The Brat(22)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"This . . . This is …" Murie shook her head, unable to give words to how horrible the room was. The rushes here – as in the rest of the castle – had not been changed for quite a while, perhaps not since before the plague. They were a stinking, soggy mess. And whereas the rest of the castle had shown the neglect of the last year or better, this room had obviously been neglected much longer. Cobwebs strung the ceiling overhead; a huge, heavy, framed bed was the only furnishing; and its curtains hung in tatters around it, no protection at all from the draft allowed in by the open and broken window shutters. A fireplace sat cold and empty.

"The old lord insisted on keeping the room exactly as it was when Lady Gaynor died ten years ago," Gatty explained quietly.

"He would not allow us in to clean."

"But…" Murie shook her head.

"We only managed to change the rushes when he was away from the keep, and then we all pretended, including he, that it had not been done."

"Aye, but why has Balan not – "

"Lord Balan has been sleeping in the garrison with the soldiers since returning from France."

"Oh," Murie said weakly. It seemed obvious she could not join her husband in the garrison, but they could not possibly sleep here. Yet, it was late in the day to make other arrangements. Obviously moved to pity by her hopeless expression, Gatty suggested, "Mayhap with some fresh linens and furs it shall not be so bad for one night, and then on the morrow we can perhaps do something with the room to make it more comfortable."

"Aye," Murie said weakly.

"I am sorry," Gatty said with a sigh. " ‘Tis a poor homecoming to be sure, but with so few of us left, we are kept running from morning till night and simply did not have the time to – "

"Nay, of course not," Murie interrupted, straightening her shoulders. " ‘Tis fine. If you would send Cecily up and have someone bring along my chests, she and I can set to work preparing it for the night."

"I could help," Gatty offered.

Murie shook her head. "I have taken enough of your time. You go about whatever you would normally be doing. We shall tend this."

Nodding, the woman turned and left the room, and Murie spun in a slow circle, her eyes roving over everything as she tried to decide where to start.

The bedcurtains were the biggest eyesore; not just dirty, but ragged. In the end it was those she decided to tackle first. Hitching up her skirt, she marched across the room to the side of the bed, grabbed two handfuls and gave a firm tug. The next moment she was bent over, coughing up the dust and debris that had billowed around her in a gray brown cloud from the musty old cloth.

Finally able to catch her breath, she waved her hand in front of her face to displace the remaining dust cloud and peered up at what she’d achieved. Her shoulders slumped as she saw that the cloth was so fragile that it had torn away where she’d grasped it and no higher.

Murie glared at the results, then squared her shoulders and clambered onto the top corner of the bed.

Clinging to the post there, she reached up to grab the cloth as near to the frame as possible, having to stretch up on to her tiptoes to manage the task.

"Oh! My lady! What are you doing? Get down! You shall hurt yourself!"

Murie glanced down with surprise to find Cecily had arrived. Her maid was looking absolutely frantic as she rushed across the room to her side.

"I am just going to pull down these curtains. I thought if we remove them and remake the bed with fresh linens, it would do for the night." She reached up again, tugging at the cloth, adding,

"I wish we could change the rushes as well, but that is not possible at this hour. Those shall have to wait until the morrow."

"My lady, this is …"

Murie glanced down again to see the maid staring around the room in horror. Sighing, she turned back to give the cloth another tug.

"It is rather awful, but – Aiyeee!" Murie squealed as the cloth suddenly tugged free and she lost her balance, falling back on the bed. A cloud of dust immediately rose up to envelope her, and then Murie gasped in alarm as the bed itself suddenly collapsed beneath her, crashing to the floor.

Chapter Twelve

"My lady!" Cecily hurried forward and began to crawl across the remains of the collapsed bed toward her. "Are you all right?

Were you hurt?"

"Nay. I am fine." Murie sat up to peer around and forced a smile for the woman, but was unable to maintain it and finally let her breath unhappily out. The room looked no better from this angle than it had standing.

"There most-like were no fresh linens to replace these anyway," Cecily said as she peered at the ruined bed, wrinkling her nose. "It seems little enough is done around here, I doubt laundry is at the top of their list of concerns."

Murie frowned, not having thought of it herself, and then her gaze swiveled to the door Cecily had left open. Men began to cart in her chests.

"Oh." The first man paused sharply as he spotted the pair on the ruined bed, forcing the others to an abrupt halt as well. The four men simply stood there staring for a moment, and then one said, "We can fix it."

"Do not bother," Cecily began. "We have no – "

"Aye, do," Murie countered, scrambling quickly up. Cecily followed.

"But, my lady – "

"There may be linens in one of my chests," Murie interrupted hopefully.

"What?" Cecily said. "I hardly think – "

"Everyone at court knew Gaynor was in a bad way," Murie pointed out. She rushed over to the first chest the men were now setting down and threw the lid open to begin rifling through the contents. "The queen may have had the forethought to send some of my own linens with me in case they were needed. Queen Phillippa is very good with such details."

"But…" Cecily’s words died on her lips as Murie gave a sudden squeal of glee and pulled out a set of pure white linens.

"Oh, what a wonderful woman!" Murie exclaimed happily. "I shall have to write and thank her for such forethought." Shoulders slumping, Cecily simply shook her head and got out of the way. The men had moved over to take a look at the bed.

"You cannot sleep in this chamber. Is there nowhere else – "

"Certainly," Murie said dryly. "My husband and I could sleep together in the men’s garrison this night."

The comment made all four men pause and turn to gape at her.

"Well," the one who had suggested he’d fix the bed said finally.

"You would be most welcome there, my lady."

Murie turned to Cecily, arching one eyebrow.

"I shall fetch a broom to sweep out these rushes. We may not be able to replace them until the morrow, but at least the chamber will smell less," Cecily said with defeat. She hurried from the room.

Murie set the linens back in the chest, where they were safe from getting dirty, and stood to inspect the room. Her gaze landed on the bed as the men began to raise the frame, and she hurried forward. "Wait! I should like to remove the curtains before you put the frame back up."

"We’ll do it for you, my lady," one of the men said, and proceeded to rip off the curtains nearest him. The other men immediately began removing the rest of the tattered cloth, dropping it in piles on the floor. They managed the task much more quickly than she would have, Murie noted and was grateful for it. There were enough other things for her to do.

Leaving them to their work, she bustled out of the chamber and to the stairs, encountering Cecily on her way back up, broom in hand.

"Do you know what they did with the furs and pillows from the wagon?" Murie asked. Emilie had kindly left the items in the wagon for her journey from Reynard to Gaynor, claiming she’d no need of the items at the moment and was happy to loan them to her for the trip home. While they would have to be sent back with the wagon driver the next day, she and Balan could at least use them this night.

"I believe they are still in the wagon," Cecily said. Nodding, Murie moved past the girl. "I shall go find them. You start sweeping up the rushes."

The great hall was empty as Murie moved through it; no doubt the servants and soldiers had all returned to those vital tasks their lord’s arrival had interrupted. Murie didn’t encounter anyone until she was halfway across the bailey, when two of the men came rushing up.

"Are you looking for your husband, my lady?" one of the men asked. He added, "I am Erol, my lady."

"Good eve, Erol." Murie flashed him a smile, then said, "Nay. I am not looking for my husband."

"What are you looking for then, my lady?" the other man asked. "Mayhap we can help you. Oh, and I am Godart."

"Good eve, Godart. I am looking for the wagon my chests were on. I presume I will find it by the stables?"

"Aye," both men said.

"Was there something you needed from the wagon? Mayhap we could fetch it for you," Erol suggested.

"Oh, nay," Murie replied. "I would not trouble you or take you away from your work. I can manage."

" ‘Tis no trouble," Godart assured her.

"Nay, no trouble at all," Erol agreed.

Murie simply smiled and shook her head. It was obvious the men were eager to please, but she suspected this had more to do with the fact that they had few women around than anything else. As far as she knew, Gatty’s two daughters were the only single females. She supposed they must be very popular with the men. They had reached the stables, and Murie bustled inside, eager to find the items she sought. Instead, she found Balan’s sister seated on a stall post next to Gatty’s son, Frederick, watching Habbie brush down Balan’s stallion. The girl was busy chattering away to the stable master, so she did not notice Murie and the men enter. By the time Juliana realized Murie’s presence and slipped off the post to make a run for it, Murie was close enough to catch her by the arm and draw her to a halt.

"My lady!" Habbie said with surprise. His gaze slid from her to the squirming child she held and back before he said uncertainly,

"Can I help you?"

"Aye." Murie smiled pleasantly and ignored Juliana’s struggles. Her hold on the girl was firm. "There were some furs and pillows in the wagon that rode in with us. I intended to fetch them myself, but mayhap you can show these gentlemen where they are to bring them to the lord’s bedchamber for me, as I think my new sister and I have some things to discuss."

"Oh … er … aye. Of course, my lady," Habbie murmured, his concerned gaze returning to the child.

"Very good," Murie said with a smile. She turned to leave the stables, pulling Juliana with her.

"I ain’t going with you," the girl snarled, trying to kick her. Unfortunately, it was difficult to kick when she was racing to stay on her feet with Murie dragging her out of the stables.

"Of course you are," Murie said. "Surely you wish to get to know your new sister?"

"Yer not my sister," the girl snapped.

"I am married to your brother, Juliana. That makes me your sister."

"My lady, we have the things you asked for," Godart said, gasping as he hurried to her side.

Murie glanced around to see all three men now trailing her and all three out of breath. It seemed obvious that they had rushed to gather the things she’d asked for and hurried after her, concerned for the child. She supposed she could not blame them; they did not know her and so could not be sure she would not beat the child or perform some other equally fearsome punishment as retribution for the earlier kick. They would learn in time.

"Thank you," she said, not slowing her step. She had no desire to be kicked again.

"Would you like one of us to take Juliana to your husband for you?" Erol panted.

"Certainly not. You were there, surely you heard my husband say that I may handle the matter myself?"

"Aye," Habbie agreed. "But – "

"But nothing, sir," Murie said firmly and gave him a reassuring smile. She could handle this. She wasn’t sure how, but she would handle it.

They had reached the keep by then, and Murie mounted the stairs as quickly as she’d crossed the bailey: not so fast that the girl could not keep up, but quickly enough that her attention was distracted by the effort. The men followed across the great hall and above stairs and finally into the bedchamber. They arrived just as the four men who had been fixing Murie’s bed trooped out with the ragged remains of the curtains.

Murmuring her thanks for their help, Murie slipped past and into the room, drawing Juliana with her.

Murie did not pause inside, but now walked around dragging Juliana with her. She was afraid that, should she stop, the child would strike out at her again; and if her husband heard about it, he would surely take over the matter himself. It was not that Murie feared Balan would beat his sister, though she suspected he might take her over his knee. But she didn’t wish to see the child punished at all. Murie found herself feeling great empathy for the girl, and all she really wanted to do was hug her and assure her she was loved and cared for and everything would be all right. But she first needed to get past the hard, defensive outer layer the child wore like armor.

She pondered the matter as she glanced over the repaired bed. It looked much better without the tattered cloth hanging around it and with the nasty old linens removed. It looked as if the men had beaten the dust out, too. Relieved, Murie turned her attention to how much progress Cecily had made with the rushes. The woman had cleared away one corner of the smelly floor covering and was still working industriously.

Noting the weariness Juliana was beginning to display, Murie slowed her steps and turned to the men. "Very well, gentlemen, thank you so much for helping me gather these things. If you would be kind enough to set them on the chests over there, Juliana and I can start making the bed."

The girl’s steps had begun to falter, but this comment seemed to perk her up. She snarled, "I’ll not."

"You will," Murie assured her calmly, circling the room once more.