Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(131)

“I think it might be possible to devise a quicker method to achieve the same result,” Mary said, drawing back my attention. She pulled a pen from her upswept hair, leaving a black smudge over her ear. “What do you imagine would happen if we filed the silver before dissolving it in the aqua fortis?”

We spent a pleasant afternoon discussing new ways to make the arbor Dian?, but it was over all too soon.

“Will I see you Thursday?” Mary asked.

“I’m afraid I have another obligation,” I said. I was expected at Goody Alsop’s before sunset.

Mary’s face fell. “Friday, then?”

“Friday,” I agreed.

“Diana,” Mary said hesitantly, “are you well?”

“Yes,” I said in surprise. “Do I seem ill?”

“You are pale and look tired,” she admitted. “Like most mothers I am prone to— Oh.” Mary stopped abruptly and turned bright pink. Her eyes dropped to my stomach, then flew back to my face. “You are with child.”

“I will have many questions for you in the weeks ahead,” I said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

“How far along are you?” she asked.

“Not far,” I said, keeping my answer deliberately vague.

“But the child cannot be Matthew’s. A wearh is not able to father a child.” Mary said, her hand rising to her cheek in wonder. “Matthew welcomes the babe, even though it is not his?”

Though Matthew had warned me that everybody would assume the child belonged to another man, we hadn’t discussed how to respond. I would have to punt.

“He considers it his own blood,” I said firmly. My answer only seemed to increase her concern.

“You are fortunate that Matthew is so selfless when it comes to protecting those who are in need. And you—can you love the child, though you were taken against your will?”

Mary thought I’d been raped—and perhaps that Matthew had married me only to shield me from the stigma of being pregnant and single.

“The child is innocent. I cannot refuse it love.” I was careful neither to deny nor confirm Mary’s suspicions. Happily, she was satisfied with my response, and, characteristically, she probed no further. “As you can imagine,” I added, “we are eager to keep this news quiet for as long as possible.”

“Of course,” Mary agreed. “I will have Joan make you a soft custard that fortifies the blood yet is very soothing to the stomach if taken at night before you sleep. It was a great help to me in my last pregnancy and seemed to lessen my sickness in the morning.”

“I have been blessedly free of that complaint so far,” I said, drawing on my gloves. “Matthew promises me it will come any day now.”

“Hmm,” Mary mused, a shadow crossing her face. I frowned, wondering what was worrying her now. She saw my expression and smiled brightly. “You should guard against fatigue. When you are here on Friday, you must not stand so long but take your ease on a stool while we work.” Mary fussed over the arrangement of my cloak. “Stay out of drafts. And have Fran?oise make a poultice for your feet if they start to swell. I will send a receipt for it with the custard. Shall I have my boatman take you to Water Lane?”

“It’s only a five-minute walk!” I protested with a laugh. Finally Mary let me leave on foot, but only after I assured her that I would avoid not only drafts but also cold water and loud noises.

That night I dreamed I slept under the limbs of a tree that grew from my womb. Its branches shielded me from the moonlight while, high above, a dragon flew through the night. When it reached the moon, the dragon’s tail curled around it and the silver orb turned red.

I awoke to an empty bed and blood-soaked sheets.

“Fran?oise!” I cried, feeling a sudden, sharp cramp.

Matthew came running instead. The devastated look on his face when he reached my side confirmed what I already knew.





Chapter Twenty Three




"We have all lost babes, Diana,” Goody Alsop said sadly. “It is a pain most women know.”

“All?” I looked around Goody Alsop’s keeping room at the witches of the Garlickhythe gathering.

The stories tumbled out, of babies lost in childbirth and others who died at six months or six years. I didn’t know any women who had miscarried— or I didn’t think I did. Had one of my friends suffered such a loss, without my knowing it?

“You are young and strong,” Susanna said. “There is no reason to think you cannot conceive another child.”

No reason at all, except for the fact that my husband wouldn’t touch me again until we were back in the land of birth control and fetal monitors.

“Maybe,” I said with a noncommittal shrug.

“Where is Master Roydon?” Goody Alsop said quietly. Her fetch drifted around the parlor as if she thought she might find him in the window-seat cushions or sitting atop the cupboard.

“Out on business,” I said, drawing my shawl tighter. It was Susanna’s, and it smelled like burned sugar and chamomile, just as she did.

“I heard he was at the Middle Temple Hall with Christopher Marlowe last night. Watching a play, by all accounts.” Catherine passed the box of comfits she’d brought to Goody Alsop.