The outlaws, p.38
The Outlaws, page 38
“The same thing.”
“But he’ll break a leg. He’s too small to jump.”
“Agnes will catch him.”
Harold screamed and fought her when she lifted him toward the window. He was terrified of going out the window. She couldn’t calm him and there wasn’t time for gentleness. It took the two of them to force him out so that each held one of his arms while he dangled below, fighting and kicking and screaming.
“Agnes!” Matilda screamed. She could feel the heat of the fire on back. It had advanced into the room behind them. Smoke was pouring out of the window above their heads.
“I’m ready! Any time!” Agnes stood below with thin arms upraised. “I’ve got you, Harold! I’ve got you!”
“Ready,” Matilda said to Alice, “go!”
Harold fell on top of Agnes, knocking her to the ground.
“Now you,” Matilda said.
“No. You go.”
“We haven’t time to argue.”
“You go. I’ll hold you.”
“Alice, don’t be a fool.”
“No, mother, go!” Alice pushed Matilda to up onto the sill.
There was no time to argue. Matilda thought that if she went quickly, Alice would follow. “All right, then, but do not tarry.”
Matilda slipped out the window, dangled, dropped. The impact of the landing was harder than she had anticipated.
“Hurry, Alice!” she called.
Alice stuck her head out the window. The light from the fire behind her was so strong that she was a silhouette. “We forgot Brian’s tools!”
Oh, God, Matilda thought. Brian’s tools were his living. They would need his income to survive. But it was too dangerous. She shouted: “Forget the tools! Get out now!”
“I see the box.” Alice disappeared from the window.
She reappeared a few moments later with the tool box. She put the box on the sill with great effort, for it was very heavy. She pushed it out. Matilda danced backward to avoid it. The box shattered on impact, spilling its contents.
“Alice, hurry!” Matilda screamed.
Alice climbed to the sill. The fire writhed behind her, framed by the window like the mouth of hell itself. Horrified, Matilda saw that Alice’s long hair and dress were ablaze.
Alice jumped far out to avoid the clutter below. Arms outstretched, she plunged, a falling torch trailing flames.
She hit with an audible thump and collapsed in a puddle of flame.
Matilda grabbed a blanket from a pile of their belongings laying nearby and threw it over Alice. Agnes joined her and together they smothered the fire.
When they were finished they pulled the scorched blanket away. Alice’s long blonde hair was burned almost completely away. Her dress was a charred ruin that crumbled at a touch. Agnes was crying so hard she could not see. Harold was there, too, still holding his rag blanket and sucking his thumb. “Is she dead?”
“I don’t know,” Matilda said. She was afraid to touch Alice, afraid that she might yet be alive and that her touch would cause her suffering.
Brian appeared and knelt beside them. He was crying too. He had seen Alice’s plunge from the gate.
Matilda looked up at his arrival to see that the yard and the street outside were swarming with people. The fire watch had come. They could not save the house, but they were trying to contain the blaze. In wooden cities like London, a fire in a single house could ignite the whole town and turn a minor disaster into a major one.
Alice stirred, showing them all that at least she was still alive. “Mummy,” she said, “Mummy, it hurts.”
“I know, sweet one. I know.”
Reginald le Bec and three men-at-arms stood in the road across the street from the Red Lion. Reginald scanned the faces of everyone who emerged from the inn’s gate, not an easy task now that the fire watch had arrived and the neighbors were spilling out to fight the fire.
“You and you,” he said, indicating two of the men, “come with me. You,” he said to the last man, “keep an eye out for her in the street in case she gets past us.”
Le Bec entered the yard with a rush of neighbors bearing buckets of water. The heat was intense, the entire house a pyre. It reminded Reginald of a burning haystack he had seen once as a child which had caught fire during the night all by itself, blooming into an enormous torch. It was so hot that the firefighters could not get near it. The few who tried approached as close as they could and pitched water at the fire, a futile effort which they soon abandoned, saving their strength to make sure that the house, which stood apart from its neighbors, did not transmit the conflagration.
The fire lit up the yard like the day, and Reginald had no trouble making out the faces of everyone who was there.
He did not see Giselle anywhere.
Reginald came upon Matilda’s son, Brian. He grabbed the boy by the arm.
“What the devil —” Brian snapped. Then he recognized Reginald, for they knew each other from Shelburgh. “What do you want?”
“Where’s Giselle? Did she make it out? We were passing by and saw the fire.”
Brian snorted. “You can tell his lordship not to worry about her. She’s been gone since yesterday.”
Damn! Reginald thought. It had been for nothing.
“Where did she go?” Reginald demanded.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll tell you,” Brian said.
Reginald thought about dragging him off to a dark corner to beat an answer out of him. But with so many witnesses about, someone was sure to intervene if he tried that.
He let go of Brian and went out of the yard.
The roof of the inn collapsed and drove sparks into the sky as they struggled across the street. Embers floated over nearby buildings, to the alarm of those who had turned out to fight the fire. It meant that all the houses downwind were in jeopardy.
Four men came with an unhinged door and used it to carry Alice to the street to a neighbor’s house. The neighbors cut off the tattered remains of her gown, cropped what was left of her hair, and bathed her in cool clean water. The skin on her legs and the back of her head and arms was cherry red. The damage was worst on her calves and thighs and shoulders, where the skin was coming off in spots. Although she had been in great pain at first, she soon lapsed into a daze. She vomited once, and began to sweat and her breathing became shallow and rapid. But there was no more that anyone could do for her than lay her on her stomach upon fresh linens in the master bedroom, and pray for the best.
Matilda awoke just as dawn crept through closed shutters. She sat up in alarm. She had not meant to fall asleep. She hadn’t wanted Alice to die alone.
She touched Alice on the cheek. The girl’s skin was still warm and she was breathing. That was a relief. Matilda said another prayer.
She turned to find Agnes curled up on the hardwood floor with Harold beside her, the pair wrapped in a blanket. She had not seen or heard them come in.
Agnes stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She looked at Matilda. “Is she . . . ?”
“No. Not yet.”
“She’ll suffer more then.”
“I am afraid so.”
“It isn’t fair.”
“It’s God’s will.” Matilda said, although she had definite thoughts about what had caused this disaster. She pushed those thoughts away.
Matilda said, “Where is Brian?”
“In the hall, I think.”
“What was saved before the house fell?”
“Mostly our clothes. Brian and I retrieved them. And his tools.”
“Well, we won’t go naked then. And he’ll be able to work. That’s some comfort. And the rest?” It wasn’t until that moment that she remembered she had forgotten to get the money box out. It held all their savings.
“A few odds and ends.”
Matilda realized she had been thinking of her own welfare. “What about the others. Did they get out?”
“Everyone. That fat man from Ely broke an ankle jumping from a window. But as far as I know, he is the only other person hurt.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
The problem of the money box stuck in her mind. Something needed to be done right away to recover it, if it could be found. She checked Alice’s breathing. It was slow and steady. Her shoulders and neck were red and blisters were developing. But since she had lasted through the night, it didn’t appear that she would die soon. If she was to go, Matilda reckoned it would be later of infection. She made a quick decision. “I’m going downstairs. Watch your sister for me, and Harold.”
Matilda went across the street. The inn was a pile of smoldering rubble. What had been saved lay in a pile by the stable. A member of the watch had remained through the night guarding it against looters. She thanked him and gave him a penny for his trouble and he left.
Margery, her partner, was already there, separating her things from those of the Attebrooks.
Matilda went into the shed and came out with a rake. She walked over to the wreckage of the house and stepped over a blackened timber, covering her face with a cloth against the smoke.
“What are you doing?” Margery called in astonishment.
“Looking for something.”
“You’re mad,” Margery called. “It could smolder for a week. Come out of there before you burn yourself.”
Matilda could feel the heat from the ashes through the soles of her feet. It wouldn’t be long before her shoes burned through. She realized that she would have to wait for the ruin to cool before looking for the money. She retreated to the yard.
“I suppose we can put what’s here in the stable for now,” Matilda said.
“That will have to do.”
Matilda looked around the yard. “The shed isn’t touched.” There were five barrels of finished ale and three of fermenting mash in the storage shed, which sat beyond the garden at the rear of the property. Those barrels were worth something, and so was the land itself.
Staring at the remains of the house, the biggest, finest house she had ever had, she couldn’t keep away the thoughts troubling her. The fire had started in the hall. She had been the last one upstairs and she had banked the fire. She thought she had been thorough, but clearly she had not. It would not be the first time that a housekeeper had forgotten to cover an ember or a twig that had cast a spark. I have killed my own child, she thought. The pain of it was beyond belief.
Margery, looking up from the pile, saw her standing there frozen. “What is it, Matilda?”
With an effort, Matilda gave her an answer. “It’s nothing, nothing.”
“Help put these things in the stable, then.”
There was a long pause. Matilda wiped her eyes. “Surely.”
CHAPTER 8
Gloucester
April 1184
The failure to capture Giselle smarted more than Eustace cared to admit. The Attebrook woman must know where she had gone, but with her son Robert there, it was unlikely that he could pry the secret from her.
There was nothing to do now but return to Hafton and Harleigh. Yet that seemed too much like an admission of defeat. Besides, Aelfwyn was there and she had become boring.
Gloucester was on the way, and he knew someone who lived in the city. She was not the consoling sort, but Eustace had begun having thoughts about a future beyond his wayward wife, and this woman was often on his mind. Eustace decided to stop there in the hope she was at her townhouse.
It did not do, of course, for him to knock on her door and beg admittance. So Eustace took lodgings on Eastgate across from Saint Michael’s Church, and sent one of his men to Lady Judith’s townhouse on Berkley Street.
She was, it turned in a stroke of fortune, in residence, and invited him around the following day.
Her house was one of the grander ones on Berkley Street. Many of the more wealthy merchants had begun rebuilding their houses in stone, and, not to be outdone by such low people, the gentry having houses in the town had begun to do the same. Hers was one of them.
Eustace stood at the door as a groom came out to take his horse, aware of the great gulf that separated him from Judith. She was rich, whereas he was merely comfortable. The fact that he was an earl’s son meant nothing because he was not the heir. Yet he knew he could be charming. It had to be that. She found him amusing. That was enough for now, but he had begun wishing there could be more.
A maid escorted him through the house to the back garden. There were willows planted here about an artificial pond filled with small fish. Judith was sitting on a bench surrounded by a covey of maids. Her hair was down and one of the maids was combing it.
“You may go,” Judith said to the maids as Eustace came up. She patted the bench beside her. “Sit here, my lord.”
It was droll that she should address him in this way, since she was the daughter of a baron and the widow of another, while he held a single manor.
When Eustace sat but said nothing, she said, “Well, you surely didn’t come here just to stare at me.”
“I wouldn’t mind doing just that.” She was, in fact, worth looking at, although no one would ever call Judith beautiful. Striking was more the word, arresting, fascinating, bewitching. Her face was too angular and square-jawed and strong, with thick brows and intense dark eyes, for mere beauty. She possessed a cool, self-possessed manner. She was two years younger than he was, but she seemed much older. Behind that face was a sharp intelligence and a wit that she made no effort to conceal.
“Come, I get enough flattery from my suitors. I expect the truth from you.”
“What suitors do you have?” he asked, alarmed. Of course, he should have expected there would be suitors. A rich widow like her was much sought after, considering the considerable lands and wealth she would bring to a marriage, which in her case included both her dower lands and those of her husband, who had died without an heir. His plan had been to seduce her ever since they were first introduced last January. Although he had tried twice already, she had not yielded.
“Do you really want to know?”
“No. I’d like to think that I am the only man in your life.”
“You’re not, of course. But this afternoon, we will pretend that you are.”
“I can be content with an afternoon.”
“Really? Are you sure you don’t want something more?”
“No. There is only one thing I want, only one thing that’s been on my mind since we first met.”
“Oh, my! I think you are too forward, sir. I shall have to call for a chaperone.”
“That would be a mistake.”
A small book lay on the bench between them. Eustace opened it. It was in Latin, a history of Rome by Livy, books six through eight — not the sort of thing one expected a woman to read. “Where did you leave off?”
Judith took the book and turned to her place. She handed it back. “You read Latin?”
“I was forced to learn it as a child. My father thought a clerical career might be the thing for me.”
“And it was not?”
“Regrettably, no.”
“You defied Earl Roger’s will? I am astonished. I’ve heard he is not the sort of man you want to displease.”
“It did displease him. I misbehaved at the abbey, and they sent me home.”
“I’d have liked to have been there to see your reception.”
“I think you can imagine it, as well as the beating that followed.”
“I am sorry. Yet you seem recovered.”
“In time. I don’t know about him. He never forgets a grudge.”
“And he has a grudge against you?”
“He had a grudge against my mother. He takes it out on me.”
“What grudge could he possibly have had against your mother?”
“She left him.”
“Ah. I know that sort of man very well. Their possessions are everything to them, and the slightest defiance is a personal insult. My late husband was just such a man. I have to say, it is refreshing that he is gone. Every time I pass by the ditch in which he drowned, I thank God for the freedom he left me. Yet you remain close, despite the humiliation.”
“My father has no heir.”
“And you think you might be it? Even with this grudge?”
“I have hope. We shall see.”
Eustace looked down at Livy and began to read aloud.
He had been reading for some time when she touched his hand. “Could you use some wine?” she asked. “Your mouth must be dry from all those dusty old words.”
“I wouldn’t mind a drink.”
Judith called to the maid who had remained at the back door for just such a summons. The maid ducked into the house and returned with a platter on which rested a pitcher and two cups. She sat the cups on the end of the bench, poured wine into the cups and handed them to Eustace and Judith before withdrawing to the house.
“I should pass by Shelburgh sometime this summer,” Judith said.
“Really.” He pretended disinterest.
“Yes. I will be traveling from Davensford to my manor at Hickly. It’s near Warrington, you know.”
Eustace nodded. Davensford was Judith’s principal manor, a few miles east of Bristol, not too far from Blanche’s home. Warrington was northeast of Chester. “You’ll have to pay me a visit.”
“Indeed. I would like to meet your wife.”
Eustace smiled. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy getting to know her.”
“What’s she like?”
“Pig-headed, like you.”
Judith laughed. “Then we will get along well, I’m sure.”
Eustace sipped his wine. “Will you really come?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“As a mere guest?”
“My wife is occupied with her own affairs.”
“Yes, I heard about that.”
Eustace suppressed a flinch. “Everyone’s heard about that, haven’t they?”
“Well, I shall have to see how the summer goes.” Her eyes strayed to the pond, then returned to his.
A long moment passed without either of them moving. Eustace took the wine cup from her hand. Their fingers entwined. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. She did not draw away this time.
