All the Painted Stars, page 15
Lily flushed like an angry youth. ‘You do.’
‘Very well. I shall speak to Mabel.’
Lily sat on the edge of the bed after he left, catching her breath, before pulling her tunic back on over her thin undershirt. Even that action left her winded, making her pulse race, and she immediately regretted it: she was far too hot to keep it on. Mabel let herself in soon after, standing beside her with her hands on her hips.
‘So,’ she said. ‘It seems I cannot let you leave quite yet after all.’
‘What?’
‘I spoke to the physician. He informed me you are too sick to leave, and far too sick to travel. You surely do not expect me to allow you to go?’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. If I allow you to go off on your own, how am I to know you’ll take care of yourself? I will not have your death on my conscience.’
Lily’s shoulders sagged. She didn’t want to stay, and certainly didn’t want to be forced to stay. She wanted – with a sharp, sudden pang – to go home. She was wounded and unwell. Her ribs were cracked and her heart still battered from her failure to save Jo, who would soon return to the de Foucart keep and her would-be husband. Lily wanted her home, and her bed, and her brothers, even if they barred her from swordplay for the rest of her life.
‘I don’t know where you came from,’ Mabel continued, sensing Lily’s hesitation. ‘And I shall not ask. But whatever you are running from – if it is that you are running from something – will not be so bad a fate as choking on your own lungs.’
Mabel was right. Lily tried to swallow back the feeling of homesickness, and the grief of losing Jo.
‘I see I have no choice,’ she said, sighing. ‘Thank you, Mabel.’
‘You are welcome,’ Mabel said, ‘although I do not need your thanks. What sort of brewster would I be if I did not extend hospitality to travellers? There is, however, the matter of where you are to sleep. We’ve no spare beds in the house, but there’s a loft above the brewery that should suffice.’
Mabel led her back to the kitchen where Jo was nervously lingering beside the door. Upon seeing Lily, her face split into a wide smile of relief and she rushed over. When she took her arm to help her walk, Lily tried to brush her away, but quickly realised that her legs had turned weak, and allowed Jo to help her across the yard.
The loft was a narrow space in the roof of the brewery up a sloping ladder. Lily eyed the ladder nervously, suspecting that she would struggle with the climb. But the space was ideal: cosy and out of the way.
Jo and Harry were sent up first, each carrying a bundle of blankets. Lily was forced to wait below, listening to the occasional thud and, once or twice, a half-muffled curse, as they arranged the space. Between them they managed to haul a wide pallet bed up there, too, followed by armfuls of fresh straw. Finally, Jo went up with Lily’s things: the sack that contained her armour, her pack, the gifted sword, and her shield.
By the time they were done, Jo was red faced and breathless, but she looked pleased with herself.
‘There,’ she said, panting. ‘That should do.’
Lily had been right, and it was a struggle to get up the ladder, but she managed it, wheezing the last few rungs before hauling herself up and peering around. The roof was low, and Lily could only reach her full height when standing directly in the centre of the loft. There was a window to the far end – little more than a gap in the wood – curtained with a scrap of faded wool. The fabric had been pulled back, allowing golden twilight to illuminate the space.
Pushed to one side were a number of crates and barrels, many covered in a thin layer of dust, behind which Jo had placed Lily’s pack and sword, as well as the sack which contained her armour. Lily looked around, then spotted the final thing she had been searching for: the shield, hanging from a high beam. Jo must have hooked it on a nail sticking from the wood.
Against the other wall Jo and Harry had arranged the pallet, transforming it into a passable bed.
Lily allowed herself to drop onto it with a wheeze. They had piled up straw and fresh blankets in such a way that, while it wasn’t as fine as the expensive bed she had left behind in Dunlyn Castle, it was certainly comfortable.
It was also, she noted, large enough for two.
Jo’s head emerged at the edge of the loft, peering in.
‘How is it?’ she asked, hauling herself up. ‘Will it do? I know it isn’t much, but—’
‘It’s wonderful,’ Lily said, laying her hands across her chest. ‘Really.’
Jo looked thrilled – and relieved.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am. Really, it’s lovely. And it’s more than enough for what I need.’
Below, she heard the door shutting. She gave Jo a curious look.
‘Mabel and Harry are returning to the house,’ Jo explained.
‘I asked if we could have some time to speak.’
‘Oh.’
Lily braced herself. This was it. Now she was safe, and unlikely to injure herself further, Jo would return to the keep and her husband.
‘Does anyone know you left Dunlyn?’ Jo asked.
That was not what Lily had been expecting. ‘In … a way.’
Jo stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘In what sort of way?’
‘I told the steward that I was visiting the convent,’ Lily confessed. ‘I told him I would be gone for some time.’
‘And your brothers? Your father?’
‘Ash and Father are visiting a neighbouring lord, some dispute about trade, I believe. And Raff is across the border with Penn.’
‘So they have no idea you came south? Or what you intended to do?’
Lily shook her head, feeling distinctly like she was being reprimanded.
‘You must write to them.’
‘I— What, Jo? I cannot!’
‘You are injured and unwell! If they could get here, or send someone to fetch you, they could safely take you home and you could—’
‘Jo, they cannot know. Please. Promise me you will not send word to them.’
‘Lily …’
Lily grabbed her hand. ‘Please.’
Jo seemed to be fighting herself. But Lily’s will was stronger.
‘Fine,’ Jo relented. ‘I will not. But if your condition worsens then I will have no choice.’
It was agreement enough. ‘Thank you,’ Lily said. ‘I … I do want to see them, I admit. But they will only worry about me. They’ll lock me away if they realise how injured I am.’
‘I am amazed you even thought you could disappear without them realising.’
‘I would have,’ Lily insisted, ‘had I not been wounded. They will all be absent for weeks, plenty of time for me to ride to Oxford and back. If I had not been thrown, I would have been home before any of them had realised I was gone.’
Jo sighed. ‘I suppose that means I must stay, then.’
The shock was so great that it catapulted Lily into another coughing fit. When it finally passed, Jo beside her with a hand to her back, she managed, breathlessly—
‘You cannot.’
‘I can.’
‘You said you would return to the keep! You are to be married, Jo! What about Adam?’
‘Did you not hear what the physician said? You could have died! Yes, I am worried about Lord Adam, but I am far more worried about you.’
‘But surely staying here just makes that worry worse?’
‘Of course it does, but what else am I to do about it?’
‘What I am telling you,’ Lily said, quietly, ‘is that if you have to leave … you can, Jo. Do not stay here on my account.’
Jo stared at her. ‘I will not leave you.’
‘But—’
‘I am not going to leave you here, wounded and alone. Not when you did this to yourself to save me. Because I am a fool, I promised you I would not entangle your family in this mess, and so I am the only one who can look after you. And I will look after you, until you are well enough to travel. And when you are well enough, I will return to the keep.’
‘And what about Adam? He will realise you have gone.’
‘Ah—’ Jo looked abashed. ‘I … may have already seen to that. Not purposefully!’ she quickly added. ‘But it was a stroke of luck. He caught me leaving the feast and I gave him a story that I had received a letter about Penn being unwell. And—’ She looked as if she was about to say something else, before stopping herself. ‘Anyway.’ She set her shoulders. ‘He will think I have gone to ensure my brother is all right. He could not demand I return, not when we are still unwed. My family must come first, until I am his wife.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’
Again, Jo looked guilty. ‘It will be seen to,’ she said, sharply. ‘I will not leave you here alone. If it makes you rest easier, think of it as repaying a debt. You came to ensure I was well, and now I am doing the same for you.’
Lily wanted to argue. But the hot, jealous core of her flared. Jo had chosen her, not Adam. She had won, even if Jo’s feelings did not mirror Lily’s own.
‘I must return to the house and explain things to Mabel,’ Jo continued, slipping back into her natural pattern of busyness. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Of course I will.’
The look Jo gave her betrayed that she did not believe that was true, but she left regardless, ensuring Lily was comfortable on the pallet before climbing back down the ladder. Lily remained in the loft for the rest of the evening, slipping in and out of sleep and disturbed only when Jo came to bring her something to eat and drink. She hadn’t realised how tired she was – not the simple tiredness of sleeping too little and not well enough, but a bone-deep exhaustion that she recognised as a symptom of a true sickness.
She drifted through strange, repetitive dreams where she chased shadows and fell from her horse. Sometimes Jo was there, her hands stained red, her face an image of shock. She was roused from one of these unplaceable visions by Jo returning, the sky outside now entirely black.
‘Mabel offered the kitchen for me to sleep in,’ she said, sitting beside the pallet as Lily stirred. ‘But … I did not wish to be alone, and I thought you might …’
The unspoken question hung between them.
‘Of course,’ Lily said. ‘Let me—’
She went to shuffle closer to the wall, intending to make room for Jo to lie beside her, but the movement jarred her ribs, making her wince.
‘Curse these stupid lungs!’ she mumbled. ‘Give me just a moment …’
‘Lily, no.’ Jo put her hand to Lily’s shoulder, stilling her. ‘I just need to …’
Awkwardly, she placed a hand on the roof to balance herself, picked up her skirts and attempted to step over Lily to get into the space beside her, next to the wall. Despite still being groggy with sleep, Lily had to bite back a rib-shaking laugh as she watched her, all the poise and assuredness she usually moved with gone. When she finally managed to get beneath the covers, she faced Lily with a huff.
‘Just be grateful I did not stand on you,’ she said. ‘Mabel would have a fit.’
‘I am grateful,’ Lily said, unable to turn onto her side to properly look at her, and instead straining her neck to twist around. ‘I do not wish to add any more injuries to my collection. The ones I have are more than enough.’
‘More than enough for both of us,’ Jo added, with a brief laugh.
‘Jo …’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you. For staying. You really do not need to—’
‘I do.’ Jo cut her off. And then added, thoughtfully, ‘You are still my champion. Even if you are Lily again, instead of William. That makes me your lady, which means it is my duty to care for you and tend your wounds. I should be standing vigil by your bedside.’
Lily raised her eyebrows at her across the blankets. ‘You are doing a very poor job of it,’ she said. ‘You are in my bed. That is not very ladylike.’
Jo pursed her lips. ‘It would be unladylike if you were still William,’ she said. ‘But as Cecily Barden, daughter of an earl and one of my brother’s allies? I am sure it is allowed.’
‘Fine, then,’ Lily said – although relenting to her was no pain when Jo was staring at her from only inches away. ‘I accept your care.’
Jo’s eyes flashed in the dark. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘For you could not very well refuse it.’
Lily yawned. The conversation, brief as it was, had tired her endlessly. Pain flared in her chest once more.
‘Go back to sleep,’ Jo said, softly. ‘I am sorry for waking you.’
Lily attempted to tell her that it was all right, but all that came out from between her lips was a mumble. She heard Jo laugh as her eyes slid shut, and the edges of her mind became fuzzy.
‘Goodnight, my Lady,’ Lily managed, as the darkness overtook her.
There was another soft noise. The last thing she heard before falling asleep was Jo’s gentle voice.
‘Goodnight, my champion.’
Chapter 13
Jo had never expected to see Lily so still. That was what truly worried her – what made her realise just how dire the situation was. In the days they’d spent together, Lily was always moving and laughing. She was incapable of sitting still, and when forced to do so she’d bounce in her seat and tap her feet and chatter endlessly.
But now she was quiet. She slept. It was unsettling to see her bed-bound, and it strengthened Jo’s resolve to stay with her until she healed. Yes: she had promised Lord Adam her hand. But her promise to Lily meant more. She would not leave her, not yet.
She hoped that Isabelle had found a way to explain her sudden absence. The lie Jo had fed to Lord Adam about Penn being taken ill would make a fair excuse, but Jo had no way of knowing if Isabelle would have thought the same. She wished she could get a letter to her, but to send a note to the de Foucart keep would immediately betray who she was. For now, it was safer to be no one, not the sister of the new earl.
She couldn’t spend all day in the loft by Lily’s bedside, but she was loath to leave her alone, too. She especially could not stand the idea of Lily waking to an empty loft and no one beside her – Jo could only guess at how frightening that would be when she was still so feverish. She needed some way to let Lily know she had not left her.
She found a thick ledger and quill in the brewery, used for keeping stock, then pulled a page from the back. She scribbled a quick note, leaving it beside the pallet where Lily would be sure to see it should she wake.
Lily,
I am assisting Mabel downstairs. You are safe, and you are not alone. Do try to rest. I know you will likely be tempted to rise and entertain yourself, but you must let yourself heal.
I will return shortly.
Jo
When she was done, she crept quietly down the ladder, doing her best not to make too much noise despite knowing full well that it would take the building falling down around Lily to wake her. The brewery was empty, so she wandered into the house to find Mabel and Matilda leaning over the table, kneading out dough. Beside them, Nora sat on the floor, playing with one of the whittled figures.
‘I see you’re awake,’ Mabel said, glancing up. ‘How was the loft?’
In truth, Jo had struggled to sleep, resting lightly and jolting awake every time Lily so much as sniffed. She’d been too tense to properly relax, and while the loft was warm and surprisingly comfortable, she suspected that even on a feather tick with linen sheets she would have stayed resolutely awake.
‘It was very comfortable, thank you.’
Mabel leant back from the table properly, wiping her hands on her skirts.
‘Was it, now? Then I suppose that is why you look as if you’ve been sleeping upon a rock all night?’
Jo’s exhaustion must have been clear on her face. ‘Ah—’ she said, feeling like a terribly ungrateful guest, ‘truly, it was comfortable up there, I just … I am anxious for Lily, and I found myself unsettled all night.’
‘Of course.’ Mabel looked at her sympathetically. ‘How does your sister fare?’
‘My sister?’ Jo’s first thought was of Ros. And then she remembered far too late that yesterday they had told Mabel they were siblings. ‘I – she—’
Mabel only gave her a smug smirk.
‘I knew as much. No—’ She spoke over Jo’s attempts to weave another lie. ‘It doesn’t make a jot of difference to me what you are to each other. I swore to help you, and I shall. But how does she fare?’
‘She is still asleep,’ Jo said, relieved that Mabel had not taken offence at the untruth.
‘She needs that sleep,’ Mabel said. ‘The physician was clear enough on that.’
‘She does,’ Jo agreed, ‘but it is unusual to see. I’ve never known her to rest for so long. She is always doing something, always rushing about, and now …’ She sighed, picking at her finger. ‘I do not like to see her so unwell.’
Mabel walked towards her. For a moment, she looked as if she was about to embrace her, then thought better of it.
‘It always hurts to see the ones we care for in pain,’ she said. ‘I have faith that she will heal, in time.’
Jo gave her a tight, wry smile. ‘If she lets herself heal,’ she said. ‘Currently she has no choice, as she is too ill and exhausted to do much more than sleep. But once she wakes I fear she will be difficult to convince.’
‘If she will listen to anyone, I’d wager it would be you,’ Mabel said. ‘You’ll be staying with her, then? I would be happy to have you both.’
Jo nodded. ‘I cannot leave her. Not like this.’
Mabel smiled at her, as if she understood.
‘Come, help us with these loaves. The work will go quicker with three.’
Jo threw herself thankfully into the work. Mabel was correct: soon the loaves were baking, filling the kitchen with the smell of fresh bread as Jo washed the dough from her hands in the water butt in the yard, feeling rather aimless.
