‘Yes.’
Leafric was on her lap, gazing up at her as he sucked at the bread, his gummy jaws mumbling like an old man’s. She glanced up at me over the top of his head. ‘And are there the means to pay such a woman?’
I explained about Lady Rosaria. ‘She paid the woman I found for her in Cambridge,’ I concluded. Mattie, I recalled, had told me Jack Chevestrier made quite sure Lady Rosaria rewarded her adequately.
Edild nodded. ‘The smith’s wife had a baby two months ago,’ she said. ‘It’s her fourth, and she has ample milk. I will ask her.’
I didn’t answer. I was watching Leafric, and wishing that the woman who had given birth to him was a little more maternal. A little more loving. Well, that was how it was with rich noblewomen, and nothing I thought or felt would make any difference. ‘What is it?’ Edild asked.
I remembered, then, the other reason for bringing Lady Rosaria to Aelf Fen. ‘Do you remember the woman who took against her baby?’ I asked. I’d lowered my voice, as if I didn’t want poor little Leafric to overhear. Silly, really.
‘Yes.’
‘You helped her.’
Edild sighed. ‘Time helped her, Lassair. As the days and weeks passed, she came to her senses and realized that her little girl needed her.’
‘Then you can do the same with Lady Rosaria!’ I exclaimed. ‘You can do what you did before, and-’
But my aunt shook her head. ‘It’s not the same at all. The woman who bore this child hasn’t been brought up to be a mother, except in the sense that she conceived, carried and gave birth to him. High-born ladies are not expected to have anything to do with their offspring. Child-rearing duties are put into the hands of others, paid for their services.’
‘I know, but-’
‘No, Lassair,’ Edild said firmly. ‘Where is Lady Rosaria now?’
‘Up at Lakehall. She’s trying to trace her late husband’s kin. She says he was from a fenland family.’
‘Then no doubt Lord Gilbert – or, more likely, Lady Emma in conjunction with that reeve of theirs – will help her, and, before we know it, Lady Rosaria and her son -’ she looked down at the baby, one hand gently stroking his head – ‘will be swept away into the bosom of her family, and that will be the last we’ll ever see of her.’ She looked up at me, her expression intent. ‘Don’t get involved, Lassair. She’s not like us, and she lives in a very different world.’
‘So you won’t go and see her?’
‘If Lord Gilbert sends for me because his guest requires my assistance, then yes, naturally I will. Otherwise, no.’
Then she picked Leafric up and put him against her shoulder, rhythmically rubbing his back. ‘Now, I shall go and speak to the smith’s wife. That bread and milk has satisfied him for the time being, but he’ll be yelling again soon if we can’t find him what he really wants.’
She stood up, and I knew the discussion had come to an end. I gazed down at my hands, folded in my lap. I felt very miserable suddenly.
As Edild passed me on her way to the door, she put her hand on the top of my head. ‘Don’t be sad,’ she said softly. ‘He’ll be all right.’ Then she was gone.
I sat there for some time. Yes, Leafric was going to be well-fed and cared for – providing the smith’s wife was willing – but that didn’t necessarily mean he would be all right. His mother didn’t love him: how could he be all right?
It’s the same for all children born into nobility, I told myself. Why, then, was I so disturbed about this particular one? I didn’t think it was personal – although, in truth, he was a very appealing baby – since I’d only known him a matter of days. Sitting there by Edild’s hearth, I tried to analyse my feelings.
And, all at once, I knew what it was.
In my head, I heard Mattie’s voice. He’s sad, she said. He just lies there, staring around, for all the world as if he’s looking for something, and can’t let himself drop off till he’s spotted it. And the look on that dear child’s face! Oh, it fair twists my heart.
Yes. I knew exactly what she meant, and it twisted my heart, too.
What was troubling me so much was that, somehow, I knew this little boy had experienced love. Someone – presumably the nurse who had cared for him on the journey and who now appeared to have left Lady Rosaria’s employ – had shown him what it was to be cared for with tenderness and consideration.
And, bless him, he missed it.
All at once my sorrow at the ways of the world overcame me. I dropped my face into my hands and wept.
I had managed to pull myself together by the time Edild returned. The smith’s wife had agreed to care for Leafric while Lady Rosaria was in residence at Lakehall.
I got up. ‘I’ll go and tell her,’ I said. I couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for the task. ‘I’ll call by to see my parents before I come back,’ I added, wrapping myself in my shawl. When I’m in the village, I live with Edild; besides the fact that I work with her and it’s better to be on the spot, one less body in my family’s home definitely eases the overcrowding.
‘Very well,’ Edild said calmly.
Even if Lady Rosaria appeared indifferent concerning the arrangements for her infant son, others at Lakehall were anxious to hear. Perhaps I did her an injustice; perhaps it was she who had dispatched Bermund to keep an eye out for my return. He ushered me inside the great hall, where Lady Emma sat peacefully sewing beside the fire. She looked up and gave me a smile.
‘I would judge by the fact that you no longer bear a child in your arms, Lassair, that you have been successful?’ she said.
I returned her smile. I like Lady Emma. ‘Yes, my lady. My aunt Edild found a woman willing to act as wet-nurse, and Leafric is with her now.’
‘She’s welcome to come and live here while she is in Lady Rosaria’s employ,’ Lady Emma said. ‘Lady Rosaria may wish to have the baby close.’
I gave a sort of snort of disbelief: it just burst out of me before I could stop it. Lady Emma studied me for a moment, and I thought I could guess what she was thinking. Tactfully, she made no comment. After a short pause, she said, ‘Lord Gilbert and Jack Chevestrier are already thinking how to set about finding the lady’s kinsmen. She is providing what information she can, although it appears to be rather sparse.’
‘Where has she come from?’ I asked. ‘From her colouring and her style, she seems to be a woman of the south.’
Lady Emma gave a graceful shrug. ‘I have no idea. I was not privy to the conversation.’ Again, her eyes met mine, and, from their expression, I would have sworn that her absence from the discussions was entirely her own choice.
I can’t say I blamed her for wanting as little to do with Lady Rosaria as possible.
I said quietly, ‘I am sorry to have brought her here, my lady.’
Again, she shrugged. ‘You had little choice, Lassair. She could scarcely have been left to fend for herself in a Cambridge inn.’ She sighed. ‘Let us hope that Lord Gilbert’s enquiries will swiftly meet with success.’
Then she bent her head over her sewing once more, and I sensed myself dismissed.
I was setting out along the road into the village when I heard running footsteps. I stopped, turning round and saw Jack hurrying after me.
‘You’ve found a wet-nurse, I hear,’ he said. He’d just been running, quite hard, and yet he wasn’t at all out of breath.
‘My aunt did. And I hear that you and Lord Gilbert have been planning how to find the lady’s relatives and dispatch her off to them as fast as you can.’
He grinned. ‘Quite right, although I bet Lady Emma didn’t phrase it exactly like that.’
I waited, not speaking. ‘Well?’ he said after a moment. ‘What is it?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I said. ‘I’m waiting for you to tell me all about her.’
He sighed, falling into step beside me. ‘Not much to tell. She says her husband’s father was a Saxon noble from a wealthy, landowning family, and he left England after the Conquest to set about restoring his fortunes. His name was Harald Fensman, which I suppose we could have surmised, given that her late husband was called Hugo Fensmanson.’