Part 65 (1/2)
”Of course it's yours! You know it is. Whatever I did in the past has nothing to do with it.”
He regarded her broodingly. ”Maybe not, but you were already a practiced wh.o.r.e when you came here. You seduced me with sighs and words and gestures, and I believed you knew what you were doing, that there would be no harm in it. I am not in the habit of soiling my own midden.”
”You were as eager as I,” she said sulkily.
”Maybe . . . How come you never got caught before?”
”Medicines, herbs; they are not available here.”
”Then it was either intentional, because you thought my son would never return, and you wished me to keep you as my mistress-”
”It was an accident. Do you think I wanted to spoil my figure on the chance you would accept the child? No: like you I gave way to something I could not help.” She spoke with conviction, and apparently he accepted it.
”Then there are two ways to deal with this-three, if you count being sent home in disgrace. But I shall not do that. Your dowry has been paid, and some of it already spent. The second way is to seek out the witch in the wood, and try one of her potions-”
”I have already tried that. The maid you gave me was pregnant by one of the grooms, so I sent her for a double dose. It worked for her but not for me. Your child is l.u.s.ty, Robert: it wants to live.”
He thought for a moment. ”Then it has to be the third way, and no delay. No one knows about this but us, so let's keep it that way, but I shall want your full cooperation. . . .”
She nodded. ”You have it.”
”Right. The first thing is to get my son to your bed now, tonight-no, listen to me! I will give you a potion that I have sometimes used when my wife has failed to excite me. Make sure he drinks it, and if you cannot tempt him to your bed, then visit his. He will be so befuddled he will not know whether he has or has not performed. He will sleep without memory, but make sure you are there beside him when he wakes. He is a simple man: he will believe whatever you say.”
”And the child?”
”There are plenty of seven-month babes. And he could be away. . . . There are many errands I could send him on.”
”But your wife . . . She would know.”
”She will say nothing. Her only thought is of Gill, what would make him happy. She may suspect, but once the babe is born, she will accept it. And once he, and everyone else, is persuaded he has slept with you then the wedding can take place within the week.”
”The sooner the better . . .” She moved forward and rested her hands on his shoulders. ”You think of everything. I had rather it had been you, but I promise to make your son a good wife.” She was smiling like a pig in muck.
”And your son-our son-will be the next in line, after Gill. Quite something, don't you think?” She leaned forward and kissed him, and I noticed he didn't draw back, but rather folded his arms around her and returned her embrace.
”And perhaps, another time?”
”Get away with you, hussy. . . .” but he didn't sound displeased. ”Remember, my son mustn't suffer over this.”
”Of course not! I am really quite fond of him. There will be no complaints from that quarter, I swear. I know some tricks that even that girl he traveled with would not know-which reminds me: I fancy he became quite close to her, and I would not wish her to distract him from what we have planned. I have caught him looking at her a couple of times as if he were quite ready to disappear with her again-and we can't have that, can we?”
Oh, Gill, you idiot! I thought, shrinking back into the shadows as far as I could go. She is much cleverer than you thought. . . .
”She shall be disposed of, if you play your part. By tomorrow morning I want to see everyone convinced that my son will be the father of your child.”
”Disposed of?”
”An accident, a disappearance: what do you care? No problem. It will be in my interest as well as yours, remember? But first, you must do your part.
Tomorrow I will take care of Winter, or Summer, whatever she calls herself. .
. . Meet me in the chapel in ten minutes and I will give you the potion.”
I started back down the stairs, carefully closing the door behind me, shocked and horrified by what I had just heard. First their arrant duplicity regarding Rosamund's pregnancy: what could I do? Rush and find Gill, tell him what I had heard? I didn't even know how to find him and if I did, would he believe me? I doubted it. Whatever happened, I realized that Gill's dream of running away with me was gone forever. If his father's plan succeeded, by tomorrow morning he would believe he had seduced a virgin, his betrothed, and would be honor bound to marry her as quickly as possible; in cases like these his knightly training would give him no choice, however much he fancied someone else. And had I the right to try and stop it, even if I could? That baby could not be born illegitimate; I was myself, and I knew how it felt, not to have a father and to be jeered at because my mother was a wh.o.r.e. It would be worse in the sort of household Gill's father ran, and I believed both he and the perfidious Rosamund would bring the child up as Gill's. He need never know, and I was sure he would make a good father.
So now the choice I had thought would be so difficult was taken from me.
Why was it that with no decision to make, I now felt a great sense of relief?
Did that mean that what had happened was for the best, that Gill was not, never had been meant for me? I should always remember his declaration of love, I thought, but now I need never discover he would change, or I would as we traveled the roads. It was as if he were dead to me already: I should just remember the best, and nurse a few sentimental regrets.
”Infatuation,” said the Wimperling at my elbow. ”Nothing like the real thing.
You wait and see.”
”What are you doing! You made me jump out of my skin!”
”Just wanted to remind you that we'd better not tarry-yes, I was listening to your thoughts-because I reckon they mean you harm. . . .”
Of course! How could I have forgotten. I had to be got out of the way, and that didn't mean a bag of gold and a lift to the nearest town, I knew that. Headfirst down the nearest well, a stab in the back, perhaps a deadly potion . . . It would have been better to leave right away but I wanted to be sure, quite sure, that there was no chance Rosamund had failed in her plan. I knew in my heart she would succeed, but something within me wanted to twist a knife in the wound already so sore in my heart. Besides, Sir Robert had said he would do nothing until the morning.
During that long night I packed everything securely into two bundles, one for the Wimperling, one for me. The only money we had left were the few coins tossed down for our performance before Gill's miraculous appearance on the first night, but I wasn't worried. The countryside was still full of apples, late blackberries, enough grain to glean to thicken a stew, fungi and mushrooms.
Besides we could always give a performance or two.
The last thing I did was to write to Gill: I felt he deserved some explanation, even if not the true one, and it might also serve to put his father off trying to pursue us. I tore a blank page from the back of my Boke and thought carefully.
”Gill:- I am sorry to leave without a farewell, but it is time I was on my way.
Besides, I hate good-byes. Perhaps I should have confided my hopes to you earlier, but I have not had the chance to speak with you alone. . . .”
That should allay their suspicions, I thought.
”I am going back to Matthew, and will now accept his proposal. It will be a good match for me.”
I paused, flicking the end of the quill against my cheek. Yes . . .
”Please thank your family for their hospitality. I wish you and your betrothed every happiness, and many sons.”
I signed my name ”Someradai” as it had been written in the church register at home. After some thought I scratched out ”Gill” and subst.i.tuted ”Sir Gilman.”
There, that would do. I rolled it carefully and tied it with one of the ribbons Gill's mother had given me. I would leave it on the table.