Chapter 11 #2
His smile lingered on his face, just as he lingered at her door for a moment longer, and then he was gone. Leaving her sitting with that damned amused smile pulling at her mouth.
But then the sound, like the slow, building wails of some poor beast in the throes of birth, wound up from within the bed once more.
Julian Griffin had somehow managed to chase Amicia away, but she was back now, and she was apparently extremely unhappy with her eldest daughter.
Sybilla shot from her chair and stomped to her wardrobe, throwing the doors open, and ripping through her gowns.
Although Julian had spoken truthfully when he’d said there were few of the cook’s servants he needed to speak with, there were still one or two, and he chose to begin in that fragrant, humid room both for the surety of the staff’s presence as they prepared the morning meal for the castle inhabitants, as well as the delicious warmth the cove-ceilinged chamber provided.
He’d hoped to catch them off guard, perhaps surprising them into candor, but he needn’t have worried—Sybilla Foxe’s appearance in the kitchen threw the entire population into an immediate uproar.
He was surprised at her obvious contrition, and he wondered yet again where the legendary taskmistress of Fallstowe was, for surely this woman could not be she.
“I apologize for disturbing you,” Sybilla said in a low voice to the short, red-haired cook.
She looked around the room at the owl-eyed servants, who were either staring at her stupidly, frozen in mid-task, or frantically engaged in some little job as if their lives at the castle depended on its completion in the lady’s presence.
“All of you, please, don’t let me keep you from your duties.
I’m only accompanying Lord Griffin, as he wishes to speak with some of the staff and is unfamiliar with the warren that is Fallstowe. ”
“Was yer tea fitting this morn, Madam?” the cook asked sincerely, her eyes searching Sybilla’s face.
“The bread crisp enough for you? Here now—you’ve nothing to drink!
Hobie! Hobie, get off yer lazy duff and fetch Madam a fresh cup!
” The cook’s eyes flicked daggers at Julian.
“And one for our guest, His Lordship, as well.” She enunciated his title as if she were pronouncing a foreign phrase for the word arsehole, the consonants cracking like whips.
“I don’t require anything at the moment, thank you,” Julian said.
“As you wish, my lord,” the woman said quickly, then dismissed him, turning her attention back to Sybilla. “What does he want from us, Madam? Is he to see us all jailed by the king? What shall we do if you leave? We’ll not carry on if—”
Sybilla opened her mouth to answer the woman, but Julian beat her to it.
“I’m not here to see any of you jailed. I need only to ask you some questions about your time at Fallstowe, and only a pair of you from the kitchen, as it were.
” He looked down at the list in his hand and spoke the names, then raised his gaze, waiting for the mentioned persons to step forward.
No one moved, save for the young man who was handing Sybilla a steaming mug wrapped in a soft-looking linen cloth. She thanked him quietly and then blew on the surface of the drink before taking a sip, the only person in the room who was not currently staring daggers into Julian.
He’d not received this kind of loyalty from the men in his outfit while engaged in battle, and Julian was struck again by the thought that Sybilla Foxe’s roots ran very deep into the heart of Fallstowe. Regardless, though, he was here to do his duty, and he would not be denied by servants.
He cleared his throat pointedly and repeated the names.
The cook spoke. “The first girl isn’t at her duties today. She’s come down quite ill, I’m afraid.”
Sybilla’s concern was immediate. “What is it?”
The cook seemed relieved to focus her attention on her mistress. “I don’t right know, Madam. She began feeling poorly yesterday, and this morn when she reported to work, she had such ghastly black rings about her eyes, coughing and retching, I sent her back to her cottage right away.”
Sybilla’s frown was sincere. “Was she fevered?”
The cook nodded. “I believe so, milady. Gray as could be and wet as a rag.”
Julian felt his own grimace. “It sounds like one of the lesser plagues to me. It’s gone round London lately. Terribly catching.” He met Sybilla’s eyes. “You’d do well to keep her from the castle and see if she improves.”
“Has anyone else shown symptoms?” Sybilla asked the room at large.
“None else here, milady,” the cook offered.
The serving lad, Hobie, spoke. “One of the chamber maids was coughing a fit before the supper last eve. I’ve not yet seen her today.”
“Which girl?” Sybilla asked.
Hobie shrugged. “I forget her name.” Then he glanced at Julian. “’Tis the one takin’ care of their rooms.”
Sybilla set her mug down on the large center worktable and then looked to Julian. “Forgive me, Lord Griffin, but I’m sure you understand that this requires my immediate attention.”
“Of course,” Julian said. “Can I help you in any way?”
Sybilla seemed as though she’d been about to say something else, but closed her mouth and looked at him oddly for a moment.
“No,” she said. “Thank you.” Then she turned to address the kitchen at large.
“If Lord Griffin asks anything of any of you, I expect your full cooperation. Answer his questions honestly, with no fear of reprisal from me or the king. You are not being tried or charged with anything. You are innocent. But if you perjure yourself to an envoy of the Crown, you will be held accountable. I wish no harm to come to any of you, so please accommodate his requests. Do you understand?”
The crowd mumbled their assent.
Sybilla turned to Julian. “Excuse me, Lord Griffin.”
Julian bowed along with the rest of the staff while Sybilla Foxe swept from the room. He wanted to follow her.
Instead he turned back to the glowering mass of red, sweat-dampened faces regarding him with obvious hostility.
“All right, then, let’s get on with it.”
Sybilla hesitated at the bottom of the long, spiral staircase.
She looked down at her gown; she was a wrinkled, dusty mess.
Her head pounded, her muscles ached. The supper meal had passed more than an hour ago, and she had only just now come from seeing that the last of the eight servants showing signs of sickness had been ferreted out and were well tucked away from the castle and cared for.
Sybilla longed for Cecily, who, up until a few weeks ago, had been Fallstowe’s resident angel and healer, and Sybilla made a mental note to draft a letter right away, seeking the middle Foxe sister’s advice.
She was in no way presentable enough to address Julian Griffin, but she felt it her responsibility to inform him of the goings-on of the day, considering that he had foolishly brought his infant with him. And she didn’t care one whit what he thought of her appearance, any matter.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs a moment longer, and then turned on her heel and knocked upon the narrow door of the guest chamber at the bottom of the stairs instead.
Informing the nurse would suffice.
The door opened straightaway, and Murrin’s pale face appeared in the seam of the door and jamb. The young woman’s eyes widened a bit before she gave a quick curtsy.
“Lady Foxe, good evening,” she said, surprise making her quiet words bright. “Is there something you require of me?”
“Yes,” Sybilla said, wondering for an instant at the silence of the room and the absence of the babe from the nurse’s arms. The child must be already abed.
“Please inform Lord Griffin that sickness has indeed been found at Fallstowe. The maid who was taking care of your rooms has been touched. She has been removed, however, and a healthy girl will take her place in the morn.”
“Oh, mercy,” Murrin gasped, looking up and over her shoulder as the door opened wider. “Did you hear, milord?”
Julian Griffin’s imposing physique soon filled the doorway, the yellow candlelight from the room spilling out around him and the lumpy bundle he held high on his chest. Julian frowned down at Sybilla, one large hand easily supporting Lucy’s backside, the other resting on the door.
His topaz eyes swept her from head to toe.
Murrin disappeared behind him into the chamber.
Inside, Sybilla grimaced. So much for avoiding him.
“I heard,” he said in a low voice. Then his eyes met Sybilla’s. “Did it keep you engaged all the day, Lady Foxe?”
Sybilla nodded. “We can only hope for the best now.”
“How many?” Julian pressed.
“Eight.” She fought the urge to fidget.
“I’d see one or two of them tomorrow, with your permission, of course, to ascertain if the symptoms match what I saw in London.”
“Of course. Do as you will.” Sybilla paused. “Goodnight, Lord Griffin.” She turned to go.
“Wait,” he called out, louder than he should have, apparently, for the bundle on his shoulder began to squirm as Sybilla turned quickly back to him. He held up a finger toward her, patting the child’s rounded back and making shushing noises.
He turned back to the room and Sybilla could see him carefully hand the baby to the nurse. He murmured something and then turned back to the doorway. As he stepped into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him, Sybilla saw Murrin’s perplexed expression.
“Sorry to keep you,” he said in a slightly louder voice. “I’m sure you must be fatigued. But I have something for you.”
Sybilla felt her eyebrows rise. “Something for me?”
Julian nodded and gestured toward the stairs. “Would it trouble you very much to come up? It’s in my portfolio.” When Sybilla hesitated, Julian spoke again. “You’re tired, I understand. I’ll bring it to you in the morn.”
“No,” Sybilla heard a voice say, and then in surprise realized that it was her own mouth forming the words. “I’m fine. Lead the way, Lord Griffin.”
Julian smiled as he held his hand toward her, and Sybilla placed her fingertips in his palm. He led her lightly to the stairs.
“After you, my lady.”