9

9

The next morning, Aimee woke early and lay a good while staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Her husband had not returned to her in the night. She had not really expected he would. It was no good lying huddled away here in her bedchamber, feeling bruised of spirit, she told herself sternly. Instead, she needed to start her day, for she had plenty to do.

She was already out of the bed when she heard Golda’s tentative tap at the door. Aimee washed and chose a simply cut gown, for her day was to be one taken up with household affairs. As her servant was currently working as maid of all duty, Aimee dressed her own hair, piling it into a simple arrangement, first braiding it and then coiling it twice about her head before pinning it in place.

Adding a gauzy kerchief to the top of her head in acknowledgement of her wedded status, she told herself that would have to do. Her looking glass had not yet been unpacked, so she would have to hope for the best. Reaching for her gold chain, she fastened it about her neck, slid two of her jeweled hairpins into her dark hair, and decided she was ready to face the world.

Resisting the temptation to creep down the stairs as quietly as possible, she made her way down the steps with a firm, determined tread. She managed to reach the bottom without bumping into a single soul.

Wondering at what time the new servants would be joining the household, she opened the door to the left of the passageway which led into the dining chamber and entered the large room. From the crumb laden plates upon the table, Aimee deduced someone in the house had already broken their fast.

“Milady,” came a brisk voice from the doorway, and Aimee turned to see Golda bustling into the room carrying a platter of fresh bread.

“Who has already eaten this morn?” Aimee asked.

“His lordship,” Golda admitted. “And gone out. Him and his manservant together.” She pursed her lips.

Aimee swallowed her pride. “Did they say where they were going?” she asked.

“To practice,” her maid responded. “For that royal tournament in four days’ time.”

“Oh, of course,” Aimee responded, feeling a little foolish. She had forgotten all about the summer tournament in the run up to her own nuptials.

“Where are you going, miss?” Golda called after her as Aimee exited the room.

“To fetch another chair,” Aimee called back over her shoulder. She moved too quickly for Golda’s objections to reach her. In any case, she wanted to have enough chairs for herself, Magnatrude, and Freda to sit together that morning. By the time she had returned carrying the chair, Unwin was setting down a platter of roasted fish.

Aimee gave him a quick smile and returned to the cluttered storerooms which currently housed all their furniture. She knelt down beside the first of her wedding trunks and slipped her hand inside to retrieve the two packages she had tied up with ribbon. Hurrying back to the dining chamber, she placed the gifts for her new in-laws next to the two empty place settings and only then sat in her own chair.

Golda re-entered the room with butter and a jug of ale which she set down. “What’s this?” she asked, eyeing the packages with disfavor.

“Gifts for my new sister-in-law and cousin.”

Golda sniffed. “Thought it was customary for them to welcome you into their family.”

“This is a custom of my mother’s people,” Aimee told her quietly.

“Oh,” said Golda, looking chastened, for she knew that Aimee’s mother hailed from lands east of Karadok. She likely would have said more, but at this point, the door pushed open and the servant Ingrid, who Aimee had met the night before, stood on the threshold.

Ingrid nodded her grizzled head. “Morning,” she said in clipped tones.

“Morning, milady,” Golda corrected her sharply. “It seems you have not yet been introduced to your new mistress.”

“Good morning,” Aimee said forestalling Ingrid’s need to answer this incorrect statement.

“Milady,” Ingrid mumbled and bobbed an approximation of a curtsey done by someone with very stiff knees. Likely her knees were stiff at her advanced age, Aimee thought, darting a meaningful look at Golda. Her maidservant seemed remarkably inclined to snatch up cudgels on her behalf.

Ingrid cleared her throat. “They’ll be wanting the butter dish once ye’re done with it and the rest of the loaf.”

“Who will?” Golda demanded, plunking her hands on her hips.

“The Mistresses Magnatrude and Freda,” Ingrid replied impassively.

Golda spluttered indignantly. “There’s only one mistress in this house!” she retorted darkly. “If they want to break their fast, they can haul their carcasses down here to take it like decent folk!” she burst forth angrily.

Aimee placed her hand gently on Golda’s sleeve, silencing her. “It is their wish to take their meal above stairs?” she asked carefully.

Ingrid jerked her chin up in an aggressive nod. “They’s set up camp in that oaken parlor on the first floor,” she admitted, before adding a belated, “milady.”

“Bloody cheek!” Golda burst out. “That’s your own retiring room, Miss Aimee. For you to do your needlework and such! Not for them to set up separate dining quarters.”

“It is of no matter,” Aimee said soothingly. “It is a large house and can accommodate all our needs, I am sure.”

“What will I tell them, then?” Ingrid asked, squinting at Aimee.

“You may present them with the butter dish with my compliments,” Aimee answered slathering a piece of bread and sliding it over to Ingrid. “Now that I am now finished with it.”

“Humph!” snorted Golda hovering at the table like a tigress in defense of her cub. As she had only been in the Ankatel’s employ for some two years, Aimee was a little surprised by her feudal attitude. Ingrid lingered a moment before taking up the bread and butter. She executed another approximation of a curtsey and scuttled sideways from the room, rather like a crab.

Golda muttered something under her breath that sounded venomous.

“What time will the new staff be arriving, Golda?” Aimee asked, thinking a change of subject was in order.

“The gods alone know!” Golda huffed and stalked out of the room.

Aimee took a bite of her bread and butter and hoped devoutly that they would be more even-tempered than the servants they currently possessed. She tarried a while over her simple meal before moving across to the large window. The sky was blue and the sun already shining high in the sky. It felt pleasant to bask a moment in its warmth.

The street outside was quiet, though some folk were already out about their business. Aimee spent a few moments in contemplation before turning from the view with a sigh. Eyeing the brightly wrapped packages on the table, she pondered her next move. What would Ursula advise? She already knew her sweet, grave sister would tell her she had to give Magnatrude and Freda more time. There was still the chance it was mere awkwardness or an excess of formality that had led them to shun her this morning.

After all, they were northerners, and their habits and ways were as foreign to her as her own would be to them. Picking up the packages, she took a deep breath, went out into the hallway, and mounted the stairs. When she reached the first floor, she paused briefly outside the parlor room and knocked. The flow of conversation abruptly halted as she pushed open the door.

“Good morning,” she greeted them politely.

“Oh! Good morning,” Freda twittered. “I – that is – we, hope you are well this morning, Aimee?” she faltered, her eyes darting nervously to Magnatrude.

“I am, thank you. I hope you spent a pleasant night’s sleep?” Aimee enquired.

“Oh, I did! Most pleasant!” Freda enthused, but her anxious gaze was still on her cousin and not Aimee. “Such a comfortable house, I have never slept under the eaves of one so newly built. Such large chambers,” she exclaimed. “Konrad is to be congratulated.”

“Did you see him this morn?” Aimee roused herself to ask when she realized that Freda’s babble of conversation had dried up. “Before he went to practice for the tournament?”

“Oh no!” Freda looked shocked. “I am sure my cousin is far too busy for womenfolk before midday.”

Aimee forced herself to walk into the room without waiting for an invitation which would not come. This was her house, she reminded herself. To feel like a trespasser in it would be foolish. “I have here a token for you both,” she said with a smile, setting a package down first by Freda’s plate and then one next to Magnatrude’s. “My mother hailed from Samare,” she explained. “Among her people, it is a custom for the bride to give gifts to the womenfolk in her new family. I hope you like them.”

Freda’s mouth formed an unspoken ‘oh’, but she did not speak it, merely sat with a look of frozen embarrassment. Aimee wondered if that lady started every sentence with the same exclamation. It certainly seemed that way. She glanced at Magnatrude, realizing that proud lady had not uttered so much as a word to her so far.

Magnatrude roused herself at this point, seeming to realize some conversation was required of her. “You are quite the bountiful lady, are you not?” she said in her deep, low voice, and Aimee felt herself coloring. The way Magnatrude uttered the words seemed vaguely accusatory.

Freda coughed. “Your mother’s people hailed from Samare, you say?” she said nervously. “That would explain your black hair, my dear.”

“Yes,” Aimee agreed.

“And Ursula is your full-blood sister?” Freda continued rattling on. “Only she does not seem so dark in her coloring as you.”

“She is, yes,” Aimee answered, though she suspected Freda’s chatter stemmed more from a desire to fill any awkward silences than a real interest in her family. “She takes after my father whereas I favor my mother’s side.”

Freda nodded. “So interesting!” she said, nodding her head. Aimee lingered a moment hopefully, but as nothing more was forthcoming, she set her hand on the door.

“I will bid you good morning, then,” she said. “I believe I will spend a good deal of today unpacking, but you should be able to find me easy enough if you should desire my company.”

“Oh, yes, my dear!” Freda said in a rush. “I’m sure we wish you a most pleasant day!”

Aimee made her way downstairs feeling a little baffled. It seemed the ladies of the household were not keen to merge into one party. She wondered for a moment what they intended to do with themselves all day and then banished the matter from her mind. After all, she had made it plain she would welcome their company, and it was now up to them to take her up on her invitation, or not, as the case might be.

As she approached the foot of the stairs, she heard voices in the hallway she did not recognize. Quickening her step, she glanced down to see Golda having a spirited conversation with a burly looking man in a yellow tunic.

“Milady,” Golda called. “This is the new servant your father employed on your behalf. His name is Matthews.” Matthews shuffled about to face her and performed a clumsy bow.

“Good day,” Aimee greeted him. “We are glad you have come, there is much furniture to cart about the house. Has Golda showed you where it is all piled up?” Without waiting for his reply, she made her way to the first of the two doors and threw it open, showing the abundance of furniture within. “You see?”

Matthews cleared his throat. “I see, milady.”

She opened the second door to show him, and he nodded again, rather mournfully.

“I’ve sent the new cook along to the kitchen to make a list of all his needs,” Golda told her. “He won’t be pleased to see it so poorly equipped, but he’ll have to make do!”

“What was his name?” Aimee asked.

“Stirling, milady.”

“Is that all of us, then?” Aimee asked with interest.

“The maid of all work did not show up,” Golda answered sounding chagrined. “We will just have to make do with Unwin for now.”

Aimee nodded and firstly set Matthews to carry up her two wedding chests. “They are to go into the two largest bedchambers on the third floor. One for each room.”

Golda bristled at this. “You will surely be wanting both of those in your room, milady!” she protested.

“One for each room,” Aimee insisted. “One for my husband’s room and one for my own.”

“Do ye have a preference as to which one?” Matthews asked, scratching his head.

Aimee glanced from the lavish decoration of the bridal procession to the one of succulent fruits. “It is of no matter, for I like them both. Then I want these two matching chairs with the carved arms to go in his lordship’s chamber along with this studded trunk.” She moved from each group of stacked furniture directing where in the house they were going to go. The simple wooden benches were for the kitchen. The highbacked chairs with the rush inserted seats were for the dining chamber. The seats with the arched backs were for her own room. Matthews nodded and set about his work at once.

When Golda looked as though to leave them, Aimee forestalled her. “What about your own room, Golda, and the rest of the servants?” she asked. “Is there anything we need to send for?”

“There was a bunch of new palette beds in the attics, milady,” Golda said shaking her head. “We’re adequately provided for.”

“You and Unwin have everything you need? Have you allocated rooms for the rest of the servants?”

Golda nodded. “Ingrid has the small room between her mistresses. Jakeman is up in the attics though he has his own separate room. Stirling and Matthews will have to share.”

“Jakeman?” repeated Aimee. She did not think she had heard that name.

“That is his lordship’s manservant.”

“Oh, I see. And you are happy with the room you have?”

“Oh yes, Miss Aimee,” Golda said relapsing to her former title. “Most happy. I’m tucked in the farthest corner of the third floor. A little room facing the back of the house.”

Aimee nodded. “And Unwin? He will not be nervous up in the attic with all these newcomers?”

Golda hesitated a moment. “Unwin is in with me at the moment,” she said after a slight pause. “He’s a nervous lad and needs his –” she broke off. “My support,” she stressed carefully. “Soon as he’s ready he can go up and join the menfolk, but not before then.”

Aimee was a little surprised that brusque Golda, who had been so fierce to defend the boundaries of her duties as lady’s maid in her father’s house, should now be willing to share her quarters with a former stable lad. She nodded. “I’m sure you know what is best,” she murmured.

Aimee returned to the Great Hall and drank a cup of ale before she climbed the stair again to the third floor. As she reached the top step, Matthews came out of Lord Kentigern’s room and nodded to her. “I’ll fetch the other trunk now, milady,” he said and started down the stairs. Aimee took a deep breath and walked into her husband’s bedchamber.

Matthews had set the handsome wedding chest under the window, and glancing about the room, Aimee saw the bed had been straightened and the wash basin emptied out of the window. She wondered if that was the handiwork of the elusive Jakeman, for somehow, she could not imagine her husband tarrying to tidy his bedclothes after he had arisen.

Thoughtfully, she made her way over to the chest and unfastened it to start unpacking all of the purchases she had made for her married life. She spent a good hour unpacking only the first of the trunks. At the very bottom, she found the particolored gown she’d had commissioned using the colors of Lord Kentigern’s crest.

The robe was formed of sections of alternate blue and yellow satin with the portcullis motif emblazoned right across the chest. Aimee admired the garment prodigiously, though when she had declared she would wear it to watch her husband compete, her sister had looked at her a little askance.

“It’s just that – the daughter of an earl can wear something that will not draw even a murmur whereas the daughter of a merchant …” Ursula had let her words trail off, and Aimee had shrugged off the comment. Very likely the gesture did lack subtlety, but Ursula was so reserved and Aimee, quite frankly, was not. Aimee added the gown to the pile of things designated for her own room.

The very last item in the trunk was a gift for her groom, a doublet of burgundy brocade studded and decorated with velvet covered buttons. She laid this on the large scarlet bed for him to see and then closed the trunk and made her way to her own room, carrying her pile of things. On arrival, she found the second trunk had been placed at the foot of her bed and set about unpacking it at once.

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Matthews and another man with the first of the large carved cabinets she requested for her chamber. This must be the cook, Stirling, she realized. She directed them to the spot she wanted it set down in, and they shuffled off to fetch the second one. Aimee found the small velvet pouch she had been looking for which she had rolled up in the toe of one of her stockings.

She did not open the drawstring bag, but instead went on her tiptoes and secreted it into a small hidden recess in the top of the wooden cabinet. A master craftsman had made the piece of wood that fitted into place so well that the join was scarcely discernible to the eye. Indeed, even the grain of the wood seemed a perfect match.

She had no sooner sealed up the hidey-hole, then she heard a soft scratching on the door. “Come in,” she called out, and Unwin’s head peered around the door. “Good morning, Unwin.” She smiled at the boy. “What have you there?” He came carefully into the room, balancing a tray against his hip. “Is that for me?”

When he stood mute in the doorway, she gestured toward a small table, and he set the small jug of ale and dish of fresh figs and nuts down there. “Thank you, that looks delicious.” Unwin gave a hurried bow and scurried from the room under Aimee’s rueful gaze. She would just have to trust that Golda was right and give the boy time, she supposed. The same way that she needed to with her husband.