Whited Sepulchres by C B Hanley Read Free Book Online Page A

that gown, although mainly on the seams, while the professional seamstress who was summoned twice a year from York had fitted the bodice. It was a shame the colour wouldn’t last – like all bright things, it would fade over time – but just now it looked magnificent, putting the slightly drab travelling clothes of the other two ladies into the shade, as did the new gold filigree headdress holding Isabelle’s wimple in place, which both sisters had dutifully admired. And if you think that’s lovely, thought Joanna, then wait until you see what she’ll be wearing for the actual wedding. She’ll outshine you both.
    Joanna tried to work out what was going on in the Lady Ela’s mind. Both sisters were sipping wine while they spoke with Isabelle, but whereas Maud seemed fully engaged, Ela’s eyes kept turning to where Sir Gilbert was sitting with William Fitzwilliam and Henry de Stuteville. The afternoon sun slanted in from the windows which faced the inner ward and illuminated his profile. He was certainly more handsome than Lady Ela’s skinny husband, but she didn’t seem to be admiring him in that way. So what was it? Joanna realised she was staring, and turned her eyes back to her embroidery in case anyone had noticed. But after a few moments she risked another glance at the Lady Ela, who was still flicking her eyes between Isabelle and Sir Gilbert. And then she realised why the look was familiar – it was the one Isabelle wore when she was looking over new goods to buy, assessing their worth. The Lady Ela was sizing her sister’s bridegroom up as though he were no more than a new set of hairpins.
    Before Joanna could explore this thought further, her attention was distracted by a squabble which had broken out between the boys. At first she thought it was the two visitors, but little Pierre was standing attentively beside his father. No, it was Roger and Thomas. Thomas really ought to have been standing around the edge of the room with the squires, but he’d given up on his duties once his mother had arrived, and sat down with his brother to play at merels and filch from one of the bowls of dried fruit which was set out. It would appear that they now had a disagreement over the game, for Thomas had picked up the board, scattering the pieces everywhere, and was trying to hit the smaller boy with it. Roger started shrieking and crying to his mother, and soon both boys were rolling on the floor striking at one another.
    William Fitzwilliam leapt out of his chair and waded into the fray, telling them to stop and trying rather ineffectually to separate the boys as he was kicked by their flying feet, looking all the while at the earl, who remained aloof. Sir Gilbert looked rather startled, not having heard such a commotion in these chambers before; Henry de Stuteville gave a tolerant shake of his head, slapped his hand on the arm of his chair, stood, looked appraisingly at the two rolling, scratching children, and then swooped, catching each by the neck of the tunic and lifting them into the air.
    Their father smoothed the front of his clothing, which had become ruffled, and opened his mouth to speak. But he was interrupted before he could start.
    ‘William!’ The Lady Ela had risen from her chair and was looking through narrowed eyes at her husband. ‘Don’t bore us all with another of your lectures. They’re just in high spirits, that’s all.’ She looked with fatuous devotion at the boys. ‘Come now, apologise to your lord uncle and play quietly.’
    Apologise to your uncle, thought Joanna. Yes, but not to your father, who was the one who got kicked. That’s the Lady Ela for you. She looked as Henry de Stuteville gave the boys a little shake and then put them down, clapping them on the back. He spoke in his pronounced Norman accent – ‘Yes, yes, just boys playing’ – as he patted Thomas on the head. ‘Come now, come and tell me about being a page here.’ He moved him away from Roger, who went to sit