Bone House_ A Novel - Betsy Tobin [15]
“What happened?” I ask.
She shakes her head and makes a sucking noise through the gap in her two front teeth. Cook is short on words but generous with sentiment; she never fails to make her meaning known. I notice that someone has loosened the cords of my underbodice and removed my kirtle. I start to sit up, but Cook gently pushes me back down onto the pillow.
“Not yet,” she says, turning away to rinse the cloth once again in the basin.
In a flash Lucius’s words come back to me. Dora truly felt she was in danger of death, but why? What did she know about the child inside her? Was it possible that she had lain with the devil, as my mother had suggested? I did not believe such things were likely, though many in the village did. I believed in the powers of the cunning men and women: that certain people had an ability to influence their surroundings through particular means. I had seen evidence of this on more than one occasion. But of the devil’s ability to assume a human form and father a child, this much I doubted, for even God himself did not achieve such things, and surely God must be more powerful than Satan. But if not the devil, then who? Dora had no enemies that I knew of. She lived in fear of no one.
Cook lays the cloth upon me once again, and I close my eyes. The images of last night’s dream dance before me, particularly the face of the boy, his fearsome expression, and the sound of his howl as the sack hit the flames. I open my eyes to stop them and Cook looks down at me with concern.
“I must get up,” I say.
“And faint again? Not while I am here,” says Cook firmly.
“It is only a little tiredness. I slept poorly in the night, that is all,” I insist.
“Then you must rest now,” she says.
“Please,” I say imploringly. “I do not wish to.” Cook looks at me suspiciously. She seems to sense that the prospect of sleep frightens me, for she sighs and offers an arm to help me rise. She helps me with my underbodice and kirtle, and pins my hair anew.
“Where is my mistress?” I ask when she is through.
“In her chamber,” says Cook.
“Please send word to her that I am much recovered,” I say. Cook raises an eyebrow at me quizzically. “And that I should like to rest a while longer in my room.” Cook hesitates, then nods. I squeeze her hand in thanks, and slip out the door.
When I arrive at Long Boy’s cottage, I pause just outside. No doubt my mother still attends him, and I prefer to speak to Long Boy without her present. I knock and enter, and she is indeed there, chopping herbs and onions, an iron pot simmering on a hook over the fire. Long Boy is asleep in bed, and in a glance I can see that Lucius is right, for his color is much improved and his breath comes easily. My mother, however, appears overtired. Her movements are sluggish compared with her usual efficiency, and her face is tinged with gray.
“The boy is better,” she says, by way of greeting.
“I met Lucius this morning,” I tell her. She shrugs. “You stayed the night?” I ask.
“I felt it best,” she says, indicating a wooden chair by the fire. I do not ask, but sense that she is unwilling to occupy Dora’s bed.
“You must go home and rest,” I tell her.
“There is no need,” she says.
“He is over any danger now, you can see that.”
“She would want me to stay,” says my mother.
“She would be very grateful for all you’ve done. And would not wish you to put your own health at risk any more than is necessary,” I say firmly. “I will stay with him until he wakes.”
My mother hesitates a moment. “He must have broth,” she says.
“Yes, of course.”
“And bread. And herbs. But no meat. He is not strong enough.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve made a tonic.” She indicates a jug on the