There were two shepherds and several farmers, but it was “the poorest of all Guillaume’s holdings,” Imeyne said, complaining again about them having to spend Christmas there. The steward’s wife was the resident social climber, and Maisry’s family the local ne’er-do-wells. Kivrin recorded everything, statistics and gossip, folding her hands in prayer whenever she had the chance.
The snow that had started when they brought her back to the manor continued all that night and into the next afternoon, snowing nearly a foot. The first day Kivrin was up, it rained, and Kivrin hoped the rain would melt the snow, but it merely hardened the crust to ice.
She was afraid she’d have no hope at all of recognizing the drop without the wagon and boxes there. She would have to get Gawyn to show it to her, but that was easier said than done. He only came into the hall to eat or to ask Eliwys something, and Imeyne was always there, watching, when he was, so she didn’t dare approach him.
Kivrin began taking the girls on little excursions—around the courtyard, out into the village—in the hopes that she might run into him, but he was not in the barn or the stable. Gringolet was not there either. Kivrin wondered if he had gone after her attackers in spite of Eliwys’s orders, but Rosemund said he was out hunting. “He kills deer for the Christmas feast,” Agnes said.
No one seemed to care where she took the little girls or how long they were gone. Lady Eliwys nodded abstractly when Kivrin asked if she might take the little girls to the stable, and Lady Imeyne didn’t even tell Agnes to fasten her cloak or wear her mittens. It was as if they had given the children over into Kivrin’s care and then forgotten them.
They were very busy with preparations for Christmas. Eliwys had recruited every girl and old woman in the village and set them to baking and cooking. The two pigs were slaughtered, and over half the doves killed and plucked. The courtyard was full of feathers and the smell of baking bread.
In the 1300’s Christmas had been a two-week celebration with feasting and games and dancing, but Kivrin was surprised that Eliwys was doing all this under the circumstances. She must be convinced Lord Guillaume would really come for Christmas, as he’d promised.
Imeyne supervised the cleaning of the hall, complaining constantly about the poor conditions and the lack of decent help. This morning she had brought in the steward and another man to take down the heavy tables from the walls and set them on two trestles. She was supervising Maisry and a woman with the patchy white scars of scrofula on her neck while they scrubbed the table with sand and heavy brushes.
“There is no lavendar,” she said to Eliwys. “And not enough new rushes for the floor.”
“We shall have to make do with what we have then,” Eliwys said.
“We have no sugar for the subtlety, either, and no cinnamon. At Courcy they are amply provided. He would welcome us.”
Kivrin was putting on Agnes’s boots, getting ready to take her out to see her pony in the stable again. She looked up, alarmed.
“It is but a half day’s journey,” Imeyne said. “Lady Yvolde’s chaplain will likely say the mass, and—”
Kivrin didn’t hear the rest of it because Agnes said, “My pony is called Saracen.”
“Um,” Kivrin murmured, trying to hear the conversation. Christmas was a time when the nobility often went visiting. She should have thought of that before. They took their entire households and stayed for weeks, at least until Epiphany. If they went to Courcy, they might stay until long after the rendezvous.
“Father named him Saracen for that he has a heathen heart,” Agnes said.
“Sir Bloet will take it ill when he finds we have sat so near through Yule without a visit,” Lady Imeyne said. “He will think the betrothal has gone amiss.”
“We cannot go to Courcy for Yule,” Rosemund said. She had been sitting on the bench across from Kivrin and Agnes, sewing, but now she stood up. “My father promised without fail that he would come by Christmas. He will be ill-pleased to come and find us gone.”
Imeyne turned and glared at Rosemund. “He will be ill– pleased to find his daughters grown so wild they speak when they will and meddle in matters that do not concern them.” She turned back to Eliwys, who was looking worried. “My son would surely have the wit to seek us at Courcy.”
“My husband bade us stay here and wait till he comes,” Eliwys said. “He will be pleased that we have done his bidding.” She went over to the hearth and picked up Rosemund’s sewing, clearly putting an end to the conversation.
But not for long, Kivrin thought, watching Imeyne. The old woman pursed her lips angrily and pointed at a spot on the table. The woman with the scrofula scars immediately moved to scrub it.
