Chapter Fifteen
The more Maddy thought about Ryder’s parting words, the greater her agitation. I will think on what to do with you. What right had he? Would it be ever thus for her? To live at his direction? Or his and his father’s, most likely, until finally they no longer required her services?
There was a small voice inside her that said Ryder’s reaction to her confession regarding Musgrave might have sprung from hurt, and possibly jealousy. He might feel she’d been too free with her affections, even though any rational thought about the matter would have proved how ridiculous that notion was. Musgrave was far in her past, long before she had ever heard of Nicholas Ryder. Possibly his reaction was merely concern for her safety. Undeniably, Musgrave was a shady and dangerous man, and she shared a past with him.
In the morning, Lady Dacre said she required Maddy’s help in visiting the sick that afternoon. That suited her well. Keeping busy would be a good antidote to the turmoil in her mind. After dinner, they stopped by the stillroom to fill a basket with salves and medicines and set off toward the cottages, a groom following with the overflowing basket.
Menfolk were busy turning the earth, later than usual this year due to the long winter and extraordinary amount of snow. Many of the women were out tending herb borders around flower beds, while their children dashed about, squealing and laughing.
They visited patients with all manner of ailments. Sties, boils, and minor wounds were easy to treat. It was those with chronic illnesses that posed the greatest challenge, for they could offer little help. One such man suffered from consumption and looked to be at death’s door.
“Can’t nothing be done for him, my lady?” his despairing wife asked.
“I’m afraid there is no cure for what ails him.” This exchange was carried out in whispers, so that the afflicted man would not hear. “The best you can do is keep him comfortable and warm. Anise seed for his cough and a poultice on his chest are best.”
On their way to the next patient, Lady Dacre said, “I tell her the same thing every time I visit, but she is ever hopeful of receiving more encouraging news. I’m afraid it won’t be long now.”
After their third encounter with influenza, Lady Dacre admitted she was worried. “It seems an odd time for it, with the spring air so fresh and clear.” Soon enough, they found yet another sufferer, a child this time, ill with the same malady. While Lady Dacre spoke in hushed tones to the girl’s mother, Maddy remained at the child’s bedside, smoothing her hair back and washing her face with a cool cloth. The poor child was racked by a cough that sounded like she might hurl her lungs from her chest. She was feverish and couldn’t hold still.
Maddy had kept quiet until now. But a child’s pain was the hardest to witness. “Mistress Sloan, have you given her willow bark tea for her fever?”
“She’s not got a fever.”
“Oh, but she does. Mayhap it just came on. Feel her face; it’s quite hot.” Lady Dacre placed a hand on the girl’s brow and concurred. “Pray bring the kettle, Mistress Sloan. I’ve willow bark in my basket.”
“The air in here seems stagnant,” Maddy whispered after the mother stepped away. “Should we crack the door?”
“Aye. Just a little, mind. We do not want too much air to seep in. It may contain the infectious vapors causing this malady.”
The child, whose name was Bess, looked to have about six years. The same age as Daniel. Bess had been allotted the parents’ bed while she was ill, so her mother could keep watch on her while she worked. Normally, the girl would be sleeping with her five siblings in the only other room.
Bess continued to move restlessly, tossing her covers about and nearly falling over the edge of the bed a few times. Mistress Sloan brought the tea, and Maddy moved out of the way so the child’s mother might persuade Bess to swallow some of it. It was notoriously bitter tasting.
The girl would have none of it. It spilled over her mother’s hand and the bed clothing. “Go see to your hand before it blisters,” Lady Dacre advised her. “Madeleine, you try.”
“Me? I doubt she’ll take it from me if she will not from her own mother.”
Maddy was the recipient of a look that brooked no argument. “As you say, madam.”
She blew on the tea to cool it. If it was hot enough to burn Mistress Sloan’s hand, it was surely too hot to drink. When it had cooled enough, Maddy raised Bess’s prone form into a sitting position, then held her in place with one arm. She weighed no more than a child half her age. With her free hand, Maddy raised the cup. “Pray take a sip of this, little Bess. It will help you to feel better.”
Another coughing spasm overtook the child. Maddy was close enough to feel droplets of spittle land on her face. As soon as the coughing had subsided, she held the cup to the child’s lips. “Drink the tea for me, Bess.” To her surprise, the girl swallowed some. Exceedingly pleased with her efforts, Maddy smiled, and Bess smiled back, if weakly. She continued to drink, until the tea was almost gone. Then, collapsing back to the bed, she quickly drifted to sleep.
“Well done, my dear.”
Maddy laughed. “I think she was too weak to protest.”
As it turned out, Bess was the last of the influenza cases they visited. Lady Dacre’s fears were somewhat assuaged.
…
Market day arrived. Maddy tried not to think about Ryder, who had decided not to trust her even though she’d admitted to an error of judgment in not telling him about Musgrave and humbly apologized for it. She would miss seeing Daniel and wondered if he would be aware that it was market day. Would he ask his uncle where she was?
While stitching with her mistress, Maddy ruminated about trust. What was it, exactly? A gauge of someone’s reliability? Their truthfulness? And how did you gain, or regain, someone’s trust, once lost? It seemed a rather ambiguous concept to her. Ryder had been taking what she’d told him, for the most part, on trust; now he was calling into question everything she’d discovered on his behalf because she’d withheld one bit of information from him. Could trust exist in love or friendship if it was not absolute? It seemed to her everybody held things back on occasion, even from friends. Even from those they loved.
She might have told Ryder that her own doubts about whether to trust him weighed like a stone on her heart at times. Where did his true allegiance, or perhaps obligation, lie? With his father, William Cecil, and ultimately the queen. Why would he fight for her? Why would he protect her?
Maddy exhorted herself to stop thinking about Ryder.
Lady Dacre was surprised when Maddy said she would not be visiting Brampton this week, unless her mistress needed something. “Nay, I do not. It is your free afternoon, so you must do whatever pleases you, my dear.” She looked at Maddy fretfully. “I don’t like the sound of that cough, Madeleine.”
Maddy had awoken with a dry cough that continued to plague her throughout the morning. Since she had no other symptoms, she wasn’t worried. “’Tis nothing to worry over. I’ll be all right.”
“You must inform me immediately if you feel feverish.” Sometimes Lady Dacre was so kind to her, she hated herself for deceiving the woman. And she resented Ryder for forcing her to do so.
What would please her most on her free afternoon? Finding Musgrave gone for the remainder of the day so that she could sneak into his bedchamber. Ryder had asked her to stay away from the man, but she hadn’t given her word. Besides, she wanted only to search his chamber, not confront him. Who knew what secrets he might be keeping? And Ryder would be pleased if she discovered a new piece of intelligence. When the men rode off after dinner, and Maddy had made certain Lady Dacre did not require her assistance, she set out to do her dirty work. She had to be careful, because Musgrave’s chamber was in the same corridor as those of the Dacres. Even though her mistress slept like the dead, Maddy still must use caution.
To her chagrin, Musgrave’s door was locked. The door of her chamber did not have a lock, but apparently those located in the vicarage did. She could only conclude that Musgrave did, in fact, have something to hide.
Discouraged, Maddy began to make her way toward the tower and her own chamber. And then she made an abrupt turn back to where she’d come from.
I should search Christopher Dacre’s bedchamber.
He seemed a harmless, unremarkable sort of man, and she had no real reason to suspect him of anything devious, other than that overheard snatch of conversation between him and Musgrave. Judging from his comments of a few days ago, he was not overly fond of the Scots queen. But weren’t the unobtrusive, silent sorts sometimes the very ones keeping secrets? Maddy stopped midstride, struck by a coughing spasm. When it had finally passed, she proceeded to Dacre’s door, working up her courage. Then she raised her fist and rapped softly.
No answer. Silently, Maddy unlatched the door and walked in. Dacre’s chamber was a marvel of cleanliness and order. The exact opposite of his stepmother’s. Where to start? The wardrobe loomed as the largest piece of furniture in the room besides his bed. Other than his neatly folded shirts, doublets, small clothes, and hose, she found nothing of any interest. Next to the bed a simple oak table stood with a book resting atop it. It was Copernicus’s work, De revolutionibus orbium coelestium, beautifully illustrated with woodcuts. Maddy hadn’t thought of Dacre as a man of scientific erudition. The priory had no library as such; possibly he’d removed it from Naworth. She flipped through it, but nothing was concealed within its leaves.
Near the windows, which looked northwest toward the precinct wall and the road, an escritoire caught the sun. It was an elegant piece, inlaid with marquetry. Something else from Naworth Castle? Papers resting underneath a seashell drew her eye, and she lowered herself to the chair nearby to look through them. The ones on top related to estate business, but it was the last one, on the very bottom of the stack, that piqued her curiosity.
It was a brief missive, unsigned, dated a mere few days since. It read, “Our party to gather at LP on Friday next, 24 March. F, H, and B in attendance.”
And she’d thought the letter from the Duke of Norfolk a puzzle! A gathering here, at Lanercost? And on Good Friday, when most folks observed the day of Christ’s suffering quietly, praying and fasting. The biggest mystery of all: who were F, H, and B? Obviously, the writer assumed Dacre would know. Maddy committed the words to memory and placed the letter back where it belonged. When she stood, the room seemed to swirl about her, and she nearly lost her balance. She steadied herself and made a hasty exit, before her luck ran out and she was caught.
Hurrying toward her chamber, Maddy pondered the message. The missive could be perfectly benign. But why then was it unsigned? It did seem odd that she would not know of a gathering the Dacres were hosting in a few days’ time. And why did the writer use only initials to identify the attendees?
While traversing Dacre Hall, she was forced to stop twice, her body racked with coughs. She was beginning to feel apprehensive. Reaching her chamber, Maddy closed the door and leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily. In the silence, her ears rang loudly, as though someone standing next to her were playing a viol. She detested being sick. It was such a waste of time. But this illness had gotten its claws into her, and she could no longer ignore it. Making a half-hearted attempt at undressing, Maddy found she was too weak to accomplish it. When she finally collapsed upon her bed, she was hot with fever. Every time she shifted, her joints protested. Maddy needed Lady Dacre’s ministrations, but she would not know Maddy was ill until her absence at supper. She hoped somebody would have the good sense to look in on her, because she lacked the strength to move from her bed. The last thing she remembered was Useless cuddling up next to her and licking her face.
Drifting in and out of sleep, Maddy lost track of time. Day had slipped into night. Her waking was consumed with coughing and aching and an irresistible urge to thrash about. Lady Dacre hovered just outside her consciousness, forcing willow bark tea into her. Each time, she promptly brought it back up. Her fever raged, and she begged them—Lady Dacre and Mistress Derby—to let her strip to her smock. That lasted until the chills set in; then, they piled the bedclothes high, and still she shook. Mistress Derby speculated on whether she might have the sweat.
“Nay, there’s been no sweating sickness in many years,” Lady Dacre said. “Besides, she’d be dead by now if that were what ails her. I think it is influenza.” Maddy drifted into a dream-plagued sleep on that comforting thought.
She was with Nicholas and Daniel, but she could not make out what they were doing. Daniel’s face was distorted as he tried to speak to her. In a different dream, she was on a huge sailing vessel, plowing through a soundless sea. The air was completely still, and an eerie silence prevailed. The ship was taking Maddy away from them, and she wept. When she woke up, her eyes were wet.
Mistress Derby was snoring gently in a chair near the bed. Maddy drank some of the willow bark tea her mistress had left, and then she slept again, this time seeing her father quite clearly, a wool flat cap covering his silver hair, his brow furrowed. She even fancied she heard his voice. Then Maddy realized there was a man in her chamber, speaking to Lady Dacre. “How is she?” he asked. The voice belonged to Christopher Dacre.
“There is some improvement, but she is not recovered yet.”
“Should we send for the surgeon?”
“I don’t think bleeding will aid her. It is not that her humors are unbalanced. I believe the fault lies in the fetid air of the cottage we visited, where the sick child lives.” Maddy wanted to thank her mistress for ruling out the surgeon, but she was too weak.
“What about Ryder? Should he be informed?”
As though Nicholas would care.
“Let us see how she fares today. If she is still unwell tomorrow, I shall send word.”
“That would be best. If he was of a mind to attend her…we can’t risk it. The party we’re expecting may already have arrived. And it is too late to cancel the meeting,” Dacre said. “We will need to wait and hope she improves.”
The party. Something about a party floated at the edge of Maddy’s mind, but would not venture all the way in. Hadn’t she recently heard or read something about a party? It was important, crucial that she remember exactly what it was. She stirred and opened her eyes.
Christopher Dacre was gone. She might have imagined the entire exchange.
“Madeleine!” Lady Dacre said, rushing to her side. She placed a cool hand on her forehead. “I believe your fever has broken. How do you feel?”
“Better, I think.” She tried to sit up, but the effort was beyond her and she flopped back down.
“You have eaten nothing since early Wednesday, my dear. Stay as you are until we get some food into you. You must rest.”
“What day is it?” Maddy asked, still woozy.
“’Tis Good Friday.”
“I do not remember Thursday at all.” So strange to have lost a whole day. More than a day. “Thank you for taking care of me, my lady.”
“It is my duty to do so, child,” she said, seeming embarrassed about Maddy’s gratitude. “Now, I shall speak to the cook about some nourishment for you. We must begin with broth, and perhaps a boiled egg.”
Maddy nodded, not very enthused about the prospect of eating. Later, Lady Dacre returned with Mistress Derby, who was carrying a tray. They helped her sit up. The cook handed Maddy a cup of water. “Drink, but not too much all at once.”
“I am parched. How did you know?”
“Always happens after a fever.”
Maddy ate what she could, which proved to be very little, under Lady Dacre’s watchful eye. “You will feel more like eating later in the day, my dear.”
“Mmm,” she said, feeling drowsy. She lay back down and promptly fell asleep.
Maddy awoke in the afternoon and found a bowl of custard on her table and another cup of water. The custard had the loveliest texture, rich and creamy, with a mere hint of sweetness. She could not identify the flavor, though it was a familiar one. After devouring the entire bowlful, Maddy decided she was feeling well enough to get out of bed. It was about time; she’d been there since Wednesday afternoon.
As soon as she tried to stand, a wave of dizziness hit. She sank down before she fell and injured herself. In a few moments, she tried again. Better. Cautiously, Maddy took a few steps, holding on to furniture just in case. She found the chamber pot and relieved herself, considering the act a great accomplishment. By the time she crawled back to bed, she felt as though she’d scaled a mountain.
Dozing, she stirred only when Mistress Derby said, “You liked it, then. Thought you might. Good for you, too.”
She opened her eyes. The cook was holding the empty custard bowl. “That confection is nectar from the gods,” Maddy said, stretching. “I’ve never tasted anything better. Even sugar cakes.”
“There’s more where that came from,” the older woman said, winking at her. “And where do you think I found the bowl?”
“I set it on the table.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest in mock anger. “That beast of yours was licking it, pushing it all around the floor to get every last bit of custard.”
“Oh!” She sat up too fast. Black spots floated in her vision, and she quickly lay back. “I forgot all about poor Useless. She probably hasn’t had anything to eat since I was taken ill, poor wee lass.”
“Never fear, mistress, I’ve been giving her scraps. Did you think I’d let her starve?”
Maddy’s face flushed, and not from fever. “I didn’t think anybody knew about her.”
The cook chuckled. “Little chance of that. The girl who straightens your chamber every day is right fond of the creature.”
“I’m not in trouble, then? Does Lady Dacre know?”
“She tried to keep her off your bed while you were at your worst, but she never said we should put her out.”
“God be thanked. I’m very attached to her.”
Smiling, Mistress Derby plumped her pillows and helped her sit up. “I brought you some broth and a bit of bread for your supper. Best to eat on the light side for now.”
Then she plunked herself down at the side of the bed. Maddy now doubted her earlier theory that the cook was Musgrave’s informant. Not simply because she was friendlier to Maddy than she’d been before, but also because she’d asked for Maddy’s help with Cath. And seemed to suspect Musgrave. Maddy had a hunch that Cath herself might have told Musgrave about her involvement.
The cook brought up the girl’s disappearance. “Have you given any thought to Cath’s vanishing, mistress?”
Maddy didn’t dare tell her she was counting on Nicholas to pursue the matter. Mistress Derby would wonder how her cousin could possibly help, and she certainly couldn’t have her telling their employer she’d asked him to assist them. “Nay. There’s been no time. When I’m well, I’ll see what can be done. Maybe I should have a word with Lady Dacre.”
“Nay, she thinks the girl ran off with a man!”
“Truly, I pray she’s right about that, as long as it’s not Vine.”
Mistress Derby bobbed her head in agreement. “Can you eat on your own?”
“I devoured that bowl of custard, didn’t I?” The mere memory of it made her crave more. “What was the flavoring? I couldn’t identify it.”
“It is a cook’s right to keep her recipes secret. When you are betrothed, come to me, and I’ll tell you.”
Maddy ticked up a corner of her mouth. “That could be years.” Or never.
The cook laughed heartily. “I’d best finish my supper preparations.” She was at the door before Maddy could protest.
“Mistress, one more thing. I hate to trouble you, but after supper, could you ask one of your serving girls to bring up some hot water for me? I am greatly in need of a good wash.”
“’Tis no trouble. I’ll have her bring you a hot cross bun too, but don’t eat it all at once.”
Maddy stripped and bathed thoroughly, feeling as though she was ridding herself of the last vestiges of sickness. The room was warm. Alice, who had replaced Cath in the kitchen, had built up the fire after bringing the water. “Can’t have you taking a chill, now, mistress,” she said. Maddy wished she could wash her hair, but that would have to wait. She didn’t have the strength for it at present. Perhaps Alice would brush it for her.
Afterward, Maddy donned her smock and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Somebody had brought a settle to her room while she’d been sick and placed it before the hearth—probably part of the Naworth booty—and she sat down on it now. Staring at the flames flickering before her in varying shades of orange and cobalt, she thought about Nicholas—the first time since she’d been ill other than in her dreams. Would he renege on his promise to help find Cath, since they’d fallen out? Not simply a falling out. It had been more complicated than that.
Although aware he was angry, and maybe a little jealous, Maddy was glad she’d told him the truth, even if it meant he no longer trusted her. After he had time to think it over, maybe he would not judge her so harshly. Hadn’t he said she was important to him, and then stolen her breath with that intimate, sweetly tender kiss? A thrill surged through her, remembering the feel of his lips, the press of his body against hers. If she closed her eyes…
She must have dozed off. Sometime later, shouts and the pounding of horses’ hooves roused her from sleep. Hurrying to the window, she glimpsed torches illuminating the night, revealing men on horseback and dark figures running toward the farm. Her heart beat harder, drumming out an insistent warning.
Reivers. It was a raid. Blessed Virgin, protect us.
Having no time to waste, Maddy threw on a kirtle, wool bodice, and skirts, all the while casting about in her mind for a hiding place. Raiders often kidnapped women, held them for ransom. Or worse, raped them. She pulled on her stockings and tied them with garters she had to search for and shoved her feet into leather shoes. Before hastening to the door, she grabbed her shawl off the bed. She would proceed cautiously and see what she could see. Perhaps it was not a raid. Maybe there was something amiss at the farm, and the men had gone to investigate.
Down in the kitchen, she spotted Alice asleep on a pallet before the huge grate. Quickly she roused her and whispered, “Reivers.” The girl’s eyes widened with fear, and Maddy put a finger to her lips. When Alice started to look for her clothing, she stopped her. “You must come with me now. Just bring your shawl. Where is Mistress Derby?”
“She went to Brampton after supper.”
Taking Alice’s hand, Maddy guided her toward the door leading to the undercroft, the principle storage area for kitchen staples. The girl was trembling with fright. In contrast, Maddy felt the blood pumping through her body and with it, a surge of strength. “We’ll hide here, in one of the alcoves. We must lift a couple of bags of grain up and then crawl in behind. Can you help me with that, Alice?”
“Aye.” She was the one who knew where things were kept and led them to the bags. They hoisted two of them—the alcove was at shoulder level—both breathing hard when they’d finished. Maddy gave Alice a leg up and she tumbled over the bags. “How’re you going to get up here, mistress?”
Heavy footsteps and bellowing voices forced Maddy to a hasty decision. “I’ll hide down here, Alice. You must remain in the alcove until it’s safe, mayhap until morning. Don’t concern yourself about me. If they find me, do not give yourself away. Do you understand?”
“Aye. But—”
If the girl finished her sentence, Maddy didn’t hear it. Feeling her way around, she located some butter-filled firkins and ducked behind them. Just in time. In seconds the door banged open and torchlight brightened the room. She hoped they would not bother trying to haul away the heavy barrels concealing her.
But it seemed she had nothing to worry about. One of them shouted, “Nobody in here. ’Tis a storage space.” The door banged shut again and they were gone, noisily climbing the stairs to the chambers above. What would they think when they found hers deserted? They would guess she was hiding somewhere and might return to conduct a more thorough search.
Maddy heard Alice call to her in a quavering voice. “Mistress?”
“Stay put, Alice. They may be back.” In a few moments she heard them pounding down the steps. From the sound of it, there were only a few men searching the buildings. They did not return to the undercroft.
Leaning back against one of the barrels, Maddy let her guard down a bit. Something was off. What were they looking for? And why hadn’t they ransacked this vast storage area, filled not only with kitchen staples, but goods from Naworth as well? By now, raiders should have been hauling at least some of it away.
It was unbearable, waiting like this. After what seemed a very long time, but was probably a quarter hour or less, she pushed to her feet and crept over to Alice’s hiding place. “I am going to investigate.”
Alice’s head popped up above the bags of cereal. “Nay, mistress. What if they find you? They might kill you, or worse.”
“I’ll be careful. But I want you to remain here.”
“Oh, I wish you would not leave me.”
“I know. But I must find out what is happening. Perhaps it is nothing, and I can come back and get you out of there.” When she said no more, Maddy began to make her way back toward the kitchen door, feeling a little ashamed about deserting the lass.