11

11

Aimee woke the next morning and turned her head to look at the empty space beside her in the large bed. Lord Kentigern had not joined her the previous night. She had not really expected him to, but even so, it was a disappointment. While the loss of her virginity had not been exactly pleasurable, Old Janet had told her that such things improved with practice. But how were they supposed to practice when her husband now shunned her bed?

She washed and dressed slowly, admiring her new canopy which the carpenter had set up the previous day. Her green and gold bedcurtains were now hung, giving the room a cheerful and feminine air. She would buy some matching cushions and place them in her window seat, she told herself, in an attempt to lift her spirits.

Such thoughts did not distract her for long. Again, the uncomfortable reflections that had kept her awake into the early hours flooded back to haunt her. Lord Kentigern had thought he was marrying her sister and not her. It had been the offer of Ursula’s hand that he had accepted, not Aimee’s.

The realization was a blow. After all, Ursula was quiet and discreet, attributes much admired in a wife. Aimee was neither of these things. Would he have turned down the offer of her hand had he known he was being wed to the younger and not the elder sister, she found herself wondering with a sick feeling in her stomach.

Golda’s head peered around the door. “Tailor’s here, milady,” she announced. “I’ve shown him into that small chamber at the end of the passage.”

“The tailor?” Aimee repeated blankly, lowering her hair comb. Then she remembered she had sent a message around to Mr. Fulcher the previous evening. “Oh, of course.” He had responded awfully quickly, she thought with surprise. Although she and Ursula had been good patrons this past two years, she certainly did not remember him responding the very next day to a summons. Then she remembered her new status of Baroness Kentigern.

“Golda, could you please inform Mistresses Margaret and Freda that the tailor awaits them?”

A martial gleam entered Golda’s eye. “I’d be happy to, milady,” she said with relish and disappeared.

Aimee finished arranging her hair and made her way below stairs to break her fast. Five minutes later, a harassed looking Freda came tripping into the dining chamber.

“Oh dear, has the tailor indeed arrived?” she asked, practically wringing her hands at this news.

Aimee looked up from where she was sat. “Does my sister-in-law not wish to engage his services?” she asked calmly. “If so, then my husband’s wishes were made quite plain. You must consult with him instead, Freda.”

Freda bit her lip. “Oh, but I am sure she is merely in need of some persuasion,” she said looking anxious.

“Not from me,” Aimee pointed out wryly. “I doubt there is anything I could say that would induce Magnatrude’s cooperation.”

Such straightforward speech was plainly too much for Freda, who looked quite appalled by her words. “Oh, but she would never mean to give offence to Konrad’s wife,” she said vehemently, two spots of color appearing in her gaunt cheeks.

“If that were the case,” Aimee found herself retorting smartly, “then she would not have rejected my gift out of hand. Neither of you would have.” Aimee pressed her lips together resolutely. She knew one thing for certain and that was that she would be making no more overtures of friendship toward haughty Magnatrude.

Freda looked to be on the verge of tears. “I never – that is, it was not my intent to cause offence, I do assure you, Aimee!”

“What else did you think it would do? To return both gifts unopened?” Aimee asked, genuinely flummoxed.

Freda sniffled. “It was only that – well, it is the bride who should receive gifts from the family she goes into, not the other way around.”

The answer to this was so obvious, Aimee did not feel the need to point it out. Aimee had received no such gifts. She lowered her cup of ale, directing a very level gaze at the nervous woman. “Be that as it may, another such opportunity lies in front of you now, Freda,” she said gravely. “You are free, of course, to similarly reject Lord Kentigern’s gift of new gowns ?–” An involuntary sound of distress burst from Freda’s lips, interrupting her.

“Oh no! I could not possibly do that!”

“Then your way forward must be clear to you,” Aimee told her. “You must walk into the chamber at the end of the passage and consult with the tailor forthwith.”

The color on Freda’s face ebbed and flowed as she considered this. “Yes,” she muttered after an agonized minute or two. “Yes, you are right.” She flung back her head and straightened her narrow shoulders to make for the doorway. Once there, she halted and turned back with an agonized expression. “’Tis only that I should not have the smallest notion what to ask for,” she confessed. “It has been so long since I have had anything new, and I never did have the smallest notion of taste.”

Aimee looked at her with surprise. She had not thought that noble families worried overmuch about such things. After all, no fabrics or trimming were barred to their exalted status, save perhaps for ermine. “Should you wish me to accompany you?” she asked, hesitant to make the offer only to be rejected again.

“Oh yes!” Freda said, turning toward her gratefully. “Oh, would you, Aimee?”

Rather than speak an affirmative, Aimee rose at once from her seat, pushing away the remains of her toasted bread, and accompanied Freda out into the corridor.

They then spent the next two hours with Mr. Fulcher and his two assistants, looking at sample fabrics and discussing the most flattering silhouette for Freda’s tall, rather stooping frame. Mr. Fulcher had been keen to urge a particularly beautifully patterned sleeve, but Aimee had deduced these would only be woven after Freda’s measurements were taken.

“The first gown will need to be made from fabrics you already have woven on your premises, Mr. Fulcher. For Freda has need of it in three days’ time.” As expected, this reduced the tailor to impassioned denials that such a thing was even possible. As Freda held her breath, Aimee alternately soothed him with promises of renumeration and reminders of the many gowns she and Ursula had purchased from him over the last two years.

Mr. Fulcher climbed down off his high horse and grudgingly gave a promise that one finished gown decorated at the neck and cuffs with finger-woven braid would be delivered on the eve of the first day of the tournament. Freda was ecstatic and even shed a tear or two over the news.

They finally settled on an underdress of red silk with a decorated surcoat to be worn over this of a gold and brown pattern. The surcoat had open sides to show the long trumpet sleeves of the gown underneath.

Freda had drifted back upstairs after her measurements were taken, as though she were in a complete dream, leaving Aimee to sort out the details of a second gown to follow at a later date. Remembering the well-worn dress Freda had worn to her wedding, she selected a dark green fabric decorated with silver thread. Aimee had just returned to the main room to take a seat before the fireplace when she was surprised by Freda’s sudden reappearance.

“Mr. Fulcher has just taken his leave, but we can always send Unwin with a message if there was some detail you forgot to mention,” she said looking up.

“Oh, no, no,” Freda said distractedly. “I am sure you thought of everything.” She stood hesitating a moment before coming forward with faltering steps. When she reached Aimee, she thrust out one bony clenched fist. “This is for you,” she said awkwardly.

Aimee blinked at her a moment before opening her palm below Freda’s. The older woman released her fingers, and an object fell into Aimee’s outstretched hand. It was a large silver brooch in the shape of a heart with a hand closed about it. A scroll around it proclaimed ‘Heart be Trewe’, and there were three silver circles at the base of the brooch from which further adornment must have once hung down.

“It used to be a good deal more impressive,” Freda admitted anxiously. “Apparently, there used to be small silver chains that hung down from the bottom with three precious jewels, but the chains were very delicate, and the jewels were lost long before it was given to me.” When Aimee remained silent, Freda pressed on. “I assure you it is mine to give. My grandmother received it on the occasion of her marriage.”

Aimee looked up. “Are you sure you wish to give it now to me if it is a family heirloom?” she asked.

“Of course! Nothing could be more appropriate!” Freda assured her. “My grandmother was bride to a Bartree, the same as you now are. Unless,” she hesitated, “you do not find it congenial to accept my gift, in light of, well –” She broke off her words in embarrassment.

Aimee closed her fingers about the brooch. “I am very happy to receive your gift, cousin,” she said. “But you must now accept one from me also as is the custom of my mother’s people.”

Freda swallowed and nodded, and Aimee made for the oaken cabinet that stood in the far corner of the room. She brought both parcels she had placed there and presented them to Freda. “Which one would you like?”

Freda’s eyes darted to her. “It does not matter? One is for Magnatrude, is it not?”

“It does not signify,” Aimee replied firmly. “Take your pick.”

Lightly, Freda touched the parcel done up with yellow ribbon, and Aimee passed it to her. “Shall I open it now?” the older woman asked self-consciously.

“It is up to you. You can open it in the privacy of your own room if you wish.”

Freda hesitated a moment and then carried the parcel over to the table where she carefully undid the knot of ribbons and revealed a fine long strand of gleaming amber beads. “Oh!” she breathed, lifting them out of the paper. “These are beautiful!” She turned to look back at Aimee over her shoulder. “Are you quite sure that it is alright for me to accept so expensive a gift?”

“Yes, of course.” Secretly, Aimee was pleased that Freda had taken the amber beads which she thought were far nicer than the red coral ones in the second package. “Try them on.”

With hands that shook slightly, Freda slipped the rope of beads over her head. So long was the strand that it extended down to her narrow waist. With careful hands, Freda twisted the beads and looped them once again about her neck until they hung in a double strand. “How does that look?” she asked, turning to show Aimee with a faintly self-conscious air.

“They look lovely.”

With an expression of wonder on her face, Freda examined the round polished beads. “Each one is so perfectly matched in size,” she marveled.

Aimee nodded. “Do you happen to recall the lapis lazuli necklace I wore on the occasion of my wedding?”

“Oh yes,” Freda agreed, nodding. “I remember admiring it excessively. Such rich blue beads.”

“They were from the same merchant. Ursula and I became connoisseurs of beads when Father made his money. As the daughters of a merchant, we were not permitted to wear jewels and furs, but fine beads were not objectionable.”

Freda looked a little disconcerted by Aimee’s frankness. “Oh – er, yes, I see,” she mumbled. “And now, of course, you may wear whatever jewels you so desire. What a pity that the family jewels were plundered during the war.”

Aimee who, prior to this moment, had heard no mention of any family jewels, made no reply. Freda closed the distance between them with three impetuous steps. “Thank you, Aimee,” she said placing her hands lightly on Aimee’s upper arms. She kissed Aimee’s cheek, then looked a little startled when Aimee impulsively returned the gesture.

Clearly, her new kinswoman was not used to physical affection. “Oh dear,” Freda said, pressing a thin hand to the slight swell of her chest. “I fear I must lie down a while before supper. I am almost overcome with all the happenings of this afternoon.”

“Why do you not lie a while on that settle over there?” Aimee suggested, gesturing to a long wooden bench with a high back and sides which had a long cushion almost like a mattress along it. “I can sit nearby and make sure you are not disturbed.”

Freda looked extremely touched by this solicitous offer, and after a moment’s dithering, allowed herself to be shepherded in that direction and arranged onto the bench with her feet up and her head propped against another cushion. Freda closed her eyes with a faint sigh and lay as still as the dead while Aimee stabbed at her embroidery.

Much like her playing of the symphonia, embroidery was a recent pastime that Aimee had adopted since her stay last spring at the Wycliffe’s. As such, it was not something that came at all easily to her. She squinted at it now and wondered if the horse she was attempting did not look rather more like a hound.

Lowering her needle, Aimee glanced over at her new cousin-in-law. Freda did not seem robust, she thought, for she could not be much above forty years or thereabouts. Her untidy hair was an indeterminate shade, but there were no gray hairs present, and Aimee wondered if her husband’s cousin had not suffered from poor health in her youth leaving her rather delicate.

She picked up once more the heavy silver brooch Freda had given her, examining it. It was clearly well-made by a master craftsman, with many fine details. It was a shame that it should show so many signs of ill use, Aimee thought turning it over. The heart showed many dents and dings, and the pretty embellishment that ran along the edges was bent and twisted in several places. She wondered if the jewels Freda had said used to hang from the empty holes had been roughly wrenched from the brooch? After all, the Bartrees had suffered many losses during the late war. Had Freda’s brooch also been a casualty of violence?

A soft tap at the door had her sharply turning her head, but it was only Golda.

“It’s the master, Miss Aimee,” she said and moved aside to make way.

Aimee’s heart lurched, but it was her father who came into the room. She instantly felt annoyed with herself at the instant stab of disappointment she felt.

“Father!” she said jumping out of her seat and running to meet him with an embrace to make up for her unfilial thoughts.

“My Aimee!” he greeted her jovially before looking about. “Why have you not had a fire lit in here?”

“Father, Freda is sleeping,” Aimee cautioned, lifting her finger to her lips, but Freda was already sitting up, bleary-eyed.

“Oh!” Freda exclaimed, swinging her legs over the side of the bench. “Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Ankatel.” She rose to her feet looking rather flustered as she touched a hand to her untidy hair.

“Nothing to forgive,” Gerold assured her heartily. “I like to take a rest myself of an afternoon. How are you, Mistress Freda?”

“So very kind,” Freda murmured distractedly straightening her skirts. “Yes, I am very well, I thank you.”

“Well, well, I am glad to see you keeping my Aimee company,” he said genially as Aimee directed him to a seat. “You ladies are keeping yourselves occupied this afternoon?”

Golda appeared as Freda gave a somewhat incoherent reply and set down a plate of spiced biscuits before them.

“But what is this?” Aimee’s father asked, leaning forward to pick up the silver brooch from the table.

“’Tis a gift from Freda to welcome me into the Bartree family,” Aimee explained when Freda looked rather tongue-tied by the question. Her father regarded Freda with warmth.

“A vastly handsome piece,” Gerold said weighing it in his hand. “Substantial too, it’s really quite heavy. It looks to be incomplete somehow?” He looked across at Freda after examining the holes carefully.

“Oh, er, sadly, yes,” she stammered. “There used to be three matching gemstones suspended from the little holes, but sadly – the – er, the passage of years was such …” she trailed off into an embarrassed silence.

“Well, the fixings are intact, and the brooch could be restored easily enough.”

“Oh, but, Father, it is still a fine brooch as it stands,” Aimee said hastily, not wishing to cause Freda offence.

He pocketed the brooch and tipped her a wink. “You leave it to me,” he said. “We’ll soon have it good as new, and mayhap you can wear it to that tournament you’re so looking forward to. In two days’ time, is it not?”

“Oh, but –” Aimee bit off her words as her father patted her shoulder. She did not know how to explain that an old and venerated family such as the Bartrees did not seem to prize newness as a virtue.

“How very kind your father is, to be sure,” Freda whispered when Gerold took his leave of them an hour later. “I am quite astounded at the thought of his restoring the brooch for you. Never did I think that one day it might be restored to its former glory.”

“You shall not mind, Freda?” Aimee asked.

“Oh no, of course not!” Freda looked quite shocked. “It is a very great honor your father does my gift.” Freda sighed. “I suppose I had better go and check on Magnatrude.” She sounded rather guilty. “I have left her alone for a good deal of the day.”

“It will not be long now until supper,” Aimee consoled her, and Freda’s expression lightened.

“Yes, that is true.” Freda fingered her amber beads distractedly, and Aimee wondered if she would remove them before joining Magnatrude in the oaken parlor. After all, such a necklace was sure to be noticed.

However, when both ladies descended to supper an hour later, Freda was still wearing her new string of beads. She had made a valiant attempt to tidy her hair too, which surprised Aimee, for she had found at least six of Freda’s hairpins strewn across the settle after she had left. A much-abused set of pins they were too, sadly twisted and bent out of shape. It was small wonder they could not hold their mistress’s tresses in place.

Aimee wondered if Freda would accept the gift of some new ones or if that would be too much too soon. She realized by now that Freda’s role was that of poor relation and companion. Freda greeted her shyly as both ladies slid into the same seats they had occupied the previous evening.

“We await Lord Kentigern,” Aimee explained, even as she heard his approaching footsteps in the passageway outside. Turning her head, she instructed Unwin to run through to the kitchens and inform the servants they were ready for their meal. The boy nodded and ran out through the door at the opposite end of the room.