The Devil’s Diadem

‘This house came to the earl as part of Lady Adelie’s dowry,’ Evelyn said as we began to climb the staircase. ‘We use it during the winter months when the Marches become too damp and cold for my lady to bear. We sometimes spend spring and summer here, also, for the earl often needs to attend court and it is but a day or two’s barge ride along the Thames to the king’s court at Westminster.’

‘Is that where the earl and his son have gone now?’ I asked. I had spent a moment envying Lady Adelie for the wealth of her dowry, and then the envy evaporated as I thought on the marriage it had bought her.

Evelyn nodded. ‘King Edmond has asked the earl’s attendance upon some difficult matter, I believe. Have you travelled far, Maeb?’

‘A long way,’ I said. ‘All the way from Witenie.’

Evelyn stopped on the stairs and laughed in merriment. ‘A long way? Oh, my dear! The distance from here to Witenie is but a trifle compared to that which we will cover when eventually we go home to Pengraic Castle in the Marches. That is a long journey!’

I flushed, feeling myself a country bumpkin. I had thought the four-day ride along the roads from Witenie — just west of Oxeneford — to Rosseley Manor on the Thames south of Hanbledene, a grand adventure in my life, but when I compared it to the vast distance this household needed to travel from the Welsh Marches to this lovely spot in Bochinghamscire … I felt the fool.

Evelyn smiled kindly at me. ‘It is always an entry to a vaster world, Maeb, when you first join a family such as this. I forget sometimes what it was like for me, eleven years ago.’

I nodded, feeling a little better for Evelyn’s compassion, and we resumed our climb up the staircase.

The upper level of the house comprised the family’s private quarters. There were a number of smaller chambers, and one large, the solar, and it was to the solar that Evelyn led me.

My first question about the family was answered when Evelyn opened the door, and I felt the warmth of the chamber.

Lady Adelie did like a fire, then, or braziers. At least I should be warm.

We paused just inside the door and I looked about hastily, trying to spot my lady. The chamber was well lit from a window to the east and, indeed, warmed by several charcoal braziers. There was a richly curtained bed at the far end of the chamber, several stools and benches positioned about, a cot or two, and what seemed to me to be a horde of children standing in a group looking at me curiously.

To one side in a beautifully carved chair, alongside the largest of the braziers, sat a woman who, by the richness of her clothes, must be the Lady Adelie, Countess of Pengraic.

I dipped hastily and dropped my eyes.

‘Mistress Maeb,’ she said, her voice thin with exhaustion, ‘come closer that I might speak with you more easily.’

I walked over and took the stool that Lady Adelie patted.

Her hand was bony and pale, and when I finally raised my eyes to her face I saw that it was thin and lined, her eyes shadowed with fatigue.

‘I am sorry I kept you so long waiting. The day …’ She made a futile gesture with her hand. ‘Well, it has escaped me. I should not have so delayed you, for you are family, and welcome here.’

She managed to put some warmth into that last and I smiled in relief.

‘Thank you, my lady,’ I said. ‘You have honoured me by asking for me to be here. I am immensely grateful, and shall do my best to serve you in whatever manner you ask.’

‘It will be a thankless task,’ Lady Adelie said. ‘I shall try, myself, to be of little labour to you, but, oh, the children.’

The children … The words echoed about the chamber, and I glanced at the six children who had lost interest in me and now talked or played among themselves. They all had Stephen’s look — fair-haired and blue-eyed — and ranged in age from a crawling infant to perhaps thirteen or fourteen for the eldest girl.

Lady Adelie must have seen my look, for she managed a small smile. ‘And this is not all, for there is my eldest son, Stephen.’ She sighed, and placed a hand over her belly. ‘And yet another to come later in the summer.’

‘My lady has been blessed,’ said a woman standing behind Lady Adelie’s chair, ‘that she has lost only two of her children to illness or accident.’

‘Blessed indeed,’ Lady Adelie said. Then she nodded at the woman behind her. ‘This is Mistress Yvette Bailleul. She, Mistress Evelyn and yourself shall bear the burden of my care and that of my younger children still playing about my skirts. But you look cold and tired … have you drunk or eaten? No? Then we must remedy that. Evelyn, perhaps you can take Maeb further into your care and make sure she is fed, then show her to the cot you will share? We will all sup together later, but for now …’

Lady Adelie’s voice drifted off, and I saw discomfort and weariness in her face. No wonder, I thought, having spent her marriage bearing so many and such healthy children to the earl. I hoped he was grateful for his wife, then felt a little resentful on my lady’s behalf that he should burden her with yet another pregnancy at an age when most women were thinking to leave the perils of childbirth long behind them.

I rose, curtsied once more, told the countess again how grateful I was for her offer to call me to her service, then Evelyn led me away.

CHAPTER THREE

My days fell into an easy routine within the Pengraic household. Evelyn — for so she asked me to address her — and I shared a small chamber just off the solar. It was large enough to hold our small bed, a chest for our belongings, and one stool. The room’s comfort contented me, especially since I shared it with Evelyn, who I quickly grew to like and respect.

At night we would share the bed, talking into the darkness. I appreciated the chance of such chatter, not only for the friend it brought me, but because I could practise my French with Evelyn. I mentioned this to her one night, thanking her, and she laughed merrily.

‘Maeb! Your French is as courtly as any, and with a lovely lilt. Do not fret about it. Your speech does not betray that you spent more time among the village English than among more gracious ranks.’

I relaxed with relief. I had worried that Lady Adelie found it disjointed, or jarring, and had been visited by nightmares of Lord Stephen and the earl laughing about it on the barge journey to Westminster. My father, due to circumstance and his own lack of effort, had been a lowly ranked nobleman and our estate at Witenie had been poor. I’d spent most of my childhood running about with the village English, particularly after my mother died when I was young and when subsequently my father spent years away on pilgrimage in the Holy Lands.

Each day we rose before dawn to join Lady Adelie at private prayers before a small altar in the solar, the family’s private living chamber. The ground floor hall was unused when the earl was not in residence, so our days were spent either in the upper level solar or with the children in the gardens and meadows outside.

After prayers, as dawn broke, we would break our fast with a small meal. Lady Adelie and Mistress Yvette, who I quickly learned was my lady’s most treasured confidante, then spent the morning and early afternoon at their stitching and embroidery — if my lady felt well — or dozing together on my lady’s large bed if she felt fatigued or unwell (which was often). We ate our main meal in the early afternoon, then gathered about the altar again for prayers, and enjoyed the late afternoon spring weather before supping at dusk. After supper, some time was spent listening to a minstrel if the countess was in the mood, more prayers, then bed.

I was surprised at the tranquillity of life within the Pengraic household. The earl was one of the great nobles of England, almost a king in his own right within the Welsh Marches, but Evelyn said that when he was away the countess preferred to keep a quieter routine. All the hustle and bustle of an important noble establishment had departed with the earl and Lord Stephen.

When they returned, Evelyn assured me with a smile, life would quicken.

In the meantime Evelyn and I performed only light duties for Lady Adelie. We brushed out her kirtles and cleaned the non-existent mud from her shoes. We helped Mistress Yvette plait the countess’ long fair hair, and twist it with ribbons and false hair and weights and tassels so that her twin braids hung almost to the floor. We mended her hose, pressed her veils and emptied her chamber pot into the communal privy, but she required little else of us apart from our presence at her daily prayers, for my lady was a devout woman, and wished it of us, also.

Thus our days were spent mostly with the children, who quickly became my joy, as they were Evelyn’s.

The oldest of them, a fourteen-year-old girl named Alice, was truly not a child at all. She lingered in her parents’ house only until a marriage could be contracted for her. Alice was a quiet girl, very grave, but courteous and kind, and helped Evelyn and myself with the care of her younger siblings.

After Alice there was a gap of some three years to her sister Emmette. She, too, was a reserved child, but with a readier smile than Alice. After Emmette came what I thought of as a miracle — twin boys! I had never seen twin children before, nor heard of any who had survived their first year, so they were remarkable to me for that reason alone. Ancel and Robert, eight years old, were also astonishing in that they looked so similar I could not ever tell them apart, which they believed gave them free licence to play trick after trick on me, often before their mother, who regarded them with much loving tolerance. The boys spent the majority of their day with the men of the household — the steward, the guards, the grooms — and disdained learning their letters alongside their sisters. But they were boys, destined for nobleness, and truly did not need the alphabet skills of the clerk. Despite their tricks I adored them, for they always brought a smile to my face. Evelyn told me they were to join another noble household during the summer, as the sons of noblemen were wont to do. I was glad to have at least a little time to spend with them, though, for they never ceased to be a marvel to me.

After the boys there was a gap of four years to the child who quickly became the true joy of my life — Rosamund. She was shy with me at first, but gradually became more confident, blossoming into the most loving child I could imagine. She had her brother Stephen’s warmth and charm, coupled with golden hair, the loveliest eyes and the sweetest laugh I ever heard from another person’s mouth. I thought her heaven on earth and cuddled her every moment I could, and encouraged her to share Evelyn’s and my cot, which imposition Evelyn allowed with much goodwill, for a wriggling child did not always induce a good night’s sleep.

Finally came baby John. He was well past his first birthday, and was only just learning to walk. He was chubby and cheerful and rarely cried, and was the only one of the boys that I had much to do with.

Evelyn told me that the earl and the countess had lost two other children, born after Stephen and before Alice. Geoffrey, a son, born a year later than Stephen had died after falling from his horse as a youth, while a daughter, Joanna, had perished only recently in childbed after her marriage to a lord in Yorkshire.

I quickly grew to love all the Pengraic children who still lived. They were courteous, merry, mischievous, all in turn, and I could not believe that any of them had sprung from the loins of one so dour as the earl.

For many days Lady Adelie remained a distant figure to me. She was not well with this child, Evelyn told me, and so rested for many hours of each day, keeping only Mistress Yvette close by her side. On my tenth day in the household, however, Lady Adelie said she felt well enough to sit in the garden, and perhaps have a minstrel amuse her, and so Yvette, Evelyn and myself busied ourselves with her wraps and embroideries and her favoured book of devotion, and carried them out to a group of chairs and benches one of the servants had set up under a flowering apple tree.

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, her voice drifting off, and the look on her face made me think she feared him.

I did not blame her. I feared him, too, and I could not imagine what her life must be like, needing to watch her every word in the company of a man with so uncertain a temper.

‘Evelyn has spoken little of Pengraic Castle,’ I said, mostly to distract the countess from whatever thoughts troubled her. ‘What is it like?’

The countess stilled, and I was instantly sorry for my question.

‘It is a dark place,’ she said, ‘but I must bear it, as must you.’

I opened my mouth, thinking to apologise for my error in asking such a question, but the countess continued.

‘It is a dismal place, Maeb. Ungodly, and wrapped all about with the mists and sleet of the dark Welsh mountains. The people … the people of that land care more for their sprites and fairies and tales of the ancient ones than they do for the saints and our sweet, dear Lord Jesu. I swear even the stones of Pengraic Castle are steeped in the ungodliness of those Welsh hills.’

‘I am sorry, my lady,’ I said. Sorry to have caused her greater distress, sorry that I should need to endure both the Welsh Marches and this castle myself, some day.

‘Sorrow’s claws have firm grasp on Pengraic Castle, Maeb. But what do we here, speaking of such when the sun burns bright and the apple blossoms? Come, here are Evelyn and Yvette returned, and a servant with cooling cordials, and we shall drink and gossip as women do, and be merry.’

And so we did, our words and smiles chasing away the shadows cast by the final minutes of the conversation between the countess and myself. The sun burned, and it was a good day. Peaceful and gentle, with the scents of spring all about us.

It did not last. The morrow brought with it terrible tidings that meant my days at Rosseley Manor were done.

I would never see it again, in all my days. That was my enduring loss, for Rosseley was a lovely, peaceful place. Even though I spent so little time there, it holds a special place in my heart. Every May Day, when we celebrate the return of life to the land, I think of Rosseley’s sweet meadows and orchards, and light a candle in remembrance of a gentle life that almost was.

CHAPTER FOUR

The next day began as had all my previous mornings at Rosseley. Evelyn and I rose early, washed and dressed, then attended Lady Adelie. We made the countess’ bed while Mistress Yvette helped the countess with her chemise and kirtle, then we knelt at prayers before breaking our fast with small beer and fruit and cheese with some fresh-baked bread. Evelyn and I then rose, meaning to help the nurse dress the younger children, when Ancel and Robert burst into the chamber.

‘Mama! Mama!’ they cried.

‘Sweet Jesu, children, cease your shrieking!’ the countess said. She was out of sorts after a restless night, and Evelyn and I exchanged a glance before turning to the two boys, now at one of the windows, meaning to usher them from the chamber.

‘Mama!’ one of the twins said. ‘Our lord father is home. Look! Look!’

‘And at the head of a great cavalcade!’ the other added.

I started for the window, but Evelyn grabbed my elbow, pulling me back with a warning look. Then she tipped her head very slightly toward the countess, who had risen and walked sedately toward the window herself.

Of course. I gave a small nod, and berated myself for my stupidity.

It was not my place to be first at the window, but that of the countess.

Lady Adelie stood at the window and peered. Then she took a step back, clearly shocked. ‘Mother of heaven!’ she said.

‘My lady?’ Yvette said, going to stand with her.

‘Fetch the house steward immediately!’ Lady Adelie said to her, then beckoned Evelyn over. ‘Ah! Why did I pick such a dull kirtle today? Well, there is no time to change. Evelyn, fetch me a freshly laundered veil and ensure you pick the brightest one. Maeb, make sure the children are dressed and neat, and keep them in their chambers for the time being, even Alice. Ancel, Robert, you can come with me and aid me down the staircase.’

With that she was gone, a twin on either side of her, Evelyn hastening after with a fresh veil for my lady’s head.

I looked toward the window, desperately curious, hesitated, then, remembering my lady’s tone, hurried to see the children were dressed and awaiting in their chamber.

At least the children’s chamber had a window that overlooked the courtyard. Almost as soon as I and the nurse had the children dressed and neat, Alice and Emmette helping, I looked outside.

The courtyard was a flurry of activity. I could see Lady Adelie, Yvette now at her side along with the twins, and the steward, William. Lady Adelie and William were in deep conversation and, as I watched, the steward nodded, then strode away organising some men-at-arms into a presentable line and shouting at two grooms to tidy away some barrels and a laden cart.