Page 33 of The Lovers
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Elise inquired. “I was just on my way to the kitchen to get a hot brick for her ladyship.”
“Thank you. I don’t require anything. I’ll just sit with my mother for a bit.”
“As you wish,” Elise replied and continued downstairs.
Since Lady Matilda had been ill, Edward had been kinder to Elise. No further mention of her infertility had been made, nor had James visited her chamber. Come to think of it, Elise hadn’t seen James about the house at all. Normally, she caught sight of him throughout the day, mostly when gazing out the window, but she hadn’t seen him for several days. She thought he might come to visit Lady Matilda, the dowager being his grandmother, but Lady Matilda never acknowledged James or spoke of him. Perhaps she had no wish to see him.
Elise kept a stack of heavy damask squares and a small, stoppered vial of vinegar by her bed, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to make use of them, for which she was grateful. She had to last one more month until the sailing, and then she would be free of James, as well as her husband, once and for all. Perhaps once Edward returned to court, she could risk visiting Gavin in Southwark again.
Elise handed the bowl to a servant and extracted a hot brick from the oven using iron tongs. She carefully wrapped it in a thick towel and hurried back upstairs. Lady Matilda’s room was shrouded in darkness since the shutters were kept closed even during the day. The rosy glow of the fire cast shadows onto the great bed and the frail old lady in it. Edward sat next to the bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, his head in his hands. Gone was the fashionable courtier, replaced by a grieving son who suddenly looked years older than his age. Divested of his dark wig and elegant clothes, Edward looked like an old man.
Elise slipped the brick beneath the blankets and pushed it up against Lady Matilda’s feet. They were ice-cold despite two pairs of wool stockings. Her mother had complained of being terribly cold just before she died. It’s as if all the warmth of life had seeped from her body, leaving her a cold husk, ready for the grave. It was a morbid thought, but Lady Matilda looked like an effigy, her face still, like a wax death mask. Elise put her hand on Edward’s shoulder in a gesture of sympathy and he took it and kissed, seeming grateful for the support. He understood only too well what was happening. No amount of leeching or bleeding would help his mother. She was in God’s hands now.
“Go to bed. I’ll stay with her,” Edward said as he released her hand. “But ask James to send for Reverend Blackstock.”
“Is James here?” Elise asked carefully.
Edward raised his face to hers in sudden confusion. “Ah, no, he isn’t. Ask one of the servants, then.”
Elise wanted to ask where James was but didn’t dare. It was no business of hers. She wasn’t even sure why she was curious. As long as he stayed away from her, she was safe. But thoughts of James plagued her that evening.Where did he go, and when will he be back?Elise wondered.What does he do with his spare time? Whom does he see?She knew nothing of his life.
Elise woke with a start when she felt an urgent hand on her shoulder.
“James?” she mumbled. But it wasn’t James; it was Edward.
“Mother’s gone,” he said. “She passed an hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“There was no need. Reverend Blackstock was with her. It was a peaceful passing.”
Elise couldn’t see Edward’s face in the darkness, but his voice sounded teary. He really was distraught.
“May I lie down with you?” he asked.
“Of course.”
Edward climbed into bed and rested his head on Elise’s shoulder just as her sisters did when they needed to be comforted. Elise stroked his hair and held him close until he fell asleep. She tried to go back to sleep herself, but slumber wouldn’t come. It felt odd to have a man in her bed, especially a man who was a virtual stranger to her. She was now used to the feel and scent of James, and she supposed sharing a bed with Edward wouldn’t feel as strange, but he reeked of stale sweat and alcohol, and Elise’s stomach clenched with revulsion.
Elise carefully pulled her arm from beneath Edward’s neck and slid out of bed. The room was cold, and the floorboards were icy beneath her feet, but she couldn’t bear to remain in the same room with Edward. She wrapped a warm shawl around her shoulders, stuck her feet into shoes, and crept from the room. She’d go to the kitchen and see if there was any broth left. She was thirsty and surprisingly hungry. She’d not had any supper at all, and the midday meal was more than twelve hours ago. Elise’s stomach rumbled as she walked down the darkened stairs. She should have taken a candle, but she didn’t want to wake Edward.
The house was silent around her, the boards creaking as she put her weight on them. The pale faces of Edward’s ancestors materialized out of the gloom as she passed their portraits, their gazes seemingly full of malice. The house was forbidding during the daylight hours, but during the night it felt like a tomb. Elise thought of the fresh corpse lying in Lady Matilda’s room. She hoped that the ground was thawed enough to dig a grave, or the funeral would have to be postponed until warmer weather. It would be easier for Edward if he could bury his mother and return to his court duties before too long.
Elise was surprised to see a soft glow coming from the kitchen. Perhaps what she was seeing were the embers from the hearth, but that couldn’t be. Cook banked the fire before she finished for the day for fear of burning the house down, and it was too early for anyone to be up. Elise stood still as the church clock began to chime at St. Martin. It was only three in the morning, hours yet till dawn. Perhaps one of the servants couldn’t sleep and had come down in search of something to eat. Lady Matilda had run the house for years before Elise came, and she was tight-fisted with household expenses. The servants ate poorly, only getting meat when there were leftovers from the master’s table that couldn’t be kept for the next day. They ate mostly pottage, bread,and cheese, and the occasional fish stew. Elise could hardly blame them for pilfering food in the middle of the night.
She walked into the kitchen quietly, so as not to startle whoever was already there. James sat at the wooden table, a jug of wine in front of him. He was awake, but his eyes were glazed with drink. A candle burned on the table in front of him and Elise noticed the moisture on his lean cheeks. He’d been crying. Had he loved his grandmother that much?
James turned slowly toward her, his gaze uncomprehending. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his words slurred.
“I came down for a cup of broth,” Elise replied. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”
“What?” he asked, staring at her.
“I’m sorry about Lady Matilda’s passing,” she repeated.
James shrugged. “She was a nasty old woman,” he replied. “I, for one, won’t miss her.”
“Oh. I thought you were upset,” Elise said as she poured some broth into a pewter mug and held it over the flame to warm it up.
