The Past (18th June 1682) - Continued
“Is he alright?”
Mary looks at me. She shakes herself free of Red Charles and steps across the corridor, her eyes still red but bright. “Is he alright?”
“Yes,” I answer, swallowing. “He needs some time alone. Are you?”
She shakes her head. “No.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “But I will be.” Two people jostle pass us. “And I would prefer to be somewhere more private. Charles, why don’t you find Richard and Edward, and get them to help you bring some food and drink to my room?”
“Certainly – and Giovanni?”
“Why, Giovanni will keep me company while you are gone.” A shadow passes across her face. “I do not think I want to be alone, just now.” She takes my hand in her own. “Come on.”
Red Charles smiles at me, and goes in search of his brothers. Mary tugs lightly on my hand, and she leads up the stairs. One arm trailing, her hand holding mine, she walks like a dancer. I flush as I realise what this could mean, in any establishment, but Mary thankfully does not see my embarrassment.
Her room is a larger than either her father’s or her son’s. The far third is hidden behind a screen, a four-poster bed dominates the centre, and against the left wall is a dressing table. Filling the space are a couple of chairs, two benches, and a low set table.
“Please, sit,” she says. She disappears behind the screen, and emerges carrying a small bowl of water. She places it on the dressing table, and with a moistened cloth, starts to dab her face. “You get on well with my son.”
“Charles? He has been very kind to me.”
“Oh he likes you. He was telling me all about you last night, before what happened … happened.”
I lean forward. “Forgive me, but what actually took place?”
She turns about, and leans against the table. “There is nothing much to tell. He was attacked by three bravos in the street just outside late yesterday, just before curfew. But they were seen. Two were killed outright by the archer on the roof. The third Charles himself clobbered before one of the others drove a sword through his belly. We took that one in, he was still alive then.”
“Then?”
She smiles, without humour. “Oh, then he was asked questions far less gently than that Frenchman you had imprisoned here Giovanni, and I killed him once he had told us what he knew.” She looks beyond me, at something I cannot see. “I am glad I was able to do that.” She sighs. “Though my brother is still as dead.”
I blink, and try to steer the conversation elsewhere. “I am sorry not to have known him.”
She nods. “We were going to have a proper family dinner for you, once you killed Martin. I suppose we might yet, but …” She swallows hard, and her fingers clench the edge of the table. Her whole body goes rigid, and I start to stand, but something seems to let go, and the tension slips out of her.
She exhales a great burst of air. “I am sorry.”
“Do not be,” I say, making a dismissive wave of one hand. “You loved him-”
There is a knock, and someone scrabbles at the door. It swings open to reveal Charles, cradling a tray beneath one arm. “Lunch coming through!” he says, almost tripping as he enters.
“Take care!” his mother snaps, “I do not need soup on my floor. Put that on the table and sit down.”
Richard and another man, who must be Edward, follow Charles. Richard carries another tray, but Edward holds two jars and tucked under each arm a couple of beakers.
“Soup, bread, and cheese,” Red Charles reports, “and I’ve broached a barrel of the decent beer.” He takes one of the jars from Edward, and fills us each a beaker.
“Hello Giovanni,” Richard murmurs to me as his brother serves. A beaker is thrust into my hands. Charles takes his own beaker last and faces us all. He raises it high.
“To Charles!”
“To Charles,” we echo, and drink. I try not to make a face at the bitter taste, but the food is better. I say very little for the rest of the afternoon as Charles and his two brothers do their best to entertain and distract their mother. For the most part they succeed, telling stories and making jokes, but now and then I see her face go blank. The third or fourth time she catches me looking at her. She smiles for a moment, just at me, before asking Charles for another drink.