Page 67 of An Ill-Made Match

Eden frowned over this, which did not seem to make very much sense to her. It dawned on her that Orla was more than a little eccentric. Unless it was some rustic custom around these parts? “I must ask, Lady Orla. Where do you make the bulk of your purchases?” she asked, attempting to steer her onto safer ground. “Would it be Pryors Naunton? I find myself in need of some necessary items for my wardrobe.”

“Depends on what sort of items,” Orla answered, cautiously dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “If it is fine work you require, such as gowns, cloaks or hoods then yes, you will need to go to the nearest city. If it is some plain work such as… ahem, under-garments, or even some woolen stuffs, then there is a woman in the village who can assist you.”

“That sounds ideal,” said Eden, thinking of some spare shifts. “If you would be so kind as to direct me…”

“Her name is Parva Osgoode, she resides next to the smithy,” said Orla helpfully. “Tell her I sent you, and you will be assured of a welcome.”

“Thank you so much.”

Orla stayed another hour and made sure to stress how important she and her husband were in local circles. According to Orla, there were only two other families of import in the locality. The Fulchers and the Gisberns who both lived half a day’s ride away, though in opposite directions, and Orla doubted they would call without an invite. She explained that the Vawdreys had shirked all social responsibilities for the past decade at least and had much to make up for.

Once Orla had departed, Eden felt herself at something of a loose end. The rain had tailed off a little, but everything lay now very wet and Eden feared her shoes would not be up to a long walk in such conditions. When Brigid appeared to poke the fire, Eden asked her about Parva Osgoode and her sewing services. Brigid said she could easily engage her to make up some shifts on the next shopping trip into Sitchmarsh. Apparently, this usually took place on the first Wednesday of every month. By Eden’s calculations that was in some six days time. She nodded anyway, having no money of her own to bring this forward. Instead, she asked Brigid to make enquiries if there was any ink or writing implement to be had about the place. She was not overly optimistic, but the maid returned within a half hour bearing a tray with two quill pens, a pen knife and a bottle of ink.

Castor and Hector had taken themselves off to ensure Orla left the premises, but to Eden’s surprise they returned with Parnell and Nudd to sit in front of the fire as she set about the task of cutting down the quills to make the nibs usable. When this was achieved, she fetched the scroll of paper she had put away the day before and cut it up with the knife into four pieces. She then set about writing a newsy letter, full of nonsense to amuse Gunnilde Payne. Her new friend was the easiest to write to, as she required nothing by way of apology or explanation.

She had covered both sides of the paper when she heard a great clamor go up from downstairs, which she fancied was Seth howling, accompanied some frenzied loud barking from Dimon. The other four dogs all leapt up from where they were lay and started their own answering baying. Eden covered her ears with her hands and got up from the table, making for the door which the dogs were all pawing and scratching at, to get through. “Patience!” she admonished, as they started shouldering the door as soon as her hand was on the bolt. She drew it back, and they burst through and poured down the steps to confront whatever intruder had dared to darken their doorstep.

Eden sighed, and took the steps at a more leisurely pace. She very much doubted she would receive two visitors in one day. Perhaps it was some traveler, who had lost their way? When she reached the disarming room, she found Fulco dragging a trunk across the threshold, and looked at him enquiringly. “Quiet, ye villains!” he bawled over his shoulder at the dogs. Eden didn’t even flinch. He looked back at her. “For you,” he said straightening up.

“For me?” He nodded. She looked down at it. It was a very large, handsome trunk, covered in leather with a nail head trim in an attractive design. For a moment, her heart had leaped with the hope it might have been her own trunk forwarded on from Hallam Hall. That would have meant her cousin had forgiven her after all. However, she did not recognize this trunk which looked to be still smelt of newly cured leather and looked very expensive. “Was there no note or missive with it?”

“Messenger just left it like that,” said Fulco unexpansively. “Want me to carry it upstairs?”

“Yes please.”

“Where to?”

“My bedchamber I think.” Eden glanced out of the door and saw a cart trundling back down the hill. The dogs had followed it partway, but were now turning back and returning to the Keep. She followed Fulco up the steps, careful to leave enough distance so that if he was caught out by a trip step, she would not be flattened by the large trunk. When she reached the top, he was already setting it down.

“Messenger give me this, too,” he said, reaching for a leather cord around his neck which bore the key.

“Thank you,” said Eden taking it from him. Fulco nodded and left her to it. She did not waste any time, but instead knelt before the chest, unlocking it and lifting the lid. To her surprise, the first thing she saw was a swathe of rose pink satin. “But what is this..?” she puzzled, lifting out what revealed itself to be a pretty gown with a silver trim. She recognized this - it was Lenora’s! Dropping it with an exclamation, she returned to the chest. The next dress she drew out was of sea-green with exquisite gold detail. “This…” she broke off distractedly. She was sure this was one of Lenora’s new gowns also! She recognized them from the last dress-fitting that Lenora had in Caer-Lyoness. She had insisted that Eden sat there while she selected the fabrics and had spent a small fortune on them. Uncle Leofric had only agreed to it, as part of her betrothal wardrobe. Eden’s blood ran cold. Why would her cousin send all her new gowns to her? Was she saying, here you may as well take everything that is mine! Thought Eden with horror. Next came a gold gown, decorated with a pink rose motif all over the bodice and gauzy see-through sleeves. Last came a pure white dress with a low-scooped neckline and sleeves so long they would no doubt touch the floor. Eden threw that on the floor along with the others, and rifled through the rest of the chest looking for a note or letter from Lenora, but there was none. Only three fine shifts of exquisite lawn, which would mean she had no need of Parva Osgoode after all, a mass of silk stockings and veils in an array of colors, and an assortment of matching ribbon garters. Eden sat back on her heels and stared at numbly at the finery. Then she burst into tears, and found she could not stop.

**

Three days later

Roland dismounted and scanned the tower for any visible signs of his wife. Which was frankly ridiculous. What was he expecting? A flash of blue at a window, or her to come running with his name on her lips? Both were sadly unreasonable, given the fact most of the windows at the Keep were narrow arrow loops, and his wife was more likely to scold him than hang about his neck. He had no idea why this thought made him smile to himself, either. “I’ll send Fulco down to help carry the packs in,” he told Cuthbert who was leading the horses toward the stable.”

“Aye,” said Cuthbert knowingly. “You wouldn’t want to keep my lady waiting,” he added with considerable cheek.

Roland reached into his saddle bag and extracted a couple of items, before slapping Bavol on the rump and sending him after Cuthbert. He hurried up toward the Keep. They had been gone six days in all, as he had diverted on impulse to Pryors Naunton on a shopping venture. He had ended up having to buy a third horse to load up all his purchases. And that wasn’t even the sum total of what he’d bought. The furniture he had commissioned would be conveyed here at some later point. He wasn’t quite sure what had come over him, but he was more eager to see Eden than really made sense. He exchanged some words with Fulco on the first floor, sending his manservant down to the stables. Then he made his way to the second floor, where he found the dining chamber and sitting room both empty, and the fires unlit. Hearing a foot on the stair, he wrenched open the door and surprised a curly-haired maid carrying down a tray. She faltered in her step, then gave him a hasty curtsey.

“Where’s my wife?” he demanded.

“She’s in her room, Sir Roland,” responded the maid, recovering fast and guessing who he was.

“Her room? Is she ill?”

“No sir,” she hesitated. “Only a little melancholic, I think.” At his stunned look, she added. “Doubtless missing you, sir.”

But Roland was already climbing the stairs two at a time. It occurred to him, shortly before opening the door to the bedchamber, that he had not seen a single dog since arriving, something unheard of at Vawdrey Keep. Then he blinked uncomprehendingly at the sight in front of him. All six dogs were dotted around the room, draped over chests, stretched out on the hearth-rug, and even one, Parnell, the villain, lying across the bottom of the bed. Eden’s feet were resting on him as if she were a living breathing tomb effigy. Castor, lying on top of a large handsome trunk, raised his head from his paws to look intently at Roland, then dropped it again and closed his eyes.

“Oh, you’re back, are you?” asked Eden lowering her book to look at him. She had the doors wide open to the box bed and was wrapped in a blanket, one long braid over her shoulder.

“What’s all this?” asked Roland with a sweeping hand gesture encompassing the whole room.

Eden shrugged. “It’s been wet and miserable,” she said and returned to her book.