His face intent, he said, ‘Watch Zarina for me.’
‘I will!’ I replied. ‘Only, I’ve got to get back to Edild’s quite soon, like I said, because-’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t mean right n-now. I meant, watch out to see how she copes with Derman’s absence. Whether she goes on being as distressed as she is now, or whether-’ He stopped, shaking his head.
I did not understand. ‘But you’ll probably find him this morning, or else he’ll come home by himself!’ Even as I said the words, I did not believe them. ‘Or perhaps not,’ I muttered.
Haward opened his mouth to speak, then, with a glance over his shoulder towards the house, took my arm and led me away along the path. Whatever he wanted to say, I knew it was very important. I waited, dread flooding through me.
‘Lassair, Zarina will not m-m-m-marry me,’ he said in a harsh tone, struggling so hard over marry that his face went dark red. ‘I know she loves me, and I certainly l-love her, b-b-but she will not inflict D-D-Derman on our family.’
I stroked his arm, trying to soothe him. ‘I know,’ I murmured. ‘She told me.’
I don’t think my brother was listening. ‘Sh-sh-she says he is not c-capable of killing anyone,’ he went on, ‘b-but he was missing on the m-morning the girl was found dead, and we all kn-kn-know he was sweet on her. If she rejected him, wh-who’s to s-s-s-say how he’d react?’
Haward stopped speaking, his eyes intent on mine. Clearly, he did not want to put it into words, but I had no such compunction. ‘You mean he might have been so angry and frustrated that he killed her. That’s why I found him weeping, and that’s why he’s run away. Because he realized straight away what he’d done and could not face us?’
‘Or because he knew he would be hanged for her murder,’ Haward said harshly and with no trace of a stammer. I understood then the depths of his resentment and perhaps even hatred for Zarina’s brother.
I took in the implications of what my brother had said. If Derman had murdered Ida — and my head told me it was quite possible — then once he was found, he would be tried, convicted and punished. Then he would be dead, and Zarina could marry Haward.
I stared into Haward’s eyes. I could not believe that my beloved brother, gentle, peace-loving, kind-hearted, good Haward, would wish anyone to hang, even the impediment to his happiness that Derman was. Haward just wasn’t that cold and selfish, that he would wish another’s death so that he could get what he wanted. Even if that other person was a murderer. .
I had to ask. ‘Do you hope you find him?’
I thought he was going to say yes. For a moment, I really believed Haward was going to act so out of character that I’d hardly recognize him. But then the uncharacteristically hard expression left his eyes. His shoulders sagged and he said, ‘No. Of course I don’t. I hope he runs so far and so fast that we never catch him.’
I realized then why Haward wanted me to watch Zarina. He wanted to know how she would feel if her brother didn’t come back. And I think he already had a very good idea. .
I walked slowly back to Edild’s house, so many thoughts and impressions warring inside my head that I was back there before I knew it.
‘I’ve been to see Haward,’ I said by way of explanation.
She nodded. There was no need to explain. ‘The search resumes?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
As if she fully understood Haward and Zarina’s terrible dilemma — well, undoubtedly she did — she muttered, ‘Poor, poor things.’ Then she fixed me with a determined look and said, ‘A messenger came from the hall. You are to go up there and tend Lady Claude.’
‘Me?’
‘You.
‘But — it’s the hall, and you’re the healer!’
‘You, too, are skilled, adequately so for what is required.’ Her face softened a little and she added, ‘They did in fact ask for me, but I cannot go. I have to tend a nervous new mother who needs urgent reassurance that her baby girl is not going to die, as well as a lad with a very painful boil that has to be lanced and a case that I suspect is quinsy, for the man can barely breathe.’
‘What’s the matter with Lady Claude?’ I ran my eyes over the contents of my leather satchel, waiting for my aunt’s reply before deciding what remedies and potions to add.
Edild said, ‘She has a headache, and she cannot sleep.’
I reached for feverfew, wood betony and lavender, out of which I would make an infusion for the headache. I always carry lavender oil, which I would mix with almond oil as a massage for the brow and temples, if the lady would allow it. In our herb garden Edild and I had a patch of wild lettuce that had gone to seed; I would make a preparation that would have Claude sleeping like a baby tonight.
Edild watched as I came back inside, carefully wrapping the lettuce before stowing it in my satchel. She said, ‘Remember that the body exhibits its inner state in external symptoms.’
I understood; it is one of her most frequently-repeated maxims. She believes that disturbances in the mind bring about aches, pains and sickness in the body. I don’t understand how this can possibly happen, but she is my teacher and I deeply respect her wisdom and experience. ‘I am to question her and see if anything is troubling her?’ I asked.
Edild sighed. Sometimes I feel I have a tremendously long way to go before I am anything even approaching a healer. ‘You know something troubles her, and you also know what it is,’ she said patiently.
‘Her seamstress is dead, and she feels bad because it was she who brought Ida here to the hands of her killer,’ I said.
‘Yes. And?’
‘Her initial reaction, which she made the mistake of speaking aloud, was regret at the loss of a fine needlewoman, and she probably feels bad about that too.’
‘Good,’ said my aunt. ‘Now, off you go. The lady is waiting.’
Lady Claude had taken to her bed. On announcing myself at Lakehall, I was ushered inside, across the wide hall and through a curtained doorway on the far side. A short stair led up to a bedchamber; Lord Gilbert was clearly advanced in his domestic arrangements and liked to offer his guests a room for the use of themselves and their personal servant, for there was but the one bed in the chamber, with a truckle bed tucked away beneath it where the servant slept.
The bed was high, the sheets were fresh, crisp linen. The occupant was dressed in a high-necked linen shift, beautifully sewn, and her head was bare. She was lying back on her pillows regarding me through half-closed eyes. She beckoned to me, and I approached, dropping a swift courtesy. Her short hair, I now saw, was of an indeterminate, light-brown shade, fine in texture, thin and lying flat on her head. I studied her face. She had been pale before, but now she looked grey, her eyes sunk deep in her head. I felt her pain coming off her in waves, and instinctively I summoned my defences. It was not that I wasn’t sympathetic — far from it — but I would be no help to her if I, too, collapsed with a similar, agonizing pain.
Without asking, I put my hand to her brow, my open palm hovering a finger-joint’s length over the skin. Left temple, left side of forehead, right side, above the eyebrows, up in the hairline, right temple. Yes. I had felt the heat of the pain as my hand hovered over Claude’s left eyebrow but, as Edild had taught me, I covered the whole area before I began the treatment, in case the malaise was centred in more than one place.
I had asked the man who showed me in to bring hot water, and he had quietly slipped into the chamber and put a big, steaming jug on the floor, together with a mug. Now I selected the herbs from my bag, mixed them in a strong potion, tied them in a little cloth of fine linen and set the bag to steep in a mug of hot water. Then I poured almond oil into the small clay dish that I carry in my satchel, dropping in lavender oil and mixing it well. Returning to the bed, I said very quietly, ‘My lady, have I your permission to soothe your poor head?’