make a preparation that would have Claude sleeping like a baby tonight.
Edild watched as I came back inside, carefully wrapping the lettuce before stowing it in my satchel. She said, ‘Remember that the body exhibits its inner state in external symptoms.’
I understood; it is one of her most frequently-repeated maxims. She believes that disturbances in the mind bring about aches, pains and sickness in the body. I don’t understand how this can possibly happen, but she is my teacher and I deeply respect her wisdom and experience. ‘I am to question her and see if anything is troubling her?’ I asked.
Edild sighed. Sometimes I feel I have a tremendously long way to go before I am anything even approaching a healer. ‘You know something troubles her, and you also know what it is,’ she said patiently.
‘Her seamstress is dead, and she feels bad because it was she who brought Ida here to the hands of her killer,’ I said.
‘Yes. And?’
‘Her initial reaction, which she made the mistake of speaking aloud, was regret at the loss of a fine needlewoman, and she probably feels bad about that too.’
‘Good,’ said my aunt. ‘Now, off you go. The lady is waiting.’
Lady Claude had taken to her bed. On announcing myself at Lakehall, I was ushered inside, across the wide hall and through a curtained doorway on the far side. A short stair led up to a bedchamber; Lord Gilbert was clearly advanced in his domestic arrangements and liked to offer his guests a room for the use of themselves and their personal servant, for there was but the one bed in the chamber, with a truckle bed tucked away beneath it where the servant slept.
The bed was high, the sheets were fresh, crisp linen. The occupant was dressed in a high-necked linen shift, beautifully sewn, and her head was bare. She was lying back on her pillows regarding me through half-closed eyes. She beckoned to me, and I approached, dropping a swift courtesy. Her short hair, I now saw, was of an indeterminate, light-brown shade, fine in texture, thin and lying flat on her head. I studied her face. She had been pale before, but now she looked grey, her eyes sunk deep in her head. I felt her pain coming off her in waves, and instinctively I summoned my defences. It was not that I wasn’t sympathetic – far from it – but I would be no help to her if I, too, collapsed with a similar, agonizing pain.
Without asking, I put my hand to her brow, my open palm hovering a finger-joint’s length over the skin. Left temple, left side of forehead, right side, above the eyebrows, up in the hairline, right temple. Yes. I had felt the heat of the pain as my hand hovered over Claude’s left eyebrow but, as Edild had taught me, I covered the whole area before I began the treatment, in case the malaise was centred in more than one place.
I had asked the man who showed me in to bring hot water, and he had quietly slipped into the chamber and put a big, steaming jug on the floor, together with a mug. Now I selected the herbs from my bag, mixed them in a strong potion, tied them in a little cloth of fine linen and set the bag to steep in a mug of hot water. Then I poured almond oil into the small clay dish that I carry in my satchel, dropping in lavender oil and mixing it well. Returning to the bed, I said very quietly, ‘My lady, have I your permission to soothe your poor head?’
Her eyes were closed. She nodded: a tiny movement, barely perceptible.
I leaned over her and began the massage. I paused after a while to give her the infusion, then went back to the massage.
After quite some time, her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at me, and I read two things: the pain had eased its iron grip, and its recession had allowed what was really troubling Lady Claude to push forward and dominate her.
I went on stroking her head. I did not know what to say. I was not Edild, who can ease a patient’s extreme distress with the right words. It was quite possible that my attempts to help
Edild watched as I came back inside, carefully wrapping the lettuce before stowing it in my satchel. She said, ‘Remember that the body exhibits its inner state in external symptoms.’
I understood; it is one of her most frequently-repeated maxims. She believes that disturbances in the mind bring about aches, pains and sickness in the body. I don’t understand how this can possibly happen, but she is my teacher and I deeply respect her wisdom and experience. ‘I am to question her and see if anything is troubling her?’ I asked.
Edild sighed. Sometimes I feel I have a tremendously long way to go before I am anything even approaching a healer. ‘You know something troubles her, and you also know what it is,’ she said patiently.
‘Her seamstress is dead, and she feels bad because it was she who brought Ida here to the hands of her killer,’ I said.
‘Yes. And?’
‘Her initial reaction, which she made the mistake of speaking aloud, was regret at the loss of a fine needlewoman, and she probably feels bad about that too.’
‘Good,’ said my aunt. ‘Now, off you go. The lady is waiting.’
Lady Claude had taken to her bed. On announcing myself at Lakehall, I was ushered inside, across the wide hall and through a curtained doorway on the far side. A short stair led up to a bedchamber; Lord Gilbert was clearly advanced in his domestic arrangements and liked to offer his guests a room for the use of themselves and their personal servant, for there was but the one bed in the chamber, with a truckle bed tucked away beneath it where the servant slept.
The bed was high, the sheets were fresh, crisp linen. The occupant was dressed in a high-necked linen shift, beautifully sewn, and her head was bare. She was lying back on her pillows regarding me through half-closed eyes. She beckoned to me, and I approached, dropping a swift courtesy. Her short hair, I now saw, was of an indeterminate, light-brown shade, fine in texture, thin and lying flat on her head. I studied her face. She had been pale before, but now she looked grey, her eyes sunk deep in her head. I felt her pain coming off her in waves, and instinctively I summoned my defences. It was not that I wasn’t sympathetic – far from it – but I would be no help to her if I, too, collapsed with a similar, agonizing pain.
Without asking, I put my hand to her brow, my open palm hovering a finger-joint’s length over the skin. Left temple, left side of forehead, right side, above the eyebrows, up in the hairline, right temple. Yes. I had felt the heat of the pain as my hand hovered over Claude’s left eyebrow but, as Edild had taught me, I covered the whole area before I began the treatment, in case the malaise was centred in more than one place.
I had asked the man who showed me in to bring hot water, and he had quietly slipped into the chamber and put a big, steaming jug on the floor, together with a mug. Now I selected the herbs from my bag, mixed them in a strong potion, tied them in a little cloth of fine linen and set the bag to steep in a mug of hot water. Then I poured almond oil into the small clay dish that I carry in my satchel, dropping in lavender oil and mixing it well. Returning to the bed, I said very quietly, ‘My lady, have I your permission to soothe your poor head?’
Her eyes were closed. She nodded: a tiny movement, barely perceptible.
I leaned over her and began the massage. I paused after a while to give her the infusion, then went back to the massage.
After quite some time, her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at me, and I read two things: the pain had eased its iron grip, and its recession had allowed what was really troubling Lady Claude to push forward and dominate her.
I went on stroking her head. I did not know what to say. I was not Edild, who can ease a patient’s extreme distress with the right words. It was quite possible that my attempts to help
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