A Lady Under Siege

24

A girl in the kitchen offered Mabel some meat from the leg of a boar, yesterday’s supper reboiled. She said no, knowing wild boar was a dish Sylvanne did not care for, but she did manage to take a few pieces and stuff them in her mouth. “Just a wee sample,” she joked. Then she returned with breakfast for herself and her Mistress: boiled eggs still in their shells, some rye bread roughly sliced, a bowl of warmed butter to dip it in, milk in a pitcher, and warmed cider in a jug. The guard helped her carry it from the kitchen to her Lady’s chambers, then excused himself with a nod and a bow. As the door shut, Sylvanne looked upon her maidservant expectantly.

“Well?” she asked. “Did you manage it this time?”

Mabel shook her head regretfully. “No Ma’am.”

“I’m growing impatient with you,” Sylvanne spat. “How hard can it be? From a kitchen full of them I ask only that you slip a small blade unnoticed into your apron, and hurry it to me.”

“It’s not so easy, Ma’am,” Mabel said apologetically. “I’m watched, always. But I promise the day will come when the proper opportunity presents itself, and I will act.”

“Make haste, Mabel,” Sylvanne exhorted her. “The more healthy that child grows, the harder it becomes to contemplate ruining her happiness. Every day I’m taken from this room to sit with father and daughter, where despite myself I’m affected by them. I can’t help it, when I’m exposed for hours on end to the loving attachment I see them share. Then I’m brought back here to be locked up and left to daydreams and queer thoughts. Do you know what I was thinking, just now? That perhaps I should kill the daughter along with her father, for her own good, to spare her a life of wretchedness. She’s already lost a mother—would she really want to go on living, sickly as she is, and fully orphaned? Mightn’t she be happier drowned like an unwanted kitten?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am, you mustn’t think such things,” Mabel cried. “To punish the guilty won’t bar you from heaven, but to harm the innocent surely will. And that child is sweet-natured and innocent.”

“I know that, and thus I contemplate putting her out of her misery. Is it strange to imagine that killing someone could be a favour to them?” Before Mabel could answer she continued, “I’ll kill her father as a favour to my late husband, because it’s my duty to do so, but why stop there? Why not kill the daughter, or kill myself even? I’ve never killed before—I may discover I like it, and go on a spree.”

“Madame,” Mabel pleaded. “I worry for your sanity. You obsess on your singular duty, and that can only be unhealthy.”

“How can I not obsess?” Sylvanne muttered angrily. “Do I have anything else here to occupy my mind?”

In a careful, tentative voice, Mabel asked, “Might I give you some advice, ma’am?”

“Yours is the only voice that speaks to me,” said Sylvanne. “So speak freely.”

“Well then. You’re not making your task any easier by so clearly showing everyone here your true intent. They see it, one and all, in your face, your actions, and even your words. When you are in the presence of Lord Thomas you’re sullen, unhelpful, and your words are ice cold. You claim a desire to imitate the life of Judith, but as I recall the story of that heroine, she didn’t approach that villain Holofernes with fury on her face and foul curses on her lips. Just the opposite—she tempted that great brute. She led him down the garden path to his own destruction using soft sighs and feminine giggles, gestures meant to enchant a man, and make him forget himself.”

There was good sense in these words, Sylvanne knew. Clearly, seduction would serve her better than the brooding anger she displayed to Lord Thomas. In a voice laden with self-reproach, she said, “I haven’t found a way to disguise my unhappiness. It’s too fresh, too strongly felt.”

“Our Biblical model accepted her need to play seductress, ma’am,” Mabel continued. “She behaved uncharacteristically for a greater purpose. And so should you, if I may say. So should you. Be sweet to the daughter, become her friend and companion, so that the father will look upon you tenderly. Match his tender regard with your own. Make him fall in love with you.”

Before Sylvanne could give expression to her thoughts the door opened, and a guard informed her of his orders: she was to be brought at once to Daphne’s bedroom. Pointing to the untouched breakfast upon the table, Sylvanne said, “Give us a few moments, there’s a dear,” in a voice she intended to sound honeyed and demure. To her own ears it felt fake, it fairly reeked of insincerity, but it produced the desired effect on the guard. He looked at her uncertainly, then nodded, and left the two women alone. As the door closed Mabel saw her Mistress smile for the first time in a very long time, possibly since the siege had been laid. “You might be on to something, sweet Mabel,” Sylvanne mused. “Come with me to the girl’s bedside, and let’s see whose heart I can win.”