Chapter One #2
Diana smiled. “For the moment I do.”
“Then the pain is gone. Good,” Joanie said, happy to have alleviated at least a little of Diana’s suffering.
She wrapped her fingers around the handle of a small copper pot and dipped it in the bath water to rinse Diana’s hair.
But a sharp rapping on the door startled her, and she dropped the handle, losing the pot beneath the surface.
Jumping to her feet, she came around the screen that shielded her mistress, just as a barrel-chested man of great height with thinning brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a red nose from too much ale walked into the room.
Joanie expelled the breath she’d been holding. “Thank God it’s you, Simon.”
Simon was their master’s manservant. To most people, he was gruff and hard — full of bite, but beneath his coarse surface, hid a gentleness only shown to Diana and thus to Joanie by default.
He motioned toward the screen and mouthed the words, how is she?
Lips pressed into a thin line, Joanie only shook her head in answer.
“Damn it,” Simon cursed.
Straightaway, Joanie’s heart started to pound. “What is it?” she whispered. Then she heard the water slosh and knew Diana had sat up.
“Is that Simon? Is something wrong?”
His powerful shoulders sagged. Sad eyes met Joanie’s. “Geoffrey wants you in the hall tonight,” he said loud enough for Diana to hear.
Joanie’s eyes widened. “But tonight is Anabel’s night to entertain.”
Simon put his hand up, silencing her protest. “She doesn’t have to perform, but he insists she attend the evening meal and stay for the entertainment following.”
Water sloshed again. Joanie hurried around the screen.
“I must get out,” Diana said, struggling to stand. “My hair will never dry in time. And my gown still needs freshening. Joanie, what will I — ”
Joanie’s chest tightened at the sound of Diana’s sudden cough, which racked her shoulders.
She white-knuckled the sides of the tub to keep her face out of the water.
Joanie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Diana, supporting her.
Wet hacking subsided into strangled wheezing and finally gasps for air.
When, at last, the cough ran its course, Diana turned her face up to look at Joanie.
Joanie’s heart ached at the sight of her red, tear-streaked face and wide, terrified green eyes.
She trembled in Joanie’s arms. “Let’s get you dry,” Joanie said, her voice soothing.
She helped Diana step from the tub, then dried her off and swept her robe around her shoulders.
“She is decent,” Joanie called. “I need your help, Simon.”
Simon appeared an instant later, his face drained of color. He scooped Diana into his arms.
“Simon’s got you.” Joanie heard him whisper.
Joanie hurried around the screen and rushed to the bed, grabbing pillows and blankets, which she then arranged near the hearth.
“Lay her down and fan her hair out so it dries,” she told him.
Then she hurried to the table and seized a small pouch of mustard powder from a basket, which she quickly mixed with flour, warm water from the bath, and vinegar. Then she knelt beside Diana.
“Make sure she is ready,” Simon said to Joanie.
She nodded and carried on mixing the mustard paste while she watched Simon gently stroke Diana’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Then he stood and strode from the room.
Joanie gave the thick paste a final stir. Then she opened Diana’s robe, exposing her chest.
“No,” her mistress said, waving her away. “I will stink. Just lay your hands on me. Your touch alone has healed me before.”
Joanie shook her head. “I promise it will wash away, and lavender oil will hide the smell. It will hopefully stave off another attack for some time, allowing you to regain your strength.”
Diana closed her eyes. “Fine, but just a thin layer. Then you must ready my face.”
Joanie thickly coated her chest with the foul-smelling mixture, despite her protests.
Then she set to work combining a fine white powder with vinegar and egg white.
Using a bristly brush, she made sweeping strokes across Diana’s mottled complexion, until it gleamed white.
Then she dabbed soft pink rouge on the apples of both her cheeks.
Taking a step back, she scrutinized Diana’s appearance.
Her brows were plucked to thin, pale crescent moons.
Her hair cascaded across the floor in thick waves and shone almost white, it was so blond.
She did not require onion skins or lemon juice to lighten the color, unlike so many of the women at court, whose dull hair looked more orange than blond as a result of their efforts.
Everything about Diana was naturally built to seduce, from her curvy figure to the throaty tone of her voice.
And when she sang, men stopped and stared with hungry eyes.
Joanie chewed her lip as she impatiently waited for her mistress’s hair to dry.
Simon returned a few hours later. “That will have to do,” he said, his voice strained. “The hour for supper is almost here.”
He gently helped Diana to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist.
“No,” she said, not unkindly. “I can manage.”
Tears stung Joanie’s eyes as she watched her mistress gracefully cross the room to sit at her table where a gilded mirror reflected her ethereal beauty. Knowing the pain she must have felt tore at Joanie’s heart, although Diana let none of it show.
Joanie crossed the room and took hold of Diana’s comb and pulled her long bangs back to lengthen her brow. When her hair was pinned in place, she arranged the sides so that golden waves spilled over Diana’s shoulders past her waist. Then she helped her dress.
“Will Geoffrey approve?” Diana asked nervously, smoothing her hands over the intricately embroidered bodice of her pale green tunic.
Joanie doubted anyone could ever fully meet with the master’s approval. Still, Diana’s beauty was unmatched regardless of the passing of time. “You look stunning. Mind you do not overdo it. Hold your tongue so that you do not strain your voice. Remember, you have to perform tomorrow night.”
Diana nodded. “I will remember. I am hoping to get away as soon as I can.”
Simon filled the doorway with his large frame. “It is time.”
Diana stood and kissed Joanie on the cheek before she crossed the room and left on Simon’s arm.
Joanie stared at the closed door for a moment.
Then she numbly turned and stiffly sat in Diana’s seat and looked at her own reflection in the mirror.
Her greasy black hair hung limply past her shoulders.
Her brown eyes looked back at her, dull, void of joy and life.
As ever, her face was hidden beneath a layer of dirt and grime.
Her master didn’t allow her a bath of her own.
None of the ointments, oils, or perfumes on the table were for her use.
She wore the same worn, tattered tunic every day.
Once a fortnight, she was permitted to wash herself and her clothing in Diana’s used bath water.
Not for her own benefit or health, but only so that the master didn’t have to smell her.
Geoffrey Mercer’s cruel, twisted smiled came to the fore of her mind.
Unlike Diana, she at least did not have to face him every day.
Diana went to his room to perform her duties as leman.
But whenever he did enter their room, it always meant the worst. The sound of his footfalls and that of his guard, who followed him everywhere, would echo through the stone corridor like thunder.
A shiver shot up Joanie’s spine just thinking about the din of their master’s approach.
She closed her eyes. Her heart pounded. Her breaths came short.
“Help us,” she whispered to no one, for who would hear the pleas of someone as insignificant as she?
Joanie whirled away from the sad creature she saw in the mirror, stood up and started to clean the room.
She would keep moving, keep doing, despite her fatigue.
She couldn’t stop. If she did, she would be forced to face the truth about Diana who was her one light in the dark.
Her beloved mistress’s health had been failing for months, but she had managed with Joanie’s help.
Still, the past fortnight had taken its toll.
“No,” she said out loud and fought back her tears.
After all, Diana continued to fight. She carried on, bravely surviving, and so would Joanie. That is what life had always been. It was what life would always be — a desperate fight for survival.