This is the very beginning of the book…

Bea’s eyes flickered open and she peered over the edge of the coverlet. She was warm and comfortable between the mattress and the cover, but her mouth was dry. Tweaking the cover away from her mouth, she lifted her head up a little and glanced about her, taking in her surroundings.

Moments later, her anxiety was relieved. Her head might still be dizzy but she knew exactly where she was.

That large window overlooked the long garden at the back of the house. The bright hangings on the walls depicted scenes of hunting. The painted chest that stood behind the door held shirts and braies.

Most familiar of all was this bed, with its deep mattress and heavy curtains, the soft pillows beneath her head and the woven coverlet that topped smooth linen sheets. The bed seemed to be embracing her, comforting her weary, fragile limbs.

She tried to lift her head a little more, but her vision swam and she fell back again. Yet, in that instant, she’d seen that she was not alone: an old woman was sitting on a chair to one side of the window, dozing, a stump of a candle flickering on the small table at her side. The sunlight filtering through the shutter was feeble, scarcely sufficient for Mistress Collyton’s ancient eyes to see across the room. But she was there, Bea assumed, waiting for her to wake. And, then, she’d surely go to fetch Riccardo.

Bea sighed, so softly Mistress Collyton wouldn’t have heard, even if she’d not been sleeping. Her heart beat a little faster, as she understood that what she’d hoped – almost beyond reason – might happen, had. Riccardo had found her, and had taken her in. She was alive, and lying in his bed. The bed she knew so well but hadn’t imagined she’d ever lie in again.

How long ago was it she’d last slept here? Not much more than a year, perhaps. Yet it seemed much longer, with all that had happened since.

Then, remembering that past time, her heart turned over. Why was she lying in this bed? Where was Riccardo’s wife? Had she agreed to Riccardo bringing her up here, usurping the place reserved for her and her husband?

 Confused and nervous now by what she didn’t know, Bea wriggled slightly further down the bed, pulling the sheet and coverlet up over her eyes. She was more comfortable than she’d been for months. She felt safe, but was she truly? Or was Riccardo’s wife downstairs, waiting for her to wake, so she could turn her out of the house once more?

 Bea closed her eyes again. The longer she appeared asleep, the longer it would be before any such dismissal came. Or perhaps it would be better if she never woke? Then she’d never have to face again the life of vagrancy she’d lived since being driven out of Meonbridge. And not have to face once more being abandoned by Riccardo.

She’d no idea how long she’d been here, though the chamber’s chilly air told her it must still be winter. It was last summer she’d run away from Meonbridge, after the villagers – once her friends and neighbours – had attacked and threatened her, blaming her for carrying the pestilence there from Winchester. She fled for her life, and for months lived in the open, sleeping in barns, eating what she could find, often being forced to steal. Despite her growing weakness, she found her way to Winchester. She didn’t know what she expected there: to ask Riccardo for help, perhaps, or to return to her old life as a whore? Though, as her health deteriorated, and her body weakened into the frailty of a child’s, neither seemed a possibility.

When the storm hit – in the middle of January she thought it was – she was living on the city streets, finding shelter where she could. She was so thin, exhausted and perpetually cold, she suspected she’d not live much longer. That evening, finding herself close to where Riccardo lived, she decided to throw herself upon his mercy: surely, he’d either help her live, or give her a decent burial? But, when she arrived at his house, he wasn’t there. Incapable of walking any further, she’d collapsed outside his door.

 Crumpled on the ground, she’d drifted in and out of awareness, yet thought it wasn’t much longer before Riccardo did return. She could just remember the sound of his voice breathless with emotion, and the feel of his strong arms about her as he lifted her up and carried her indoors. The last moment she could recall was the touch of his lips upon her hand, before she slipped into unconsciousness from which she supposed she had just awoken.

End of excerpt…