Court of Swans, page 6
At least she’d been able to buy her brothers some woolen blankets. She still needed to get some yarn. Though Sir Geoffrey had promised her some, he might not come through. If he did not, she was not sure she had enough money to buy yarn, certainly not enough to knit sweaters for all seven of her brothers. Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of being able to help only some of her brothers. But somehow she would find a way.
* * *
Delia was standing in the doorway of her mother’s sickroom. “Mama? Can I help? Mama?”
Her mother turned her head slowly on her pillow. Her eyes stared right through Delia, so bright and clear. Mama opened her mouth, as if to speak, but then the servant rushed into the room, knocking Delia to one side with her hip as she brushed past her.
Delia couldn’t see around the servant’s wide frame as she stood by Mama’s bedside, so Delia moved to the other side of the bed. Mama turned and looked at Delia again, then lifted her hand as if reaching for her.
“Shoo!” the servant cried. “Your mother is sick. Can you not see that? Go away and play with your brothers. Go on, now.”
Instead of obeying, Delia reached out for her mother’s hand. “I’ll help you, Mama.”
“Come!” The servant picked her up from behind and carried her out just before Delia could reach her mother’s hand.
“Mama!” she screamed.
Delia awoke, her heart pounding in her chest, to a dark room filled with the sound of deep and even breathing. Around her, the other sewing maids were sleeping in their small beds. She crossed her hands over her chest, trying to slow her own quick breaths.
It was only a dream. Truthfully, Delia had been too excited about her new baby brother, begging the servants to let her help bathe and change and care for him, to even realize how sick her mother was. The servants had indeed kept her from her mother in those days when she lay dying, but the events in the dream had never taken place. Her mother had never reached out to her, nor had a servant carried her out of the room. No, Delia’s mother had died without Delia ever seeing her after the baby was born.
Tears chilled her temples as they flowed from the corners of her eyes. If only she’d known her mother was sick. Maybe she could have helped her in some way.
“I’m so sorry, Mother,” Delia whispered under her breath.
Her mother had been gone these ten years now. Delia had been comforted by her brothers, her sweet, protective, loving brothers. But now those same brothers were in danger. What would happen if they were executed for treason? If she couldn’t save them?
Her stomach felt hollow and her chest heavy. How could she bear the shame and anguish if she failed her brothers?
She turned onto her side, wiping the tears that had pooled at her hairline by her temples. She prayed silently, letting her lips move as Hannah had done when she’d prayed in the temple asking God for a child. Delia begged God over and over not to let her brothers be executed, to free them from the Tower, to give them justice. God, You are a God of justice. Where is Your justice in this? Why was God allowing their enemies to triumph over them?
But she felt no relief, no less fearful after her anxious prayers. Did God even care that her brothers were in trouble?
Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.
Was that not in the Bible?
Delia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember more passages from Scripture. She’d been made to read the Holy Writ often enough by her tutors, both in Latin and in the English Scriptures that had been translated by some monks in a nearby monastery. But her heart was so heavy, she just wanted to be assured that God would free her brothers.
God cared for her, but what did that mean? Did it mean He would give her what she wanted and needed, which was for her brothers to be freed? It couldn’t mean that, since she had needed her mother, but God had allowed her to die. So what did it mean?
She wanted to believe that good things would happen to good people, that the wrongs in their lives would be made right, that their enemies would never triumph over them, that they would never be treated cruelly. But since it couldn’t mean that—bad things happened to good people, both in the Holy Writ and in the lives of people around her—it must mean that even if someone were to be cruelly treated and even murdered, God would still care. He would be with them till the end, just as He was with the martyr Stephen who was stoned to death. He had looked up and seen a vision of Jesus and heaven even as he suffered and died.
God, please don’t let my brothers die. But if they do, give me the strength to bear it.
She prayed this silent prayer until she fell asleep.
* * *
Delia finished the embroidery on the hem, neckline, and sleeves of the dress for the king’s cousin and ward, a girl around his own age by the name of Evangeline. The dress was a gift for her birthday. At least, that was the whispered rumor among the other seamstresses. Delia was honored to have been chosen to embroider something for a member of the king’s family. Would the young ward be pleased with the embroidery? Would she like her new dress?
Delia looked up as she exhaled a deep breath. Her shoulders ached, unaccustomed to hunching over and sewing all day every day, but she was satisfied she had done her best on the embroidery and it had turned out very symmetrical and beautiful.
Madame Celine, who was in charge of supervising their work, made her way over to her. “I hope you did not soil the fabric.” She took the dress from Delia’s hands and stared hard at it, as if expecting to find a stain or dirt of some sort.
“Does the embroidery look well enough for the king’s ward?”
Madame Celine turned her sharp look on Delia. “Don’t be impertinent. And don’t flatter yourself.” The rather short, round woman turned on her heel and left the room with the dress draped carefully over her arms.
What should Delia do now?
She glanced around. The other women were working on various sewing tasks, and she was supposed to take whatever was left on the table, but the table was empty.
She pulled from her bag the sweater she had been knitting for Roland and some of the yarn that Sir Geoffrey had sent to her.
At least, she assumed the yarn had been sent by Sir Geoffrey. No one else knew she was looking for yarn. It had arrived as they were all getting ready for the day’s work the previous morning, and the other women had gasped and exclaimed over the abundance of the fine wool yarn.
“Where did you get so much yarn?” one young seamstress about Delia’s age had asked.
“A friend sent it. It’s for my brothers—that is, I’m knitting them sweaters.” She hadn’t told anyone her brothers were imprisoned in the Tower of London.
The other sewing maids just stared at her. Finally, one said, “The last thing I want to do when my day’s work is done is knit sweaters.”
“It is the truth, is it not?” another woman said. “My hands are aching by the end of the day, and my shoulders too.”
“All I want to do is soak my hands in warm rose water and close my eyes,” said another.
And then the conversation was diverted from Delia’s yarn as they all turned away from her and talked among themselves. Delia breathed a little sigh of relief that they hadn’t asked her any more questions about her brothers or the yarn.
Now that she seemed to have no more embroidery work to do at the moment, she took out her knitting needles and started on Roland’s sweater. She hoped it would keep him warm this winter. A cold wind had swept in the last two days, making Delia shiver under her thin blanket on the little bed that made her back hurt unless she lay on her side.
Delia tried to keep her knitting needles quiet. They clicked together in the quiet room, but since no one seemed to be noticing that she was working on her own project instead of the king’s, and since Madame Celine had not returned to give her a new assignment, she simply knitted and let her mind wander.
Why was Sir Geoffrey being so kind to her? Did he have ulterior motives? Regardless, she was grateful for the yarn. She could at least thank God for it, even if Sir Geoffrey had impure motives. What would he say when she saw him again? Would he demand payment of some type? She did not think he was that kind of man, but her servants had taught her not to be naïve or too trusting of men.
“A man never does anything without expecting something in return,” Matilda had warned her.
“Men are ever scheming,” Sophie, the scullery maid, said.
“They want one thing, and one thing only, if you’re a woman.” Cook nodded ominously at Delia, then pointed her ladle at her, as if to emphasize the point.
“But Lady Delia is a lady,” Cora said, wiping her hands on her apron. “No man would dare lay a hand on her.”
“Not so,” Matilda said with a sober pursing of her lips. “I used to work for the Earl of Shrewsbury and his daughter—” Matilda looked right and left, then leaned forward, lowering her voice. “She was violated by that vicious Rupert, who just became the Viscount Dashwood. He thought he could do anything he wanted just because he was the son of the king’s closest advisor. No woman is safe, especially if she has no father or brothers to protect her.”
Delia’s stomach sank as she remembered their words now.
She would have to be careful not to need rescuing. And if anyone tried to attack her, she would get away and run. She was not too ladylike, having grown up climbing trees and exploring the woods, hunting and fishing with her brothers. If need be, she could throw a few punches as well, though she could hardly imagine the man who could not punch her much harder than she could hit him.
She suddenly looked up from her knitting to find Madame Celine glaring down at her.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was cold and raspy, her eyes tiny and black.
“There was no more work to do, so I was knitting.”
“Knitting? Did I say you could knit? Does the king wear clothing knit from common yarn? He is not paying you to knit for some man you wish to entice.”
Delia’s cheeks burned and her breaths started to come hard and fast. How dare this woman accuse her of something so crude? It was on her tongue to retort that the sweater was for her ten-year-old brother, but she bit back the words, not wishing to dignify this woman’s undignified accusation.
“You will stay one hour after everyone else has finished for the day. Do you understand? One hour. You will sew what I tell you and only what I tell you.” Madame Celine dumped a load of heavy fabric in Delia’s lap. “Now get to work and hem these curtains.”
Delia caught a glimpse of one of the other sewing maids bending low over her work, her eyes wide but focused on what she was doing, her needle moving up and down very quickly. The maiden beside Delia was also bending low, keeping her eyes on her work, but she was grinning, and she let out a snort. She then coughed and cleared her throat.
Delia felt her jaw clenching as she quickly put her knitting back in her bag and took up her sewing needle. She began hemming the heavy curtains that would hang on the beds in the king’s palace.
Would all the other sewing maids hate her and snicker at her now? Her cheeks still burned. But why should she care what any of them thought of her? She was not ashamed of what she was doing. What could be more important than helping her brothers? When she was done with her work, she would go back to her bed and knit until she fell asleep.
And Delia would soon be able to work out the plan she had discussed with her aunt. King Richard’s new bride would arrive, and Delia could present herself to Her Grace as a lady-in-waiting. Then she could speak to the new queen about convincing the king to set Delia’s brothers free. And when her brothers were free, they would find a lovely place where no one could hurt them, where her stepmother would never find them, and they could live happily, taking care of each other.
She would leave this place and never see any of these people again.
Six
Delia had one afternoon off per week, besides Sunday when she was required to attend church, and today was the day. She quickly left the workroom, gathered some knitting supplies, and hurried to the market to buy food for her brothers.
After buying bread, dried fruit, cheese, and even some cold meat, she headed to the Tower.
She caught herself searching the Tower Green for Sir Geoffrey. How foolish. She did not wish to see the man, did she? Besides, if she did see him, she’d have to thank him for the yarn, but without making him think she was grateful enough to do some kind of favor for him. He was still a stranger to her. She knew nothing of his family, and the only thing she truly knew about him, besides the fact that he could sometimes seem kind and thoughtful, was that he had taken her brothers away to be imprisoned.
She approached the tower where her brothers were being held. A man-at-arms who looked to be around thirty years old stopped her at the door.
“What is your business here?” His cheeks and eyelids were puffy, as if slightly bloated, and his eyes were red-rimmed, but otherwise he might be considered handsome.
“I wish to visit the Earl of Dericott and his six brothers.”
His gaze swept her from head to toe and back up. “Are you a relative of theirs?”
She froze. What should she say? Sir Geoffrey was the only guard who knew she was their sister. Still, anyone who saw her visiting would probably assume she was a relative, or sent by relatives, so she said, “I am.”
“Are you their sister?” He quickly added, “You need have no fear of me. Come. I shall take you to them.”
She frowned at his presumption, but he seemed kind enough. “How did you guess that they were my brothers?”
“You do resemble them.”
As they made their way up the stone staircase, he looked over his shoulder at her. “I am Sir Elliot of Allendale. And what is your name?”
A slight chill went down her spine. This stranger did not need to know her name. But he already knew who she was. “Lady Delia,” she said, purposely adding her title to put a small bit of distance and formality between them.
“It is a shame your brothers are locked away. Seven of them, is that right?”
Delia did not answer.
“Are all of your brothers in prison? Or do you have more?”
She almost said, “Yes, all,” but then she remembered Cedric, the baby whose future Parnella was trying to secure by getting rid of Delia’s brothers. Again, she felt a slight chill. “Why do you wish to know if all my brothers are in prison?”
“Forgive me, my lady, if I seem impertinent. I am a curious soul, and I only wished to know in case I might be able to help you. It seems such a shame for all your brothers to be in prison, awaiting the king’s justice.”
Justice? Delia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting that justice could not be further from her brothers at this moment. A cruel fate was possible for them, even beheading, but that would be the opposite of justice.
After taking a deep breath, she said, “My brothers were falsely accused.”
They had arrived at her brothers’ cell. Sir Elliot stopped and stared down at her. “Lady Delia, if there is anything I can do to help you and your brothers, I pray you will ask me. I would be very pleased to help.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile but said nothing. Why would he want to help her? He did not know her, and as a knight and man-at-arms in the service of the king, he could not help her in the event she had to take extreme measures and break them free by some trickery or violence.
Finally, moving very slowly, he took out the key and let her in. She had to brush against his arm to get past him through the door. He must not have realized he was standing so close.
Her brothers had such strange looks on their faces when she entered the room that her heart jumped into her throat.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
She went first to Roland, who was wiping his eyes with his sleeve, and wrapped her arms around him. Roland didn’t answer, just hugged her, burying his face in her shoulder. Delia gazed over his head at Edwin.
He frowned. “We were just told that our trial is set for a week from today.”
Delia’s vision went a little blurry, her knees trembling.
“But don’t worry,” Edwin said. “We knew we would have to face the charges eventually.”
“This will give us a chance to speak on our own behalf,” Gerard added.
But this was too soon.
Delia’s heart seemed to stop beating. She would not have a chance to talk to the queen—who had not even arrived yet in England. And that had been her entire plan, to convince the queen to help them, to ask her to ask the king to save her brothers from these treason charges.
They needed more time.
Delia hadn’t realized until this moment how much she’d hoped the trial would never happen, how she had depended upon God providing a way for them to be exonerated of these ridiculous charges without having to be tried in the king’s court.
But she could not allow herself to show any hopelessness. She had to encourage her brothers.
“We will pray. God will give you the words to speak. And no one could possibly believe you are guilty of treason. It’s ludicrous. We will tell the truth and make sure they know how treacherous our stepmother is.”
Edwin had something close to a scowl on his face. “You cannot come to the trial.”
“Why not? I am your sister. I’m a witness.”
But Edwin was shaking his head, Gerard was crossing his arms over his chest, and Berenger was frowning at her.
“I will be there. I will tell them—”
“No. You must not even let anyone know you’re our sister.” Edwin’s voice was firm.
She fought the panic rising inside her. “But people already know—Sir Geoffrey, the mistress of linens at the palace. And the guard who escorted me up the stairs knows. He guessed I was your sister.”
Edwin looked concerned. “I don’t like that anyone knows, but that is only three people. You can still hide and be safe.”
