A Lady Under Siege(36)

Thomas turned to Sylvanne, and said gravely, “Do you see what is being done? Give it full attention.” To the Physician he said, “An authority I trust has opined that fresh vegetables and fruits, oranges in particular, might be beneficial.”

“Oranges?” the Physician scoffed. “Worst possible thing. Too acidic. And besides, where would you get them?”

“I’ve already sent someone to the south,” Thomas said. “I’m hoping that he might with luck find a trading ship arrived from Spain.”

“I’ve thirty years experience. Never heard of oranges causing anything but cankers in the mouth. Do you wish to give her those?”

“There’s plenty you don’t know,” Thomas replied.

“I’m not a magician, although I wish I were, Sire. I use what cures I’ve found success in previously. Fresh vegetables? In this case I trust more in what I’ve prescribed—the bark of an oak sapling, boiled with the guts of a songbird, given morning and night. Oak for strength, and the songbird to restore her to girlish vitality. Grant me some credit, and excuse me for speaking plainly, but she has lived much longer than her mother did after she acquired similar symptoms. You should have engaged me in her mother’s case, instead of those quacks you relied upon.”

“But I see no progress here,” Thomas protested. “She declines more slowly than her mother, that is certain. Yet she still declines.” Again he turned to Sylvanne. “Look upon her as closely as you can,” he exhorted. “Take in every clue, as much as your senses can absorb.”

Sylvanne stood over Daphne and reached out to her face, solemnly stroking her cheek with her fingers. The absence of sympathy or pity in the gesture unnerved Thomas as he looked upon her. Suddenly Daphne’s eyes opened. She looked quizzically into Sylvanne’s face.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“This is Lady Sylvanne, darling,” Thomas interceded. “She’s come to help you.”

“You’re an innocent in this, and I wish you no ill,” Sylvanne said neutrally. “But your father suffers delusions.”

“Stop,” Thomas demanded.

“He fantasizes that I might cure you, yet he gives me only reasons to wish him suffering and grief. Do you think that wise of him?”

“Close your mouth!”

Daphne, confused and troubled, looked plaintively to her father.

“Daddy?”

“She doesn’t mean it, darling.”

“I do—” Sylvanne meant to say more, but Thomas slapped his fleshy palm across her mouth. She bit at it, and he swore at her, vulgar words he immediately regretted using in front of his daughter. He yelled for the guard to return her to her quarters. The same young man from the previous night was still on duty. He made to take hold of her, but Sylvanne snarled at him, “You needn’t handle me. I know the way.”

“Before you go, I’ll say one more thing to you,” Thomas told her. He came and blocked her exit, looking straight into her eyes. “I speak now to that other. To Meghan. Did you see? Did you see enough? I pray you did. Please let me know it. I live for this exchange.”

Sylvanne returned his gaze, staring at him with a fiery rage. “Are you finished? Then get out of my way.” He stepped aside and she strode out the door.

Thomas looked at the bite marks she had left across his palm. He held it up to the Physician. “Lucky she didn’t break the skin, or I’d have need of you too,” he told him.

On the bed Daphne shuddered for a moment, like an underfed puppy. She looked at her father with wide, inquisitive eyes. “Daddy, why did she say you killed her husband?”

“It’s a long story, my darling,” he sighed. “Not one I’m prepared to tell just yet. Perhaps if all goes well.”





19





Mabel sat by the window watching kestrels circle in the cloudless sky. She rubbed a hand over her belly, which ached contentedly—she had eaten several hearty meals now, and could feel a sense of vigour reborn in her body. She had to admit she was taking well to life in this grand castle, and felt no regret at having to quit Squire Gerald’s drafty, ill-kept little keep. As soon as the thought came to her, she scolded herself, wondering, ‘Have a mere handful of dinners and a soft feather bed converted me so quickly to snobbery? Mustn’t forget where my loyalties lie—it were a tragedy what happened to my Master Gerald, and for my Mistress to be widowed so young. Mustn’t lose sight of that.’ She was pulled from these thoughts by the sound of voices in the hallway. Then the door opened and her Mistress was returned to her.