A Passionate Magic Page 4

  In Dain’s absence Emma made a point of walking on the battlements each afternoon. She saw the activity as asserting herself, even though Dain had granted his grudging permission. It wasn’t a very pleasant form of exercise. The steady drizzle went on for days, making the stone walkways slippery. Emma could see little of the castle surroundings because of the rain and the fog that drifted in from the sea. When she leaned over the parapet she couldn’t even see the rocks below the castle, although she could hear the waves crashing on them. Let Hawise mutter about the cold and damp, and the quaking ague that was sure to make both of them permanently ill; still Emma persisted in taking her daily walk. She repeatedly pointed out to her companion that, as both of them soon learned, walking was one of the few things she was allowed to do.

  Though Emma vowed she was not going to defy the rules laid down for her by her husband, she did intend to stretch those rules as far as she could. She began by attempting to change the daily menu, only to discover the cook would not alter one single detail. She was polite to Emma but adamant.

  “Before she left Penruan, Lady Richenda decided on all of the menus for each day of her absence,” the cook explained. “We dare not vary any meal.”

  “What if someone brings in unexpected game or fish?” Emma asked. “Surely, you don’t waste such largesse.”

  “Lady Richenda has made provision for that event,” the cook said, exuding patience toward a newcomer who obviously did not understand the way Penruan was run. “Truly, my lady Emma, you need not concern yourself with the meals. Lady Richenda has everything perfectly organized.”

  Emma was wise enough not to insist to a servant whose loyalties lay elsewhere that she was now the lady of the castle and, therefore, the orders of the present baron’s wife ought to take precedence over those of the baron’s widowed mother. She decided to wait until Dain returned and speak to him about who was to be chatelaine of Penruan.

  Bored by idleness and eager to use the skills she had spent years perfecting, Emma next moved on to housecleaning, to the laundry, to storage and maintenance of the household linens, to sewing, spinning, weaving. Everywhere she turned her efforts were balked by servants who very politely but very firmly informed her that her help was not needed or wanted. Lady Richenda had everything well in hand. Emma was expected to do nothing but rest from her difficult journey to Penruan while she awaited the return of Lord Dain.

  She complained to Sir Sloan. He, adhering strictly to the orders given him by Dain, with great politeness pointed out to Emma what she already knew: that the domestic affairs of a castle were not within the provenance of the captain of the guard. Lady Richenda had been undisputed mistress of the castle since the day she had arrived there as a bride more than thirty years earlier. If Emma wanted to change that arrangement, she would have to speak to Dain.

  “I almost wish someone would be rude to me, so I could have an excuse to stand and fight,” she said to Father Maynard. The early morning service was just completed and the castle folk who had attended were leaving the chapel to take up their daily work. Emma watched them go with envious eyes. “I shall run mad if I cannot discover something to occupy my mind. At Wroxley I was always busy, always needed, but here I feel useless. And unwanted,” she added in a moment of self-pity. So disturbed that she could not remain still, she began to walk up and down, covering the space between chapel door and altar steps in a few rapid strides, then turning to retrace her path.

  “You must understand that your position here is somewhat unusual,” Father Maynard said.

  “I do understand it; I just wish others would.” She was instantly contrite for having snapped at him. “I am sorry, Father. You see in me an example of how idleness leads to ill-temper, and to feeling sorry for oneself. I cannot ride or even take a long walk, for I am forbidden to step outside the castle walls. And I am forbidden to do anything within these walls! It is unjust of Dain to treat me so.”

  “Perhaps, but it is also understandable. Dain wants to keep you safe and, until the outlaws are caught and punished, you are safest here, inside.” Father Maynard watched her agitated pacing for a few moments more before he asked, “Have you visited the stillroom?”

  “Of course not. I did ask about the room, only to be told it is kept locked, at Lady Richenda’s orders. In the absence of Lady Richenda, the cook has the key, but she refuses to give it to me without a direct command from either Dain or his mother.” Emma passed Father Maynard for the fifth time and would have continued striding restlessly between door and altar if he had not stopped her by putting a hand on her arm.

  “My child, be still for a moment. Collect your thoughts, which are obviously scattered, and try to think reasonably.

  “I was at Wroxley Castle for two weeks,” Father Maynard said. “During that time I observed how you were given responsibilities beyond those of most unmarried girls.”

  “My father and my stepmother trusted me,’ Emma said, “and rightly so.”

  “As I recall, your special responsibility was in the stillroom, where you compounded medicines,” Father Maynard said.

  “That’s true.” Emma regarded him with interest. Of course he had been watching her while he was at Wroxley. Dain had most likely required a report from him on his return to Penruan. Father Maynard had been clever enough to conceal what he was doing, and Emma had not thought to hide her daily sessions with Mirielle, during which she practiced magical spells. More important than any spell casting were Mirielle’s instructions in how to control her magical abilities. Thanks to Mirielle’s gentle explanations over the years, Emma knew about her mother’s evil activities in the past, activities that had almost destroyed Wroxley and its inhabitants, and she was determined to avoid Alda’s fate of being consumed by a magic she could no longer contain. Emma wondered how much Father Maynard had learned, or how much he guessed, about her own inborn magic.

  “I am skilled at making medicines from herbs,” she said to the priest, and braced herself for an interrogation.

  To her relief Father Maynard asked no questions about her medicines. Perhaps, like the resident priest at Wroxley, he preferred not to know what she could do with herbs or with her spells, so he could with a clear conscience live side by side with an ancient tradition that in its own way brought as much comfort to people’s bodies as Father Maynard’s religion did to their souls.

  “Even when Lady Richenda is here, the stillroom is seldom used,” Father Maynard said, “which is too bad, especially during the late winter, when people often fall ill.”

  “They are sick because there isn’t much fresh food left by late winter, except for cabbages and parsnips and a few other roots,” Emma said, “though certain herbs can help the situation. Also, I am sure the men-at-arms develop serious coughs and running noses from standing long hours of sentry duty upon the walls in damp and windy weather.”

  “Perhaps during the coming winter your medicines will be of help to those poor men-at-arms,” Father Maynard suggested.

  “There are medicines I could make,” Emma said, “but only if the fresh herbs are available to me now, in the summer season. Other herbs ought to be dried before winter comes, so I will have them to use later. There is only a small herb garden here at Penruan, and the cook tells me that she uses most of what it supplies. If only I could go outside the castle, I could search for fresh herbs and even dig up a few plants to bring back and put into the garden. It’s not too late in the year for transplanting.”

  “Now, there is a useful work to keep you busy,” said Father Maynard.

  “I am sure if I suggest it, I will be prevented by some unbreakable rule Lady Richenda has laid down about the uses of herbs, or about entrance to the stillroom,” Emma exclaimed in exasperation. “Everything I try to do is stopped before I can begin.”

  “I do think,” said Father Maynard, “that you are a resourceful young woman.” His smile held a wealth of unspoken meaning.

  “What are you suggesting?” Emma asked. She was not sure she
was reading him correctly. She did not, after all, know him very well, and if the actions she was suddenly contemplating should prove to be a mistake, the consequences could be devastating to her future with Dain. Emma sighed, wishing for just a moment that her life had taken a simpler path. But if there were no feud, if she had married an ordinary nobleman, she would not know Dain. And that was a painful thought.

  “Why, my child, I suggest nothing,” said Father Maynard, looking remarkably innocent for a man who had for years been listening to the confessions of men-at-arms, “though I do suppose that before you can begin your herbal work you will have to get into the stillroom and make an inventory.”

  “How am I to do that, except by stealing the key from the cook?” Emma demanded.

  “’Thou shalt not steal,’” said Father Maynard, straight-faced and serious. “The commandment is explicit.”

  “Ah.” Emma broke into a grin as the certainty of his meaning dawned on her. “No, Father, I won’t steal. I shall borrow, and later I shall return, the key.”

  “It’s best if you say no more to me,” Father Maynard warned.

  “What a clever man you are. What a good and kind friend to me.” Emma was tempted to kiss him on his stubbly cheek, but she feared he might take the gesture amiss, and so she restrained her bursting enthusiasm. All the way back to the lord’s chamber she considered the problem of how to obtain the key to the stillroom.

  She found Hawise just finishing with the new bed hangings. Bright blue wool with borders embroidered in red and green now replaced the old, threadbare brown hangings, and the green quilt added an extra note of color.

  The shutters were open to provide light for Hawise’s work, and a gray, misty sky could be seen through the long twin windows. The chamber was a bit cool, but it smelled lovely from the dried lavender flowers and rosemary leaves that Emma kept in small bowls to freshen the air.

  “How nice the bed looks,” Emma said, smiling at Hawise.

  “Now we have only the chair to assemble and the room will be remade to your liking.” Hawise nodded toward a pile of boards that were cut into precise lengths, each length well sanded and oiled. “We will need a third person, but Sir Sloan claims that all of his men are too busy to assist us.”

  “We could ask Blake,” Emma said, thoughtfully.

  She was still mulling over the question of how to get her hands on the stillroom key, and an idea was forming in her mind.

  “The page?” Hawise asked. “He’s only a boy, not more than eleven or twelve, and slender for his age. Will he be strong enough for this job?”

  “The carpenter at Wroxley showed me how the chair is to be put together,” Emma said. “It only needs two pair of hands to hold the pieces in place while a third person drives the pegs into the slots to keep the pieces together. See if you can find Blake.”

  While Hawise was gone Emma laid the various pieces of wood out on the floor in order, so they were ready to be assembled. At the same time she assembled her thoughts, working out how to approach Blake, and how to accomplish her goal of making the stillroom her own place. She thought Blake’s cooperation would be easy enough to obtain. Dain’s consent was going to be more difficult. Still, she had to try. She simply could not spend many more days in enforced idleness.

  When Blake came into the room with Hawise, Emma rose from her kneeling posture to face him with a friendly smile and a pleasant greeting.

  “You really know how to do this?” Blake exclaimed in undisguised disbelief after she explained to him how they were going to assemble the chair. ”A lady who understands carpentry?”

  “Just do as I have asked and you will have proof of my claim,” Emma told him.

  “I knew you were going to be more fun than Lady Richenda!” Blake eagerly reached for the first piece of wood.

  Under Emma’s instruction, Hawise and Blake fitted the sections together and then held them in place while Emma drove in the pegs with the small mallet provided by the carpenter. It didn’t take long to finish the chair. Blake claimed the right to be first to sit in it.

  “If you ever want to move it or store it, you only have to knock the pegs out again,” Blake noted. He ran his hands over the smooth arms, letting his fingertips rest on the nearest peg.

  “Yes,” Emma said, “which is why Hawise will now store the mallet in one of my boxes, in case we need it again. And in another box she will find the cushions for the chair seat and back.” She handed the mallet to Hawise with a tilt of her head that told her companion to go into the adjoining chamber and stay there until she was summoned.

  “What else can you do, Lady Emma?” Blake asked, gazing at her in near reverence for her accomplishments.

  “I know how to make herbal medicines,” she answered. “My father’s wife taught me.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was close enough for her present purposes.

  “Lady Richenda doesn’t believe in medicines,” Blake revealed. “She says all illnesses are the punishment of God. If a person falls sick, it’s because he has committed a sin. That’s why the men-at-arms are so often sick. Lady Richenda says they are all miserable sinners.”

  “The men-at-arms fall ill because they drink too much ale and wine, they stand long watches on the battlements in cold, damp weather, they live together in a crowded barracks, and they very seldom bother to bathe,” Emma stated firmly.

  “Lady Richenda wouldn’t agree with you,” Blake said.

  “What about wounds?” Emma asked. “Does Lady Richenda wash and sew up the injuries that men working with weapons so often sustain?”

  “She says those are the Lord’s doing, too,” Blake said. “If the good Lord wants a wounded man to live, then he will live, regardless of how the wound is treated. If the Lord turns His face away, then the man’s wound will suppurate and he’ll die. But it’s up to God, not to mere men or women.”

  “I cannot believe Dain feels the same way,” Emma cried. “I’m sure he has seen enough men wounded in battle to know that some can be restored to health, while others, though they must die of their terrible injuries, can be made more comfortable with the proper nostrums.”

  “You’re right about Dain,” Blake said. “Sometimes he sends for a healer, an old woman named Agatha who lives in Trevanan village, to treat his men, but Lady Richenda says Agatha is a witch. Whenever Agatha comes here, Lady Richenda shuts herself in her room and won’t come out until the healer has done her work and left. Then Lady Richenda runs to the chapel to pray, and she insists that Father Maynard say the Holy Mass at once. But Agatha is a kind person. Last winter she gave me horehound syrup to stop a cough that had made my chest ache for days.”

  “I would very much like to meet Agatha,” Emma said.

  “I’m sure you will meet her, if you stay at Penruan long enough,” Blake told her. “I ought not to say this, but in the great hall and the kitchen people are laying wagers on how long you’ll last after Lady Richenda comes home.”

  Emma decided to ignore that last piece of information in favor of pursuing her real reason for asking Hawise to bring Blake to the lord’s chamber.

  “I wonder if you would be willing to do a great favor for me,” Emma began.

  “It is a page’s duty to perform favors for his lady,” Blake responded solemnly. “Now that you have married Dain, you are my lady, at least until Lady Richenda returns. What’s the favor? Are you planning something else that’s fun?”

  “What I want,” Emma said, “is to obtain the key to the stillroom. I understand it is in the cook’s keeping. Do you by any chance know where it is and how I might get it?”

  “You want to steal a key?” Solemnity gave way to eagerness. Blake’s face was alight with boyish mischief. “Oh, my lady, you are fun! You must have grown up with brothers, because you aren’t like any girl I’ve ever known.”

  “I have three brothers, one older than me and two who are younger,” Emma said. “I’ll tell you about them sometime. Blake, I do not want to steal the stillroom key. I only w
ant to borrow it, and that for just a short time. I will return it when I have finished in the room. Do you know where the key is?”

  “Why do you want to go in the stillroom? I went there once, with Lady Richenda. That was a couple of years ago. It was dusty and there were cobwebs, and I only noticed a few herbs.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Emma said. “But I want to discover for myself exactly what herbs there are, and what medicines.”

  “There probably aren’t any medicines at all,” Blake said. “There wouldn’t be, would there? Not with Lady Richenda feeling the way she does. She’d think medicines work against the Will of God.”

  “I disagree,” Emma said very firmly. “I think medicines are meant to work with the Will of God. I think the good Lord meant His people to be as healthy as possible, and happy, too, and I intend to do everything I can to see to it that the people of Penruan are both.”

  She had said too much. She could tell by the way Blake was gazing at her with wide, gleaming eyes and wonder in his young face.

  “I will get the key for you,” Blake said.

  “If you will just tell me where it is, I can borrow it for myself,” Emma said. “I don’t want you to get into trouble for my sake.”

  “No, no, I can do it. I know I can,” Blake said. “You couldn’t, but I know how to get it.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t ask me that. Just tell me when you want to do this.”

  “Right after the midday meal?”

  “Yes, that’s good. When you leave the table, go straight to the stillroom door. I will meet you there. And Lady Emma?”

  “Yes, Blake?”

  “Promise you won’t ask me any questions about what I plan to do.”

  “I promise.”

  Emma kept her promise, and she never did learn exactly how Blake was able to obtain the key. He was waiting for her at the stillroom door as they had planned. He refused to give her the key, unlocking the door himself and keeping the key in his own hand the entire time they were in the room.

  They weren’t there for very long. It was a good-sized room, with a shuttered window to let in light, though they left the shutter closed and used a candle to see by. There was a table in the middle of the room, and there were shelves from floor to ceiling on two of the walls. Bunches of cooking herbs and a few empty baskets hung from the ceiling beams. Three small jars grouped together on one of the shelves proved to contain old and musty dried herbs. There was no sign of any prepared medicines, nor were there any mixing utensils, bowls or pots, no source of heat, not even a mortar and pestle. As Blake had warned, the floor, table, and all of the shelves were dusty, and cobwebs were draped from the ceiling and in every corner. Clearly, the room was seldom opened and only rarely used.