Twelfth Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

again. Aline gradually
became aware of a sense of deep contentment.
    “My lady?” A maidservant came into the room
carrying a bundle of linens. She was followed by two boys lugging a
wooden tub and a girl with a bucket of steaming water. Yet another
boy carried a black metal brazier, which he set up on a tripod
stand before dumping a basket of charcoal into the pan.
    Then Constance was there, igniting the
charcoal with a piece of braided straw that had been dipped into
tallow and tossing juniper branches into the brazier to sweeten the
air. More buckets of water were brought in until the tub was full.
Constance scattered dried rose petals and herbs onto the surface of
the water.
    “Now, bathe quickly,” she bade her guest,
“before the water cools. Here is a towel for you to use. Would you
like to borrow one of my gowns, or would you prefer to wear your
own to night?”
    “I’ll wear my own dress. Perhaps tomorrow
I’ll ask for one of yours.”
    Aline could hardly believe the change in
Constance, until she realized what had caused it. The girl had no
doubt been raised to become the mistress of a castle and must have
been familiar with her duties long before she married. With the
female and young male servants she seemed to have no trouble giving
orders and behaving like the lady of the castle. It was her husband
who terrified her and by extension, though to a lesser degree, her
husband’s father.
    “Shall I help you, my lady?” the maid
offered, reaching to unfasten Aline’s belt.
    “Thank you. I can manage by myself.” She saw
them to the door and then, seduced by the rosy fragrance rising
from the tub, she stripped off her clothing to submerge herself in
the hot, scented water. In addition to the towel, the maid had left
a cloth for washing and a bowl of gelatinous stuff that she had
called soap. It gave off a pleasant herbal scent, but Aline found
it sticky on her skin. She used the extra bucket of water left for
that purpose to rinse herself, then hurried to dress again.
Constance had supplied a wooden comb, but there was no mirror so
she had to fix her hair as best she could by touch. Lacking her
purse, she had no makeup.
    “No moisturizer, either,” she noted. “I’ll
have to do something about that soon, or I’ll begin to look like a
chapped prune in this cold. Connie must have a recipe for some kind
of potion for a lady’s skin.”
    Fearing she might have taken too long at her
toilette, she hurried down to the great hall only to discover that
she was early. Blaise stood alone before the nearer fireplace, a
silver goblet in his hand.
    “Will you join me, my lady?” It was just a
superficial politeness on his part and she knew it, but she saw an
opening to praise his wife to him.
    “I would like some wine, thank you.” She
watched him pour it from a silver pitcher. “How kindly Lady
Constance has treated me. I feel like an honored, invited guest
instead of just a lost traveler.” She had decided to use that
excuse to explain her presence at Shotley.
    “Constance but does her duty.” As he was
doing his, making conversation with a guest in whom he was not
interested.
    “How old is she?”
    “She has sixteen summers.” He looked mildly
surprised by her question. “Why do you ask?”
    “I am impressed that someone so young could
be so competent a chatelaine. My room is spotless, the servants are
well mannered and helpful, here in the hall the rushes on the floor
are fresh and sweet smelling, and the silver sparkles. You are
fortunate to have so industrious a wife, Sir Blaise.”
    Now he looked even more startled, but she
could see him thinking about her remarks. Apparently it had never
occurred to Blaise that Constance worked diligently to see to his
comfort and his father’s. Good, let him revise his opinion of his
wife and understand that she was not the fool he took her to
be.
    Then Constance herself came into the hall
from the screens passage. Busy directing a trio of servants