Bermund showed me into the hall with only the smallest hint of disapproval. I would not go as far as to say he was growing to like me, but then I don’t think he likes anyone, really. It was, I felt, a major achievement that he hadn’t kept me waiting at the bottom of the steps while he went inside to see if it was all right to admit me.
He held out a hand to stop me and walked on towards where Lady Emma sat on a dais at the end of the hall. She, however, had looked up at the sound of our footsteps and was already beckoning to me to approach.
‘Thank you, Bermund, that will be all,’ she said softly to him. Then, addressing me: ‘Good morning, Lassair. You have no doubt come to see Lady Claude.’
It would have been easy to bow and mumble meekly, Yes, my lady. Recalling Edild’s words, I walked right up to her, dipped my head and instead said very quietly, ‘I have also come to attend you, Lady Emma. You are quite recovered from your faint, I hope?’
She looked up at me and smiled. I could see just by looking at her that she was fully well again, for her face had a good colour, her eyes shone and her hair, neatly smoothed back under a thin gold circlet holding in place a fine silk veil, was glossy with health. ‘How very kind,’ she said. ‘I am indeed, although there is a small matter I would discuss with you.’
‘Of course, my lady.’ I swung my satchel down off my shoulder and was about to put it on the floor when she stood up and said, ‘My own little concern is not grave, Lassair; I would prefer it if first you tended to Lady Claude.’ Moving gracefully, accompanied by the swish of silk from the full skirt of her beautiful green gown and whatever she wore beneath, she walked regally across the hall, and I followed. We went through the curtained doorway and up the short flight of stairs, and once again I stood outside Lady Claude’s chamber. Lady Emma tapped gently on the door and called, ‘Claude? Are you there?’
I was not surprised when there was no reply. Lady Claude had made it very clear what she thought of people who lay in bed all morning. I had a very good idea where she would be. Lady Emma walked on up the passage and rapped on the closed door of the sewing room, so sure, it seemed, of an immediate response of Come in that her hand was already on the latch.
I did not want to go back into that narrow chamber with its lurid depictions of sin. I did not want to sit closeted with Lady Claude and breathing the close, fusty air while I asked about her headaches and her insomnia. To be frank, she smelt. Her breath had the faint odour of dead meat, and I suspected that lack of fresh air and exercise had resulted in a sluggish digestion. I had herbs that would swiftly relieve her constipation, but I hesitated to offer them unless she mentioned her complaint, and I did not think she would. Besides, she troubled me, and my instinct was to get away from her. That, I told myself very firmly, was no attitude for a healer. I recalled how she had been yesterday in the churchyard, standing by the grave of her dead seamstress, rigidly controlling her distress except for those tell-tale glances at Sir Alain. She wasn’t so bad after all, I realized. She might appear chilly and distant, but that little moment of weakness had proved that she was human after all.
A smile on my face, I waited to confront my patient.
Having received no answer, Lady Emma knocked again. This time when Lady Claude did not reply, she gave me a puzzled glance and opened the door.
The completed panels still hung on the walls, and I noticed that Lady Claude had stretched a new piece of canvas over the wooden embroidery frame. On it there was an outline of figures. I thought this one must be Envy; a skeletal, mean-faced woman with cruel, narrow eyes was depicted crouched at a doorway, one long, thin arm stretched out towards a plump baby in a crib. The woman’s fingers were curved into hooks, her hand poised over the baby’s round little head. One nail had already made contact, and there was the suggestion of a drop of blood. The image was shocking, its message plain: childless, eaten away by envy of another woman’s child, the woman was about to grab what she so desperately desired.
I turned away from it, sickened.
Ida’s narrow bed had been taken away. Perhaps it was too eloquent a reminder. Lady Claude’s stool stood to one side of the room, around it neat piles of linen and skeins of different-coloured wools. Of the lady herself there was no sign.
‘That’s strange,’ Lady Emma said. ‘Wherever can she be?’
‘Perhaps she is resting in her chamber and did not hear your knock,’ I suggested. It did not seem very likely, but Lady Emma nodded, strode back along the passage and opened the door to Claude’s room. The chamber was as clean and tidy as the sewing room and as empty of inhabitants.
Lady Emma seemed unreasonably disturbed by her guest’s absence. Pregnant women should avoid distress, so I took her arm, gently steered her back down the steps and into the hall and helped her sit down on her grand chair. She was frowning, a deep crease cutting the smooth skin of her forehead. Her hands clutched at each other, and I noticed she was biting the inside of her lip.
‘Lady Claude has probably gone outside to take the air,’ I said calmly. ‘It’s a lovely morning, and I dare say sitting too long over her sewing was threatening to bring back her headache. I expect she’s-’
Lady Emma interrupted me. With considerable force, she said, ‘Claude never goes out! She appears for meals promptly whenever she is summoned, although she eats very little and scurries back upstairs to her sewing as soon as good manners permit. Lord Gilbert and I have repeatedly invited her to join us after supper — we do not wish her to feel unwelcome — but again she excuses herself and insists she must get on with her work. We have suggested that she goes out for a ride, or accompanies me when I take my daily walk, but Claude will have none of it!’ There was a flush on Lady Emma’s face now, and I had the impression she was heartily sick of her uncongenial house guest. I felt very sorry for her. I know enough about the habits of her kind to realize that, if her husband’s second cousin had come for an extended visit, she had no choice but to put on a smile and say, How lovely, please stay for as long as you like! Among the titled rich, hospitality was an almost sacred requirement.
‘Well, she’s gone out now,’ I pointed out, ‘unless she’s hiding in some other chamber of the house!’ I made my tone light, trying to encourage Lady Emma to relax. Her tension was making me anxious for her.
She managed a grudging smile. ‘Not very likely,’ she murmured.
‘Would you like me to go and look for her?’ I offered.
Lady Emma’s mouth opened, and I was almost sure she had been about to protest. In a flash of understanding, I realized it must actually be a relief to have Claude’s awkward presence out of the house for a while. Then she thought better of it and said, ‘Perhaps you should. You have come to minister to her, Lassair, and I would not have it that you had made a wasted journey.’
‘I also came to see you, my lady,’ I reminded her gently.
She turned to me, and I could see from her expression that she was still worrying about Claude. ‘So you did,’ she said absently. ‘So you did. .’
I had been about to ask her if she would like to tell me about the small matter she had mentioned earlier, but I sensed she was too distracted. Well, if she wanted to talk about Claude, why not encourage her?
‘You are plainly disturbed by Lady Claude’s inexplicable absence, my lady,’ I said. ‘Do you fear for her safety?’
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Somebody had strangled Ida; that somebody was still out there somewhere. Was that why Lady Emma was so worried? Because she feared that Lady Claude might also fall victim to the unknown killer?
Lady Emma took my hand impulsively, gave it a squeeze and released it. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘It’s broad daylight out there, and people are working on the water, along the shore and in the pastures on the higher ground. Wherever Claude is, I’m sure nobody’s about to set on her.’