Chapter 21
She ran then, ran from the room and into the sanctuary of the solar, tears pouring down her face. Paradise danced around, just out of reach, and the snake was her own sense of right and wrong.
No! Not the snake. The snake was the wicked temptation of her love.
Eventually everything settled, sank miserably into a cinder landscape of black and gray.
He had told her everything. It broke her heart, but it did not help, because her father’s cause had been just. Renald had admitted that the rebels had changed their minds out of fear, not because they suddenly realized that Henry Beauclerk was a good and honest king.
Her father alone had stood for the just cause, and been killed for it. It had to have been an unjust death.
She crossed herself and knelt to pray, begging for strength to resist the tempting snake. Then she rose and seized her wax tablets, to write down ways to escape this situation.
Annulment, she wrote. Essential. Bishop.
Grounds? Non-consummation and possibly deception. She would ask the bishop if there were others. Quivering with memory, she knew she must never be alone with Renald again or, as he’d said, they would be trapped.
But once the marriage was over, what would she and her family do? St. Frideswide’s, she dug into the wax. But that was no good for Thomas.
France, she wrote. Her mother’s family.
She remembered Renald’s account of his childhood. That was not what she wanted for Thomas, and her grandmother could never make the journey.
She bit her lip. There were other relatives, but all in England, all subject to the king.
She looked over her list and scraped away the useless words. What in God’s name was she to do?
She remembered writing an account of the past few days. She’d finish it. Perhaps somewhere in there she’d find a key. She looked for her record book, then realized that it wasn’t on the desk where she’d left it.
She looked around the room, puzzled, but it was nowhere in sight. She unlocked the chest where she kept her work, and raised the large boards containing her story of the Brave Child Sebastian. Beneath were a number of papers, including her father’s journal, but not the one she sought.
She checked the other book chests, but they were locked and contained bound works. It wasn’t in her clothes chests. Why would it be?
“Prissy!” She swung open the door. “Maria!”
“Lady?” Prissy leaped up, one of Claire’s stockings in hand, darning needle dangling.
“Has anyone other than you been in the solar this morning?”
“Nay, lady, I don’t think so.”
“Come in here.”
Back in the solar, she asked if a thief could have gone into the solar that morning.
“A thief, lady? Something’s missing?”
“My record book.” Claire began to pointlessly check all the chests again.
She ordered Prissy to check behind and under benches and tables, though it was hard to imagine how the book could be there.
She even checked under the bed and between the covers.
She found a few weary rose petals, but not so much as a sheet of parchment.
“It’s not here,” said Prissy. “Are you sure—”
“It was here! Why would anyone want to steal it? Books are valuable, but my scribblings on scraps of parchment?” It was really not that important, but in the midst of chaos, this one last loss was throwing her into panic.
“Perhaps someone came through the window, lady.”
Claire looked at the opening to the courtyard. “Summerbourne people don’t steal.” But she’d never thought they’d murder, either. Perhaps it was one of Renald’s men, both murderer and thief, snake in the Garden …
“Do you want to tell Lord Eudo, lady? Him being the sheriff.”
Claire shook her head. “It’s not worth sending so far over a few sheets of parchment.”
“But he’s still here, lady.”
“Lord Eudo? Here?”
“Looking into Ulric’s death. Or so he says. Can’t say he’s done much but eat and drink.”
“Then yes. Go and ask him to come and speak to me, Prissy. At the least, I’ll have his men’s packs searched before he leaves.”
But Prissy returned in moments to say, “He rode out not long ago, lady.”
“Find me a messenger! I’ll ask him to check his men. It’s almost funny to think of someone trying to sell my rough notes. But I want them back.”
She’d just sent off the message when Felice dragged her out to assess a sick goose. She knew this was unnecessary, but didn’t fight it. She had too many other things to worry about.
She didn’t know what was wrong with the bird so she ordered it killed and its carcass burned.
She wished all problems were so simply handled.
The book didn’t turn up, and over two days of avoiding Renald, no magical solution occurred to Claire. But Eudo returned to Summerbourne, going first to visit Claire’s mother.
He emerged shaking his head.
Claire could understand why. Lady Murielle had settled into obsessive mourning, and her vision of Lord Clarence was rapidly becoming worthy of sanctification. Though Claire had loved her father dearly she knew he had not been a saint.
“Poor Murielle,” Eudo said. “She is much disturbed.”
Claire poured him ale. “We hope with time and rest she will become herself again.”
He eyed her. “She seems to forget that your wedding has taken place.”
In truth, this was driving Claire distracted, but she said, “It is not uncommon when someone suffers a blow. She’ll get better with rest.”
“I pray for it.” He sipped the ale. “She said some other things. That your father was killed in a court battle. That the opponent was Renald de Lisle.”
Claire was strangely tempted to deny it, but she said, “It’s true.”
“By the cross!” He paled as if he hadn’t really believed it. “It can have been little but slaughter.”
Renald’s account of the battle lingered in her mind like one of his pictures. “Yes.”
He put down his cup and took her hand. “Oh, my dear. What a burden this places on you.”
She felt tears prick to have an older person giving her support. “It is not easy, no.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“I don’t know. I think I must seek an annulment. Do you know anything of such matters?”
“Only that you need to apply to the bishop. It has not been consummated … ?”
“We keep our vow. But the king’s will must be considered. He ordered the marriage.”
“The Church is independent of the king.”
She looked at him. “Is it?”
His lips set almost peevishly. “This is unjust! No one could hold you to such a wicked union!”
Claire was wearily reminded that Eudo didn’t think clearly, and that his unfocused outrage had set her father off on the path to disaster. He was strong on outrage, but weak on action.
“Perhaps a way will be found,” she said vaguely, freeing her hand.
“You have only a month. Less now.”
As if she didn’t know. “Please, Eudo, let us speak of other matters.” She grasped the only thing that came to mind. “Do you have further news of Ulric’s death?”
Once she had thought that would be her salvation.
Now, anyway, she knew she might falter rather than send Renald to possible death.
Eudo worked his soft lips for a moment, then said, “Nothing. It must have been an attack of the moment, perhaps out of drink. Such crimes are hard to solve.” He drained his ale, and pulled on his gloves.
“I actually stopped to reassure you about your book. Of course none of my men had it. I checked their baggage most carefully.”
“I thank you for your care. It was silly of me to think it.”
“It will have been mislaid somewhere, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Claire walked him back to his horse, relieved to be seeing him off. “Certainly it’s of no value to anyone but me.”
He paused, reins already in hand. “Still, you should take better care. I hope you have your father’s journal safe. You left the other one out, in sight of the window.”
“Oh yes. My father’s work is locked in a chest.”
“And have you started transcribing it?”
“I don’t have the heart just yet.”
He made as if to mount, then turned back. “I am on my way to St. Stephen’s monastery. Would you like me to take it there? The monks could relieve you of the task.”
It was a reasonable suggestion, but Claire shook her head. “Thank you, but no. It is something I need to do for myself.”
“You must have little time these days.”
“I will find the time. Such work eases me.”
She thought he might object again, but instead, he said, “Can I take a letter to the bishop, then, asking about your annulment?”
She hesitated, and realized with despair that she didn’t want to truly take that step. “Could you?”
“I have business there. But I cannot delay long.”
“It will only take a moment!” She ran back into the manor and wrote a very hasty letter. It was not as elegantly phrased or scribed as she would wish, but the content was clear. She hurried back out and gave it to him before her resolution failed.
“I do regret the state you are all come to,” Eudo said, tucking it into his pouch. “I never thought …”
She almost laughed. That could be his epitaph. He never thought, and certainly never saw the consequences of his rash words.
He sighed and kissed her brow. “God bless and guard you, Claire. I will deliver your letter, and hope that it can set you free.”
Free. She knew that she would never be free.
Claire watched him ride away, then turned to see Renald watching her.
He must have seen her give Eudo a document, but he hadn’t intervened. He was, truly, leaving her to fight the battle for herself. Did he know she was losing?
He’d said he wouldn’t rape her, but he’d come close.
No. That hadn’t been rape.
When their month was up, he would have the right to her body. Would he claim it? Would she have the strength to resist?
With each passing hour it grew harder, the snake became more persuasive.
Seeking any kind of bulwark for her will, Claire went into the hall to where her grandmother and mother sat together.
Lady Murielle was stitching a seam in one of Lord Clarence’s tunics. The trouble was, she kept unraveling them so as to have something to stitch.