Page 64 of Feathers in the Wind
‘Adam. God go with you,’ she whispered as the tears slid down her face.
As she watched, he wheeled his horse and was gone, his men clattering after him.
‘And what do you think you're doing?’ Mary Hewitson stood in the doorway, holding a candle in one hand and a bowl in the other. ‘Back into bed at once, young lady.’
Grateful for the shadows that hid her face and obedient to Mary's command, Perdita groped her way back to the bed.
Mary stood over her patient with her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t know what it was you said to our commander but he came down those stairs with the very devil in him.’
Perdita looked away. ‘It was ill news.’
Mary sniffed, ‘Aye well, it's none of my business, although if his black humour kills my ’usband it’ll be me he will be reckoning with.’
Perdita looked up at her wanting to reassure her but not finding the words. Adam Coulter had never seemed like a reckless man but she had never seen the wild grief in his eyes before. Tonight he could be capable of anything.
‘Hope you’re hungry.’
Mary passed her the bowl and pulled up a chair. Perdita obediently tucked into the fragrant stew. It tasted good and she realised for the first time in weeks she was hungry.
‘Why did you decide to follow the drum?’ Perdita asked to change the subject.
Mary shrugged. ‘Obadiah and I hail from 't dales. He went a soldiering when the old Lord Fairfax went to't Low Countries and I went with him then. Ten years I've been a soldier's wife, bearing my children in barns or by’t side of the road and I'd not exchange it for that of a farmer's wife.’
Perdita looked at the woman with new eyes, trying to imagine the life of a camp follower and failing dismally.
‘Where are your children now?’
‘Four children I've borne. Two’ve died and t'others live with my sister in Whitby. For all I'd follow Obadiah to the end of the world and back, I'd not have my children along with me.’
‘You must miss them.’
Mary's face softened. ‘Aye of course I do, but I sleep better for knowing they're as safe as can be. Have ye children, Mistress Coulter?’
Perdita shook her head.
Mary Hewitson nodded. ‘Ye’re both young. There’s time. I take it you’ve nought been married long?’
It took Perdita a moment to realise she referred to Adam and the heat rose in her cheeks. For both their sakes, she had to extricate herself from this mess in which she had landed them.
She ignored the question. ‘I’ll be leaving in the morning.’
Mary Hewitson raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh will ye now, and you just out of your sick bed? Anyway enough chatter, lass. You need your sleep and I, mine. Drink this. It will help you sleep.’
Obediently Perdita took the draught Mary proffered and lay down, allowing herself to drift into a deep, black dreamless hole where she did not have to tell the man she loved that the woman he had known all his life as his aunt, was his mother.
* * *
The clatter of horses’hooves and the sound of men’s voices woke Perdita as the first streaks of dawn began to light the sky.
Please let that be Adam, she prayed.
She put a tentative foot to the floor and, relieved to find it stayed solid and unmoving, she padded over to the window. The courtyard had filled with soldiers. Adam’s patrol had returned, and from the wagons that now lined the street, it seemed that his aim to intercept the enemy supply column had met with some success.
Obadiah Hewitson, bare headed, hands on hips, his face grimed and grey with exhaustion, stood in the centre of the courtyard, issuing orders. She scanned the faces but could not see Adam. Her heart lurched. She had to know if he had returned. She could not wait here like a pallid milksop.
A pitcher and bowl stood on the table and Perdita poured some water into the bowl and washed herself as thoroughly as the meagre circumstances allowed. She found her gown, cleaned and pressed, neatly folded on the chair and gave a silent thanks to Mary Hewitson. After she had fought her dull, lifeless hair into some semblance of order, stuffing it beneath a coif, she went downstairs where she found Mary Hewitson alone in the inn parlour.
Mary pushed a plate of porridge across the table to Perdita. ‘You look better today. Nothing like a good night’s sleep to allow God’s healing I always say.’
