A Lady Under Siege

47

Sylvanne wanted to be married as soon as possible, and Thomas, taking her at her word, decreed a mere two days from proposal to ceremony. The wedding would thus be a hurried, intimate, nearly private affair. Daphne appointed herself Mademoiselle In Charge Of The Bridal Gown, but there was no time to sort through rolls of fabric or consult with dressmakers. Here Sylvanne’s practicality came to the fore, and the former farm girl settled for what was at hand, a kirtle of pale green silk she found in Daphne’s mother’s wardrobe, which she then transformed by adorning the neckline and bodice with embroidered pink flowers from one of her own dresses. “Would it trouble your father if I wore this?” she asked Daphne, and the girl said not to worry, for in the first place she had never seen her mother wear the dress, and secondly, even if her father knew of it, he would never recognize it with the lovely floral addition.

Well pleased at having so effortlessly fixed on the bride’s attire, the two of them retired to Daphne’s room for a far more thorny undertaking—to choose a dress acceptable to a twelve-year-old girl. Sylvanne passed the better part of the afternoon helping Daphne into all sorts of gowns and kirtles, some the girl’s own, some her mother’s, and some Sylvanne’s, but no matter how she tucked and reshaped them to suggest how they could be altered to fit to perfection, none met with Daphne’s wholehearted approval. Among an ever-more frantic scattering of dresses they were found by Mabel, who poked her head in for a surprise visit. “I heard the wonderful news and just couldn’t stay away,” she gushed.

“This is fortuitous—we’re in need of a third opinion to break the tie,” Sylvanne told her.

“No no, Madame, any such major decision must be unanimous,” Mabel insisted. Daphne modeled several of the leading candidates, while Sylvanne pinned them to improve their lines, but still the girl stubbornly refused to make up her mind. “Such a parade of lovely fabric overwhelms my head and makes it ache,” Mabel said gruffly. “This is turning more arduous than I expected. Daphne, run down to the kitchen and get us some dandelion tea, there’s a good girl. Have them put a bit of brandy in it.”

“I’ll get one of the maidservants to go,” Daphne replied.

“No, I’d rather you did. I need to have a wee chat with Madame, alone. We’ll be done by the time you get back.”

“Fine—exile me from my own room,” the girl said peevishly. She departed in a sulk.

Sylvanne said to Mabel, “I was wondering why you came and lingered, when I’m sure your husband and boys expect you home.”

“Yes, well, I’ve something quite important to say, or at least I’ve been told it’s important, although I don’t thoroughly grasp its meaning,” she announced. Sylvanne looked at her questioningly. Mabel continued, “I’m feeling a little like an actor in some troupe of travelling minstrels, for my lines have been fed me, and I repeat them without fully comprehending them.”

“And who gave you these lines?”

“Your fiancé, Madame—your soon-to-be husband. He made a promise never to speak to a certain woman again, and determines to keep it, yet he feels there is one more message this woman needs to hear.”

“She doesn’t,” Sylvanne said sharply.

“Please, Madame. Hear me out before you decide what your husband is up to, and whether he should be scolded or praised.”

Sylvanne made an effort to rein in her sudden temper. “Alright then. Proceed. Declaim.”

“Very well.” After clearing her throat experimentally, as if tuning a musical instrument, and cupping her hands together over her chest in preparation, Mabel at last began to speak. “To the Lady who Dwells Within. That’s who this is addressed to. Ahem. Dear Lady, who listens to me now—Lord Thomas has a favour to ask of you. Last night he dreamt that the man Derek spoke to you of a medicine, a potion of some kind, that your physician—he’s not sure of her title, but she’s a counsellor of sorts, and of late she suggested this potion to you, so that you would sleep without dreams.” Here Mabel paused, to gauge Sylvanne’s reaction.

“Continue,” Sylvanne bade her.

“Lord Thomas would be most pleased, then, if you did indeed possess such a potion, that you should take it, so as to be affected by it, so as to be absent from Lady Sylvanne’s mind on her wedding night, so that her first night of Holy and sanctified marriage might truly be a private joining between husband and wife. Furthermore, he asks that you consume this dream-stifling potion regularly, from now forward, so that he may concentrate his full devotion toward his new wife, whom he intends to love fully and completely. Are you alright, Madame?”

Sylvanne eyes had moistened. “Yes, yes,” she answered. “I’m well pleased.”

“Thank God for that,” Mabel sighed with relief. “I wasn’t sure whether you still took his peculiar ideas as nonsense, like you once did, or whether you’ve come to accept them as real.”

“I must have accepted them,” Sylvanne mused. “For the words you have relayed feel to me like a sweet gift. A wedding gift.” Suddenly she felt so exhilarated she couldn’t stand still.

“What is it, Madame?”

“I feel an urge to fly to him, to throw my arms around his neck, and thank him with kisses.”

“Then do so!” Mabel cheered. “Run off to your lucky man, and I’ll head homeward to mine.”

The two of them met Daphne in the hall. “I’ll be right back,” Sylvanne called out in passing.

“What about your dandelion tea?” asked the startled girl.

“You drink mine for me,” Mabel told her. “Your soon-to-be mother needs to kiss her husband-to-be.”

Sylvanne found him in a nearby courtyard, reciting history to a half dozen boys. Without a word she took him by the hand and steered him to a shaded alcove, and told him, “Mabel has delivered your message. I thank you for the gesture, which pleases me very much.” A little furtively she looked about to make sure no one was watching, then stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, and afterward let him hold her close.

“I’m glad,” he replied. “It’s a token of my intentions. I want you to feel cherished.”

“But what of Daphne’s health?” she asked suddenly. “I thought of that later—that’s the one risk we take in severing your connection to this woman’s counsel.”

“I’ve weighed the danger,” he replied. “My feeling is that Daphne is cured—she’s fitter now than she’s ever been in her life. That Lady’s dictums as to hygienic treatment healed the girl’s arm, while such things as oranges and onion and garlic improved her physical health, and I will be forever in her debt for prescribing them. But I also give much credit to you, for the company you’ve kept with her, and the cheer you’ve brought to a lonely girl whose very heart and spirit were broken by her mother’s passing.”

“You give me too much credit,” Sylvanne protested. She pressed herself close against him, her head on his shoulder. “The fates are strange animals,” she murmured. “They brought me here for what seemed a dark purpose, and now they bestow happiness upon me. I pray their work is done, and they leave us from here to build joy upon joy.”