Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,104

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.

Imeyne wouldn’t let it rest. She would bring it up again, putting forth argument after argument why they should go to Sir Bloet, who had sugar and rushes and cinnamon. And an educated chaplain to say the Christmas masses. Lady Imeyne was determined not to hear mass from Father Roche. And Eliwys was more and more worried all the time. She might suddenly decide to go to Courcy for help, or even back to Bath. Kivrin had to find the drop.

She tied the dangling strings of Agnes’s cap and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head.

“I rode Saracen every day in Bath,” Agnes said. “I would we could go riding here. I would take my hound.”

“Dogs do not ride horses,” Rosemund said. “They run alongside.”

Agnes pooched her lip out stubbornly. “Blackie is too little to run.”

“Why can you not go riding here?” Kivrin said to head off a fight.

“There is none to accompany us,” Rosemund said. “In Bath our nurse and one of Father’s privés rode with us.”

One of Father’s privés. Gawyn could accompany them, and she could not only ask him where the drop was but have him show it to her. Gawyn was here. She had seen him in the courtyard this morning, which was why she had suggested the trip to the stable, but having him ride with them was better.

Imeyne came over to where Eliwys was sitting. “If we are to stay here, we must have game for the Christmas pie.”

Lady Eliwys set aside her sewing and stood up. “I will bid the steward and his eldest son go hunting,” she said quietly.

“Then will there be no one to fetch the ivy and the holly.”

“Father Roche goes out to gather it this day,” Lady Eliwys said.

“He gathers it for the church,” Lady Imeyne said. “Will you have none in the hall, then?”

“We’ll fetch it,” Kivrin said.

Eliwys and Imeyne both turned to look at her. Mistake, Kivrin thought. She had been so intent on finding a way to speak to Gawyn she had forgotten everything else, and now she had spoken without being spoken to and “meddled in matters” that obviously didn’t concern her. Lady Imeyne would be more convinced than ever that they should go to Courcy and get a proper nurse for the girls.

“I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn, good lady,” she said, ducking her head. “I know there is much to do and there are few to do it. Agnes and Rosemund and I might easily ride into the woods to fetch the