"Where am I?" she murmured, still half dazed. "Is this not Bedford Castle? There has been treachery--treachery by that ill-looking priest! This is more of De Breauté’s doings, damsel."
"Nay, lady, I can tell thee naught, save that my lord Sir Fulke bade me prepare a lodging in the keep for a lady who was to arrive in my lady’s litter. Thy chamber is ready on the floor above the great hall, next to my lady’s bower. Prithee, let me lead thee thither."
Aliva felt somewhat reassured by this reception. At least she found herself in the care of women.
Silently she allowed her conductress to show her the way across the hall and up a turret stair to her apartment, where she sank wearily on a couch.
The pretty waiting-woman bustled about, offering the unhappy girl various attentions. She brought her articles of dress from her mistress’s coffer, and assisted Aliva to remove her travel-stained garments and clothe herself in becoming attire.
"And who art thou, maiden?" she inquired.
"My name is Beatrice Mertoun. I am the waiting-woman of the Lady Margaret, the wife of Sir Fulke. And thou, lady, if I might make so bold?"
"I am Aliva de Pateshulle from Bletsoe," returned Aliva.
"From Bletsoe!" echoed Beatrice. "Methought I remembered your face and figure as one of the nuns at Elstow when I attended my mistress to the retreat there. We returned but yesterday. But thou art no nun--no sister of an abbey?"
"Nay," replied Aliva, "but I wore the habit of a novice as a penitent during the retreat. Doubtless," she added, sighing, "this trouble which hath come upon me is the reward of my sins."
"Fair lady," said Beatrice gently, "you look sad;" and she came and knelt down at her feet.
"Sad!" exclaimed Aliva, raising herself on her elbow and gazing down at the waiting-maid with horror-stricken face; "I am miserable--betrayed--undone! Ah, I see it all now--this foul plot! William de Breauté hath encompassed my ruin!"
"William de Breauté!" cried Beatrice. "It is he who is at the bottom of this, forsooth! By my halidom, _I_ see daylight now! I overheard him speaking of you with his brother--and then the chapel, repaired and cleaned. That was what Sir Fulke meant as he watched the men at work and said in jesting mood that from his own experience an unwilling bride was all the sweeter for the trouble of snaring and catching her, and William de Breauté answered that for his part he cared not for a ripe plum that fell into one’s mouth without the picking."