Mathilde 01 - The Cup of Ghosts by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page B

gold-edged blue robe, sat with her back to us, staring at the ice in the fountain bowl.
    ‘I can’t announce you.’ The chamberlain seemed strangely frightened. ‘The Lady Isabella has a temper. She does not wish to be disturbed when she is talking to Marie.’
    ‘Marie?’ Monsieur Simon whispered. ‘Who is Marie, is it a pet fish or bird?’
    I kept staring at that still figure, motionless, as if carved out of stone. The chamberlain whispered to my companion. Monsieur Simon clasped my hand, then left hurriedly. I never saw him alive again. A short while later he and his entire household were murdered, but, God assoil them, I shall come to that.
    At the time I stood until I became aware of the cold, how my thighs and legs ached. I walked across, round the bench, and gazed down at the small figure. She’d hidden her hands beneath the cloak; now these came out, fingers so delicate, and her head came up, the hood pushed back, and I looked on Isabella for the first time. She had lustrous golden hair, parted along the middle, and falling down to her shoulders. A lively, rather thin face with an elfin look, the nose pert, the lips flame-red, but those strange blue eyes with their Moorish slant were truly beautiful, a legacy I later learnt from her mother, Jeanne of Navarre. She peered up at me, swinging her feet in their hard-soled sandals.
    ‘Who are you?’ She cocked her head to one side and looked me up and down. ‘Just who are you? Why are you here?’
    ‘Madame,’ I stammered, ‘madame, I am Mathilde de Clairebon. I am to join your household as a demoiselle de chambre .’
    ‘Come here, Mathilde.’ She smiled. I stepped closer. She abruptly swung her leg back and kicked me viciously in the shin. I yelped in pain, lifting my foot to nurse my ankle. She noticed my anger, my clenched fist. The knights in the corner became alerted by the altercation. I heard their raised voices, the sound of a drawn sword. Isabella’s face grew serious.
    ‘Don’t do anything,’ she whispered. ‘Fall to your knees.’
    She gestured with her hands, indicating at the knights to stand back, then leaned closer, her faint herbal fragrance, rosewater and something else, tickling my nostrils. Her skin was pure and clean, her teeth white, not a mark; the nose didn’t look quite so pert but rather sharp, whilst those eyes were a brilliant blue, so clear yet so striking, and her skin glowed as if dusted with gold. She raised a hand, pushing a few hairs from her forehead, and felt her throat.
    ‘They say I have a swan neck,’ she murmured. ‘One day I will be truly beautiful. What do you think, Mathilde?’
    ‘Madame,’ I retorted, ‘you are as beautiful as any jewel. Any painting I have seen of an angel would compare with you.’
    She lifted her foot and pressed it against my groin.
    ‘Are you virgo intacta?’
    I was so shocked by the question from one so young, I just gaped back.
    ‘Who are you, Mathilde, really? You’re frightened, aren’t you? Why are you frightened of me? No one is frightened of me. Yet,’ she turned quickly as if someone was sitting beside her before glancing back at me, ‘Marie doesn’t like you.’
    ‘Madame,’ I demanded, ‘who is Marie? I can’t see anyone.’
    ‘Of course, you can’t.’ She laughed; not a girlish giggle, but a deep, throaty laugh as if she was truly amused by my reaction.
    ‘You can’t see Marie. No one can see her except me. I’ve seen her for years. She always comes with me. She’s my lady-in-waiting. She died, you know, some years ago, or so she told me, of the sweating sickness. Now she comes back and talks to me. She sits on my bed while I sew a piece of tapestry or try to read the book of hours Father gave me. You’ve met my father?’
    I shook my head, the ice was soaking through my knees. I was aware of how cold the air had become. The knights ignored us as if they were used to such scenes. I turned my head slightly to see what they were doing and received a