Camille’s heart lurched. “But my Bear: will he not accompany me?”
“No, my lady. There are other things my prince-”
The Bear growled low, and Lanval said no more.
Camille turned to the Bear and flung her arms about his neck and whispered, “Oh, my protector, will you come if I call?”
A soft whuff was his answer.
“My things,” said Camille, releasing the Bear and turning to Lanval and gesturing at the harness and bundles.
“They will be delivered to your chambers,” replied the man, “though I believe that you will find it quite well-appointed to serve the needs of a lady.”
Up one of the long sweeping staircases Lanval led her, to the balcony above and thence through an archway into a corridor wainscoted in cherry wood with red-velvet walls above. Cherry-panelled doorways stood left and right, some open, others closed. Up a short flight of steps he led her, and turned right and right again, passing through richly carpeted and panelled hallways, all hued in a pale green, to come to a massive oak door, which, unlike the others, had the Summerwood crest thereon. Camille’s heart beat a bit faster upon seeing the symbol, yet she breathed deeply and braced herself for whatever was to come.
“One moment, my lady,” said Lanval, and he opened the door to a dimly lit room and stepped inside. Within instants, light flooded the chamber, and Lanval reappeared. “Your quarters, my lady,” he said, standing aside and bowing.
Hesitantly, she entered, Lanval following after. Into a radiant sitting room they came, and though lamps and candles sat upon tables and stood ensconced along the walls for nighttime needs, all was illuminated by daylight streaming inward through a skylight above, its pull-cord shade now open. But it was the chamber itself that caused Camille to take in a deep breath, for it was luxurious: satins and silks of pale yellow and old gold and rich creams seemed everywhere, on lounges and chairs and love seats and the pillows thereon, though several of those were bright white instead. Filling the air with their subtle fragrance, yellow roses in yellow vases sat upon the oak-wood tables standing against cream-colored walls embellished with a gilded tracery. All was arranged for quiet conversation of pairs and trios and more. Camille saw to the left stood an archway and straight ahead an open door, and they led to rooms beyond.
Discreetly, Lanval showed her about the suite: he escorted Camille through the archway and into a small library with tall, book-laden shelves standing against one wall with a rolling track-ladder for reaching the top. Therein as well sat plush leather chairs and lanterns and candles for nighttime reading-though in this chamber, too, Lanval tugged the pull cord to remove the shade from the skylight high above to let in the light of day. Along another wall sat an escritoire and chair, with trimmed goose quills and an inkwell and blotters and talc and a trimming blade, as well as blank journals and foolscap and vellum and parchment with wax for sealing, all arrayed at hand or on the shelves above should she have the need to write. Camille looked about in wonder, and then stepped to one of the bookshelves and reverently ran her fingers across several of the spines of the leather-bound books thereon and whispered, “Oh, so very many.”
They lingered but a moment, and Lanval then led her through a small doorway and into another shade-managed, skylighted chamber; therein stood a great bed, covered with a yellow-gold, satin spread, with pale yellow silk draping down from the canopy above, the curtains held back by yellow-gold, satin ribbons tied ’round the four massive bed-posts. In this chamber as well were sitting chairs upholstered in yellow satin and cream silk. There, too, sat a wide vanity table and bench, an oval, silvered mirror on the wall above; a silver comb and brush and a hand mirror lay ready for use, with powders and rouges and soft brushes and cloths, and vials of fragrances at hand as well.
Lanval then pointed out the bathing room, with its great stone tub and stone basin chased in gold, and soft towels and facecloths and soaps and gentle bath oils and other such lady’s fare. In this chamber, too, a skylight stood above.
Camille looked about. “Is it all gold and yellow and cream?” she asked. “-The rooms elsewhere, I mean.”
Lanval smiled. “Nay, my lady. Elsewhere the rooms are of green and blue and red and white and other hues of the rainbow. These chambers, though, were intended to be a reflection of the gold of your hair.”
“Oh, my,” said Camille, and she glanced back toward the bedroom and the open doors to the rooms beyond.
Lanval cleared his throat. “My lady, the privy is yon.” He pointed to a curtained archway connected to the bathing room.
Camille stepped to the arch and peered into the skylighted chamber beyond-a goodly sized room with a commode enclosing a chamber pot, and a table with a washbasin and pitcher thereon, along with soap in a dish; shelves and racks laden with cloths and towels and additional bars of soap ranged along the walls; therein, too, sat a lidded bucket for disposal of that which was used. As she surveyed the chamber, Camille could not help but to think back to her papa’s stone cottage, with its burlap curtain on a rough hemp cord and the wooden bucket with its lid.
Sighing, she turned back to Lanval, and from her bedchamber he escorted her through a heavily curtained, gilded, glass-paned door, and Camille found herself on the central high balcony looking down onto the great entry hall below, now empty of all, including the Bear.
Camille turned to Lanval. “My lord-” she began, but Lanval raised a hand to halt her words.
“My lady, no highborn lord am I, but merely the steward of Summerwood Manor. Please call me Lanval.”
Camille sighed. “But I am not highborn either, Lanval, for until a handful of days past, and even still, I was and am nought but a mere crofter’s daughter.”
“Nevertheless, my lady, highborn or low-, you are the betrothed of my prince”-Lanval’s blue eyes did twinkle-“and from what I can discern of thy bearing and manner, he did choose most wisely.”
At the mention of her pledged future, Camille did start, for somehow in the display of all the opulence she had managed to forget entirely the reason she had come to this manor, yet Lanval’s words did jerk her back to reality.
Camille took a deep breath. “When will I meet the prince?”
Lanval looked down at the white marble floor far below, with its granite and malachite inlay. “It may be awhile, for he recently returned from a long journey.” Lanval then smiled at Camille. “You, too, have journeyed far, and must needs bathe and rest.” He stepped back into the bedchamber, Camille following, where he tugged on a yellow silk pull cord and said, “This will summon your handmaid. She is close by in her chamber, or mayhap in the servants’ hall. Regardless, these cords are in each room of your suite, and should you have need, simply pull, and aid will be here in a trice.”
“Handmaid? Oh, Lanval, what need have I for such?”
“My lady, you would not have the prince send her away, would you?”
“Oh, Lanval, would he do so?”
Lanval smiled. “I think not, my lady. Still, you must allow her to do that for which she was… intended. She will attend you, as well as show you the house and the grounds, and will speak of where breakfast is to be found, and other such daily matters. Yet I caution you to not ask of the prince, for he has made it plain it is a matter between the two of you.”
Again Camille’s heart leapt to her throat, for who but a monster or creature of some sort would have all keep silent in matters concerning himself, even unto his intended.
As they returned to the sitting room, there came a soft knock on the outer door, and Lanval called, “Enter!”
An ample young woman in a simple black gown stepped into the chamber. In her hands she bore Camille’s goods, taken from the Bear’s harness. Hastily, she set all upon a small table beside the door, then curtseyed and murmured, “My lady.”