Music of the Distant Stars Page 7

  ‘When did she come to Lakehall, Sir Alain?’ I asked meekly.

  He smiled down at me. ‘When did she come?’ He appeared to have to think about it. ‘Let me see, it must have been a month ago – perhaps a little less.’ I thought I had got away with it, but then his eyes narrowed slightly and he said, ‘Why?’

  I had prepared an answer. ‘Oh, I was just wondering why we in the village didn’t know she was there. Sometimes when Lord Gilbert has important guests, some of us are summoned to serve them in some way. But Lady Claude was here to work on her trousseau, and she brought her own seamstress with her, so had no need to call on any of us.’ I gave him my best ingenuous, wide-eyed, not very bright look, hoping he’d take me as a simple village girl who had taken a hopeless fancy to him.

  He did. He was, as I’ve already said, a flirt. He had been astute enough to ask why I wanted to know when Lady Claude had arrived, but, like many attractive men, he was susceptible to a young woman’s admiration. He was still looking at me and so, maintaining the pretence of the smitten young maid, I gave him a shy little smile and modestly lowered my eyes.

  I had learned what I wanted to know. Ida had already been pregnant when she’d come with her mistress to Lakehall.

  ‘You must understand about Lady Claude,’ Sir Alain was saying. ‘She dearly wanted to be – that is, her life has not taken the course she originally envisaged. Dutiful daughter that she is, she has bowed to the wishes of her mother and agreed to marry me.’ He hesitated. ‘Both our families greatly desire this union.’ And Edild and I both knew why, even if Sir Alain did not explain. ‘Lady Claude—’ Again he hesitated. Then his words emerged in a rush, and I knew what he was trying to do. ‘She brought Ida here to her death. She feels so very guilty. If she sounded unfeeling back there –’ he nodded in the direction of the hall – ‘it’s only because of the shock of what has happened and her quite natural sense that, had she not selected Ida as her seamstress, the poor girl would still be alive.’

  As an apology for the lady, it was well reasoned, and I ought to have been convinced. My estimation for this man rose considerably, for he was gallantly defending his future wife’s actions. More than that, he had agreed that she would be his wife, yet all that I had seen of the two of them – admittedly not much so far – shouted out that they were vastly different people and their chances of happiness slim. Still, as I well knew, people in their level of society married for many reasons, and love rarely featured at all.

  I was unconvinced by his words, though, because I had also heard what Lord Gilbert had to say of his cousin. I had formed a clear and not very flattering impression of a purse-mouthed woman who treasured her precious linens above the comfort of her sewing girl, forcing Ida to sleep locked away in the sewing room to guard them. And, of course, I had met the lady. Whatever Sir Alain might say, I had already made up my mind about Lady Claude.

  I became aware that Edild was speaking, saying something courteous and, I thought, insincere about Lady Claude’s distress and its cause, and offering her professional help if it became necessary. I made myself listen.

  ‘That is very kind, Edild,’ Sir Alain replied. ‘I will pass on your offer to Claude.’ He fell silent, frowning, then said, ‘I wished to speak to you concerning the simpleton who has been dogging Ida’s footsteps.’

  My heart gave a lurch, and I could feel its hard, fast pounding right up in my throat. All my terror for Derman, for Zarina, for my own family, came surging back. It was all the more powerful because Sir Alain’s well-meaning defence of Claude’s behaviour back in the hall had allowed it to fade to the back of my mind. My awful suspicion that Derman might be responsible for Ida’s death would surely be visible in my eyes, so I kept them down and surreptitiously eased my kerchief forward over my face.

  ‘Simpleton?’ Edild echoed the word, making it plain by her tone that she queried its use.

  Sir Alain waved an impatient hand. ‘I do not know what you would call him,’ he said tersely. ‘He’s a big lad, shambling gait, large head, loose mouth. Little intelligence, so they say.’

  ‘He is an unfortunate who was born lacking wits,’ Edild said coolly. ‘He is in the care of his sister, who lodges with a village washerwoman. He helps with some of the heavy work. His name is Derman.’

  She did not say, as I’d hoped she would, he is quite harmless. Oh, perhaps she, too, had her suspicions . . .

  ‘Derman,’ Sir Alain repeated. ‘Well, it appears that your Derman fell for Ida. I am told that he saw her out collecting wild flowers and followed her back to Lakehall. That was two or three weeks back, and since then he has appeared regularly at the hall, lurking outside the gates in case Ida should appear. He makes – he used to make little posies for her, clumsy things of a few grass stems woven together with a couple of flowers stuck in. He’d leave them outside the kitchen door, although oddly enough nobody ever saw him there or worked out how he got in without anyone noticing him. Both the courtyard gates and the smaller, rear entrance behind the kitchen are always watched in the daytime, then locked and bolted at night.’ He shot Edild a glance. ‘He is sly, your unfortunate.’ He emphasized the word she had used.

  Edild did not speak for some moments. Then she said calmly, ‘If, as you say, Derman had fallen in love with Ida, then surely you cannot be suggesting that he harmed her in any way?’ She managed to make the suggestion sound quite absurd.

  Sir Alain had the grace to look abashed. Then, rallying, he said, ‘The man is not like the rest of us. How can anybody say what he would or would not do? If he felt Ida had rejected him, he might well have attacked her.’

  Edild shook her head firmly. ‘I think not, Sir Alain.’

  He muttered an oath. Then, grabbing both Edild and me by the arm, he urged us on towards the village. I knew where we were going, and my heart started hammering again. I wished there was some way I could rush on ahead and warn them, but, as if he knew my intention, he held me fast.

  Inexorably, the distance between us and the humble little house of the washerwoman grew less.

  Sir Alain banged on the door – which, it turned out, was ajar and not fastened. It fell open at his pounding, revealing a small room crammed with a disorder of objects, with a narrow bed in one corner and a cot opposite the hearth. Both beds were too small for a big man like Derman, and I guessed that he slept in the lean-to on the side of the house. He would bluster about in this confined space like a maddened bull, knocking over the cooking utensils, the crudely-made stools, the bundles of kindling beside the hearth, the display of personal possessions beside the bed in the corner. The cot was the only orderly space in the room, and I knew instinctively that it was where Zarina slept.

  There was another little door at the rear of the room, and it, too, was open, giving on to a narrow path that wound away to the water’s edge. I could see two figures out there: on the bank was the rounded shape of the washerwoman, kneeling down and rubbing hard at whatever item was receiving her attention, her large bottom up in the air. I could hear her humming to herself as she worked. The other figure was slim, straight-backed, graceful, and walking up the path towards the house.

  We all stared at Zarina, and she stared right back.

  She wore a gown of the coarsest cloth, and over it she had tied a sacking apron. The hems of both gown and apron were soaking wet, and there were splashes all over her front. Her hands were red and raw; in places the flesh had cracked open. I could not see that detail just then, but I knew all about Zarina’s hands. I made the remedy myself.

  Her throat rose gracefully from the rough neck of her gown. Zarina always holds herself like a dancer, and just one look at her reminds you of her past, when she lived and worked with the troupe of entertainers. Her luscious hair was wound in a plait and pinned on top of her head; rarely among us, she never covers her head. Her golden eyes and her fine-boned face were illuminated by the sunlight, her firm, pale-oak skin glowing from her exertions.

  I thought she looked lovely. Sir Alain�
�s sudden indrawn breath suggested he thought so too.

  Zarina came into the house and deposited the bundle of dry, folded linen she was carrying on to her cot. She greeted me, nodded to Edild and looked enquiringly at Sir Alain. He took a step towards her and said, ‘Your name?’

  ‘I am called Zarina.’ Her voice was quite deep, her tone assured.

  ‘You have a brother, Derman?’

  She hesitated. Then she nodded.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  Sir Alain muttered a curse. ‘But he lives here, or so I am told.’ He looked around.

  ‘Derman does indeed live here,’ Zarina said. ‘He sleeps in the lean-to.’

  ‘So where is he?’ Sir Alain repeated. He sounded angry.

  Zarina raised her chin. ‘I have not seen him since yesterday evening.’

  Was she telling the truth or was she trying to protect her brother? I searched her face, trying to decide.

  ‘Explain.’ Sir Alain’s single word bit through the tense atmosphere.

  ‘Derman went to bed as usual yesterday evening after supper. We eat and retire for the night early, for our day’s work is hard. This morning he did not appear for breakfast and so I went to call him, thinking he had overslept. He was not there.’

  ‘His bed had been slept in?’ Sir Alain demanded.

  Zarina shrugged. ‘It is hard to say. Probably, yes.’

  ‘So he ran away some time during the night . . .’

  Quick as a flash Zarina pounced. ‘Who says he has run away? All I said was that I had not seen him today.’

  He stared at her, after a moment grunting his agreement. ‘Very well. If he comes back, I want to see him. You can find me up at Lakehall. I am Alain de Villequier.’

  ‘I know who you are, sir,’ Zarina replied levelly. ‘When my brother comes home, I will send word.’

  I had to admire her. She had neatly altered if to when and, by saying she would send word, she had subtly implied that she had no intention of presenting either herself or her brother to Sir Alain at the hall.

  Sir Alain seemed about to speak. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d issued a harsh reminder of his and Zarina’s relative places in the hierarchy. Apparently thinking better of it, he spun round, ducked under the doorway’s low lintel and strode away.

  Zarina maintained her straight-backed pose until he was out of sight. Then she fell into my arms.

  Edild watched as carefully I helped Zarina to her cot, sitting down beside her, her hand in mine. Then she said, ‘Where is he, Zarina?’

  She shook her head. ‘Truly, I do not know!’

  ‘But there is something you do know that you did not reveal?’

  Zarina met her eyes. ‘Of course!’

  Edild smiled faintly. ‘Go on.’

  Zarina’s hand was clutching convulsively at mine. Her grip was strong, and it hurt. ‘Lassair brought him home early yesterday,’ she said. Edild shot me an accusing glance, and I recalled that, what with everything that had happened, I’d forgotten to tell her. Or maybe something in me had stopped me, as if the fact of explaining to Edild where I’d found him and what I suspected made what I feared more real. ‘He’d been crying,’ Zarina was saying. ‘I gave him some food, then tried to find out what had upset him. He refused to tell me at first, then he started sobbing and saying something about a dead girl and how she was lying in the grave, and then he began this awful howling, as if he were in pain, and I made him drink some of that stuff you gave me.’ She looked up at Edild, and I guessed she was referring to a sedative of some sort. It would be useful to have a sedative if you had to deal with a big, strong child-man like Derman.

  ‘He slept then?’

  ‘He dozed, but he was very restless. Then he got up and came to help me till it was time for dinner. He ate a bit, although not much, then he went to bed.’ She stifled a sob. ‘That’s the last I saw of him.’

  Edild now crouched down so that her eyes were level with Zarina’s. ‘A young woman is dead,’ she said gently. ‘Her name was Ida, and she was a seamstress working for a relation of Lord Gilbert’s, who is staying with him up at the hall. It’s said that Derman took a fancy to Ida, that he used to lie in wait for her and left her little offerings. He—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Zarina said calmly. ‘Well, I knew there was someone, although I didn’t know who. I’ve talked it over with Haward and his mother. They’re both very worried too.’

  Edild’s eyes bored into mine. I could hear her voice in my head: something else you didn’t see fit to tell me! I was going to have quite a lot of explaining to do. Then, turning back to Zarina, she said, ‘Where do you think he has gone? Is there any place you know of where he goes if he’s upset?’

  Zarina shook her head. ‘It’s very unlike him to venture far away from me,’ she said. ‘It’s how I guessed about this girl he fancied – because he started disappearing. I followed him one day and spotted her, and when I challenged him he admitted it.’ She shook her head again, more slowly. ‘All I can think of is that he’s gone to the places he used to see her. Maybe he doesn’t understand she’s dead and is trying to find her. I was going to go and look, soon as this lot’s done.’ She indicated a basket of dirty laundry awaiting her attention.

  Edild rose to her feet. ‘We will go, Lassair and I,’ she announced.

  Zarina looked up at her, gratitude flooding her face. ‘Will you? That’s most kind, and I’m very grateful.’ I made as if to rise, but she clutched my hand. ‘Wait!’ she hissed.

  ‘Edild, I’ll catch you up,’ I said to my aunt. She raised a questioning eyebrow but, bless her, did not object. I watched her walk away, then whispered, ‘What is it, Zarina?’

  ‘I’m very worried, Lassair!’ she whispered back.

  Shocked, I said, ‘You really think he could have harmed Ida?’

  ‘No, no, I know he couldn’t have done any such thing!’ Her protest was heartfelt, but then she was his sister and had apparently spent her life looking after him.

  ‘What is it that worries you, then?’

  She sat quietly for a moment, staring into the distance. Then she said, ‘You know Haward wants to marry me?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m very glad,’ I replied.

  She smiled. ‘Thank you. But it’s not as simple as him asking and me saying yes. There’s Derman.’

  Yes. There was Derman. ‘What does he think about the marriage?’

  ‘He’s not—’ She stopped herself. I don’t know why, but I had the distinct impression she had just bitten back something very important. Then instead she said, ‘Lassair, because of Derman I can’t marry Haward.’

  Whatever she had been about to say, it couldn’t have been worse that what she did say. Horrified, I protested, ‘But he loves you! He really does, Zarina, and you’re the only woman who’s ever really loved him back! You—’

  She put up her hand and gently laid it across my lips. ‘I know, Lassair. I love him too, with all my heart. But Derman’s—’ Again she broke off. After a moment she resumed. ‘Derman is my responsibility. He is as he is, and it’s hard living with him. I ought to know,’ she added bitterly, instantly adding, ‘It’s not his fault, and he’s not bad, not really. There’s no evil in him, that I’ll swear.’

  ‘Then why—’

  ‘I cannot inflict Derman on anybody else,’ Zarina said simply. ‘Haward says it doesn’t matter, that his – your – family will accept him, but I can’t see how it’d work. Your parents live in that lovely little house that your mother keeps so neat and tidy, and that’s where Haward will take his wife, at least till he can build a home of his own. Can you see Derman there, Lassair?’

  ‘Yes I can!’ I said stoutly.

  Zarina laughed. ‘That’s because you don’t live there yourself,’ she said kindly and, I have to admit, accurately. ‘The day Derman and I moved in would be the ruin of your mother and the family,’ she went on, her voice serious now. ‘I really like your mother, and I won’t do that to
her. Besides, it’s impossible anyway, as I said, because – well, it’s not going to happen.’

  I sat there holding her hand, listening to the echoes of her voice. Then I leaned over, kissed her and got up. As I went out, I turned and said, ‘We’ll see.’

  Then I hurried off after Edild.

  We searched for a long time. We covered the ground all the way from Lakehall to the lonely island where Granny lay in her grave. We criss-crossed here and there, venturing off the tracks and the paths, following the winding waterways and creeping right up to the water’s edge to stare down into the black mere. We found no sign of Derman. If he was really out there, looking in vain for his dead love, then he had hidden himself so well that we could not find him.

  The long day was at last starting to come to a close when finally we gave up and turned for home. We walked without speaking. I had apologized to my aunt for not having told her I’d come across Derman the previous morning as I raced for help after making my discovery, and for omitting to repeat the discussion concerning him that I’d had with my mother. She had forgiven me, graciously agreeing that so much had happened recently that it was not surprising I had been so uncharacteristically forgetful.

  I was so tired that I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. I was stumbling along with my head down, concentrating so hard on the simple act of walking that I did not realize Hrype was there until he spoke. Looking up, I saw him standing on the track in front of us. Sibert and Haward were with him.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ Edild asked. Her tone was courteous, no more; she has a way of disguising her feelings for Hrype so skilfully that sometimes even I, who know better, doubt that the two of them are any more than colleagues and friends.

  ‘Zarina told Haward that you and Lassair had gone to look for Derman,’ Hrype replied. ‘We came to find you.’