helpmate to Galen, she was intrigued nonetheless. “I would be most interested to hear yer idea.”
“Can ye read and cipher?”
Surprised by the question, Laoghaire nodded in the affirmative.
“Ye’re probably unaware of this, but yer husband has need of a household steward,” Coira informed her.
“Soon after his uncle died, Lord Angus dismissed Airlie’s steward, the man having proved himself less than honest with the old earl’s coin.
It was then that the decision was made to divide the post between two individuals, one to manage the estate, the other to maintain the household accounts. ”
Upon hearing that, Laoghaire’s interest deepened. At Castle Maoil, there was only the one steward, her cousin Diarmid. He handled all of the accounts and revenues for both the estate and castle.
“Prior to his departure, Lord Angus appointed Sir Auric de Quincey as the new estate steward,” Coira continued, proving to be well-versed in the inner workings of the castle.
“However, the post of household steward has yet to be filled. For the time being, my Robbie has been handling the household accounts. And he’s about to tear his hair out because of it,” she added with a chuckle.
Laoghaire knew that Coira’s husband Robbie was also the castle reeve, which meant that he must be greatly burdened, indeed.
“I often helped my cousin Diarmid to maintain the account ledgers at Castle Maoil,” she mentioned somewhat hesitantly, not wanting to get her hopes unduly raised lest they be crushed.
Most men—and no doubt Galen was one of them—believed women incapable of such responsibility.
Wondering if it was different in Glenclova, she said, “Is it not unusual for a woman to keep the household accounts?”
“Aye, ’tis out of the ordinary,” Coira agreed with a nod of the head. “Although who can Lord Angus trust better with his coin, if not his own wife?”
Laoghaire made no reply. Given that Galen didn’t trust her enough to give her a horse, let alone permit her to leave the castle, it was doubtful he would entrust her with the household accounts.
“Go speak to my Robbie,” Coira urged in a coaxing voice. “After which, ye can decide if it would appeal to ye.”
Certainly, no harm can come from talking to the man, Laoghaire thought to herself, won over by the other woman’s enthusiasm.
Her mind made up, she said, “I will speak to yer husband.” That settled, she gestured to the purple samite. “And I have decided that I don’t want the kirtle trimmed in fur, after all.”
As Laoghaire hurriedly made her way across the great hall, the two wolfhounds, Tristan and Iseult, followed closely on her heels.
Because they were hunting dogs, each of them wore an identical thick leather collar to protect them from being mauled by a wild boar.
For whatever reason, the two beasts had taken to shadowing her about the castle, which didn’t bother her in the least. An outsider at Castle Airlie, she enjoyed the dogs’ quiet companionship.
On the other side of the hall, Laoghaire espied Dame Winifred.
Appearing like some great gannet in her elaborate white wimple and veil, the chatelaine was loudly chastising a villein who was in the process of putting down fresh rushes.
Due to the veil’s many overlapping layers, Dame Winifred was forced to hold her head at an awkward angle, giving her a slightly sinister aspect.
Laoghaire withheld a greeting, certain a salutation would not be welcomed. Despite the king having commanded the marriage, the older woman’s cold deference made it readily apparent that she held Laoghaire directly responsible for her daughter’s broken betrothal.
Keeping her head bent, so as not to draw attention to herself, Laoghaire scurried through the elaborate wooden screen that separated the great hall from the pantry and buttery.
Unlike her brother’s castle—where food and drink were brought directly from the kitchen to the great hall—at Castle Airlie all of the dishes were first arranged for serving in the pantry before being brought to the tables; just as all beverages were poured from casks into pitchers and flagons in the adjacent buttery prior to being served.
Such an arrangement required a small army of servants, in addition to making a great bustle at mealtimes.
With a slight smile, she nodded at the two menservants who were busy rolling a keg of ale into the buttery, both of whom appeared surprised to see her.
Moments later, reaching the end of a narrow passage, she descended several steps into a large chamber known as the lesser hall.
She’d been informed that this was where the Earl of Angus traditionally held judicial proceedings.
Just beyond the chamber there was a row of doors, one of which led to her destination, the office of the household steward.
Seeing that the door was slightly ajar, Laoghaire pushed it open without knocking.
For several moments she stood silent while she perused the small chamber.
As her gaze moved around the perimeter of the room, she took note of the slanted scribe’s desk; the wooden case with its many cubbyholes filled with rolled parchments; and a massive iron strongbox that was set within a wall niche.
Robbie Guthrie, his back turned to her, was in the process of placing a handful of bundled hazelwood tally sticks into the box for safekeeping.
To her surprise, Robbie’s daughter Aveline was seated at the desk.
From where she stood, Laoghaire could see that the young girl was copying letters onto a wax tablet with a stylus.
Laoghaire cleared her throat to alert the two of them to her presence.
“Milady!” Like his wife, Robbie Guthrie was always quick with a warm smile. “Please, come in,” he invited with a sweep of the arm.
Aveline also appeared happy to see her. Rising from her stool, the child rushed over to where she stood just inside the doorway.
Because of the room’s small size, Laoghaire turned to the two wolfhounds and, with a raised hand, silently bid them to remain on the other side of the threshold.
Clearly anxious to show Laoghaire what she’d been working on, Aveline offered her the wax tablet. “I have written out the whole of the Pater Noster,” she said proudly, as she pointed to the words of the Latin prayer, which had been carefully incised into the beeswax.
“This is quite an achievement,” Laoghaire told the child before returning the tablet to her. She then looked over at Robbie. “Did ye teach the lass how to write?”
Chortling softly, Robbie shook his head, quickly disavowing her of the notion. “Aveline kens more than I do, and she has the earl to thank for it. Young Angus is the one who arranged for Father Giroldus to teach her how to read and write.”
Laoghaire knew that “young Angus” referred to Galen, the epithet used by many in the household to distinguish him from his uncle, the previous earl.
“There are few lords who would be so magnanimous to the daughter of the castle reeve,” Robbie continued. “None can dispute that Lord Angus has a brave heart, but ’tis a noble heart as well.”
Laoghaire made no comment. As much as she disliked her new husband, she would not gainsay his kind deed to young Aveline. Being able to read and write would certainly be of future benefit to the child.
After gesturing for Aveline to leave the chamber, Robbie turned to Laoghaire with a questioning look on his face, no doubt wondering as to the reason for her unexpected visit.
Suddenly nervous, Laoghaire wiped her clammy palms against her kirtle. “Er, yer wife suggested that I speak to ye regarding the maintenance of the household accounts.”
One of Robbie’s eyebrows instantly slanted upward. “She did?”
“Aye, she did. Since Angus has yet to fill the position of household steward, Coira thought that I might be able to handle the recordkeeping.” Even to Laoghaire’s own ears, what earlier seemed like a viable idea now sounded utterly harebrained.
Hoping to add heft to the proposal, she said, “I used to assist my cousin Diarmid with the accounts for my brother’s demesne. ”
At hearing that, Robbie cocked his head to one side while he gave her a considering glance.
“I do not have the authority to appoint ye to the position, but I dinna see what harm could come of letting ye help me prepare the records. With Michaelmas only two weeks away, there is much work to do to ready the accounts for the yearly reckoning.”
Relieved that Robbie was amenable to the idea, Laoghaire smiled gratefully at him.
“I will keep faith with ye, and do all in my power to maintain accurate and detailed records,” she hastened to assure him.
“And if Angus is opposed to the idea, upon his return to the castle I shall immediately desist.”
“I cannot ask for more, milady.” Motioning for her to sit at the desk, Robbie said, “The duties of the household steward are simple enough. At the end of each day, you will receive the expenses incurred by the cook, the butler, the pantler, and the marshal for all of the foodstuffs and supplies that they have used. Also, if any guests stay overnight, all of the additional expenses incurred must be carefully recorded.”
Anxious to begin, Laoghaire selected a goose quill from a wooden holder; after which, she examined the parchment that Robbie spread before her, carefully noting the various household expenditures that had been recorded for the previous day.
The numerous entries included everything from how much food, ale and wine had been consumed to the amount of hay and oats used in the stables.
There were even entries made for the amount of alms given to the poor and how many scraps were fed to the hunting hounds.
As she dipped her quill into the inkhorn, Laoghaire felt the welcome return of something she feared she’d lost since her arrival at Castle Airlie—her self-confidence. These types of records and the maintenance of them were wholly familiar to her.
Finally, I have found something to my liking.