The Devil’s Diadem. Sara Douglass

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      Evelyn and I helped settle the countess in a chair, then prepared to withdraw, assuming Lady Adelie would prefer to sit only with Mistress Yvette as usual.

      But the countess surprised me by indicating I should sit with her, and sending Evelyn and Mistress Yvette back to the house for some embroidery wools she needed.

      I sat on the end of a bench close to the countess’ chair, shifting my heavy braids to one side so that they were not in my way, and took up the stitching of a linen shift for Rosamund. I was a little nervous, for I could see the countess’ eyes drifting occasionally to my needle, and from there I developed a certainty that Lady Adelie was about to dismiss me from her service for some transgression.

      ‘You are a good needlewoman,’ Lady Adelie said eventually, startling me so greatly my fingers fumbled and I dropped my needle, retrieving it hastily from my skirts.

      ‘Who taught you such skill?’ she continued. ‘Your mother?’

      ‘Yes, my lady. Her embroidery was exquisite. I have never seen the like.’ Instantly I regretted the words. What if the countess took offence?

      But she only smiled gently, giving a little nod. ‘So I have heard. ’Tis a pity she died when you were still so young. But that is the way of life, and of God’s will.’

      ‘Aye, my lady.’

      We stitched in silence for a little while. I relaxed, thinking myself silly to be so concerned about dismissal.

      ‘Ah,’ the countess said, setting her stitching to one side and putting a hand in the small of her back as she stretched. ‘My eyes fail me, Maeb. I thought I might see the better in this bright light, but … no. They still strain over this work. Will you fetch my book of prayers, Maeb? It is set there, by that basket.’

      I bent over, picking up the leatherbound book, taking a moment to marvel at the bright gilding on the edges of its pages before holding it out for the countess that she might take it.

      ‘No, no,’ Lady Adelie said. ‘You read to me — you can see the passage I have marked with the silken twist. I do not wish to strain my eyes further with the impossibly small letters of its monkish scribe.’

      I froze in horror, the book still extended in my hand.

      Lady Adelie looked at the book, then at my face.

      ‘Ah,’ she said in a gentle voice, finally taking the book from me. She set it in her lap, unopened. ‘You have not learned your letters.’

      ‘No, my lady.’ I dropped my eyes, ashamed. It was not unusual for one of my rank within the lower nobility to not know her letters, but sitting before the countess now I felt like an oaf.

      ‘You mother did not teach you?’ Lady Adelie said.

      I shook my head, hating what I had to say, thinking I sullied my mother’s memory after having so recently praised her. ‘She did not know herself, my lady.’

      ‘It is a shame,’ Lady Adelie said, ‘that the comfort of sweet Jesu’s words and deeds and those of our beloved saints were denied her in the privacy of her chamber. I could not bear it, if I would always need to wait for the presence of a priest to comfort me.’

      I was feeling worse by the moment, and I kept my eyes downcast.

      ‘And I suppose that wastrel, your father, had no learning.’

      I shook my head once more, blinking to keep the tears at bay. I knew that the countess had her children tutored in letters and figures, and I was mortified that even the eight-year-old boys, Ancel and Robert, had greater learning than me.

      ‘Do not weep, my dear,’ Lady Adelie said, leaning the short distance between us to pat me gently on the hand.

      She paused, thinking. ‘We shall have you tutored in letters,’ she said, then paused again. ‘But not with the children, for that should not be seemly. I shall teach you, my dear, when I have birthed this child, and am strong again. I have a duty of care to you and I shall not fail.’

      ‘Thank you, my lady.’ She did me a great honour by offering to teach me herself, for surely her time could be spent on other duties. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and returned her smile.

      ‘And then we shall find you a gentle husband,’ Lady Adelie said, ‘for your father was remiss in not seeking such for you himself. Did he forget your very existence?’

      ‘He did try, my lady.’ Not very hard, I thought. ‘But I have little dowry and —’

      I stopped, horrified that the countess might think I hoped she would augment that meagre dowry with her own riches. Suddenly I could see the earl standing before me again, his face and tone contemptuous, warning me against harbouring ambitions above my station.

      ‘You are a member of the Pengraic household,’ the countess said, her tone firm. ‘That alone carries a weight of more import than any wealth of coin or land. An alliance into the Pengraic house is no small matter —’

      I wondered what the earl might have to say about this. I doubted he would ever think I wielded any measure of influence within his house.

      ‘— and I am sure that some gentle lord shall seek your hand eagerly. You have a lovely face. Such depth in your green eyes — and that black, black hair! As for your figure — that alone is enough to tempt any man into thoughts of bedding. You shall not remain unwedded long.’

      I flushed at her words, but was immeasurably grateful to the countess for her support. Where her husband had been contemptuous, his lady wife extended the hand of graciousness and care. I was privileged indeed, and more fortunate than I could have hoped to have been offered this place at Lady Adelie’s side.

      ‘You are old not to be wived,’ Lady Adelie said. ‘How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?’

      ‘Nineteen, my lady.’

      ‘Ah! At nineteen I already had three children born.’ Lady Adelie sighed, one hand resting on her belly. ‘Stephen I bore when I was but fifteen — the earl only a year older. Such young parents. Ah, Maeb, the lot of a wife is a hard one, but you must bear it. The travails of childbirth litter our lives with danger, and we must keep our faith in the Lord, that we may survive them.’

      ‘You have so many beautiful children, my lady. They must bring you great comfort.’

      ‘The earl is a demanding husband,’ the countess said, her face twisting in a small grimace. ‘Although I fear the dangers of childbed I am grateful each time I find myself breeding, that my husband can no longer make such demands of me.’

      I kept my eyes downcast, setting my fingers back to stitching, thinking of the whispered fragments of conversations I had heard over the years from women gossiping about their husbands and lovers (and of what I had seen as a curious child in the village of Witenie). Most of these women had spoken in bawdy tones and words, and I thought the countess must truly be a devout and gracious woman, of exquisite breeding and manners, to find distasteful what other women found delightful.

      ‘The earl is so demanding …’ the countess said again, СКАЧАТЬ