Belladonna at Belstone by Michael Jecks

discovered the first fleas on her body. She could see that Baldwin himself was repelled by the creatures, and yet Edgar appeared to be almost untroubled by them, convinced that his traps - trenchers of bread smeared with glue, with a lighted candle sitting atop - were all that was necessary. He asserted that the fleas were attracted to the trenchers by the light, and then got stuck and died.
    It was an interesting concept. On present experience, it was also utterly ineffective.
    Only the previous week Jeanne had set up her own defences, just as she had learned in Bordeaux. The bedchamber had three large sheets laid on the floor which had remained there for six days, on which any fleas must fall upon leaving Baldwin’s clothing, her own, or their bed. These she had today ordered to be folded and carried out to the shed where the cider was made, and here the sheets had been placed in the great press. Next she had taken out all of Baldwin’s tunics and set them inside as well, with the bedlinen on top of the lot, before closing the press and ordering that it should be tightly squeezed.
    The servants, especially Edgar, had all looked askance at this curious demand, but complied with gusto when bribed with the offer of ale. Jeanne, not being particularly trusting with servants whom she did not know well, stood by and ensured that the men compressed the clothes to the utmost of their strength, and while they strained and swore, she explained to Edgar that fleas needed light and space to move. After being imprisoned in this manner the fleas would die. It was obvious that Baldwin’s servant thought this was all moonshine and that he was going to be hard-pressed to keep her humoured, from the condescending smile he gave her.
    But Jeanne ignored his patronising attitude. It was enough for her that she knew her methods would succeed. In time Edgar would come to have faith in her. Jeanne refused to allow herself to get despondent.
    Here she was, a woman of some thirty summers, already once widowed, yet with no children, and she was having to start her life again. This was her fourth beginning: first when she was born, second after her orphanage when her uncle in Bordeaux took her in, the third when she wed Ralph of Liddinstone, and last of all this new start with Baldwin. Each time she had been forced to learn new ways, submit to new rules, satisfy new needs. It was fortunate her own wants were so few. All she craved was the love of a husband who could respect her intelligence. Lady Jeanne was not a woman to be imprisoned in a manor like a feeble-minded courtesan.
    And Jeanne would not bow to the will of her husband’s servant. Edgar would have to learn to accede to her commands with alacrity. He would not browbeat her.
    He heard Baldwin’s approach at the same time as she, and was about to hurry back to the hall to welcome him when Jeanne told him to go to the buttery to fetch warmed wine and bring it to the hall. Then she walked in herself to wait for Baldwin.
    When Baldwin entered, she was by the fire, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, Jeanne stepped forward to welcome him, leading him to his favourite chair by the hearth. It creaked as he sat on it. It was ancient, and the worms had got into it. She cast it a dubious look. It sounded as if it might give way at any time.
    Edgar appeared and filled pots for Baldwin and his wife.
    Baldwin drank slowly, deep in thought. Jeanne thought he looked like a man with an unpleasant duty to perform, and she was concerned what the priest might have said to worry him so much.
    At last he held out his cup to Edgar, set it refilled on the floor by his side, and threw his wife a smile of gratitude. “Thank you for not badgering me as soon as I arrived. You have that wonderful gift of knowing when words are unwelcome, my love, and a perfect peacefulness about you that makes it a pleasure to return. I am sorry to have been so uncommunicative, but the ride was not long enough to consider all