Page 51

A fter hurriedly visiting a jeweler and making arrangements for a tailor to visit them the next morn, James spent the rest of the day locked in the room he rented at Master Gregory’s town house, immersed in his work.

He had spent a productive day filled with inspiration and managed to lay down the score for a good deal of his ideas on paper.

The piece he was working on was a haunting composition which put him in mind of moldering ruins and broken dreams. At one point he even went to fetch Master Gregory, who sat nodding his fluffy head in appreciation as James poured out his vision, playing bits and pieces on the various instruments he had stashed about the room.

“It sounds well, James, very well,” his old music master concurred.

“I especially like this part.” He plucked out part of the melody on a lute which was propped against his chair.

The old man only had to hear a piece of music once and he could emulate it.

“The way the music swoops and soars in this part is very fine.”

They went on to discuss the manifold possibilities for the next movement, while James scribbled notes furiously on pieces of parchment.

Emerging from the house around half past four into the busy street, James found he had to shake his head a few times to dispel the creative fog that clung about him.

Justina, Master Gregory’s daughter, had been surprised he was returning to the palace for there was a cot in one corner of his room that he often dossed down on when in the grip of a creative spell.

“That wife of yours must be instilling good habits in you,” she’d decided, leaning against her broom.

“I declare the way you and Father carry on for hours with your music, neither eating nor drinking and losing track of time just isn’t decent!

It’s about time you had someone to impose some sort of order into your life.

” She gave him a farewell nod and James started off down the street.

The truth was, he had not even considered sleeping over at the Gregorys’, however often he might have done so in the past. Despite his immersion in his work, he was still very aware of the fact he had a wife installed in his bed and that he very much wished to return to it and join her there.

If only he could persuade her that naught ailed him.

On reaching the palace, he hastened to their rooms and was surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice conversing with Gunnilde’s from the sitting room.

Pushing the door open, he found Gunnilde sat chatting to a woman in a green wool dress and nibbling on twice-baked biscuits.

“You don’t say!” she was exclaiming excitedly.

“And how pray is he supposed to free himself of this curse?”

Both women jumped guiltily on seeing him stood in the doorway.

“Ah, here is my husband now,” Gunnilde announced brightly.

“James, this is Mistress Fern. She is Sir Ned’s witch.

” The witch turned to look at James with interest. She did not seem to object to Gunnilde’s describing her as such, though James would not have been surprised if she had.

Mistress Fern seemed at pains to present herself as older than she was.

Her dress was plain and hung off her in an ill-fitting manner.

She wore her hair severely scraped back and wore precious little by way of adornment save for a cord around her neck from which clinking amulets hung.

It was hard to gauge her true age, though James would not be surprised if she had not yet reached thirty.

Her skin was smooth, however much she frowned, and if she wore her hair loose around her shoulders as maidens did, James fancied she would look a good deal younger than she did right now.

Her narrowed eyes surveyed him with dispassionate interest, and it occurred to him that she was sizing him up in return.

“Well, he looks healthy enough,” she said to Gunnilde as though discussing a pig in the marketplace. “Would you object if I take a look at his teeth and ears?”

“Please do,” Gunnilde responded before James could answer.

Jumping out of her seat, she crossed the room to take James’s arm, steering him firmly toward the witch.

When James made as though to object, she gave him one of her encouraging smiles.

“We are very fortunate that Mistress Fern was due to see Sir Ned at the palace this afternoon, so Cuthbert was able to bring her over directly after his consultation.”

“Fortunate indeed,” James answered, bracing himself. This was still better than seeing a physician, he consoled himself.

The witch stood up and peered into his face and ears.

“His color is good,” she murmured, then tapped his chin.

“Open wide. Hmm. Teeth look in excellent condition.” She pulled down on his lower eyelid and peered into his eyes.

“Extend your wrist,” she said, holding out a hand.

James did so and she felt for his pulse, with her head tipped to one side.

“Any open sores, lumps, or bumps I should know about?”

James winced. “No, thank gods.”

“Do you feel weak or nauseous after the act? Like you want to vomit?”

“The act?” James queried.

She hesitated as though selecting the correct phrasing. “The act of physical love,” she said after a heavy pause.

“No. Quite the opposite in fact.”

She released his wrist. “Did you take sustenance before the act? Food? Drink?” She looked over at Gunnilde. “You’ve got to feed a beast before you set him to work.”

“He had not long eaten,” Gunnilde replied earnestly as James reeled at being thus discussed. “Tell me, could it really be some entirely harmless reason that caused him to keel over like that?” she asked anxiously.

“Depends,” the witch said, casting a speculative eye over James. “You are not long wed, you said. Is’t possible you had overdone things a bit? Forgotten how long you’d been shut up in your bedchamber together?”

“Oh no,” Gunnilde assured her. “This was the very first time.”

“The first time?” The witch’s eyebrows shot up. She looked from one to the other. James felt like his face was on fire. “When you say the first time, d’ye mean together or...?”

“For both of us,” he interrupted. “Neither of us had ever committed ‘the act’ before.”

Mistress Fern nodded thoughtfully and sat back down in her seat. “Ever get any shortness of breath or a pounding in your chest by way of normal everyday life?” she rattled off.

“Never.”

“What about when riding or when rushing about your business?”

“No.”

“You have any trouble getting hard or taking a piss?”

“No!”

“Did you feel any pain at any point when you were getting the job done?”

“No, I did not.”

The witch cast her eyes up to the ceiling and rocked back onto two legs of her chair. “Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully, then came crashing back down again onto four. “Is’t possible, my lad, that you forgot to breathe when you were so caught up in the act?” she demanded forthrightly.

“I’m sure that can’t be it,” Gunnilde said with a frown.

“Yes,” said James.

“Yes, it’s possible?” the witch enquired, pouncing on his reply.

“Yes,” he agreed. “My breath was coming faster and faster as we...went. It got to the point where I could scarcely draw it. I was too...distracted.” He cast a furtive glance at Gunnilde. “My focus was elsewhere.”

“Well, there you have it,” said the witch, slapping a hand down on the tabletop. “If you only breathe out and don’t breathe in, folks pass out. It stands to reason.”

Gunnilde’s open mouth snapped shut. “That can’t be it!”

“I expect it was,” said the witch. “You put his head in a spin, and he forgot how to function. It’s more common than you’d think. They’re simple creatures at the best of times. You need to remind him next time.”

“Remind him to breathe?” Gunnilde sounded incredulous.

The witch nodded. “To fill his lungs, calm down a bit, and pace himself.”

James knew he should feel annoyed, but instead he merely felt relieved he wasn’t going to have to eat powdered frog spawn, or something equally foul.

“So...you do not think it is something we need to be unduly worried about?” Gunnilde persisted.

“Not at all,” the witch assured her off-handedly. “It’s a bit unusual but some are like that. A surfeit of lust, that’s all he suffers from, and you’ve cured him of that already.”

Mistress Fern’s turn of phrase seemed to alternate wildly between coarse and polite, James thought. Suddenly it occurred to him that she might well be doing an impression of an older and less polite woman. Mayhap she was merely an apprentice witch.

“A surfeit of...?” Gunnilde repeated faintly.

“He got a bit too worked up, that’s all. He’ll be fine once you’re both accustomed to the way of married life. If you do it enough times, he will build up a resistance and be able to withstand the pleasure in future.”

James brightened. Perhaps the witch knew what she was talking about after all.

“And you don’t think we should trouble to consult a physician just to be doubly sure?” Gunnilde asked conscientiously.

Mistress Fern snorted. “By all means, if you want him to blather on about balancing humors. All a physician is going to tell you is that unwarranted abstinence is to blame and that the excess seed has built up and weakened his heart.” Gunnilde turned pale and the witch waved a dismissive hand.

“Pay no regard to their foolish ways. I can tell you now his heart is strong and healthy as a horse.”

“Well, that is a relief,” James decided. “And I have no intention of consulting a physician to be told celibacy is to blame for weakening my constitution.”

“Very sensible,” Mistress Fern agreed. “Besides, you’re not celibate anymore, are you?”

“No,” he agreed. “Decidedly not. Now, as to payment...” He reached for his pouch and tipped out some coin into the woman’s palm.

“Very generous,” the witch said cheerfully, reaching for her cloak which was draped over a nearby chair. “I’ll leave you to it. I wish you joy of each other.” She gave him a nod, shook Gunnilde’s hand, and swept from the room without more ado.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a witch before,” James observed.

“What, never?” Gunnilde looked stunned. “Not even in the country?”

He shook his head. “My mother does not hold with old-fashioned ways. Would you say she was fairly typical of the type?” he asked, suddenly curious. “Do witches never curtsey?”

“No,” Gunnilde answered. “Not in my experience. They don’t acknowledge man-made hierarchies. I’ve only ever seen one curtsey to magpies.”

“I see,” he pondered. “Curious.”

“I rather liked her. I do hope she is right about your heart, James.”

“Well, there is only one way to find out,” he replied swiftly. He extended his hand to her. “Shall we, Lady Wycliffe?”