The Hunter’s Tale (19 page)

But Sister Johane, pleased to have so much new to talk about after the small, same things of the nunnery, was going on, “Lucy hopes her mother will make a marriage for her soon. She says it’s impossible having Lady Elyn for a sister now Lady Elyn is married and all. She has all the power to settle her children’s marriages. Lady Anneys, I mean. Her husband gave it to her in his will. Even her sons’ marriages. Well, just Master Woderove’s now, of course.”

‘Not Miles’?“ Frevisse asked, no more than mildly curious.

‘Not Miles’. Lucy says she thinks Sir Ralph just hoped Miles would rot. She says…“

Lucy seemed to say a great deal, but despite the haste of Sister Johane’s tongue, Frevisse did not hurry their walk. At least the weather, after the funeral day’s rain, was turned dry and late-summer warm, as perfect as could be wished for the harvest, now moved on to the wheatfield, Frevisse understood. They were nearly to the foreyard and she was wondering rather longingly how the harvest was going at St. Frideswide’s when Sister Johane chatted brightly, “Everything is much better here since Sir Ralph died, you know. Everyone is sorry about Tom being dead but everybody’s glad about Sir Ralph, even if he was murdered.”

Frevisse stopped short and faced her. “Did Lucy say that about her father? That plainly?”

Sister Johane had the grace to turn pink within the white circle of her wimple around her face and she dropped her gaze to the dusty road at her feet. “One of the maidservants did,” she murmured; then added with unwilling honesty, ‘Two of the maidservants.“

‘When were you talking with the servants?“

Still toward the road, Sister Johane said, “When I was in the kitchen yesterday, making the eyebright and clary poultice for Lucy’s eyes. There’s a lovely lot of clary in Lady Anneys’ garden.”

There were so many objections to falling into light talk with servants that Frevisse did not know where to start, nor did she mean to be turned from her disapproval by a surfeit of herbs; but a second’s more thought told her there was small point to saying any of the objections since Sister Johane surely knew them already. Instead, surprising herself, Frevisse said, “Dame Claire would be pleased at how much you’ve helped Lucy with her sore eyes. Whatever you’ve given Lady Anneys to help her sleep has surely helped her, too, these past two nights.”

Sister Johane looked up, openly startled at praise when she had expected rebuke. “It’s only… it’s all very simple,” she fumbled.

‘When something makes the difference between suffering and not-suffering, it’s more than ’only.‘ “

Sister Johane brightened with pleasure and said, “Thank you,” in a way that made Frevisse think that maybe she should find more things for which to praise Sister Johane, both because she deserved it and in the hope that encouraging her skills might serve to draw her away from talk with servants and a silly girl.

The morning passed in what were become usual ways, spent in the garden when Lady Anneys had finished giving to the servants what orders were needed for the day. Sometimes she worked among her flowers and herbs, teaching Lucy and Ursula and asking Sister Johane for all she knew about such medicinal things as she had growing here. Other times, like today, they sat in the arbor, Lady Anneys spinning thread from this season’s flax, her spindle’s whorl twisting as she worked the thin strands into fine thread, while the girls and Sister Johane sewed at the white linen shirts they had begun yesterday for Miles and Hugh, and Frevisse—because her sewing skill reached no further than hemming—read aloud to them of John Mandeville’s travels to the far reaches of the world. It was the only book on the manor besides Lady Anneys’ prayer book, unless Father Leonel had some others and Frevisse had not yet asked him, putting off her disappointment if he did not.

When the times came for each of the Offices, she and Sister Johane went inside and up to Lady Anneys’ bedchamber to say them. At first Frevisse had half-expected Lady Anneys would ask them to stay in the garden for the Offices and join in with her daughters, the way she and Ursula had done at St. Frideswide’s, but Lady Anneys never did. Her interest in prayers—even in going to morning Mass—had gone, nor did anyone else in her family show inclination that way. Frevisse had considered speaking with Father Leonel, to find if there were anything she might do to help, but so far had put it off. There were too many hurts here, both old and new, for her to begin carelessly probing at them, she thought.

Because most of the house servants were gone to the fields to help with the harvest instead of here for the cooking, the midday meal was no more than herb fritters, a cold cheese and onion tart, and fruit. Miles did not appear, but Hugh was there, sitting in the lord’s chair where he looked so ill at ease. Lady Anneys was on his left, with Lucy and Ursula beyond her, while Frevisse and Sister Johane were on his right and the hound bitch Baude, round-bellied in whelp, lay on the floor behind the chair.

Talk was small, merely about Hugh’s morning spent seeing how the harvest work was going. “Gefori says the weather will hold a few more days for sure before there’s chance of rain again,” he said, wiping the rim of the goblet he shared with his mother and passing it to her.

‘Then it will,“ Lady Anneys said. ”He always knows.“

‘How?“ Ursula asked.

‘Reads the signs, he says,“ answered Hugh.

‘What signs?“ Ursula persisted.

“I’ve never asked him.”

Ursula gave her brother a disgusted look. He made a face back at her and said, “Ask him yourself if you’re so interested.”

‘I will.“

‘After harvest,“ Lady Anneys said. ”He doesn’t need distracting now.“

As they finished the pears baked with spices, Hugh said, “I’m away to Charlbrook Chase this afternoon. We’re closing fast on Holy Rood Day.” When the mercy-time on game ended. “I want to see how the hunting looks likely to be that way.”

‘You’re not taking Baude, are you?“ Lady Anneys asked.

Hearing her name, the bitch raised her head. Hugh reached back and scratched between her ears, saying, “She’s too close to whelping. That’s another reason to go today rather than some other. I want to be here when she does.” He stood up to leave.

‘You’re going alone?“ Lady Anneys asked, her worry ill-concealed.

Hugh bent and kissed her cheek. “I’m not going alone. I’m taking Bane and Brigand. I might meet up with Miles, too.”

He bade them all good afternoon; and Frevisse, watching Lady Anneys watch him stride away toward the hall door, Baude following him, saw her lips move, silently bidding him, “Be careful.” At the door he stopped to pet the hound, ordered her to stay, then left. Baude lingered in the doorway, still hoping, before giving in to disappointment and going to lie beside the cold hearth.

Lady Anneys rose and led her daughters, Frevisse, and Sister Johane out to the garden again and the tasks they had left in the arbor’s shade when called to dinner. One shirt was ready for hemming, and Frevisse worked at that rather than any more reading aloud because Lady Anneys had brought out one of the household accounts scrolls to lesson Lucy on how the accounts could be used to plan the autumn buying of hat would be needed to see the manor through the winter. “You set how much salt we have on hand now against how much we bought a year ago, on the chance we overbought last year and can do with buying less this year,” Lady Anneys was saying. “But against that you must needs allow for how well the calving went this spring, and the summer’s haying, o judge whether there will be less or more beef to salt down’t this autumn’s slaughtering. If it’s been a poor year for cattle, you’ll need less salt because there’ll be less meat to cure. Or if it was a good year for cattle but a poor one for hay and there’ll have to be a greater slaughtering of cattle we can’t over winter, you’ll need much more salt for the curing. You see?”

Lucy nodded but looked closer to napping than thinking in the afternoon’s drowsy warmth until Ursula raised her head from her sewing and said, “Someone’s coming.” Her younger ears must have heard footfall or something because the arbor was set so that, from inside of it, the house was out of sight. Lucy instantly said, “I’ll see who!” and sprang up to lean out of the arbor.

Probably no one but Frevisse saw Lady Anneys’ hands clutch the account roll on her lap and her eyes widen with the unthinking fear of someone always afraid that anything sudden meant news of trouble; or saw her relief when Lucy said, “It’s Elyn!,” so that she was smiling when her daughter came into the arbor, dressed in a plain blue gown for riding and smiling, too. She exchanged quick kisses with her sisters and mother, bent her head with a respectful, “Good day, my ladies,” to Frevisse and Sister Johane, and sat down beside Lady Anneys where Lucy had been, saying as she pulled off her riding gloves, “My, isn’t it hot today?”

They all agreed on that before Lady Anneys asked, “Isn’t Philippa with you?”

‘I left her home. She’s my stepdaughter, not my dog. She doesn’t have to go everywhere with me,“ Lady Elyn laughed.

‘You didn’t ride alone?“

‘Sawnder came with me. I left him in the yard with the horses. I can’t stay long.“

‘What’s the matter?“ Lady Anneys asked.

It was a reasonable question. Lady Elyn was sitting on the edge of the seat, looking ready to spring up again, holding her riding gloves in one hand and drawing them again and again through the other. But she was discomposed to be so readily found out, looked quickly around at everyone, and said as if she could not hold it in a moment longer, “Mother, can I talk with you alone a little?”

Lady Anneys stiffened but said with seeming ease, “Of course. Sister Johane, would you be so good as to take Lucy and Ursula for a walk? Perhaps along the stream toward the village.” Well away from hearing anything that might be said in the arbor.

Sister Johane stood up readily, Lucy and Ursula less readily and looking the protest they did not make, but when Frevisse stood up, too, Lady Anneys said, “I’d have you stay, please, Dame Frevisse.”

Frevisse sat down again, as unwilling to stay as Lucy and Ursula were to go, and Lady Elyn started
to
protest, “Oh, Mother…” but Lady Anneys silenced her with a look, but waiting until Sister Johane had led the others away toward the garden’s back gate before she said, “Dame Frevisse is here to advise and help me. You needn’t worry about what you say for her to hear.” While Frevisse kept her surprise at that to herself, Lady Anneys laid a quieting hand on her daughter’s restless ones and said, “Now, what is it? Do you think you’re with child?”

‘Oh, Mother. No.“ Lady Elyn shook her head impatiently. ”That isn’t it. It’s Hugh. No. It’s Sir William. It’s what Sir William is saying about Hugh.“

Lady Anneys’ hand tightened on her daughter’s and her voice was strained, for all that she kept it low as she asked, “What’s Sir William saying?”

‘And to whom,“ Frevisse said.

Lady Anneys cast her a sharp, agreeing glance and added, “And to whom?”

‘To Master Wyck today. I don’t know if he’s ever said it to anyone else.“

‘To Master Wyck?“ Lady Anneys repeated. ”Today? Why was he at Denhill?“

‘I don’t know. Sir William doesn’t tell me things. About his will maybe, or some property. I don’t know. They were in the parlor. I was going to go in to see if they needed more wine or wanted aught to eat. I supposed they were talking business and it would be better if I went in than a servant. The way you taught me, Mother.“

‘And Sir William said something while you were there.“

‘Not while I was really there. It was just as I was about to knock. I heard Tom’s name and tears came up in my eyes and I stopped to dry them. Sir William doesn’t like tears.“ New tears welled in her eyes as she said it, but with more indignation than grief she said, ”He doesn’t care how I feel. I swear it. All he wants is not to be bothered.“

‘Men are cowards that way,“ Lady Anneys said evenly. ”It doesn’t matter if you’re in pain, whether of mind or body. What matters is that you don’t trouble them with it. I warned you of that when you married.“

Frevisse had now and again known men with courage enough to care and to show their care, but she could easily guess Sir Ralph had not been one and Sir William must be no better; but Lady Anneys was taking Lady Elyn back to the point, saying, “It was while you were drying your eyes that you heard something.”

‘I heard Sir William say…“ Lady Elyn wiped more tears away, drew a deep breath, and said it all at a rush. ”He said it was as well Hugh didn’t try to make trouble at the inquest, because if Hugh had, he would have pointed out that when Tom left Denhill, he was alive and that when he was next seen by anyone besides Hugh, he was dead and maybe someone should take closer look at that.“