10 The Squire's Tale Read online

  They were still kneeling, each in her own silent prayer, when lantern light from the doorway behind them made sudden sharp shadows around them, telling that Master Geoffrey was returned as promised. Not ready yet to leave either the chapel’s quiet or her prayers, Frevisse nonetheless crossed herself and rose with Dame Claire, going to join the clerk who murmured something about hoping he had not come too soon but otherwise respecting the quiet they brought out of the chapel with them, leading them across the yard to a doorway where he gave them the lantern, saying only, “My own door is back along on the right from here. I can find my way well enough but you’ve stairs to manage. Up them and to your left is where you want to go. May you rest well,” he added.

  They thanked him again and he bowed and drew away into the darkness as Dame Claire, lantern in hand, opened the door where he had left them and went in, past shut doors that led to ground-level chambers on the right and left, and up narrow wooden stairs, turned a little sidewise to let light fall past her for Frevisse to see her way, too, to the top and the door on the left that opened indeed to the chamber Frevisse recognized from this afternoon.

  In one of the beds someone was already snoring softly in deep sleep but the other one was still empty. No third mattress had been brought but Frevisse did not care. With the lantern set on the floor where its light would not disturb the sleeper, she and Dame Claire took off their stockings and shoes, put them beside a stool at the head of their bed, took off their gowns, wimples and veils, and laid them carefully folded on the stool. Any washing would have to wait until morning, and when Dame Claire had slipped into bed and to its wallside, Frevisse blew out the light and joined her, as grateful to be at last lying down as she had been to go to prayers and asleep almost before she had pulled up her share of the blanket.

  She awoke in what she supposed was the middle of the night, used to it from always rising then in St. Frideswide’s to go to Matins and Lauds. From Dame Claire’s breathing, she could tell she was awake, too, but there was no question of them going out to the chapel in the middle of the night here, nor should they be discourteous to the other sleeper by rising and praying aloud where they were, and silently, supposing Dame Claire was doing the same, she set to saying the Offices to herself as best she could and afterwards slid easily into sleep again, to awaken when Dame Claire did, again by habit, somewhat before dawn, in time for Prime. Without need to say anything or see what they were doing, they dressed in the room’s darkness and, having no way to light the lantern, groped their way down the stairs to the yard where the graying of the sky toward dawn gave them light enough to make their way back to the chapel.

  When they had finished and left the chapel, full light was not come yet but the yard was busy with people off to their early work, and chilled but satisfied, they returned to their room, to find it was Nurse who had been asleep in the other bed and was awake now, dressed and not in the least bothered by two strangers sharing her room, saying crisply while putting on her coif and tying it under her chin, “It’s only every other night I sleep in my bed anyway. The other nights, turn and turn about, I sleep with the children, and Anabilla—she’s the nursery maid—is in here. It’s her snuffling in her sleep you’ll have to bear with tonight. Now which of you is which? No one bothered with telling me yesterday. Dame Claire and Dame Frevisse, yes?”

  Dame Claire sorted out for her who they were and asked, “And your name? We aren’t to call you only Nurse, are we?

  ‘It’s what I’m mostly called,“ she said cheerfully. ”But if you’ve a mind to more, I answer to Mistress Welland, too.“ Not over-tall but brisk and sure of words and movement, she finished pinning her starched, sharply pressed, shiningly white veil to her wimple and cocked her head while fixing both nuns with her merry black eyes as she added, ”Or, if we turn friendly enough, I’m Florence. So mind your manners and we’ll see.“

  Something of the constriction that had bound Frevisse through the two days since leaving St. Frideswide’s eased, for no better reason than that here at least was one person without open confusions in her life.

  But there were increasing, cheerful child noises from beyond the stairward door and Mistress Welland said, slipping an apron over her head and tying it behind her while moving toward the door, “I’d best be off to see to them so Anabilla can fetch their breakfasts. By the by.” She turned back in the doorway. “I mean to tell the children that if they’re very good this morning, one or the other of the nuns might tell them a story this afternoon.”

  Then she was gone, before either Frevisse or Dame Claire could give answer to that, leaving them sharing a rueful look; and before they had gone beyond that to choosing what to do next, Mistress Avys knocked and entered from the solar, bringing them a breakfast of bare bread and weak ale.

  ‘Master Fenner said that’s as it should be, because of your Lenten fasting,“ she said worriedly, ”but my lady says that if you want more, you’ve only to ask and you’ll have it.“

  Frevisse’s stomach made a soft sound that told her more would have been welcome but she agreed, along with Dame Claire, that this was exactly what they should have and thanked her for it before Dame Claire asked, “How is it with Lady Blaunche this morning?”

  Mistress Avys pursed her lips and heaved a sigh. “Not so well as we could wish, I fear. She slept well enough, once she came to it, but she’s keeping to her bed this morning and said I wasn’t to say anything until you’d eaten, but since you ask, she wants to see you as soon as might be, please you.”

  Bread untouched in one hand and cup of ale in the other, Dame Claire asked, “What’s amiss?”

  ‘Now you eat,“ Mistress Avys said, nodding at the bread. ”You need your strength and she’ll bide till you come. I can’t say there’s any one thing greatly wrong with her, just too many things altogether, if you take my meaning.“ She dropped her voice as if giving a secret. ”The Allesleys come today.“

  Dame Claire questioned her between bites of the bread and sips of the ale, and Frevisse listened while eating her own, not learning much except what Mistress Avys had already told but gaining a suspicion that there were other things that could have been said but Mistress Avys would not. About what? Frevisse wondered, then quickly shut the wondering away because she had no business wondering about what was no concern of hers.

  Done with her breakfast, Dame Claire brushed at her habit to be rid of crumbs that were not there and hasted away with Mistress Avys without even asking if Frevisse would go with her. They knew each other well enough for her to know Frevisse would prefer not to, but when they were gone, Frevisse found herself left full in the awkwardness of being a guest where she did not wish to be and with nothing to do. Dame Claire at least had occupation but nothing was needed from her but to be here. She was no use to Lady Blaunche in her illness and, being uninclined to idle talk, had no interest in keeping company with the other women in the parlor; but neither was there anywhere else for her to he, and by the sounds beyond the one shutter set open to the growing daylight, the yard was even more busy with folk than it had been and surely everywhere else was, too, leaving her nowhere to be out of the way but here, with time on her hands and nothing to do with it.

  Except pray, she suddenly thought; and the day, dismal ahead of her a moment before, lightened. Prayer—the slipping aside from the World’s passing concerns into the greater quest of nearness to the Eternal—was one of the pleasures that had deepened through her years of nunhood but oddly enough time for prayer alone, outside the hours set for the Offices, was one of the most difficult things to come by in the nunnery.

  Nunnery life was a formed and carefully kept thing; a nun shaped herself to it, not it to the nun, and while that at its best provided a surprising freedom of spirit, it also provided for almost every moment of a day and so after all there was maybe something to be gained by being here at Brinskep, Frevisse thought as she slid from the edge of the bed where she had been sitting to her knees on the floor, drew a deep, quieting breath and set,
as the blessed Richard of Hampole directed, the love of her heart upward and her thought as greatly as she might on what she prayed.

  Eyes closed, head bent over clasped hands, she wound herself far into the intricate simplicity of prayer, losing thought of time and everything about her and when eventually she returned to where and when she was, she did not know how long Katherine had been standing at the window looking out into the yard; and when, still a little light-headed from her praying, she drew a deep, steadying breath, Katherine swung around from the window to say in quick apology, “My lady, I’m sorry. I tried to keep as quiet as possible.”

  Using the bed for help against her knees’ stiffness—she never felt the pain of them while she was praying, only when she was done—Frevisse rose to her feet, saying while she did, “I never heard you come or knew you were here, Mistress Katherine. You didn’t disturb me.”

  The girl tried to smile. Today instead of the plain gown she mostly wore, she was dressed in a full-skirted overgown of light wool dyed bright spring green, held in at its high waist, just below her breasts, by a wide belt of silver and enameled roses, its neckline collared with darker green velvet and plunging in a deep vee between her breasts to show her rose-colored undergown of fine linen. Rose velvet lined the overgown’s wide, open-hanging sleeves, too, that were turned back the better to show off both the velvet and the undergown’s close-fitted sleeves brought down to a careful point over her white, slender hands, and for good measure the rich darkness of her hair, loosed from its usual braid to fall down her back to well below her waist, was held back from her smooth forehead by a circlet of more silver and enameled flowers.

  All in all, both she and her wealth were well-displayed, to be admired and desired, and the only flaw was that her face was as bleak as a winter’s day, her eyes flat with pain, so that without thinking Frevisse said, “Is it as bad as that, Katherine?”

  Tears that seemed to take her by surprise brimmed in Katherine’s eyes and her voice caught as she said, “You’re the first person this morning who hasn’t told me how beautiful I look. Thank you.”

  ‘They say it because it’s what they think you want to hear. Besides that, it’s true.“

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether it’s true.“ Katherine’s voice tried to rise toward breaking; she forced it down. ”What matters is that they’ve all stopped seeing me. Everyone. I’m 0nly something to be dressed and disposed of to everyone else’s best advantage. They don’t see me at all in this anymore.“

  That was hurting her to the heart, and with an answering pang Frevisse remembered her mother saying once, long ago, about her marriage, “Everyone knew how I was supposed to marry. They had it all planned, down to the last pence they would make from it, but I listened to no one but myself and married your father.” And went off with him into a life they had both loved as much as they loved each other and because of it had been exiled from everyone else who had ever been dear to them.

  Frevisse had never needed to ask if it had been worth the cost. Even if she had not known before, the remembered joy in her mother’s face even then, when she had lain widowed and dying, had been all the answer there need be.

  Which was no use to Katherine who had no such other choice, it seemed—no lover to whom she could turn, her only choices acceptance of what was intended for her or flat refusal of it, with whatever troubles and outrage that would bring down on her.

  Katherine tried another smile, saying contritely, “I’ll be all right. It’s only that I’m frightened a little. I’m sorry I broke into your prayers.”

  ‘You didn’t,“ Frevisse repeated, and because she had no help to offer, added, ”Am I wanted somewhere?“

  ‘No. I only came here to hide awhile. Until my courage came back. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.“

  Where was Mistress Dionisia? Frevisse wondered. She surely knew Katherine best, was best suited to comforting her. Lacking her and not knowing Katherine well enough to guess what comfort to offer, Frevisse settled for asking, “Has it come back? Your courage?”

  Katherine’s smile was bleak. “Enough.”

  Knowing she should leave it at that but not able to, Frevisse said, “You think it will happen, then? Master Fenner will make an agreement with the Allesleys and your marriage will be part of it?”

  ‘Sir Lewis wants compensation for the years he’s been deprived of his land. Master Fenner has no other way to pay it except with me.“

  ‘Is he maybe fond enough of you not to force you to it if you refuse?“

  ‘I won’t refuse. He has to have this peace with Sir Lewis. The cost and loss if he doesn’t will happen to too many people who don’t deserve to suffer for wrongs they didn’t do. If I’m what has to be paid to keep that from happening, then I will be.“

  ‘And Lady Blaunche?“ Frevisse asked. ”She’ll come to accept it, you think?“ and was startled by how swiftly Katherine’s resignation turned to blazing bitterness as she snapped, rawly angry, ”She’ll have to, once it’s done, but she’ll make Master Fenner’s life hell for it from now until she can’t anymore.“

  ‘She’s not well…“ Frevisse began.

  ‘She’s as well as she wants to be,“ Katherine said, then quickly returned to contrite with, ”I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I…“ She shook her head, changed what she had been going to say to repeating, ”I shouldn’t have said that.“

  ‘Dame Claire has draughts that will maybe serve to soothe her.“

  Katherine refused that with another shake of her head. “When she’s wrought herself this high, there’s little chance of soothing her.”

  ‘Is she often like this?“

  ‘Often enough.“ Bitterness surfaced again. ”It’s what she does best. Ah!“ Angrily, but at herself this time, Katherine covered her mouth with both hands, then clutched them to each other and dropped them to her waist. ”I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, either. It was unkind.“

  But true, Frevisse said to herself, and was saved from struggling with how much more she should ask about what was none of her business by the gateward’s ringing cry, “They’re coming!”

  Katherine gasped, “Blessed Virgin, no,” and spun toward the window with fear so plain in her that Frevisse crossed the chamber to her side, and Katherine, one hand pressed to her belt over her heart, reached with the other to take hold of Frevisse’s near one, whispering, “I’m not ready.”

  Ready or unready made no difference and Frevisse held back from any of the useless things she might have said, leaving them to wait in a silence taut with Katherine’s fear while below them in the courtyard manor men went and came, some of a purpose, some seemingly not, before Katherine said, “There’s Master Fenner,” come out of the hall door to the head of the steps.

  He was more finely dressed than Frevisse had ever seen him, in a calf-length azure houppelande over dark hosen, the gown cut full and belted into his waist, the wide sleeves hanging long but gathered to his wrists, the collar high around his throat, with a slender chain glinting gold in the morning sunlight over his shoulders and across his chest. From above the yard he called out orders to men below him and they responded with bows and a swift sorting out that cleared most of them to the edges of the yard or away altogether, leaving a half-dozen men grouped near the foot of the stairs, all dressed in the brown surcoats that told they were household officers, high in their lord’s service. They would likely have no direct part in what was to come but nothing was ever lost by playing up dignity in a matter like this, Frevisse supposed.

  There was hardly time for the grouped men and onlookers to begin to fidget before there was a shouted order from the gateward and men were swinging the gates wide, back against the gatehouse walls, but rather than toward the gate, Frevisse—and Katherine, too, she noted—looked toward Robert in time to see him, still alone at the stairhead, straighten his back and lift his head, one hand coming to rest on the hilt of the sword on his left hip. There was small likelihood any weapon would be draw
n today but neither would Sir Lewis nor Robert choose to face each other without his and so lessen his place against the other. It was a man thing that Frevisse had seen often enough not even to shake her head over anymore and in the next instant altogether forgot about it as riders cantered into the yard, too many and too quick to count, a burst of maybe a score of men and horses and the clatter of shod hoofs on stone and the chink and ring of harness before most of them drew rein in the midst of the yard, leaving three others to ride forward at footpace to the stairs as Robert came down to meet them.

  ‘The man in gray is Ned Verney,“ Katherine said. ”He’s Master Fenner’s friend who helped set this all toward.“

  ‘Then the older man“—with a long, well-fleshed face, dressed in scarlet houppelande slit up the side for riding, with tall leather riding boots and brimless, high-crowned hat—”will be Sir Lewis,“ Frevisse said.

  ‘I’d guess so,“ Katherine agreed, tight-voiced, because that meant the third man was most likely his son and heir, Drew Allesley, angled from them so they could not see his face, only tell that he was fair-haired, his short-cut green houppelande showing a well-shaped leg above his low riding boot, before he, his father, and Ned Verney were swinging down from their saddles and going forward to meet Robert, with everything after that lost in a scurry of servants come to take the horses and the six arbiters dismounting in their turn, coming forward, more servants going for their horses and those of the other men now dismounting, too, while at the stairs Robert had turned to lead everyone up and into the hall where, if all went as planned, they would shortly set down to dinner.