Alys accepted the steaming dish and hurried to the dining room. Lady Marjorie sat in stony silence, her pale hands folded before her as she no doubt prayed to be worthy of the porridge she was about to receive. Alys nearly giggled at the thought, amazed at how brazen she felt this morning. Jeremy had a book open before him, his gaze scanning the page, but he looked up when Alys came in, turning his face in a way that only she could see his smile.
“Thank you,” he said when Alys placed the bowl on the table and offered to serve him.
His wife shot him a look of disdain. She never thanked the servants for anything, accepting their work as her due.
“Is there anything else I can get for ye, my lord?” Alys asked.
“I have everything I need,” Jeremy answered politely.
“Bring more ale,” Lady Marjorie ordered. “And a dish of butter.”
“Yes, madam.”
Alys felt Lady Marjorie’s gaze on her back as she left the room. Was it her imagination, or had the woman looked more hostile than usual? Her pregnancy was not yet obvious, but she had to be about three months gone. Sadly, impending motherhood had done little to soften her razor-sharp edges.
“Alys, please ask Mistress Helmsley to boil me an egg. She knows how I like it,” Mistress Ashcombe said. She was just about to enter the dining room, but her gait was unsteady, and her skin looked yellow and waxy.
“Yes, madam,” Aly replied, wondering if she should offer the older woman her arm. She looked like she might not make it, but Alys had no wish to offend.
“Mother, are you still unwell?” she heard Lady Marjorie inquire as Alys headed back to the kitchen. There was actual concern in Lady Marjorie’s voice, and Alys almost felt sorry for her. A woman needed her mother, no matter how old she was.
Alys didn’t hear Mistress Ashcombe’s reply, but she didn’t need to. It didn’t take a medical man to see that Mistress Ashcombe was unwell and that her illness was not one that would go away in time. Alys only hoped the woman would be spared prolonged suffering.
Chapter 48
As the weeks passed, Alys and Jeremy managed to see each other alone almost daily. Sometimes it was only for a few minutes, but the impossibility of their situation brought them closer together. Alys’s need for Jeremy was like a physical hunger that never seemed to wane. She longed to be near him, to touch him, to hear his voice, and to savor that slow smile that spread across his face when he saw her unexpectedly. In a house where everything played out much like an amateur play in the back of a wagon, Jeremy had to take great care not to betray himself and endanger Alys. But there were times when he simply couldn’t wait any longer to see her.
He called for a cup of beer to be brought to the study and kissed her soundly or asked that Alys dust the books in the library, shutting the door and remaining at her side as she went about her work, talking and laughing with her as if they were the only people in the world and the library was their tiny universe. With Millie back at work, Alys couldn’t sneak out at night to see Jeremy. That would be too much of a risk, especially since Millie needed gossip the way a vicar needed a congregation. Alys and Jeremy did manage to be alone from time to time, availing themselves of the loft above the stables while the grooms and stableboys had their supper in the kitchen and the stables were empty. Their lovemaking was all the sweeter for it since they couldn’t give in to their desire whenever they felt like it. Their trysts took careful planning and utter discretion, since they were always under the watchful eye of Lady Marjorie and Mistress Helmsley.
As a fairly dry October turned into a wet, sullen November, Alys spent much time in Mistress Ashcombe’s sickroom. The poor woman needed nursing and companionship, something her daughter seemed unable to offer. Lady Marjorie cared for her mother, but she wasn’t a woman who was comfortable with illness or the day-to-day functions of the human body. She was only too happy to leave the distasteful tasks to others. Alys had been excused from her other chores to look after the older woman, spending most of her time in the sickroom. She was offered a break when Lady Marjorie came to sit with her mother, once in the morning and again in the afternoon, reading to her from the Bible and talking to her of times gone by.
Those were the times when Alys tried to steal a few minutes alone with Jeremy, knowing she was relatively safe from Lady Marjorie’s piercing stare and not expected to report to Mistress Helmsley. It had grown cold outside and she didn’t own a cloak, but she’d wrap her woolen shawl securely about her shoulders and go for a walk, sometimes toward the granary, where Jeremy would meet her for a few minutes, Duncan at his heels.
They had been together for just over a month, but it felt as if they had been a couple for much longer, their thoughts and feelings unexpectedly in tune, their mutual desire to shut out the outside world allowing them to enjoy their happiness. It was only when Alys retired to her attic bedroom that the worry set in, her mind refusing to back down in the face of countless impediments to a shared future.
Journal Entry
Mother’s health is failing. I pray for her to get better but she’s slipping away from me day by day. Once she’s gone, I
