Mischief At Aescham Manor

The final part of our medieval serial

words to Maude.

“Will Nash has been apprehended. He claims to have intended theft of food only, and did not venture beyond the gardens.”

Johanna snorted behind her hand. Maude raised her brows. “And you believe him?” “Liar or no, it matters not. He’ll have a day in the stocks before we banish him, and can do no harm now. Nor can any other soul. The whole of Aescham is secure, and will remain so with extra guards on duty. As for the unfortunate death of Monsieur Faucon, we’ve investigated thoroughly and my conclusions are that it was an accident.”

When he left with Maude’s relieved thanks, Pernelle followed him out.

“You did not mention Machel,” she said half-accusingly.

Cavelier shrugged. “There was no need. If he is up to mischief, I will root it out, and besides, his time here is passing. Sir John will not entertain him long. You should rest too now, mistress.”

“I cannot,” said Pernelle, stepping closer to him. “You assure us that all is well and yet I cannot shake this uneasy feeling.”

The crackling firelight from the mounted torch beside them lent sparks to his dark eyes as he stared sombrely into hers.

“’Tis understandable at this time of year. The ghosts of the past feel closer to us when the veil between the lands of living and lost are thinnest.” He lifted a hand, seemingly about to reach out to her, then let it fall. “Will you take my advice, demoiselle? Let the departed have their night of revival; you will feel better come All Saint’s.”

Pernelle kept dwelling on Cavelier’s words throughout the night and into the following day. She felt disconsolate and a little deflated, strangely unsatisfied with the conclusion of events.

What would her Papa have said to her if he were here? What he had always counselled – trust your instincts. The

trouble was, she couldn’t really pinpoint what they were trying to say.

Sighing, she paused to lean against the well and watch the little world of Aescham go about its business. The mummers Maude had hired for the duration of festivities commandeered a corner of the bailey to practice for their upcoming performance. She couldn’t help smiling as one, a small fellow known for his clowning tricks, dropped one of the four eggs he was juggling, earning laughter from his troupe. He retaliated with a rude gesture and a declaration of, “Well, that’s what a practice run is for, isn’t it?”

Pernelle gasped as something clicked into place in her mind. Of course! Why hadn’t she realised it before?

Cursing herself for her stupidity, she picked up her skirts and hurried out of the bailey and down beyond the hamlet to the lower woodland’s edge, where Bram the leech dwelt. His hut was always permeated in herbal smells and a strange murky warmth, but he was welcoming enough.

“Headache, is it, little mistress?”

Nose wrinkled, Pernelle shook her head. “’Tis information I seek,” she explained, “not medicaments. I believe you have mixed a potion for someone lately, something that was not your usual ailment remedy.”

Bram leered at her and tapped the side of his nose. “Ah, well, that would be betraying a confidence, would it not? Now I wouldn’t like to do that, unless you make it worth my while…”

The fingers he reached out to her were hastily snatched back as the door burst wide and Cavelier strode into the hut. His eyes went straight to Pernelle.

“Are you all right?” When she nodded, his focus shifted to the leech. “Then what do you here, alone with this reprobate?” “Bram was telling me about a potion he recently mixed,” Pernelle explained. Under their combined gazes, Bram capitulated. “I did make a draught,” he admitted. “But my customer brought it back, claiming that it did not have the desired effect, so no harm done, eh?”

The next moment, he was gasping for breath as Cavelier caught him up by the neck. “What noxious brew did you mix, you little worm?”

“A love philtre, that’s all!” Bram gasped. “Just a philtre, I swear!”

“Put him down, Marshal,” Pernelle instructed. “He is telling the truth.” Cavelier reluctantly did so then followed her outside a few seconds later, scowling as he demanded, “What is going on here, mistress?”

Pernelle was heading purposefully back up to the keep.

“The rat was a practice run; I realised it when watching the mummers earlier. Something else came to me the minute Bram admitted he’d mixed a love potion. I know who our mystery poisoner is.” “Indeed? And are you intending to enlighten me?”

Pernelle smiled up into his puzzled features. “She can tell you herself.”

Pernelle kept DWELLING on his WORDS throughout the following DAY

Lady Johanna was in the gardens picking the last of the yarrow and ivy for Hallows garlands when marshal and maid came to confront her. She eyed Pernelle with dislike and Cavelier with a habitual disdain behind which, Pernelle thought, lurked fear.

“I am busy,” she announced, snapping back the belled sleeves of her gown.

“I do not have time to talk.”

“We could go to Lady Maude if you prefer,” Pernelle offered, “and explain to her exactly how that rat came to be poisoned then left outside her chamber.”

“I do not have a clue what you are babbling about,” Johanna muttered.

“Come now, lady.” Cavelier’s tone was crisp. “We have spoken with the leech; he will confirm if necessary that you

purchased a potion from him then returned it on the morning the rat was discovered, after the results were not as you wished.

“And who else apart from someone close to Lady Maude would have been able to access her chamber corridor without raising the alarm, or known that Mistress Pernelle was not at her post that night?”

Johanna tossed aside the handful of plants she’d collected. As she stood up to face them, her hands disappeared within her sleeves. Pernelle wondered if they had begun to shake.

“You have been obsessed with getting away from here for some time,” she said gently. “And I believe you decided on Yves Machel as your passage out.” “I admire him, like most women.” “I believe you were desperate for him to wed you and take you back with him to France,” Pernelle persisted. “But he is cautious and with the imminent return of Sir John, time was running out. So what better way to speed things up than a harmless herbal love philtre?

“Only it wasn’t harmless, was it? When the rat died, you took fright and decided to rid yourself of the evidence. Mayhap you were inspired by Maude’s growing paranoia of late, or else panicked and dropped the corpse where it would hopefully escape notice.”

“Wrong, little Miss Smug.” Johanna’s sneer stripped her of her beauty. “I placed the rat there deliberately, to point suspicion at you. I wanted to wipe that irritating smile off your face.”

“And perhaps,” Pernelle hazarded, “when that didn’t work, you tried to knock me senseless instead?”

The red flush rising up Johanna’s neck told its own tale. Cavelier advanced upon her with a menacing step.

“What kind of woman are you? You would attack a fellow lady from behind, drug a man, just to leave Aescham?”

Johanna met and matched his hard stare. “You have to make your own luck in this life, sirrah, and looks do not last

forever. If I did not take this chance, I would be stuck in this damp backwater to moulder and decay, until whatever beauty and vitality I possessed shrivelled and died.”

“Aye, you would see this lovely land like that,” Pernelle murmured. “Poor Johanna.”

“Do not pity me!” Johanna spat then suddenly collapsed onto the ground, as if her limbs had turned to water. “I can take anything from you but that.”

The night of All Hallow’s Eve was desirably spooky, with opaque skies and plenty of shadows. Aescham’s hall rang in rousing celebration, heightened by the triumphant return of Sir John and his retinue back from military duties.

Pernelle was overjoyed to see Maude at his side, full of smiles and smelling sweetly of the rose perfume her lady’smaid had stolen for her tryst with

Yves Machel.

The smoke from dozens of candle lanterns added to the hot, happy atmosphere of the merry hall, full of rich food, light and laughter as folk took turns to bob for apples or play at “nutcrack” in the flames.

It was all enchanting but she was not sorry to leave its heady warmth for a while, seek a moment alone up on the parapet to catch her breath and take in the atmosphere of this night.

Beyond the walls, an owl hooted, short and low; a lonely sound until another across the wood took up its cry.

“This is becoming something of a habit, my having to chase after you, my lady.”

Pernelle caught her breath as Cavelier came to stand alongside her, close enough to send a shiver through her, though he didn’t touch her.

“I noticed the lady Johanna consoling Yves Machel, now that his cousin is entirely occupied with her husband,” he began. “Mayhap she will persuade him to take her back with him to Aquitaine after all.” “You are satisfied, then, that he is not a spy?”

“I think him a poor choice for such a part. As you observed, it takes certain skills to be successful at intrigue. Machel is merely a chancer in the wrong place, Johanna a woman with a skewed and possibly lonely heart. So let them have their secrets. The pursuit of love is as important as justice.”

Pernelle agreed, adding, “I am not sure Johanna would have survived a stint in the stocks. Thank you for being merciful with her.”

“I thought it was what you would want,” Cavelier murmured.

Sighing, she tilted her gaze to the smoky skies overhead.

“What do you look for, up there in the dark?”

Pernelle pressed her fingers against the planks of the parapet.

“I am remembering my parents, and wondering if we will meet again. ’ Tis said there is more of a chance around Hallow’s Eve.”

Cavelier eased closer and ever so gently, took her hand.

“You will see them again,” he said assuredly. “But for now, you have a life to live in this world, with someone who has fallen prey to your myriad charms. Pernelle, there is something I must ask – no, demand of you.”

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly breathless as he drew her to his chest.

“You mean, for once, you do not know, my clever maid?” His smile was tender, amused. “Then let me make myself plain.”

And he kissed her, his embrace a declaration of enduring love…

SIGHING, she tilted her GAZE up to the SMOKY skies overhead