PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses by Brazear Margaret

Author:Brazear, Margaret [Brazear, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2016-02-13T05:00:00+00:00

***

It was noon before the carriage arrived at Lord Christopher's manor house in the village of Shepton, close to Colchester in Essex. Felice looked out of the window as the driver drew the horses to a stop and her eyes took in the ancient manor house with its peeling plaster and holes in the thatch. It was a lot bigger than Immeth's little hovel, but that seemed the only difference.

The carriage door opened and that same manservant stood waiting to hand her out, that tall man who had stood guard at the door to her bedchamber, who had made certain she boarded the coach.

"What is your name?" She asked him.

"Dennis, My Lady," he answered.

"Dennis," she repeated. "Well, thank you, Dennis, for your attention."

The man frowned, startled no doubt to be thanked for following his master’s orders. She was not quite sure what she thanked him for, but it seemed likely that these five servants were all the company she would have until her husband took her back to his castle for trial. It would be no bad thing to court their favour, to be civil to them.

The chamber she was given was almost as big as the one in the castle, but the floor was bare, rough wood which waited to splinter her feet and there was no form of heating whatsoever. On the bed were straw mattresses, not the feather ones she had known all her life, and although the covers were fur, they were old and moth eaten and likely home to many parasites. She would try to do without. There was no glass in the windows and the shutters looked as though they might fall off if she tried to close them.

She looked out of the window opening at the village close by. It was a tiny village with little wattle and daub cottages, thatched with ancient straw, standing in a circle around a central well. Apart from its size, it was very much like their own village, the village where she had stood and watched her husband find the body of his peasant mistress, where she had watched him deliver his two children into the care of Immeth's sister, another peasant owned by him.

She frowned as she watched a man pushing a cart across the churchyard, carrying a body which Felice was sure was dead. The body was not enclosed within a coffin, or even a shroud. There were no mourners, only the one man pushing the cart and as she watched he arrived at an open grave and turned the cart on its side, tossing the body inside. What sort of irreverent way was that to bury a Christian man? She shivered and turned away, hoping to engage the maidservant in some conversation.

"What is your name?" She asked.

"Daisy, My Lady," she answered nervously with a quick curtsey.

"Well, Daisy," Felice said, "thank you for your help."

Daisy looked startled, wondering what she had to be thanked for. She was only carrying out her orders and doing the job for which she was paid.

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