A Lady Under Siege(67)
“Good for you, Madame!”
“I must tell you something first, though. I’ve had a change of heart, a change of strategy. Rather than having you absent yourself, I want you here, in your bed. You be discreet, and make as to be asleep when we arrive,” she instructed. “You’ll hear us, and, peeking out from your anteroom, you’ll ascertain the precise moment when he lies with me, and begins to lose himself in his attentions to me. Creep close, without a sound—raise the knife, bring it down!”
Sylvanne could not fail to notice the look of horror on Mabel’s face. “Please Mabel, I need you,” she pleaded. “You’re stronger than I am. I don’t trust myself to do it alone. I’ll hold him tight, and you thrust the knife.”
“Oh no, Ma’am,” Mabel stammered. “Not me. You.”
“You told me you’d do anything for me.”
“But not that. Not murder. The man has been so kind to us and all—what if he howls in pain, or begs for mercy?”
“The same man murdered my husband. He deserves his head on a pike above the barbican gate,” Sylvanne stated. But the words came out flat, neutral, and to Mabel’s ears lacked conviction.
“Oh Madame. Is that truly how you feel?”
“It’s not a question of how I feel, it’s a question of justice. What matters is justice be done,” Sylvanne said, her voice quavering.
“Forgive me for insufficient intensity of feeling, Ma’am,” Mabel pleaded. “To kill a man needs passion stronger than I possess. If you feel it, you must do it.”
Sylvanne shuddered deeply. “You’re right, of course you’re right. It’s up to me, isn’t it?” She was lost in thought a moment, then looked directly into Mabel’s eyes. “I owe you an apology—I’m so frightened of failure that I tried to pass my own solemn duty into your blameless hands!”
“There, there, Madame,” Mabel said soothingly. “Are you starting to have feelings for the Master and his young daughter? I shouldn’t be surprised if you are.”
“Don’t talk of feelings, please,” Sylvanne pleaded. “I’m bound by duty, and without fulfilling it what am I? I need to remember my duty. I need to trust myself. I need to believe that in the moment I will find the strength.”
“That’s more like it, Madame,” Mabel said encouragingly. “You lure him to your bed, and lie with him upon it, and then, when he weakens after gaining his, his, when he takes rest afterward, he’ll be sure to lie undefended. He’ll be at your mercy, he will! That’s the time to strike. That’s the plan we hatched. Let’s stick to that.”
“That’s the plan you hatched,” Sylvanne responded. “But it’s not you who must make a sacrifice.” When she tried to picture how it would play out, to imagine the moment, her mind was overwhelmed by complexities of emotion. “Could I really be with him like that, arousing passion in him, persuading him to satisfy himself upon me, and not find myself susceptible to being…” She groped for the right word.
“Swept along, Madame?”
A new thought came to Sylvanne, and she eyed Mabel suspiciously. “It’s funny, that you, an old virgin, are suddenly so full of advice about my comportment in bed,” she said. “Not for the first time you express your preference that I let him have me before I strike. Why is that, Mabel? I’m frightened of the entire scenario, yet you fear only half—you’re keen that I take him to bed, yet less enthused to see him dead. Perhaps I should worry about you, that you might call out and alert him, for as you’ve said yourself, the man’s been so kind to us.”
“Oh no, ma’am. I wouldn’t. I would never alert him.”
“I wonder if you already have.”
AFTER HER BATH SYLVANNE arranged her hair up high upon her head, so as to show her lovely neck to its full effect. She anointed herself with perfume from a bottle that had belonged to Thomas’ wife, a scent that pleased her greatly, with hints of leather and rose petal. She chose a kirtle of red velvet with white linen cuffs, and above its revealingly low bodice she arrayed a silver necklace of sapphires that had been an extravagant wedding present from Gerald. When Mabel told her she looked stunning, she knew it wasn’t sycophancy but the unadorned truth. Appraising herself in the looking glass she found that beauty gave her courage. She thought, in my raiment at least I have equalled that Biblical heroine Judith. Now if only I might equal her in action. But then doubts troubled her mind, for she knew the two circumstances were not identical. She thought, fair Judith had as motivation the rescue of an entire besieged city at risk of slaughter, while I, by comparison, seek merely to kill a widowed man who struggles to preserve his daughter. She did her best to drive from her mind such unhelpful small treasons, and focus on two simple thoughts. Tonight is to be the night. Do your duty.