Luxuria Read online

Her curiosity piqued and tears forgotten, she stepped carefully into the artificial twilight and steadied herself on the wall. As she ran her hand along the wall, she came in contact with a lever. She curiously pulled at it, and the wall slid shut with a low rumble. She fervently hoped that reversing it would open the wall once more, or that she would find another way out of the passage.

  Helena made her way carefully along the surprisingly even floor. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see that empty sconces similar to those in the main hallways lined the walls. Soon she came to a tight bend and a short flight of stairs. Here a narrow, arched window revealed itself as her source of light. Looking out, she could see a small portion of the manor’s roof, and little else.

  Continuing down the increasingly dark and narrow passage, she at last came to a squat oaken door fastened across with iron bands. She could feel a raised shield which she suspected was a coat of arms. She unlatched the door and pushed it open with little effort. Helena blinked at the flood of sunlight, and then took in a small, but not cramped, stone room. Six small, arched windows identical to the one in the passage were set into the walls, three to a side. Through them, on the right, she could see the roof of the manor, and on the left, the courtyard and drive.

  The front of the room was unadorned but for a hole in the wall over the outline of a small crucifix. Just under this, on the floor and several feet away from the wall, sat an oaken box. Opening it, she found several small lined compartments, and a larger compartment with its own lid. She pondered the significance of all of this for a moment, and then realised that she had seen a box like this before in her own family’s chapel.

  As the significance of the space dawned on her, Helena’s eyes filled with tears of relief. Robert had taken her on a tour of the house on her arrival and had shown her the most trivial things, from the inner workings of the mechanical servants’ bell to the inside of the larder. Since he had not brought her here, he was clearly not aware that this place existed. She could not imagine why a man so interested in minutiae would not know the whole of his house, but chose to accept the blessing. She fell to her knees and wept, saying a prayer of thanks as she did so.

  This was how Katharine found her over an hour later. Helena still knelt in front of the altar, and the sun shone in a window onto her long dark hair. She at first did not notice the quiet entrance, but at last she opened her eyes and raised her head. Katharine quietly cleared her throat and Helena jumped.

  Katharine raised her hands in a show of non-aggression. “I apologise for disturbing you, Milady.”

  “You are not going to tell Robert, are you?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Robert. The Earl. My…husband.”

  “With respect, Milady, why ever would I do such a thing? It is I who trespass here.”

  Helena peered at her, still shaken from the sudden intrusion. “You are the village blacksmith. How did you get in here?”

  Katharine stepped aside to reveal a hole in the wall. “Through the woods, Milady.”

  Helena sat up a bit straighter, intrigued but still wary. “Why? And how did you know this was here?”

  Katharine smiled. “Because I, too, am afraid to say my prayers where I might be heard. And I know about this place because my father built the door you found as well as the doors I used.”

  “You come here to pray?”

  “I do, and have every day since my father passed. Until this very day, I was the only person who knew of this room in the county and possibly the only person in the whole kingdom. Might I trust that you shall tell no one, Milady?”

  “You may indeed.” Helena looked about herself thoughtfully. “Will you tell me more about how this room came to be? It seems rather like something one might find in an ancient castle.”

  Katharine beamed proudly. “My father, and his father before him, were innovative men. What would you like to know?”

  “All that you might tell me. Please.” Helena looked up at her, hands folded in her lap, and waited.

  Katharine moved to one of the windows and gazed out of it. “This was the family chapel of the Earls back to the time when the manor was built, which, as I heard it, was nearly four hundred years ago. The door through which you came was once merely a doorway, and the door through which I came had to be cut from the wall, and the tunnel behind it built. The tunnel’s other end is in the midst of the Abbey Wood. When King Henry outlawed the Roman Church, the Earl, God rest his soul, commissioned my father to build all the of the mechanisms, and to make it look as though the chapel had been walled off as to conceal it from any who might come looking for evidence of popery.” She said this last with a sneer, and paused to take a breath.

  “This happened before I was born. My father only told me of this room’s existence when I became an adult.”

  Helena mulled over this information. “How can you be sure that Robert does not know of it? From the look of you, he would have been an adult when you were yet small, and would surely have noticed what his father was about.”

  “Ah, but the Earl is but a distant cousin of the departed Earl. All of the Boleyns left here years ago.”

  Helena blinked. “The Boleyns?”

  “Indeed. Thomas Boleyn was the departed Earl and lord of this manor. He pretended apostasy in order to maintain his place at court, and that of his daughters.”

  “That was not terribly brave of him.” Helena frowned.

  Katharine eyed her for a moment. “Milady, forgive me for speaking out of turn, but do we not each pretend apostasy in order to keep our own peace?”

  Helena slowly covered the lower half of her face as the implication of Katharine’s words became clear to her. “Do you suppose I am damned?”

  “Milady, I hardly know you, and if I were your greatest friend, I could not determine that. We are all damned in one way or another. It is down to us to make the best of ourselves in spite of it.”

  They spoke at length of the manor, of Wiltshire, and of the Church, and agreed to meet for vespers the next day. That evening, Helena retired to her bed with gladness in her heart for the first time since she had come to live at Tisbury Abbey. Soon, they were meeting daily for prayers. At first, Helena worried that Robert would come look for her, but soon she realised that though her routine had changed, his had not; so long as she was present at meals and played the dutiful hostess when called upon, he otherwise had little use for her and would certainly not seek her out.

  As a result, Helena spent nearly all of her evenings in Katharine’s company, the two of them talking as they sat side by side against the stone walls, only leaving as the light faded from the room. Katharine’s much older brother had read theology at Cambridge, and as a child, she had learnt to read from him. Helena found herself increasingly impressed and fascinated by the blacksmith’s intellect, and thoroughly enjoyed their time together.

  At some point, their parting ritual expanded from mere good-byes to include brief, friendly embraces and a few kind words of leave-taking. Over the course of weeks, though, they began to linger in each other’s arms. One day, the blacksmith leaned down and planted a kiss on Helena’s cheek, just in front of her ear. Helena could never be certain of just what she had let on to Katharine, but that brief kiss occupied her thoughts throughout the next several days and nights, every time she saw the blacksmith again, and during all the times in between. She fervently hoped that she would receive the same parting gesture, but it was not forthcoming.

  Later that week, they held each other for far longer than could remotely be considered friendly. Each time it seemed as though they might let go, one of them would tighten her arms round the other or simply shift her grip, and there they remained for ages, it felt. At some point during the embrace, Helena became vaguely aware that she desperately wanted Katharine to kiss her. This new awareness prompted her to press a kiss to the point where Katharine’s neck joined her shoulder. Katharine tightened her grip for just a moment before she pulled back and took Helena’s face in b
oth of her hands. They stared at each other for a long moment while Katharine stroked her cheek as though it were the most precious material on the earth. An intense tingling sensation filled Helena’s entire body, and she closed her eyes to maintain her balance. Katharine ran her fingers over Helena’s lips before she placed a gentle kiss just to the right of them.

  “I will see you soon,” she whispered.

  Helena’s eyes opened in time to see Katharine disappear into the priest hole.

  The tension of the kiss and the embrace—and the kiss which did not happen—stole Helena’s breath and left her feeling weak for several hours thereafter. Over the course of the next few days, she began to plot how to get the blacksmith into her arms for an extended period and, further, how to somehow convey to Katharine that she longed and despaired for a kiss without being too forward. She may, after all, have been misreading Katharine all of this time. Her desire was rather unseemly after all, and though the thought of not kissing Katharine made her ache, the thought of kissing her but once and losing her companionship permanently left Helena feeling as though all of the joy had been pulled from the world. Indeed, she would rather never know Katharine’s touch again than to not know her at all.

  Finally, one evening after vespers, they sat talking for far longer than normal, even for them; the twilight receded through the windows and the room quickly dimmed. Helena was unsure, but Katharine seemed hesitant to leave and fidgeted a good deal throughout their conversation. She also did not ever hold Helena’s eyes for long, and continually tucked her hair behind her ear under her black cloth cap.

  Helena gently took Katharine’s hand in her own and the blacksmith jumped. Helena patted her solid forearm and traced her fingers along a faded silvery scar which Katharine had told her was from a mistake she had made at the forge when she was eleven. Helena stared ahead at the wall as she absently stroked Katharine’s arm. The woman next to her had occupied her mind for long enough. Throwing a brief prayer into the aether, Helena took a deep breath.

  “Dear Katharine, you may find this unseemly, and do stop me if I am wrong…” She inhaled and glanced at Katharine, who peered back at her curiously. Carefully examining a crack in the stone floor, Helena continued.

  “Forgive me…I feel quite drawn to you. To your person, I mean. I think that you feel the same way.” She chanced a look.

  Katharine stared at her, wide-eyed, but said nothing. Helena ploughed on.

  “If I am wrong, we must go on as though this conversation never happened, but I do feel that our friendship has extended somewhere beyond the platonic.”

  Katharine remained silent and as wide-eyed as before.

  “The fact of it is that I feel drawn to you. I find you utterly enthralling—” she could feel the tears welling behind her eyes “—as I never have found anyone, really, and I fear I may well die of it all. Please, if I am wrong, I beg you to say so and I shall never speak of it again, because I may also be condemned to a living death should I lose your friendship.”

  Helena dropped her head and waited. Eventually she realised that she still clutched Katharine’s arm and made to let go. Before she could, though, Katharine gently laid her hand over Helena’s, holding it in place.

  “You are not wrong.”

  Helena heard a choir of angels herald Katharine’s words. “I am not?” she choked out.

  “Indeed. I find you compelling and attractive.”

  “Why did you not tell me?” Helena felt a tear roll down her cheek.

  “You are a married noblewoman, and I am but a blacksmith. It was not my place.”

  Helena got to her knees and turned toward Katharine. “I do not care for any of those things, but I do care for you. You ought have told me, Katharine; I have been suffering for weeks—”

  Katharine swiftly removed her cap, threw it to the floor, and swooped in, cradling Helena’s face in her hands.

  “Then suffer no more,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to Helena’s.

  Helena could have died without last rites at that moment and not cared one whit. Katharine’s lips were so very soft, and she was at once so tender and yet forceful. Helena felt as though her entire body had burst into flame from within, and she kissed Katharine back with passion that she had never suspected she had within herself. They continued kissing until Helena felt she might melt into the stone floor. The chapel grew dark, lit only by the gibbous moon. Finally, they reluctantly ceased and bid each other good night.

  Helena smiled at the memory as she stared out her bedroom window into the distance. How her life had changed in just a few days’ time. As she stood ruminating, she faintly heard the tolling of the church bell coming over the moor. To her great relief, there were more than two—she had not missed her appointment with Katharine. When the tolling ceased, she had counted eleven. Surely it was past eleven already, was it not? No matter. She would simply remain here; she needed to choose her clothing and dress herself, so that would be no hardship. The thought of seeing Katharine excited her to no end, and she determined that the weather would not stop her, no matter how hard it might blow.

  Three

  An hour and one half later—for the bell had been tolling noon after all—Helena stood before the stone door of the priest hole and realised that she had not the faintest idea how to open it from her side. Every time she had seen the door open, it was because Katharine had come through from the other side. She frowned. There must be a switch somewhere. She felt round the edges of the stone, looking for a lever like that in the passage, or anything else which might open the door. Helena stepped back to get a better look and the stone receded with a soft click. She gasped in astonishment and looked down at from whence the click had come. There, in the floor, was a small depression where there had not been one previously. Helena smiled at Katharine’s father’s ingenious design and the serendipity of her standing in just the right place, and hurried through the opening.

  It turned out that the tunnel was long and winding, steep in some places, and flat and low in others. To her surprise, Helena found the air warm and fairly dry, rather than damp and dank as she had suspected. Just as she began to grow weary of trudging over the uneven ground, the tunnel sloped sharply upward and the floor changed to stone and then damp wooden steps. She scrambled up the steps until she reached a heavy trap door. Tired from her exertion, she pushed at it half-heartedly. Unlike the perfectly balanced door in the manor, this one did not budge. Helena frowned and pushed at the door again, harder this time. The door did not move. She thought for a moment, then wedged her shoulder up under the door, pushing with her legs. The door moved slightly, but not appreciably. After several minutes, Helena sank onto the top step and wailed in frustration.

  She was soaked in sweat and her hair hung about her face and neck in straggly ringlets. It had to be well past two now, and Katharine would assume she was not coming, and she would be left alone with her thoughts until she saw Katharine again—if she ever saw Katharine again. Surely the blacksmith had better things to do with her time, and why would she want to wait for someone who was late, and furthermore, could not even open a twice-damned trap door? Helena let her head sink to her knees and cried in frustration at herself, at the trap door, at her physical weakness, and at her true weakness—this sudden, near somatic, all-consuming and unrelenting need to be in Katharine’s presence, to feel her skin, to touch her hair. She kept crying as bits of dirt, and then chunks of mud, fell on her head and in her hair; she simply could not be bothered any longer to give any concern about the state of her hair.

  “I may not have yet told you this, but you are beautiful when you are strewn with earth. However, you do appear to be unhappy with your new decoration. What troubles you, Milady?”

  Helena started and looked up. Above her, soaked to the skin and kneeling in the mud with a hand stretched toward her, was Katharine with a kind smile on her face. Helena smiled and giggled in relief, and reached up to take the proffered hand. She nearly swooned as they touched
, and upon clearing the priest hole she threw her arms about Katharine’s waist, sending them both to the ground as Helena clung to her with all of the strength she possessed. Helena stretched toward Katharine’s face as well as she could and pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw as the rain continued to soak them and the moss on which they lay, surrounded by puddles where the water had not yet soaked into the ground and dark mud where the undergrowth left the soil bare.

  After a few minutes of holding each other in silence, Katharine drew back, looked Helena in the eyes, and pressed her lips to hers. The kiss was soft, gentle, and sweet until Helena began nibbling on Katharine’s bottom lip. Katharine gasped and used her greater strength to roll Helena onto her back; she loomed over her smaller lover with water running freely from her hair, dripping onto Helena’s breast, creating rivulets down her sternum, and disappearing into the top of her bodice.

  Helena soon found herself with her skirt hitched round her hips and her legs wrapped tightly round Katharine’s hips. She clung to Katharine desperately as they consumed each other with kisses. Some time later, they stopped, panting, and stared into each other’s eyes. A clap of thunder reminded them that they lay in mud in a downpour.

  Katharine grinned wickedly down at Helena. “I must admit my enjoyment of having you beneath me. However, I suspect we might catch our death here. Might I suggest we retire?” She gestured at an oiled canvas suspended between trees. A cane basket sat on a thick horse blanket on the ground. “I have brought luncheon with me, or dinner. Whichever you like.”

  Helena smiled up at Katharine and kissed her once more, arching her back into Katharine, who groaned and began nibbling at Helena’s neck and shoulders, slowly following the current of the stream running down her body. Helena closed her eyes, revelling in the feeling of Katharine’s hands and lips on her body. Another, closer, clap of thunder caused them to jump in unison. They looked into each other’s eyes with regret at the broken moment. Katharine stood and offered a hand to Helena, who allowed herself to be pulled up and led into the dry haven. Katharine smiled at her shyly and began to unpack the basket.