Authors: Johanna Lindsey
T
HE hall had filled quickly and servants were bringing in large platters of food. A maid lost her balance and her huge cauldron of soup tipped a little, spilling soup onto the rushes. Five dogs instantly converged on the spot, but the hot liquid was not tempting enough. After a few sniffs, they went back to following the platters of meat, hoping for another accident.
Erneis, the Crewel steward, had seen the accident, but he went on filling his plate, giving it no more thought. The maid would think no more of it either. She would not return later to clean up the mess, because no one would tell her to do so.
Common occurrences in Crewel Keep, gone on so long that those conditions were taken for granted. The men-at-arms might deplore the filth, but it was not their place to order these servants. Sir Evarard had lived under worse conditions and took little notice. The servants never did anything on their own initiative and had, in fact, grown lazy.
Sir Thorpe had long ago given up trying to get anything done. He never stayed long enough in Crewel to oversee a thorough cleaning, anyway. And Rolfe had too many other things on his mind. Amelia seemed to have no knack for handling servants. It was enough that she had kept Rolfe’s room reasonably clean.
Rolfe had mused aloud about having a wife in res
idence, hoping the problem would be solved. But it was not to be. Amelia told him that she had had words with his wife and that Leonie said she could not be bothered with the running of Crewel. Rolfe was furious, especially after the scene in the garden. She could see to Pershwick, which was hers, but she would not see to Crewel?
But Amelia pointed out that ladies of Leonie’s stature were accustomed to spending their days in needlework and gossip. Rolfe knew that to be true, for his own mother had never lifted a hand to run her household. No doubt Leonie had an able steward at Pershwick. Ah well, Rolfe thought, let things stand as they were.
Unfortunately, his anger over that difficulty did not have a chance to abate before Leonie came in. She was wearing the same unhappy expression she had worn in the garden, and he almost sent her away, but too many eyes were on them.
Neither one spoke, and his anger mounted. She was going to nurse her anger, and that infuriated him. He wanted her to be the way she had been the night before, when she talked with him, accepted him. He had believed they were making a new start.
Damian had returned to Crewel in the afternoon with Rolfe’s newly polished armor. Cleaning armor was the only thing the boy did well. Rolfe was not used to having so young a squire, nor did he have enough time at present for the boy’s training. It was Damian’s duty to attend him, to select his clothes in the morning, help dress him, and to serve him at table. Strict rules governed all a squire did, even the carving of meat and presenting of his lord’s wine cup. Damian knew all that was required of him, but nothing was ever done smoothly.
Today, having used all his patience on his wife, Rolfe had none left for the boy. When his wine was spilled a second time, he dismissed the boy with harsh words that rose above the din in the hall. Silence followed, and then everyone resumed eating. Rolfe’s losing his temper was a common enough occurrence, after all.
Leonie was already on edge, having watched Lady Amelia direct the serving of the meal with Rolfe’s apparent approval.
“Are you always so hard on the boy?”
Rolfe’s dark eyes impaled her. “So. You have a voice after all.”
Leonie looked down at the table. “I did not know I was required to speak. There is nothing I wish to say.”
“Common courtesy is alien to you?”
“No, my lord,” she replied softly. “It is returned when it is received.”
He grunted, dismissing the fact that he had said not a word to her, either. “So now you have found something you wish to say—and it turns out to be criticism. You would have done better to keep silent.”
“I know my opinion means nothing to you, my lord, but you would be better served by your squire if you showed a little patience. The boy is only nervous.”
“You have trained many squires, have you?”
“No.”
“Surely at least one? How else would you know how I should treat mine?”
Leonie held firm under his assault. “Common sense, my lord.”
“Patience cures clumsiness?”
“He would not be so clumsy if you did not scowl at him so,” she replied.
“I see. So when Damian faces his enemy on the field, he will do well if his enemy smiles at him? But let that enemy scowl at him even once and what have you? A sword dropped through nervous fingers instead of spilled wine. Your common sense would be the death of Damian.”
Leonie blushed furiously. Everything he said was true. If Damian did not learn to control his nervousness now, he would not live to be a knight. Serfs and women could be clumsy, fighting men could not.
“I concede,” she offered. “Yet I still say you were overly harsh with the boy. A small measure of patience once in a while would benefit you
both
.”
“You recommend patience for the boy—what do you recommend for yourself?”
Leonie raised her eyes to his slowly and asked in a sweetly innocent tone, “Have I raised your displeasure, too, my lord?”
Rolfe was not amused. He was in fact infuriated by her attempt to make light of his anger.
“What do you recommend?” he repeated darkly.
“Retreat.”
“Unacceptable.”
“Then another measure of patience, my lord.”
“Patience without reward is not worth the effort,” he shot back.
A warning. He expected too much. If he was not willing to give, neither was she.
“Reward comes only to the deserving.”
“You mean I am not deserving?”
“That is a matter for your conscience, my lord.”
“Damn me, what has conscience to do with this?” he demanded. “My conscience is clear!”
“No doubt,” she returned.
To say any more now was dangerous. Rolfe drained the last of his wine and bellowed for more.
Leonie let out a sigh. She should never have spoken to begin with. There was no reasoning with such a man.
Most men lived by a double standard and her husband was no different. You could not tell him he was wrong, and you could not question his integrity as he saw it. And as he saw it, there was nothing wrong with his keeping a mistress in the same household as his wife. Or with letting his mistress direct the household. A man’s adultery was always winked at, but woe betide the wife with inclinations to stray. Hypocrites all! She might have to live with it for there was very little she could do about it, but she would not condone the hypocrisy of it.
The meal was ruined, but she had no appetite anyhow. It was bad enough having to eat with her belly knotted with tension, but the food was awful, tasteless, without benefit of spices. Even the minced meat paste made with milk and bread crumbs to spread on bread was lacking herbs. There was cheese made from ewes’ milk, but the butter that would have enhanced the vegetables was rancid. It vied with the stench from the rushes.
“Do you give me leave to retire, my lord?”
Rolfe looked at her for a long time before he nodded curtly. But he stopped her just as she turned away.
“Leave your spite behind, Leonie. I will join you soon.”
It was still early, and the last place Leonie wanted to await her husband was in his bed. The memories it aroused warred with her embitterment, causing a frustration that had her pacing the floor. It was not fair to be placed in this limbo. She could not have Rolfe
d’Ambert for a real husband, nor would he leave her alone. All that was left was a frustration that she would have to tolerate until he no longer found his newest possession amusing.
After a while, when Rolfe still had not come, Leonie searched through her chests in the anteroom until she found the Pershwick accounts. She took them with her to one of the chairs by the cold hearth and settled herself there. She had brought the accounts with her so she could put them in order before turning them over to Sir Guibert.
All the long hours she had spent learning to read and write so she could keep her own records, and now her skill would go to waste—for a while anyway. How long would he keep her there? If only she knew.
Hours later, Rolfe found Leonie curled up in the chair, the parchments spread over her lap, an inkwell on the low table beside her. He had not expected this. The church, which dispensed all learning, frowned on imparting any at all to women. Very few men outside the church could read and write. Rolfe could write, but it was a skill he did not make use of, relying on clerks to see to such things.
Rolfe picked up one of the parchments and examined it. But her eyes opened, and he dropped it back on her lap.
“Do you make sense of those scratches, my lady?”
Leonie sat up, startled. “Of course. They are my records.”
“Who taught you to write?”
“A young priest at Pershwick.”
“Why would he?”
Leonie was wary, but his tone was agreeable. He seemed merely curious.
“I threatened to dismiss him if he would not.”
Rolfe had to stop himself from laughing. “Did you? I take it he succumbed to your threats. But why would you want to learn? Did he not keep accurate records for you?”
“Accurate, yes, but he balked at certain changes I wanted made. It is a long story, my lord. Rather than involve the priest in what I wanted done, I decided to do it myself, so I insisted he teach me.”
“I am pleased, then. Here is one thing you cannot object to doing for me,” Rolfe said. “You will serve as my clerk.”
“Me?” she cried. “You mean you do not write?”
“I spent my youth on the training field, not cloistered with a tutor.”
He felt no embarrassment over the half lie. It was true that he had not given up any training time for learning, nor was he ever cloistered with a tutor. His tutor had had to follow him onto the training field, an inconvenience the old priest did not appreciate.
“But surely you have a clerk?”
“I am not asking you to take over the Crewel accounts,” he said. “But you can deal with simple correspondence.”
She bristled. “I suppose I can, if you do not think it will overtax my intelligence.”
Her sarcasm amused him. “Not at all.”
Leonie rose stiffly. “Very well, my lord.”
She put her accounts away, and when she came back into the room, Rolfe was sitting in the chair she had vacated. His eyes fastened on her, hooded, unreadable. She raised a hand to hold her linen bedrobe closer together, acutely aware of how thin the cream-colored robe was.
“Come here, Leonie.”
It was a soft command, but it was a command.
Nervously she glanced at the big bed. As abhorrent as it was to her, it did offer an excuse.
“It is late, my lord, and—”
“You have had a nap, so do not say you are overtired.”
She met his steady gaze, but it was a moment before she could get her feet to move. Finally she stood near him.
“Closer.”
She took another step, and then Rolfe reached out and pulled her down onto his lap. His hands locked around her, resting on her hip. Hesitantly, her eyes met his.
“I am glad you took my warning seriously, dearling, for I do not give warnings more than once.”
Leonie closed her eyes. He assumed she was acquiescent because he had ordered it. He was going to find she was not a servant.
“What happens, my lord, when your warnings are not heeded?” she asked.
His lips nuzzled her neck. “You do not want to know.”
“But I do, my lord.”
“Rolfe,” he corrected, his lips moving to the center of her throat.
Leonie groaned. “I am sorry, my lord, but I cannot.”
“Cannot what?”
“Call you by name.”
He leaned back. His hands came up to clasp her face. “Just say it. It is a short name, easy to say. Say it.”
He was smiling and his tone was husky, persuasive. But as she gazed into his eyes, she saw Lady Amelia. That lady sat firmly between them.
“I cannot.”
“You mean you
will not
.”
“Very well, I will not.”
Instantly, Rolfe was on his feet, Leonie held firmly in his arms. He carried her to the bed and dropped her there, glaring down at her.
“Woman, if I did not think you had more sense, I would swear you do this purposely, just to rile me. If you wish to sulk, do so, but do so alone. If you are wise, you will be done sulking when I come to you again.”
He strode angrily from the room, slamming the door.
Leonie lay back, slowly relaxing. She sighed. She guessed she would not see him again before he left in the morning. That suited her fine. But then she realized where he would spend the night and she tensed.
Surely someone would see him going to his mistress, and no doubt everyone would know of it by the next day, for things like that were kept secret only from the wife.
This
wife already knew, however, and her husband did not care whether she knew or not. That was the vilest insult, that he made no attempt to spare his wife’s feelings.
R
OLFE had indeed left Crewel by the time Leonie ventured into the hall the next morning. Thorpe de la Mare had gone with him, leaving Sir Evarard as castellan of Crewel, in charge.
Leonie was in a foul mood after losing so much sleep trying to convince herself that what her husband did did not matter to her personally, only the shame of it disturbed her. Her mood was not lightened when she found Lady Amelia breaking her fast at the high table with Sir Evarard, the two of them laughing together.
They presented a tableau illustrating that the mistress was accepted there and the wife was not. It was also stabbingly clear that Amelia was in an excellent humor.
The two fell silent as they saw Leonie. She did not greet them or even glance their way again, but continued on toward the chapel as if that had been her destination all along. She knew she was too late for mass, so she didn’t even glance inside the chapel, but left the forebuilding and stepped outside into the bright morning light.
She had a decision to make, one that might get her into even worse trouble with her husband, but one that was worth considering for her own sake.
It was simply not her way to be idle. That only
encouraged the kind of mood she found herself in. She needed to be occupied.
Of course, Amelia must surely be gratified to find herself placed above Rolfe’s wife in his household. But if Amelia knew the art of maintaining a household, she was surely keeping her knowledge to herself.
The problem was, no one at Crewel seemed to care about the conditions they lived in. For Rolfe to sacrifice his own comfort in order to honor his mistress showed great depth of feeling. Leonie could do nothing about Rolfe’s feelings, but she would not live in a pigsty or be mistress of one.
If she was to order certain tasks done, who was to deny her? Rolfe might, when he returned, but by then she would have accomplished much and the improvements might assuage his wrath. Would Lady Amelia dare complain? Leonie was willing to risk an argument with that one.
The decision made, she went to find Wilda and Mary. She found the stairs that led to the servants’ quarters above the first floor. At the top of those stairs she found, not one large room, but a narrow hall. The servants’ quarters were on the left side, and there were many small rooms on the right side of the hall.
Wilda came when Leonie called her name softly. “My lady.”
Leonie’s curiosity was aroused. “Are stores kept up here?” she asked, looking at the row of rooms.
Wilda understood and shook her head. “My lady, I never heard of such as this. It was Sir Edmond’s idea to offer his guests privacy, so he ordered those small chambers built, each with a bed and other conveniences.”
“Each one of these is a small bedchamber?”
Wilda nodded. “Mildred said Crewel was never without guests. Sir Edmond liked to impress his guests.”
Leonie was not surprised that the maid knew so much. Servants gossiped. “Private chambers instead of a pallet in the hall is impressive indeed. I did not realize the Montignys were so wealthy.”
Wilda frowned. “There are rumors—”
“For shame, Wilda. You know I do not countenance rumors,” Leonie said automatically, and because Wilda knew her lady disliked gossip, she fell silent. It was just as well, for Wilda did not want to be the one to tell her lady about the rumors concerning her and her husband.
It suited Wilda to have the servants at Crewel think Rolfe d’Ambert had beaten his wife on their wedding night. She disliked him because of the insult he was dealing Leonie by keeping his mistress in their home. Wilda had no desire to correct the women servants’ opinions, or to argue with the men who took their lord’s side. She was going to stay well out of the battle and had warned Mary to do the same. Rolfe d’Ambert was not a man to be patient with servants.
She said only, “Well, Sir Edmond did serve the best foods and wines.”
“He must have had a different cook,” Leonie said dryly and Wilda giggled.
“Indeed, I understand the cook fled with the coming of the new lord. The one who rules the kitchen now was enlisted from the stable.”
Leonie was appalled. “Surely there must be some assistants of the old cook who are still here?”
“Yes. They could improve the fare, but they will not.” Wilda lowered her voice. “There was much resentment here against your husband, and there still is.”
“Was Sir Edmond loved?”
“No. He had a heavy hand. But with him there were no surprises and the servants always benefited from the abundance of food left over from his entertaining. But Sir Rolfe is here so little that they have not had any chance to know him, so they don’t trust him. And his temper frightens everyone. No one is willing to draw his master’s attention to himself.”
Leonie nodded. She had half guessed as much. She glanced once more at the row of closed doors. “Are these rooms all empty?”
Wilda knew her lady well. “She sleeps in the large room that was Sir Alain’s,” she whispered.
“But where does Sir Evarard—”
“That one is a soldier through and through. He sleeps with the men-at-arms. Mildred says he would be happiest rolled in a blanket under the stars.”
“And how would Mildred know that?”
Wilda grinned. “One thing Sir Evarard does not dislike about his being settled instead of marching from one campaign to the next is the women here. He is a handsome young man, my lady.”
Leonie controlled an urge to grin. “And you are thinking of trying him out yourself?”
Before Leonie’s marriage, Wilda would never have admitted such a thing, but now she answered loftily, “I have thought of it.”
Leonie shook her head. How could she scold Wilda for wanting pleasure? It never did any good to point out the sinfulness in a union without marriage.
“In the next few days,” Leonie said, changing the subject, “you will have little time to think of such things. You wanted a chance to put the Crewel servants to work, and now you will have it.”
Wilda was delighted. “You have his permission then? We may begin—”
“Not his permission, but we will begin anyway.”
“But—”
Leonie cut her short. “I cannot live like this. And he is not here to stop me.”
“Are you sure, my lady?”
“Most sure.”
Amelia was shocked when every woman servant in the keep descended on the hall with brooms and soap and water. She pulled Leonie aside.
“Rolfe will not like it.”
Leonie smiled tightly. “Then you must put the blame on me, for this place offends me and I will not stay here another day under these conditions. Of course, if my husband is pleased, then you must take the credit yourself. I am sure you intended to clean the house, but have been unable to find the time.”
The sarcasm was heavy, yet it went right over Amelia’s head. “To do anything here, you must constantly supervise. The serfs are too simple to carry a task through on their own. Do you not think I have tried?”
Leonie kept her doubts to herself. It was an effort just to talk to this woman.
“I have my own methods of doing things.”
“If Rolfe is satisfied…” Amelia grumbled.
“But I am not satisfied, Lady Amelia. I am not asking you to volunteer your help, however.”
She would not ask for permission either. See if the woman dared overrule her.
Amelia was wise enough to back down. She had gained too much to risk a confrontation with Rolfe’s wife over such a trifling matter as this.
“Suit yourself, my lady,” Amelia said before moving away.
Leonie nodded to Wilda, whose eyes twinkled as
she began shouting orders to the women gathered around her. And so it began. There was some grumbling once the task was explained, but Wilda’s sharp tongue quickly took care of complaints.
Leonie would have pitched in to help, as she had always done at Pershwick, but to do that here would lower her position. As it was, too many of the servants looked first to Lady Amelia for approval.
With Wilda in firm control in the hall, Leonie gathered some men servants and directed them to follow her outside. She sent four men to gather new rushes, and another to summon Sir Evarard. Then she took three men to the kitchen.
The staff were instantly resentful of her presence, having gone so long without any interference. Besides the cook, a lean man of middle age, there were five male assistants and three children, who were allotted the easiest tasks. Little Idelle was one, and Leonie had to stop herself from smiling at the girl until after she dealt with the rest of the staff.
The condition of the long shed that served as the kitchen was appalling. Smoke and grease were so thick on everything that it was a wonder the building hadn’t burned down. The pantry, larder, and buttery were in no better condition.
She took no pity on the cook, for he was solely responsible. “You may return to the stable where your talents will be better used,” she told him, daring him by the severity of her expression to object.
He seemed relieved. After he left, she ordered the three men with her to begin removing everything from the kitchen. The five male assistants and Idelle were told to follow Leonie to the garden. There she looked at each man in turn, judging their attitudes and know
ing that if her plan didn’t work, she would end up being the cook herself.
She turned her attention to the little girl and allowed herself to drop her severe manner for a moment. “Idelle, do you remember the ‘good-for-naughts’ you were picking from the garden?”
Idelle’s eyes widened. “I did not pick them again, my lady, I swear.”
“I know, but now I want you to pick them again, every one of them.”
“But there is so much!”
“Exactly. And since they serve no purpose, they do not belong in the garden. Do you see?”
Idelle saw only that it would take forever to do what her lady was asking, yet she wanted desperately to please Leonie. “I will do it.”
Leonie grinned at the forlorn face. “I did not mean you should pick them yourself. No, these men here will do the picking, roots and all—especially the roots. You will stand by to watch and see they do not miss any, and to see that they do not rest until the task is done.”
“You mean they must do as
I
say?” Idelle gasped.
“That is correct.”
“My lady, I protest!” One of the men spoke up. “It is not—”
“You question my will?”
“No, my lady, but—”
“Is it the task you object to? Or that you must follow the orders of a child? But I have seen with my own eyes that you know nothing about keeping a kitchen clean, and I have tasted what fare has come out of that kitchen, so I assume you also know nothing about cooking. What good are any of you, except to pull weeds?”
One of the others stepped forward. “I can produce meals that would tempt any palate, my lady.”
Leonie raised a brow. “Can you? Well, I will not ask you why you have kept that knowledge to yourself until now, but I will give you this day to prove your words. If you do not lie, you will be cook henceforth, and the kitchen will be yours to rule. But if you are not telling the truth…”
She left the threat up in the air. It was best for them to guess how harsh she might be. If she threatened a beating, some might think they could withstand it or that she wouldn’t follow through. The same with banishment. But if they had no idea what she would do, they were not likely to risk incurring her wrath.
“I—I will need help, my lady.” The new cook indicated his fellows.
“What is your name?”
“John.”
Leonie smiled at him, surprising and enrapturing him. “You will have all you need, John, help and supplies. I ask only that you do not order more than you need, or find yourself short. Report daily all purchases to Master Erneis for the accounts. Can you guess what else I want done?”
He could not meet her eyes but he answered, “A thorough scrubbing from top to bottom.”
“Yes. All utensils, pots—everything. There is no excuse for an accumulation of filth in the kitchen and I will not tolerate it again. See that the cleaning is done before the next meal is started. You may make use of the three men who have already begun the work, the men I brought with me. Eight men should be quite enough.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
Idelle looked miserable again as the five men fol
lowed their new leader to the kitchens. “Does this mean I will have to pick all the ‘good-for-naughts’ by myself?”
“Indeed, no.” Leonie grinned. “But this is an important task, important to me. Can you think of anyone who would do a good job of it?”
“My friends in the kitchen,” Idelle suggested eagerly.
“The other two children?”
“Yes.”
“Then you may get them to be your helpers. And there is no rush, Idelle. The point is to do a good job the first time. When you finish, there will be much planting here that you can help me with.”
“I would like that, my lady.”
“Good. Now run and get your friends. Sir Evarard is coming to speak with me.”
Leonie moved across the bailey to meet him. He did not look at all agreeable.
“Sir Evarard—”
He cut her short rudely. “Do not think, my lady, that this will please Sir Rolfe. You wait until he is gone and then you turn this place upside down. He will see that you are set on causing trouble.”
“You dare take that tone with me?” Leonie said icily. She glared up at the man, her eyes hot. “If you will not give me the respect due me as your lord’s wife, then I will not abide in the same keep with you. You can tell
that
to my husband when you bring him tales of what you
think
I have done!”
The man squared his jaw stubbornly. “You think to talk circles around me, my lady, but no one can even enter the hall because you have caused such a mess. What excuse do you have for tearing everything apart?”
“You idiot! Do you not recognize the process of
cleaning when you see it? But how could you, since there has been no cleaning done here since you came?” She added icily, “The hall will be in proper order by the end of the day. And the food you eat tonight will be wholesome. What I have done, Sir Evarard, is save myself from having to treat you for food poisoning, which would have struck you and everyone else here soon enough if the conditions in the kitchen were allowed to go unchecked. Now you tell me—who is inconvenienced by what I am doing except the servants who are now paying for what they have neglected all this time?”