The Secret Eleanor by Cecelia Holland Read Free Book Online

Poitiers, she could forget about Ralph, and be happy.
    She wanted to forget Ralph. She felt now that everything between them had been a sham.
    She wiped her eyes on the damp bedclothes. She couldn’t just run away. Eleanor’s marriage was like an iron cage all around them, and she could see no gate through it. She had to trust Eleanor. She had to have faith that whatever Eleanor was scheming would make both of them happy somehow. She knew she would do what Eleanor wanted, anyway. Everybody, in the end, did whatever Eleanor wanted. And she was only Eleanor’s little sister, not even a wife anymore; what choice had she? She squeezed her eyes shut, aching for the oblivion of sleep.

    It rained all night, but the morning, fortunately, was fine, and not so hot. The women bustled in, carrying the tray, the cups, the warming pan, the little jars of spice. They gathered in the middle of the room. Petronilla looked drowsy. “I didn’t sleep well,” she said. “You dreamed, again.” As if this were some new crime of Eleanor’s, to dream.
    Eleanor leaned toward her, keen with conspiracy. Under her breath she whispered, “Are you ready?” She ignored the little hesitancy in her sister’s manner. Petronilla would warm to this; they had always loved to play tricks on people, even when they were children.
    Petronilla’s head bobbed. She reached for the cup of wine and announced, as if she were some kind of herald, that she would go out after Mass and cross the river to the Studium, to hear the masters speak of Aristotle.
    “Fetch a page for Joffre de Rançun. He can escort me.”
    Alys said, “My lady, you said you were tired—”
    “I’m fine now,” Petronilla said. “I can’t stay cooped up in here all day long.” She seemed almost angry, and Alys backed away, her hands up, placating.
    Eleanor said, “Be careful, Petra. Perhaps Alys is right.”
    Her sister gave her a quick, fretful, warning look. “I will be fine. I love the Studium.” Her voice had a knife edge to it. Do you want me to go along with this or not?
    “Very well,” Eleanor said hastily. “You know I can deny you nothing.”
    Alys said, “My lady, should not one of us go with you?”
    Eleanor stiffened, alarmed, but Petronilla laughed. “Which of you would not fall asleep before the masters and disgrace me? Joffre will be there.” She waved her hand to end the conversation. “I am going; say no more. No one else will care anyway.”
    They went to Mass and then ate bread and cheese. Afterward, Petronilla sent a page down to make sure that Joffre de Rançun had brought her little mare.
    She turned, and Alys swung her white cloak around her. Petronilla pinned the veil up over her face. Over the top edge, her sister’s eyes found Eleanor’s. “Good day, Eleanor.”
    Eleanor smiled, and the understanding passed between them. Petronilla swept out the door. Eleanor paced around the room, unable to be still, while the women watched her owlishly and jumped at her every turn. Claire stuck herself with a needle and wailed, which made the rest all laugh.
    After what seemed half the day, the bells began to clang for Nones, which was the signal. She wore only a plain dark gown, and now she went herself to the wardrobe and took out her red hooded cloak.
    “Where are you going?” the women all said at once.
    She whirled the cloak around her. “I am going out into the garden for a while. And no one is to go with me, or follow me. You will stay here, or I will wring all your necks, one by one.” She glared at them, even Marie-Jeanne and Alys, whom she loved, whom she trusted. “And if any of you watch at the window, I shall know.” She raked them with a scowl and went to the door.
    The guard there, as usual, was half-asleep; she got past him before he could stir and ran down the stairs. There on the first landing, in the dark angle between the stair and the wall, Petronilla was waiting. They needed no words but acted together as if they were one;