Chapter 3: Baby Steps
Norwich. October 20, 1603.
Jack reined in Sienna and eyed the half-timbered house nervously. "You're sure Tom doesn't mind?"
Leonard rolled his eyes to the stars. Even late at night, Jack would have no problem reading his expression thanks to his newly improved vision. "For the last time, Tom's looking forward to it. We've already sent our music instruments ahead. The Kings' Men are playing in Norwich next week. This is the perfect opportunity. I can rejoin the company and still see you."
Jack swallowed audibly and nudged his horse forward. Tom's home was on the outskirts of the village of Taverham, a short distance from Norwich. As Jack drew close, he could see a man sitting on the front lawn, gazing up at the night sky. Jack broke into a grin and urged Sienna into a canter. Leonard held his horse to a trot, giving Tom space for the reunion.
Leonard winced when Jack leaped off Sienna and raced forward. Please don't knock the man over. But Jack skidded to a stop just in time.
"Welcome home, Jack!" Tom exclaimed, standing up. "It's been too long. This has been a lonely place without you."
"Thank you for inviting me."
"You're doing me a favor. I've had no one to play chess with, and you'll laugh at my drawings of the night sky. They can't compare with yours. Just wait till you hear about my latest research! My experiments have been going exceedingly well."
As Tom slung an arm over Jack's shoulders and led him inside, Jack didn't have much of an opportunity to talk. That was the plan. Immerse him in the familiar. Jack would be overwhelmed by new scents. He likely had never realized that Tom smelled of cedar and apples. But the hardest adjustment would be to hear the beat of his friend's heart, the flow of blood in his veins.
Father H argued it was much too soon to expose Jack to warmbloods, but for too long Jack had listened to heartbeats fade away in plague victims. He needed to embrace life.
Tom had provided thick curtains for one of the rooms so that during the day Jack could play music or paint. Evenings, he dove with fresh energy into the painstaking process of charting the stars in the night sky for Tom. His former tutor tasked him with watching for shooting stars in particular. Tom wanted meticulous records of all of them. Then after Tom went to bed, Leonard took Jack hunting. He wanted to make sure that his skills were up to the challenge of supplying himself with food when Leonard was away.
#
During the week in Norwich, the Kings' Men performed five plays. The last was a new play from Shakespeare's quill—All's Well that Ends Well. Leonard liked the title. It was fitting for how he felt about Jack. The boy he'd grown to love as a younger brother would be part of his life forever. Although Leonard's sire was dead, he and Jack would always be part of Father H's family.
Leonard caught a whiff of a familiar scent as he placed his lute in its case after the final performance in the market square. Bryn had arrived. He'd sent word to her through the efficient network of Dutch vampires who carried messages between England and the mainland. He was counting on her to be step three. Jack had yet to be around any woman since his transformation. Bryn would be a test case to see how well he could control himself. And with Bryn, Jack would be the only one injured if his passions got out of hand.
"Your musicianship's improved," Bryn purred in his ear, her breath cool on his neck. "I was in the audience for your performance."
"I wish you could have played Helena. You would have been so much better in the role."
"I do too. How long will it take the king to realize the world won't come to an end if women appear on stage?"
Leonard shrugged. "Probably long enough that no one will remember a boy named Bryn who used to play female roles so expertly."
She smiled her appreciation of the compliment. "Are you through for the day?"
"And for the next week. The players have a fortnight off before we need to be in Cambridge."
"Good, then I can pretend to seduce you while you tell me about Jack." She glanced longingly at the pub. "I don't suppose I could go inside."
"Your clothes are a little too fine for that," he pointed out. "We might be the scandal of the town. But there's a bench where we can sit outside."
A few minutes later, armed with a couple of flacons of claret, Leonard joined Bryn on a rough-hewn bench under a large oak tree.
"I stopped to see Father H before coming to Norwich," Bryn said. "He explained why he sired Jack. He also said you were in large part responsible."
"Jack had a rough start. There were times I worried I'd done him a disservice." Leonard had never before mentioned his doubts out loud, and it was a relief to be able to unburden himself.
She eyed him with a rare look of sympathy. "Father H also explained how sick Jack's been. From what he told me, it was Jack's wish to be reborn."
"Aye, but he was so close to death, he probably didn't know what he was agreeing to. Despite having lived around us, Jack had no real concept of what it's like to be a wearh."
"Is he still suffering from bloodsickness?"
"It's hard to tell," Leonard admitted. "He's had no desire to feed on warmbloods."
"You mean he's living exclusively off animals?" she asked incredulously.
Leonard shrugged. "It seems to suit him. He's had no more blackouts and his attitude is much improved."
"No signs of blood rage?"
"None at all, God's Grace. Even in London, he was never violent."
"He'll never gain full strength if he abstains from humans," she warned, plucking a fallen leaf off her underskirt.
"I know, but those first weeks of feeding only on the dead and dying are still affecting him. I haven't pushed it." During the first couple of weeks, Jack had fed almost exclusively on plague victims. That might be the cause of his bloodsickness.
"Did you explain that we don't need to kill warmbloods?" Bryn asked. "We have a never-ending supply of people eager to let us feed off them. They claim it's the easiest job they ever had."
"I told him." Leonard paused as an image of Jack flashed through his mind. That night in the bell tower when Father H brought him another dying victim, Jack had been filled with despair at what he'd become. "He's not ready to feed off a person."
Bryn scowled. "You're too close to him. What he needs is a strong touch. Someone who'll make him toe the line."
"I don't think that's the correct way—"
"Of course, it is," she interrupted impatiently. "He's a member of our family. It's up to us to give him the training he needs. I'll straighten him out soon enough. I can stay for a month. Then you won't have to worry about him when you're performing. Has he been around people yet?"
"No, and the only daemon he's seen is Tom. I plan to introduce others gradually."
"But only under controlled circumstances," she warned. "I still shudder over how I almost killed my girlfriend from an excess of newborn enthusiasm. Jack's experienced enough horror from the plague. He doesn't need anything else on his conscience."
Leonard had suffered through his share of disasters too. The worst was the rejection of his former friends. He remembered only too well how it felt to be eyed with loathing and fear by those who used to care for him. He hoped he could spare Jack some of the pain.
"I'm glad I can share the responsibility with you," Bryn said in a tone far more gentle than she normally employed. "Just you wait. When Jack sees the gift I brought him, he'll be a changed wearh."
"What did you get him?" Leonard asked curiously.
"You remember how our passions were out of control when we were infants? You were wanting to bed every boy you looked at."
Leonard stared at her, horrified. "You brought him a girlfriend? Didn't we just agree Jack's not ready? Besides, Jack's only exchanged a few kisses. He's never had a sweetheart—"
"Figures," she snorted. "He's too shy. I brought him something not nearly as satisfying but it will be a welcome distraction. It's waiting for him at the inn where I paid for a room." She smiled mischievously. "I couldn't bring it along without wrecking your performance."
#
Jack was in his room playing the viol when he heard the clop, clop of hooves outside. Tom hadn't had any visitors since Jack arrived, and his stomach lurched at the thought of another warmblood in the house. He'd gotten used to Tom's smell. What would hearing another heartbeat be like? He fought back his initial urge to flee. Tom wouldn't ask him to leave the room. He could stay hidden away, out of sight.
When he smelled raisins and oak, he relaxed. Leonard had returned. But there was another. A woman. She was scented with lavender and chamomile. And there was another smell . . .
Jack placed his viol on the bed and rushed to open the door. Bryn was standing in Tom's parlor, looking radiant in an elegant gown. Her hair was frizzed in the French manner. But Jack was even more interested in what she was carrying—a white mop of a puppy! Jack abandoned the rules of wearh propriety that Father H had drilled into him and embraced the three of them. Fortunately, he didn't break any bones in his rush. Bryn didn't seem to mind while the puppy immediately began covering him with licks.
"You've been reborn, and Mop should as well," she said. "Do you know how hard it is to find a Hungarian sheepdog in Paris? I hope you appreciate all the effort I went to."
"He looks just like Mop did as a puppy," Jack said as the mass of white fur squirmed in his arms.
Tom smiled his approval. "We need a companion for our studies. Jack, what will you call him?"
"I haven't changed my name. He shouldn't have to either." Jack raised the puppy to his face and stroked the fur away from his eyes. "I hereby christen you Lobero."
"Let's go sit in the hall," Tom suggested. "I'll close the curtains so it won't be too bright. We need to toast the new addition to our family with wine."
"I'm still bothered by sunlight," Jack told Bryn, embarrassed to admit the weakness.
"Don't feel bad," she said. "It took me months. Now sit down and tell me everything."
"I want to hear about your life first," Jack demurred, sprawling on the floor with the puppy. "Leonard's told me about your successes in the Paris theater. Have you become the toast of the town?"
"Just about. I think commedia dell'arte was invented for me. Women have been able to act in Italy for decades, and now, thanks to the queen's support of the arts, I've had no trouble getting parts."
Jack had heard about the influence of Marie de Medici over France's Henri IV. He hoped James's queen would also be a patron. Reportedly she enjoyed masques.
"The French queen is very fond of music for the viola da gamba," Bryn added. "Someday you may wish to travel to Paris. With your skill, you could succeed as a court musician. What were you playing when we arrived?"
"A piece by Tobias Hume. It's called 'Touch Me Lightly.' " Jack winced as he twisted a hank of Mop's fur. "A reminder for me to maintain a delicate touch."
"I, for one, am not ready for you to go to France," Tom declared. "Perhaps after I'm no longer around."
Jack swallowed. That was a concept he didn't want to think about. He used to envy Leonard and Bryn for being able to live such long lives, but he hadn't come to terms with leaving any of his warmblood friends behind.
Leonard was asking Bryn questions about her life in France and Jack refocused on what they were saying. He had the uneasy impression that Leonard was thinking of leaving too.
"Paris is much more sophisticated than London," she explained, "and decadent. It must be the Italian influence. For some of the scenes on stage, I wear hardly any clothes at all."
If she intended to shock them, she succeeded. Tom blushed bright red.
"But I'm not complaining," she added. "That's how I met Fanny."
"Who's she?" Jack asked.
"Only the most beautiful and sophisticated wearh I've ever met. She saw me at a performance, and"—she gave a dramatic sigh—"it was love at first sight."
Did Bryn mean what she said literally? Jack knew she favored women over men. Now that she no longer concealed her gender, he'd wondered if it made her affairs more difficult. He hoped for her sake that Paris was more enlightened than London.
Leonard didn't mention any plans to travel, but Jack knew it was inevitable. All wearhs eventually needed to shed their identity for a new one.
#
After Leonard left, Bryn accompanied Jack on his nightly hunts. Tom's house was on land owned by Lord Northumberland. Most of the estate was used for grazing sheep. Jack had grown comfortable with many of them. He watched over them and in return they gave him not milk, but blood. He was careful to never take enough to harm them.
Bryn groused about his strength not being as it should be. She claimed it never would be if he didn't start feeding off people. Once she forced him to accompany her while she visited one of the farmers in the network of wearh provisioners. He had to sit and watch while she fed.
Jack knew Bryn hoped the smell of blood would make him want some too, but his stomach cramped at the thought. The tang brought back memories of the stench of London corpses. Thankfully, she didn't force the issue. He hadn't suffered any recurrence of the illness since leaving London. He felt he was growing stronger even though she could easily outrun him.
Bryn rented a room at the inn run by Jeffrey's uncle in the neighboring town of Norwich. Mistress Norman was still living there along with Jeffrey and his wife Annick. Bryn knew the Normans from the years she lived in London. She quickly became friends with Annick. The Normans were rare examples of witches who had good relations with wearhs.
Jack longed to visit his friends but worried about how they'd react to him. He'd grown accustomed to Tom's heartbeat. What would it be like to hear three other warmbloods beating so close to him?
His first excursions were short walks into the village of Taverham with Bryn. Later they ventured into Norwich. The plague hadn't touched the town, but there were so many sounds and scents to absorb that Jack quickly became disoriented. Mop was his saving grace. His familiar puppy smell anchored him in the sea of unfamiliar impressions.
When the playing company finished their performances in Cambridge, Leonard returned to Tom's house. All three of them hunted at night. When Leonard and Bryn left to feed on warmbloods, Jack visited his favorite sheep.
One day, in the ghostly predawn light of early November they strode into Norwich. It was the first time for Jack to visit the town without Mop, but he had his wearh anchors instead. It was a celebration of sorts. He'd now been a wearh for ninety days. He'd graduated from being an infant to a fledgling.
"Isn't it time for you to return to Paris?" Jack asked Bryn. "Fanny must miss you."
"You'll be able to manage on your own? I don't want all my lessons to go for naught."
"They won't," Jack assured her.
"And I'm not going anywhere," Leonard added. "There's talk of a new masque being performed in January at Hampton Court. The King's Men are eager to have Jack back. Supposedly the queen wishes to make this a more spectacular performance than any our former queen held."
"Good for her," Bryn declared. "Let me know what the date is. If I'm not scheduled to perform, I'll find a way to sneak in. I haven't worn a man's disguise in a while."
"You're not going to cut your hair, are you?" Jack asked, horrified at the thought. He liked her long brunette hair.
"No fear of that, not after the length of time it took to grow out. I know a wigmaker who makes excellent men's wigs." She paused for a moment. "The Normans' inn is just down the street. Why don't you come in? I'm sure they're already awake. They've been asking about you."
Jack hesitated. His initial reaction was to bolt. He looked to Leonard for guidance. Surely he'd realize it was too soon.
"This is a good opportunity for you," Leonard urged, dashing Jack's hopes for a reprieve. "You'll realize that your friends still stand with you." Despite his words, Leonard looked anxious. Was his concern for Jack or the Normans? Jack had known Mistress Norman and her family since he was eight. They were one of the few reminders of the happiest time in his life— the months he'd lived with the Roydons.
He'd attended school with Jeffrey and his brother John. Jeffrey had confided in him when he fell in love, and his wife Annick treated him like a member of the family. Jack had sung and danced at their wedding. Would the Normans now view him with fear and loathing?
"I won't take no for an answer," Bryn declared, linking her arm through his. "Consider this a test to validate your fledgling status. Don't make me cancel my departure to Paris," she warned, giving him a quick punch.
"Now I really am nervous," Jack said, hoping his feeble attempt at humor would conceal his mounting panic.
"You'll be fine," Leonard assured him. "Just remember, Bryn is a far more dangerous threat than the Normans."
Easy for him to say.
When they stepped inside the Elm Tree Inn, the public room was empty but sounds and laughter were coming from the kitchen in the back. Jack could smell the delicious aroma of bread. He'd already learned the taste was like cinders to his wearh mouth, but he could still savor the smell. A second wave of panic swept over him when he smelled the Normans. Was there any plausible excuse he could use to flee?
"Keep moving," Bryn murmured, propelling him forward. "We'll clean up the blood later."
She snickered when Jack groaned. She thought it was a joke. He wasn't so sure.
Leonard knocked on the doorframe before sticking his head in. "Mind a little company?"
"Not if you're willing to help." That was Jeffrey's voice. He sounded happy to see Leonard. How would he change when he knew Jack was there?
"Then it's a good thing I brought friends along," Leonard said cheerfully.
Bryn gave Jack a final shove as she strode in. "Jack's especially eager to volunteer."
Mistress Norman, Jeffrey, and Annick were standing around a large oak table in the center of the kitchen. Jack could smell the sudden fear that erupted when they saw him. Surprising them was a lousy idea. He should have asked first, written for permission, done something, anything else.
Heartbeats jangled together. There should be only three warmbloods, but it sounded like at least four. Jeffrey's heartbeat was particularly racing. It reverberated in Jack's head, a claxon call that he didn't belong here. He should leave immediately before causing them any more pain.
"Jack, this is a pleasure!" Annick exclaimed, dusting off her hands. "It's about time." She rushed forward to clasp his hands. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to travel to Taverham to see you." She cast a smile at Jeffrey. "My overly protective husband won't let me go far." She patted her belly. "I'm pregnant!"
"Congratulations to all of you!" In his joy, Jack's nerves eased up on their stranglehold. He was hearing her baby's heartbeat!
Jeffrey hesitated for a brief second before he too relaxed into a smile. "We're trying to convince Mother to stay with us. We're going to need lots of help."
"If there's anything I can do . . ." Jack's words trailed off. They wouldn't want him around a baby. Did they know he was considered an infant?
The initial awkwardness gradually faded under a barrage of chatter by Leonard and Bryn. Mistress Norman invited them to gather around the table and assist them in making pies. They had leftover fish and poultry from the preceding day as well as apples steeped in honey.
Mistress Norman had received news from London. The plague had eased off now that cold weather was settling in. Lady Bess had been spared any illness. Sir Walter was still in the Tower with his trial slated for later in the month.
When the pies were ready for the oven, Jack found himself wanting to linger. The day was overcast. There was no need to hurry back, and it felt so good to be doing something useful for a change. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"I could use a hand with the beer barrels," Jeffrey said. "There are several in the stillroom behind the kitchen that should be brought into the pub."
Strength was not something he lacked these days. He'd make quick work of those barrels.
Mistress Norman was standing next to him, and she reached over to pat his hand. "Thank you for your offer, Jack . . . and thank you for visiting." She paused for a moment. "I'm glad you made the decision you did. Goody Alsop would have approved."
Jack just stared at her for a moment. That was the last thing he expected to hear. "I wish I were as confident," he admitted in a whisper.
Annick, who was standing next to him on the other side, asked, "You have doubts because of your illness?"
"How did you know?" he said, shocked. He didn't think it was that obvious.
"I've been dreaming about you for nigh onto a week now."
Everyone stopped what they were doing. Jack saw Leonard and Bryn exchange uneasy glances. He held his breath, waiting to hear what she'd say next.
"She's right," Jeffrey said. "I can testify to it. She's been asking to visit you, but I . . ."—his face reddened as he stumbled over the words—"I didn't know if you were ready for company."
Or safe for your pregnant wife to visit. Jack hated to ask what those dreams were like, but Annick's soft gray eyes were looking at him sympathetically.
Bryn was never one to hold back. "I hope Jack was behaving himself in your dreams."
"He was," Annick quickly assured her and turned to Jack. "All I saw was your face. Blood-red tears streaked your cheeks."
What was he supposed to do now? He was haunting someone's dreams? Was this yet another sign he was too flawed to exist?
"Do you often have dreams of others?" Leonard asked, looking concerned.
"No, only when I sense a connection." Annick shrugged helplessly. "It's hard to explain. It's that way with all my family. We can occasionally see events. Usually they're in the future, but not always."
"Jack shows signs of bloodsickness," Bryn explained. "It's a condition where he's unable to tolerate certain types of blood. We believe it's just a temporary phase that he'll eventually grow out of."
"Is there any way to find out?" Jack asked.
"I can attempt to scry if you're willing," Annick offered.
Jack dreaded what she might learn but how could he object to the attempt?
"Moving the barrels won't take long," Jeffrey said. "Annick, go ahead and prepare the infusion. By the time you're ready, we'll be done."
The stillroom smelled of hops, sage, lavender, and a host of other herbs. Jack breathed in deeply to catch every whiff. He hoped the scents would quiet his nervousness about what Annick would see.
This was one room where having a heightened sense of smell paid off. Beer-making supplies shared space with earthenware containers of preserved fruit and containers of spices. The smells reminded him of the stillroom at the Hart and Crown. He could picture Mistress Roydon standing at the table, mixing him honey-and-herb syrup for his sore throat.
The women selected bunches of herbs while Jeffrey pointed out the barrels Leonard and Jack should carry into the tavern. Witches and wearhs worked in harmony. Jack's heart lightened. The scattered pieces of his life were coming back together.
After Annick prepared the infusion, she called them into the kitchen. A large pewter bowl of steaming liquid was in front of her on the table. Jack's nose itched from the pungent aroma of alder, moonwort, and other herbs he couldn't identify. Three small earthenware bowls along with a sharp knife were grouped next to the basin.
Annick poured some of the liquid into one of the small bowls and passed it to Jack. "Add a drop of your blood into it. Do you need a knife?"
"It's not necessary." He used his sharp eyetooth to pierce his index finger and squeezed one drop into the bowl. She then divided the contents of the bowl between the other two bowls.
She took the knife and pierced her ring finger, adding a drop of blood into one of the vessels. She then instructed Leonard to do the same with the remaining bowl. Afterward, she placed the three bowls in front of her and studied the liquid inside them.
"She's reading the threads coming out of the infusion," Mistress Norman murmured to Jack. "Like Diana and Goody Alsop, Annick can see the warp and weave of life."
"No one in the Norman family has ever had the ability," Jeffrey added. "Annick is the only weaver we know of in southern England. Some witches fear the skill. It's not something we discuss."
Yet they'd confided in Jack and his friends. Despite his rebirth, he was still part of their family. Leonard and Bryn were too. They all had secrets to keep hidden. Gallowglass had warned him never to mention the book Mistress Roydon had acquired in Prague, and Jack hadn't breathed a word about it. Father H had consumed his blood so he probably knew, but he'd assured Jack the information he'd acquired would never be shared with anyone else. Secrets were the strands that bound them together.
Annick looked up. "Your fear is correct. Jack does indeed suffer from a type of bloodsickness. Members of my family treat wearh illnesses in Brittany, but I've never seen the kind Jack has." She turned to face him. "You're able to tolerate wearh blood, but not that of other creatures or humans."
Jack swallowed. Would that make him an outcast among his new family?
"I don't understand the threads weaving you to me, but they extend to the Normans as well." She smiled at him. "The strands appear quite robust. They disappear into the far mists of time."
Jack puzzled over her words. Likely they meant he would continue to be friends with them and their descendants, and that was a reassuring thought.
"Gradually Jack may become more tolerant," Bryn said. "I've known that to happen to others."
"It's possible," Annick conceded, "but his threads are so snarled, that honestly I don't think it's likely." She studied the contents of the bowls once more. "You must take care, Jack," she added, glancing up. "In your present state, if you feed off humans, you will awaken a darkness within you that could destroy you as well as others."
Was that the blood rage Father H had feared? If so, there was a way to avoid it. As long as he didn't feed the monster, it would never awaken. Bryn had cautioned him that without human blood, he would never be at full strength, but he was already much stronger than when he'd been a warmblood.
Leonard took a slow breath. "It's a good thing you like sheep, and they you."
"Rabbits, deer, you have many choices," Bryn added and gave a small shrug. "Who knows? You may start a new movement." Her words were spoken lightly but he knew her well enough to see she was worried.
Sept-Tours, Auvergne, France. October 1603.
Philippe studied Henri's proclamation. The king had demonstrated yet again he deserved his nickname of Good King Henri. Philippe would be the first to admit he'd had his doubts. The king was a Catholic in name only. His Italian wife was a troublemaker and easily influenced by unscrupulous toadies. Her only virtue had been to supply the king with heirs.
Still, Henri had turned out to be better than expected. He had a natural disposition for diplomacy plus enough wisdom to select brilliant ministers, notably the Duke of Sully. The country was at peace. The king was popular with the people. Roads were being built, forests protected, education encouraged.
Could Philippe nudge the king to promote education for women? It would be a positive step toward ensuring Diana's future.
He gave a soft snort as he recalled how shocked he'd been to discover that she was a scholar—teaching in a university, no less. The Matthew he'd met from that age was a far cry from what his son was like now. He would never consider associating with a witch, let alone mating with her.
A scent outside the door roused Philippe from his musings. Freyja had arrived the previous day while he'd been out hunting. His daughter was a close friend of his wife and Ysabeau may have assumed she came to visit her. And perhaps she did, but Philippe hoped she had an ulterior motive.
Freyja and Ysabeau agreed on much, but in one respect they were polar opposites. Ysabeau had a deep-seated hostility to witches based on their maltreatment of some of her friends. Freyja was much more tolerant. She also loved to travel. It was an ideal combination for Philippe's purposes. Diana had vanished from his life, but he was determined that nothing would sabotage the future she would one day share with Matthew . . . and the children they might bear.
In December of the year Diana and Matthew returned to their time, Philippe's son Godfrey wrote of rumors circulating in Prague that Matthew had been seen in the company of a witch. By now, the gossip should have ceased, but complacency was not a virtue.
When Freyja knocked on the door, he welcomed her into his study. Her gown of dark sapphire velvet highlighted the color of her eyes. Freyja's fair-haired beauty was only exceeded by that of his beloved mate.
"Ysabeau is discussing the wine harvest with a local farmer," she said, sinking into a carved walnut armchair.
He understood the hidden meaning. They could speak without fear of being overheard. "Did you enjoy your time in Prague?" he asked.
She nodded. "So much so I decided to visit you before returning to Paris. You'd asked me to discover if anyone was talking about Matthew's time there twelve years ago. It's been so many years, I couldn't imagine there would be any interest, but it appears I was incorrect. I have an acquaintance who is a witch—a delightful creature."
From the way Freyja smiled, Philippe wondered if she were more than an acquaintance. Freyja's tastes were quite broad.
"She heard rumors that the Book of Life was discovered."
Philippe leaned forward. Godfrey had mentioned in his letter that Matthew's son Benjamin was searching for the same book. "What did she say?"
"I feigned ignorance, not letting on that we believe it describes the origin of wearhs. She called it the original grimoire, containing secret spells that had been lost to witches. Even more astonishing, she asserted that Matthew's name was mentioned in connection with the book. Supposedly he was there with a witch—his wife, no less. Can you imagine?" Freyja laughed aloud.
Philippe joined in as if nothing could be more hilarious. "I hope you told her how mistaken she was."
"Of course, Father. I assured her it must have been someone who resembled him or perhaps even impersonated him." She shrugged. "These days, with the commedia dell'arte so popular, I see masks and disguises wherever I look. In any case, it couldn't have been Matthew. The couple had two children—a young boy and a girl in her mid-teens."
"Do you know their names?" Philippe asked, his curiosity piqued. No one had mentioned children to him.
"No, but I believe the witch was called Diana."
"Let me know if you hear anything more about the family."
Freyja nodded her understanding. "If someone is pretending to be Matthew, he needs to be shown the error of his ways. I assume you also want me to keep you aware of any rumors about the book."
"Naturally. Are there any reports of Benjamin in Prague?"
"No." She eyed him curiously. "Were you expecting any?"
"I haven't received any communication from him in several years," he said truthfully, "but he was reported present in Prague around the same time."
"He's so consumed with hatred of his sire, he may have been the one to spread the slander," she speculated.
"Perhaps."
Philippe continued to think about the children long after Freyja had left. What was their connection to Matthew and Diana? Two of the de Clermont servants had assisted Diana and Matthew during their stay in England and knew their secret. Françoise was currently with Matthew in Amsterdam but Pierre was downstairs.
When Philippe questioned him, he was able to provide the details. The boy, an orphan named Jack Blackfriars, had been adopted by Diana after they returned to London from Sept-Tours. When Matthew and Diana left London for their own time, Lord Northumberland and Thomas Harriot had offered to look after the child. The girl was old enough to go into service. Pierre heard she'd died several years ago during an outbreak of the plague. The boy might still be alive.
Surely Diana wouldn't have confided any secrets to a child. But how much did the boy know about her nature? Had he spread any tales?
Philippe rarely traveled to London since his last quarrel with Hubbard. His English contacts were limited, but he could ask the Dutch wearhs who handled communications between the continent and England. They'd provided excellent espionage service in the past. If anyone was gossiping about the Roydons, he'd soon know.
Philippe filed away the boy's name for future reference. The more urgent need was to stop the gossip in Prague. Freyja promised to assist by spreading tales of a man who'd masqueraded as Matthew and had been killed by Philippe. The secret should be safe for now, but who had started the rumors? The de Clermonts had many enemies. They would all need to be watched.
Notes: If you've read the third novel in All Souls Trilogy, you know that Jack will face challenging times in the twenty-first century. Deborah Harkness so far has provided very few clues on how he managed to survive till then. Giving him a rare type of bloodsickness was my solution.
My inspiration for Annick and her family was Jehenne de Brigue. She was a French witch of the 14th century who was known for her ability to foresee the future. If you'd like to hear "Touch Me Lightly," a recording is on the Six-Crossed Knot Pinterest board.
In my next story, Masque, Philippe chances upon Jack during a visit to England in 1604.