Barbara Erskine 3-Book Collection: Lady of Hay, Time’s Legacy, Sands of Time. Barbara Erskine
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sobs.
In the corner, huddling on the floor beneath a rail of hanging clothes, a little girl was weeping as though her heart would break, clutching a rag doll. A large plump-faced nurse bent over her, coaxing, and behind, two maids hovered, clutching a selection of gowns and little mantles with which they were obviously hoping to dress her.
‘What’s the matter?’ Matilda demanded, looking down at the child. She was horrified to see the little girl dirty and unkempt. Her hair was tangled with grass and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes.
‘She tried to run away, madam, that’s what’s the matter.’ The nurse gave up coaxing and stood, her hands on her hips, looking down at the child in exasperation. ‘Here we are, with everyone nearly ready to go to the abbey and the child refuses to dress. She says she wants none of the King’s son. Imagine! How dare she, the little minx. You wait till her father gets wind of this. He’ll take the strap to her buttocks until they’re raw.’
The little girl gave another sob and clutched her doll more tightly.
‘Well he won’t get to hear of it,’ said Matilda quietly, trying resolutely to keep her temper with the insensitive woman. Her heart went out to the little girl. She had a sudden vivid picture of her own bethrothal to William. She too had been a child, not much older than this one. She who had dreamed of a tall, radiant, chivalrous knight had been informed by her father with excitement of the great honour that had been done his family, that she had been chosen by the stocky, ill-tempered baron whose reputation even then was marred by cruelty and viciousness. Her first reaction too had been to run away. But then she sat down on her favourite spot on the hill and thought about her duty and, at heart a realist about what chance she had of ever having a better offer of marriage, she had come home, apologised to her frightened mother, wheedled her angry father and resigned herself to making the most of it, comforting herself with the thought that she was to be a great lady. But could she persuade this little girl to see the sense in that? A little girl whose real world was still peopled by dolls and puppies and her snow-white pony.
‘Please, nurse, will you leave us for a while?’ She turned and forced herself to give the agitated woman her most brilliant smile. ‘I’d like a little talk with Isabella.’
The woman drew herself up to argue, but already Elen, who had followed close at her mistress’s heels, was pushing her out, and the two protesting maids with her. Then she stood, her back to the doorway, panting.
‘Silly women,’ she muttered. ‘Clucking like so many chickens, they are indeed. Poor cariad bach.’
Matilda knelt down in the rushes and held out her arms to the little girl. ‘Come here, Isabella my love. Tell me what’s wrong. Why are you so unhappy?’
Whether it was the sympathy in her voice, or the sight of a stranger, she couldn’t tell, but Isabella, with another strangled sob, scrambled to her feet and rushed to her, throwing herself into Matilda’s outstretched arms.
‘There, there, child. There, there.’ Matilda rocked her gently for a while, touched by the feel of the tiny, frail body, so thin beneath the skimpy clothes. Then as the child’s sobbing grew less, she pushed back the fair hair from her hot face and smiled gently at her. ‘Come on, sweeting, tell me what’s wrong.’
‘I don’t want to be betrothed.’ Isabella sniffed loudly. ‘I hate John. He’s a bad, wicked boy. I don’t want to be married to him, ever.’
‘Why Isabella? Why not? Why do you think he’s wicked?’
‘He pulls the wings off sparrows.’ The ready tears spilled over again as the little girl buried her head in Matilda’s shoulder. ‘He likes hurting things. He told me. And when I belong to him, he said he could hurt me. And he said he could make me cry.’
‘Christ blast that boy!’ Matilda swore under her breath. She exchanged glances with Elen over the child’s head. ‘Listen, Isabella. John only said that to tease. He would never hurt you. He couldn’t. After mass in the abbey there will be a lovely party, and then you are to stay with your mother and father until you’re grown up. John probably won’t come near you again. And when you marry him, years and years from now, you’ll be a princess. You’ll be the most beautiful princess there ever was.’ She smiled down at the drawn, pale little face. ‘Come on, remember you’re a great lady. Ladies must never be afraid.’ She dropped a kiss on the tangled hair. ‘Now, will you let your nurse comb you and wash you and get you ready?’
‘But I saw him.’ The little girl was shaking still. ‘He pulled the wings till the bird screamed.’
Matilda shivered. ‘I’ll ask my husband to tell the King. John should be whipped for such cruelty.’
‘You promise?’ Isabella rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘I promise.’ Gently Matilda pushed her from her lap. ‘Now come on, there’s not much time.’
The nurse reappeared so swiftly it was obvious she had been listening outside the doorway. Half resentful of Matilda, half relieved that her charge had calmed down, she pushed her way to the child’s side.
‘Would you credit that boy,’ she muttered as she stripped the little girl and began rubbing the frail body with a cloth wrung out in a jug where the water had long since grown cold. ‘They sat there yesterday, side by side, when His Grace the King brought them together, neat as two pins they were, both scrubbed and combed, and we saw John whispering to her. Then he took her by the hand and led her away. Lady Gloucester was that pleased, she was. Then the child comes racing in, screaming the place down. The Earl was furious, and the King. Then young John came in all innocent. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what’s making her cry.”’ She pulled a clean shift over the little girl’s head. Then the embroidered gown. Then she began to drag a brush through the delicate fair hair.
Outside in the solar the other women had been too preoccupied with the Countess of Gloucester’s grumblings to pay much attention to what was going on in the garderobe, so when Matilda emerged, holding Isabella, now neat and clean and dry-eyed, by the hand, there was a moment’s astonished silence.
‘Well,’ her mother said at last. ‘About time too.’ Ignoring Matilda with calculated disdain she went to take her daughter’s hand. But Isabella snatched it away, clinging to Matilda and dodging behind her out of her mother’s reach. Exasperated, the Countess gave up without any further effort.
‘Oh for pity’s sake, you go with the child if she cares for you so much,’ she snapped. ‘Stay with her and see she behaves. I want no more trouble.’
Her heart beating with excitement, Matilda took Isabella’s hand again and led the way out of the room. Outside she could hear the trumpet calls as the procession lined up to await the King.
St Peter’s Abbey was packed. They walked slowly up the nave between the lofty columns which vanished into smoky darkness high overhead, where the painted colours were still blackened and tarnished by the disastrous fire which had swept the church fifty years earlier. Matilda caught her breath with excitement and unconsciously clutched Isabella’s hand even tighter. The abbey blazed with candles, and every light was reflected a dozen times in the finery of those who had crowded in to hear high mass. The air was giddy with incense.
The King was waiting for them in the choir with Prince John, splendidly dressed, beside him. With them was the tall figure of the King’s justiciar, Ranulf Glanville, who supervised John’s education, and the Earl of Gloucester, Isabella’s father, with the bishops and clergy ranked on either side. The boy John stood quietly, his eyes resting on the tomb of Robert, Duke of Normandy. He looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Never once did he raise his eyes to look at the trembling little girl who stood at his side as the blessing was pronounced. Nor did he look up as the choir burst into a joyful hymn of praise.
Once, though, he looked at Matilda. And she was surprised to see a direct challenge in his blue eyes. Amazed, she stared at him for a moment, not believing she had seen aright. The look had been so quickly veiled. I imagined it, she thought,