While Beauty Slept (48 page)

I walked slowly through the gate. The garden appeared well tended, a promising sign. I took hold of the door knocker, a brass figure of a ram’s head, and rapped twice. The door was opened by a young woman of fourteen or so, wearing a dress of fine-quality wool that indicated she was not a servant. She met my gaze directly, unnervingly so, for I found myself looking downward shyly as I asked for Mr. Yelling. She said nothing, simply turned her back to me and strode away, leaving the door open behind her.

Unsure whether or not to enter, I stepped into the doorway and peered around. The house was simple but well kept, though I caught only glimpses into the front rooms. The chairs and tables I saw were as fine as any pieces in my aunt’s house. Scattered about were the usual odds and ends of family life: half-knit socks and a roll of yarn flung upon a chair, cloaks of various sizes hanging from hooks along the wall, an assortment of miniature carved wooden animal toys. I suddenly felt ashamed of my intrusion into Marcus’s world. I had arrived on his doorstep uninvited and unexpected, taking his help for granted, as if he had no other worries or demands on his time. I had no right to expect anything from him.

I heard footsteps approaching from the back of the house, and there was no opportunity to do anything but stand at attention as Marcus walked toward me. The smile that brightened his features provoked an equally pleased grin on my face.

“Elise!” he exclaimed. “I am so glad you’ve come.”

Faced with a welcome far warmer than I deserved, the confidence that had propelled me toward his door vanished. Wringing my hands nervously, I began mumbling apologetically.

“I am so sorry to disturb you. . . .”

“Nonsense!” he assured me, but I heard a hint of wariness as he glanced from my face to my hands, checking for signs of the pox. I had been adept at such studies myself in the days before all around me fell dead.

“Be assured, I am well,” I said hastily.

“Please, come in.”

He led me into the front room and insisted I sit down, taking a chair opposite. The girl followed, standing over his shoulder and watching me with an intensity that bordered on rudeness. A boy, a few years younger, peered around the edge of the doorframe, then pulled away when my eyes caught his.

Following my gaze, Marcus said, “My son, Lian. And this is my daughter, Evaline. Evaline, this is Elise. We’ve known each other since we were children.” This was not strictly the truth, though close enough in spirit. Our bodies were grown when we’d first met, yet our thoughts and feelings had been childish, changeable. I still did not know what sort of man Marcus had proved to be.

Evaline continued to eye me warily. Uncomfortable with such scrutiny, I turned my attention back to Marcus. There was so much to say, but the words would not come. The ease of our initial greeting had stiffened into discomfort; the weary father before me had little in common with the love-struck young man I had carried so long in my memory. Had I made a terrible mistake?

“Have you come from town?” Evaline asked sharply. “Do you bring news of my mother?”

I remembered telling Marcus his wife was not safe in St. Elsip, that he must bring her home. Had he disregarded my warning? I looked at Marcus, my face silently asking the question, but he turned away.

“Elise has come from the castle, on a personal matter,” he admonished his daughter. He rose from his seat and addressed me directly. “Come, I’ll show you around the property, and we can speak in peace.”

Evaline pouted with disapproval, but she said nothing else. Marcus led me outside and onto a pathway that led alongside the house. We passed the garden and stables, ending at a clearing that edged the forest. It was a tranquil spot, within sight of the house but secluded enough that two people could speak without being overheard.

“I must apologize for Evaline’s behavior,” he said, his face revealing the weariness that so often afflicts parents. “She has become quite unmanageable since Hester’s departure.”

“Your wife has been in town all this time?”

He paused, as if gathering strength to tell a story he wished forgotten. “I did as you told me. I went back to her sister’s to fetch her, but by then, you see, she had already breathed the air of the sickroom. I thought of Evaline and Lian, their . . . health. . . .” He stumbled over the words, gripped by the hesitant stammer I remembered so well. I ached for him, to be faced with such a choice.

“So you put your children’s safety above all else and returned home alone,” I guessed.

“I told myself Hester would return of her own accord. I would not have barred her from the house, even if she were sick, I swear.” It was clear he had not forgiven himself for turning back that day. For being afraid.

“Who is to say what passed? Your wife may be well, only afraid to travel.”

Marcus looked at me intently. “Have many survived?”

I thought of the streets and houses of St. Elsip, seemingly empty of all but corpses. Tears began to stream down my cheeks, and my chest heaved with sobs.

Marcus put his arms around me, shoring up my body with the force of his embrace. The inappropriateness of such contact with a married man did not enter my thoughts; all I felt was an overpowering relief that the burden of bravery had finally been lifted. Here, at last, I could release my grief.

As my cries subsided, Marcus loosened his grip. I allowed myself a few heavy breaths to feel the weight of his arms a moment longer. When I fell silent, he pulled away. His face was tight with worry, and he avoided meeting my eyes as he ran his hands through his hair and took a step back. We had first spoken politely as strangers, then clung to each other as lovers. Lulled by the sunlight, the fresh air, the gentle chirping of crickets, I had imagined myself thrust back in time, to the days when Marcus had the power to lighten my cares. But the man who stood before me was in many ways a stranger, and this foolish dalliance had distracted me from a matter of life and death.

“I must go,” I exclaimed. “I have left Rose too long.”

“She lives?” he asked, his face brightening with hope. “Then the king’s plan worked. The castle was saved.”

“I wish it were so,” I said, speaking quickly so I would not have time to conjure the image of the bodies piled in the chapel. “The king and queen are dead, and those who survived have fled. Rose and I are the only ones who remain.”

“You cannot stay in that vast place alone!” Marcus exclaimed. “Is that why you sought me out? You are welcome to stay here, both of you. Under the circumstances no one would begrudge the princess taking shelter in such a humble home.” His voice held the urgency of one who seeks peace through acts of penance. “There must be some way I can help you.”

“You already have,” I said.

“Elise . . .” Marcus looked into my eyes, a direct, unflinching gaze that caught me off guard. For a single tantalizing moment, he seemed about to confess to feelings I thought long repressed. Instead he glanced downward and rubbed his hands wearily across his cheeks and back around his head, a gesture that brought a pang of remembrance. I had seen him do the same years ago, clearing his thoughts.

“I’m hardly the person you should look to for comfort,” he said sadly. “I’m barely managing as it is. We had to shut down the tannery, and with no work coming in I can no longer pay my men’s wages. The pox may have destroyed my business for good. I’ve put up a brave front for the children, but they ask after their mother incessantly. I’m tired, so tired of lying to them.”

“If the worst has befallen your wife, delaying the news will be no kindness. Best they know one way or the other.”

I reached for his hand and brushed my fingers lightly against his. One last touch before facing what awaited me at the castle. “I must be off. I have been gone from Rose’s side for too long.”

“Wait.” Marcus took hold of my arm. “It’s long since time I went to St. Elsip. I will drive you.”

I accepted the offer gratefully. After Marcus had bade farewell to his children, I took a seat beside him on the front bench of a worn-out cart.

“If there are thieves about, there’s no sense in tempting them with my carriage,” Marcus said, smiling wryly. “I am aware this is far from the royal transport you’re accustomed to.”

I burst into a laugh, a response far out of proportion to the joke. I laughed again as the cart started and my body lurched with the movement, hands reaching wildly for the plank of wood beneath me. Confined so long by my duties, I had forgotten how tightly they constricted. I shifted in my seat, trying in vain to take a position where I was not at risk of tumbling to the ground.

“I see that the soft living at court has spoiled you,” Marcus teased.

“Indeed. I wouldn’t dare be seen in a humble tannery cart.”

“Imagine the disgrace,” Marcus said, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

As I searched for a suitably witty retort, we passed an opening in the trees and the glint of sunlight on water caught my eye. It was the meadow where we had lain years before, the place where I had almost surrendered myself to him. Marcus’s gaze followed mine, and I suspected that his thoughts did as well. We remembered the boy and girl we once were, delighting in each other and feeling happiness within our grasp. Then we looked upon the man and woman we had become: weary and frightened, wise in the ways that happiness can slip from the tightest clutches. We proceeded the rest of the distance to town in silence, unable to revive our lighthearted banter.

Marcus pulled up the cart at the bottom of the castle hill. “Please, consider my offer.”

I saw the sadness in his eyes, the desperate need to salvage something of his self-respect. Suddenly, achingly, I wished he were coming with me, so I would not have to face the horrors of the castle alone. But Marcus was about to discover whether his wife was dead or alive; he must not be allowed to fret about me.

I thanked him, politely yet formally, and stepped down from the cart, taking care to walk away with a steady, determined stride. Ahead, the void of the empty courtyard beckoned, ushering me toward my final, dreaded duty. The weight of the water bucket slowed my already unwilling steps as I returned to the North Tower. No pretty phrase could soften the blow I was about to deliver. Rose’s parents were dead, and I would be the sole witness to her terrible grief.

I rounded the corner nearest Rose’s room and saw, to my surprise, that the door was open. My pace quickened. I walked briskly inside, laying down the water bucket and calling out Rose’s name. There was no reply. The sitting room and bedchamber were empty.

Panicked with fear, I backed out into the hallway. I imagined Rose standing in the same spot, pondering her choices, and knew immediately where she had gone. And what she would see there.

I raced toward the king’s apartments, my shoes clattering along the twisting passages.

“Rose!” I shouted out.

A sound from within, more a sniffle than a word, caught my ears, and I hurried inside. I found Rose hunched on the floor at her mother’s bedside, clutching the queen’s stiff, lifeless arm. Horrified, I dropped to my knees beside her.

“What are you doing here?” I admonished, instantly regretting my sharp tone. Rose was curled up in misery, a portrait of grief personified.

“I kissed her. I felt her breath,” Rose mumbled.

Fear cut short my courtesy. “Your mother is dead, can you not see?”

“No, no, it cannot be!”

I leaned over and gently pressed my palm to Queen Lenore’s cheek. Her skin felt cold, and her chest lay still. I knew the body capable of miracles. Could she have lain here for days, drifting in that hellish, sleepless state between life and death? Had the sight of her beloved daughter granted her the peace to die?

It was possible. It was also possible that Rose had imagined what she wished to be true. I would never know. All that mattered was that Queen Lenore’s spirit was gone and Rose’s life was in danger each minute she huddled against her mother’s body.

“Get up,” I ordered, grabbing Rose’s hands.

She struggled to resist me, but I held firm.

“You cannot stay,” I insisted, half pulling and half pushing her from the room.

Rose whimpered, but she stumbled along beside me through the sitting room and back out to the hall. I kept one arm around her shoulders, leading her forward, as she stared ahead dully. When we approached her chamber, she turned to me and asked softly, “Where is everyone?”

I hurried her inside, bolting the door behind me. Though I believed us alone, the thieves who ran loose in St. Elsip might be bold enough to venture into the castle before long.

“Elise, why did we pass no other ladies or servants?” Rose asked, her voice rising.

“Many fled,” I said, not meeting her eyes.

“Or they’re dead.” Saying the words aloud brought their full meaning to her attention. “Are they?”

“Not all.” Once the pox had passed, those who had survived would return. Rose and I would not be abandoned here, alone, forever. . . .

“You’re lying! They’re dead! All dead!”

The cries sprang from her body like an evil spirit. I enveloped Rose in my arms, but she collapsed to the floor. I crouched down next to her, pressing my hands to her back and trying to cradle her head in my lap, but she would not be comforted. Like a hysterical child, she wrested herself from me and curled her body in despair, screams hurtling out from the depths of her being. I feared that the sight of her parents had driven her mad.

Suddenly there was silence. Rose lay with her hands wrapped around her legs, hugging them close to her chest, her tangled hair cascading around her. Her eyes were pressed shut, her breathing heavy.

“Come,” I murmured carefully, “you must rest.”

She did not protest as I lifted her to the bed, nor when I loosened the laces on her gown and stripped her to her shift. I pulled back the covers and tucked her underneath. The last rays of daylight were gleaming through the window, an hour when I would customarily be preparing dinner and planning my stories for the night. I asked Rose if she would like something to drink, and she shook her head. I lay down beside her and stroked her hair, a gesture meant to soothe, but she was already calm. Eerily so. As I watched her through that night, lighting one candle and then another, she lay peacefully but not at peace. Tears trickled silently down her cheeks, but she made no sound. The abnormal quiet unsettled me more than her earlier hysteria.