The Widow's Tale (Sister Frevisse Medieval Mysteries Book 14) (10 page)

“If we need to trust someone in this before we’re done, who better?”

“He’s maybe too near the duke of Suffolk. Edward said this thing, whatever it is, is against Suffolk.”

“I think Edward was right in saying John is King Henry’s man before ever he’s Suffolk’s. The trouble is that presently Suffolk holds almost all the power around the king and to serve King Henry means to serve Suffolk, too.”

“Edward never had more to do with Suffolk than he could help.”

“Edward’s ambition reached no further than his family and Highmeade. John’s ambitions go beyond that, and that presently means serving the king by way of the duke of Suffolk.”

“Then it wouldn’t be safe to tell him this secret against Suffolk. Not if it’s anything so bad as Edward thought it was. At best, even if his first loyalty is to the king, it would be unfair to put him between his friendship for us and his service to Suffolk, wouldn’t it?”

“Fair or unfair, I still trust John,” Gerveys said. “Without him, I wouldn’t even know you were missing. I’d be in Ireland and thinking all was well with you.”

Guilty with a sudden thought, Cristiana sat down abruptly on the chest and pressed her hands to her forehead. “Gerveys, I’m sorry. I haven’t asked you anything. Why
are
you here? Why didn’t you go with York? How did John get leave to take me from Laurence? Where are my wits gone? It’s as if I can’t think at all anymore.”

Gerveys took her hands from her forehead and gently kissed her there, the way he would have kissed Mary or Jane over a small hurt. “You’ve been somewhat busy surviving,” he pointed out, kindly.

“But why didn’t you go with York? How did John and Beth come into this business at all?”

“Someone doesn’t disappear the way you did without there’s talk. Laurence gave out his story, but the servants had their own of what happened at Highmeade the day you were taken. Beth heard both. She didn’t believe what Laurence said and what else she heard made her afraid for you. She wasn’t certain who around here she could depend on against Laurence, and John and I were gone. John was at Parliament at Winchester, remember, and I was in Wales. Laurence probably counted on my being gone without ever hearing about you. If he thought of John at all, he probably thought that by the time John returned, the trail to you would be cold. He may not even have thought that. He seems to have supposed no one would trouble over you disappearing. But Beth sent a messenger to John and a man to find me. He did, two days before we would have sailed. He gave me Beth’s message that you were gone and Laurence had taken over Highmeade and the girls. I asked leave from my lord of York and he gave it. I’m to follow him when I can.”

“Laurence thought you’d gone. He didn’t know you’d come back.”

“I took care he shouldn’t. I came to Baas after dark, talked with Beth, agreed John was our best help, and left that same night for Winchester. Being Speaker, John had to see Parliament through to its end and that didn’t come until mid-July. Since then we’ve been trying one way and another to find out what happened to you, where you were, what Laurence might be planning for Mary and Jane, all the time trying to keep secret I wasn’t gone to Ireland. As things went, the Says’ servants talked little and your folk at Highmeade talked much. When we’d pieced together what Laurence had done against you, John went to Suffolk and got a grant of your keeping in place of Laurence’s. He was going to do what he could about the girls next, while we were still trying to find out where you were. Then Milisent dismissed Ivetta, she came here, and that’s how John knew Laurence was bringing you back here. Given all of that, what else we can do except trust John? Besides that he’s proved himself a true friend, he’s best placed of anyone we know to deal with Suffolk. But handing a mad widow from one man’s keeping to another is a little matter. Wardships and marriages mean money. We need something to counter whatever Laurence has paid. Promising Suffolk this paper of Edward’s is the surest thing.”

“Edward said it was something that could be used against Suffolk. Wouldn’t you rather . . . wouldn’t you rather give it to York?”

“I would, but there’s little he could do from Ireland.”

“When he comes back?”

“He won’t be back. Not any time soon.” Gerveys was both certain and bitter of that. “Not while Suffolk and his kind have their way around the king. This governorship of Ireland was as close as they could come to outright exile for him. With him gone, there’s no one left in England who’s both willing and with the power to stand against Suffolk.”

Cristiana suddenly, overwhelmingly longed for Edward. For him here to decide this thing for her. For him to be holding her. For him . . . simply for him. She bent her head under the weight of that longing but refused more tears. There was no more use in either tears or wanting Edward. She had to decide, herself, how best to save herself and Mary and Jane, and the only way she saw was what Gerveys now offered—the buying of their safety from Suffolk.

Gerveys’ hands holding hers were the only warmth and steadiness left in the world and she lifted her head and said, “We’ll ask John’s help, then.”

“If I saw another way, I’d offer it,” Gerveys said.

Cristiana forced a smile, trying to be confident for him. “The purpose is to stop Laurence. To
ruin
him, if we can. This should do that. We must needs leave it to someone else to ruin Suffolk.”

Someone came thumping up the stairs lead-footed as an ox. Cristiana and Gerveys sat back from each other, both turning toward the door as a serving-man thrust his head in even while rapping at the doorframe and said, “I’ve come for the tray, if you’re done with it, my lady.”

Cristiana made a small beckon at the tray. The man came, took it, and went-nimbly out, his easiness so far from their tightly wrought dealings that behind his back Cristiana choked on a surprised laugh that she knew was nothing more than her own fear taking what release it could. The servant said something to someone at the foot of the stairs. Then there was the familiar bustle of Ivetta coming up, a home-sound even here, and Gerveys leaned quickly toward Cristiana, asking in a lowered voice, “Then we’re agreed? I ask John to deal with Suffolk for us? But ask him to do nothing about it until we have Mary and Jane safely here, away from Laurence, even if that takes a few days for Jane to brought.

Yes?”

Her throat tight at mention of Mary and Jane, Cristiana forced out, “Yes.”

T
hat afternoon
only Frevisse and Domina Elisabeth were with Mistress Say in the parlor when a servant brought word of riders coming. “That had better be Laurence with Mary,” Mistress Say said and left the parlor. Domina Elisabeth hesitated to follow, then did, and Frevisse went with her, through the great hall and outside to the head of the stairs down to the foreyard, only barely in time to see the back of two riders already riding out of the yard where a small girl now stood with a cloth-wrapped bundle clutched to herself. Mistress Say called out, “Mary!” and the girl started toward the stairs. Mistress Say made move to meet her but Cristiana was suddenly there, rushing down the stairs, and with a cry of “Momma!” the girl dropped her bundle and ran, too. They met and clung to each other, Mary’s head pressed to the curve of her mother’s shoulder, Cristiana’s face to the top of the little girl’s head. Watching them, Frevisse thought that— whatever else was uncertain about all of this—Cristiana very much loved her daughter and very much had her daughter’s love in return.

Sir Gerveys and Master Say appeared around the parlor-end corner of the house, with Sir Gerveys leaving Master Say behind, coming long-strided to his sister and niece and throwing his arms around them both while they were still holding each other. At the same moment the woman Ivetta burst through the doorway behind Frevisse and hurried down the stairs with a glad outcry. The squire Pers followed her less wildly but widely smiling.

Servants were come out, too, to see. As Mistress Say began to shoo them back to their work, Domina Elisabeth murmured to Frevisse that they would do well to be out of the way themselves, and they returned to the parlor. They had nowhere else to go yet at Baas, and the best they could do when soon the Says, Cristiana, Mary, and Sir Gerveys came into the room all talking and laughing together with Ivetta and Pers close behind them, was to draw aside to the window seat, somewhat out of the way. Cristiana and Sir Gerveys had Mary between them, their arms around her shoulders, and they sat together on the long-backed settle while the Says drew chairs toward them and Ivetta and Pers followed to stand close behind them.

“They didn’t tell me anything,” Mary said, answering something. “When Uncle Laurence came back without you, all I heard was Aunt Milisent yelling at him, I couldn’t hear about what, but then Aunt Milisent came and grabbed my hair.” Mary touched the side of her head, remembering pain, and Cristiana held her fiercely closer. “She said I had to swear now I’d marry Clement and I said I wouldn’t and then she twisted my arm and said she’d hurt me worse if I didn’t.”

“My lamb!” Ivetta cried. “Oh, my poor lamb!”

Mary did not look like a lamb. She looked like a small, fierce lion and said with pardonable pride, “But I said I never would and she shoved me down and left me and nobody came again at all until one of the maids came with some of my things wrapped in one of my dresses and took me out to the yard and put me on a horse behind one of those men and they brought me here!”

Cristiana squeezed her closer and Sir Gerveys held them both. But suddenly Mary twisted a little away to say up at them in distress, “But I lost Jane. Did Ivetta tell you? Aunt Ankaret took her away and there wasn’t anything I could do. I’m sorry!”

Sir Gerveys gave her a shove on the shoulder. “Gudgeon. That’s as if I said I was sorry I’d not kept fifty soldiers from coming over a wall all by myself. I’d be sorry for it but it wouldn’t be my fault. Not letting them marry you to Clement is more than victory enough. Don’t be so greedy for glory, girl.”

Mary brightened under his words. “I made them angry. Uncle Laurence and Aunt Milisent and Clement. Uncle Laurence got red in the face and Clement stamped his foot at me.”

“You were very brave,” Cristiana said. She began to run her fingers through her daughter’s hair, combing out the tangles a few days’ neglect had made. “Now, though, you don’t have to be brave anymore, because we’ll keep you safe from Laurence after this.”

“And get Jane back?” Mary asked.

“And get Jane back,” said Master Say firmly. “Then, with Jane safely here, I’ll see to my lord the duke of Suffolk giving your wardships to me instead of him.”

Mary snuggled closer to her mother with a contented sigh. Frevisse guessed that because everything was already so much better, she easily believed all could be made right. She did not see—but Frevisse did—the look that fixed for a moment between Sir Gerveys and Master Say, full of things unsaid aloud. Mistress Say saw it, though. Frevisse saw her gaze go from one man to the other questioningly; but a maidservant come to the doorway made a curtsy mostly to Mistress Say and said,

“Either that,” Frevisse said dryly, “or her whole family and the Says are very subtly corrupt, too.”

“Which is possible,” Domina Elisabeth said seriously. “My feeling, though, is that they’re not.” She went to the window over the foreyard and looked out. “Master Say has promised my letter to Abbot Gilberd will go off tomorrow. If he’s still at Eltham, we could be away from here in three days’ time, which would be to the good. I want free of this business as soon as may be.”

With that, Frevisse could only agree.

But there were still the days to be gone through until Abbot Gilberd’s release came and not many ways to pass their time. Some they spent by going to Mass in Broxbourne village every morning. The church was hardly more than a mile away but, “There’s somewhat of a hill,” Master Say warned when Domina Elisabeth asked about going. “It will be a steep walk on your way back.” He offered to have their horses saddled for them whenever they wished to go but Domina Elisabeth refused with thanks, claiming the walk would be good. She did not add it would also use up some of their too-long days. Even saying the Offices at their due hours took up not nearly enough of their idle time. Neither she nor Frevisse were used to being either idle or as constrained as they were here, keeping much to their chamber since Cristiana made plain she did not like either of them anywhere near her.

It helped that when the weather was fair Cristiana and Mistress Say and their daughters were mostly in the garden that lay below the parlor’s window and that Frevisse and Domina Elisabeth could be in the parlor then; but in the evenings and through much of the second afternoon, when there was rain, they stayed in their chamber, reading. The
Life of St. Birgitta
was new to both of them and
Confessio Amantis
familiar but still pleasurable. And Domina Elisabeth found that the maidservant who attended on them, coming sometimes to ask if they needed anything, sometimes bringing them wine and small cakes, was willing to lingerand answer Domina Elisabeth’s carefully light questions. From that and from what could be overheard at meals, Frevisse began to gather some knowledge of the Says. For one thing, Master Say had not inherited the manor of Baas but acquired it only a few years ago, with several others near here.

“It’s Mistress Say’s money that’s helped them along,” the maid said easily. “Before she was widowed, Master Say was friends with her husband. He got their daughter’s wardship from the king and then he and Mistress Say— Mistress Cheney as she was then—came together naturallike. Of course, he’s done fine on his own, too, being in the king’s household and all. More days than not, he sees King Henry and the queen. Talks to them, even.”

And another time, proudly: “He went to France with the duke of Suffolk and all to bring back the queen to marry King Henry.”

And: “The duke of Suffolk favors him, you know. It was the duke of Suffolk saw to it he was made Speaker for the Commons in this past Parliament.” She seemed to feel that triumph was her own. “He’s someone now, is Master Say.”

“It means he’s gone a great deal, doesn’t it?” Domina Elisabeth tried.

“He’s here as much as may be, he is.” The maidservant lowered her voice, as if giving away a great secret. “He and Mistress Say are as happy in each other’s company as you ever hope to see. Still in love and there’s thought she may be bearing again. Early days yet to be certain, though.”

Once Domina Elisabeth said to Frevisse, “Should we tell Master Say that the duke of Suffolk is your …”

“Please,” Frevisse said instantly. “Don’t.” But because there had to be a reason not to take advantage of being related to so powerful a man, even if only by a cousin’s marriage, she added, “Things are so entangled here already. And what more can the Says do for us than they are?”

Domina Elisabeth had let the matter go with a regretful, “I suppose it’s better to not,” and went back to reading about St. Birgitta, leaving Frevisse to thoughts that were less comfortable than her words. If the Says’ prosperity came by way of Master Say’s success at court and what Mistress Say had brought to the marriage, it would seem Master Say had had no inheritance of his own worth mentioning, save his wits, and although those had served him well thus far, it meant the prosperity here had only shallow roots, with much depending on Master Say keeping in favor with the king. Or, more truly, in favor with Suffolk.

Knowing what she did of Suffolk besides the general travelers’ talk and other news that reached St. Frideswide’s about the ill-government and greed now attached to Suffolk’s near-followers, Frevisse could not help wondering how tainted Master Say might truly be.

The third tedious day came. Besides the man sent with Domina Elisabeth’s letter, Frevisse gathered Master Say and had also sent a reminder to Laurence Helyngton that Cristiana’s younger daughter was expected here as soon as might be, but nothing was yet heard from either Abbot Gilberd or Helyngton, and by late in the third day’s morning, when a light rain again meant Domina Elisabeth and Frevisse were in their chamber, Domina Elisabeth chafed openly with, “Why haven’t I heard? There’s been time and enough to go to Eltham and back.”

“Mayhap he’d left there before your letter came and the messenger has to find him out where’s he’s gone.”

“He can’t be hard to find. He’s an abbot. You don’t lose abbots.” She picked up the
Life of St. Birgitta
again. “I want to go home.”

Silently agreeing, Frevisse went back to Gower’s tale of the king of Hungary’s Trumpet of Death. She found little to settle her thoughts in the king telling his brother, “Dread god with all your heart more, for all shall die and all shall pass, as well a Lion as an ass, as well a beggar as a lord …” Time for midday’s dinner came and Domina Elisabeth and Frevisse went down to it. Despite Cristiana, there was no fault to the Says’ courtesy. Domina Elisabeth and Frevisse dined as welcomed guests at the high table in the hall, while the lesser members of the household sat along the two long tables running the hall’s length from dais to wooden screens. At the high table, turns were taken for who sat beside Master and Mistress Say. This dinnertime Frevisse was seated at Master Say’s right and she waited only until they were past his polite inquiry after her comfort and a brief exchange of comments on the weather and he was spooning a well-seasoned mutton stew thick with meat and young onions onto Frevisse’s plate from a broad bowl set between them before she said mildly, “There’s one thing that’s puzzled me these few days you’ve so kindly had us here.”

“Is there?” Master Say smiled at her as he began to serve himself. “What?”

Frevisse looked past him to his wife and Sir Gervays in talk together on his other side, with Cristiana listening beyond them, smiling at something. To Frevisse’s other side Father Richard, Broxbourne’s priest, was in talk with Domina Elisabeth. Fairly sure of not being overheard, she said, “It’s your friendship with Sir Gerveys. With all the distrust I’ve heard there is between York and the king”—meaning Suffolk but not saying so—“your friendship with Sir Gerveys would seem to be . . . unlikely?”

“It would,” Master Say agreed easily. “But Sir Gerveys and I became friends long since, before things went so far to the bad. In France as it happened, during the queen’s wedding journey.” He asked with a gesture if Frevisse wanted him to cut her another slice of bread from the loaf sitting in front of him and went on when she had nodded, “It was by way of him I heard of this manor when I began to look for land.”

“And by way of him you came to know Master and Mistress Helyngton after you moved here?” Frevisse guessed.

“I knew Edward—Master Helyngton—a little already. He was a gentleman of the king’s household when I started there. But, yes, we only became fully friends after I moved here.” Master Say saddened. “Edward and Cristiana were happier together than almost anyone I’ve ever known. They were truly glad in each other’s company. It was good to see.”

Soaking the bread in the stew’s thick gravy, looking at that instead of him, Frevisse said, “You’re very kind to help her the way you are.”

“Mistress Say would have the hair from my head if I didn’t,” Master Say laughed.

Wary of making her questions go too obviously all one way, Frevisse changed direction with, “I understand you were Speaker in this last Parliament. It was a long one, wasn’t it?”

“Into three sessions. I thought we’d never be done with it.”

“There must have been a very great amount of business.” Master Say made a slight sound just short of a snort. “Only one business, really. The king wanted more money and the Commons didn’t want to give it. Not that anyone denies he needs it, that his household needs it, the government needs it, the war in France needs it.” He reached out with knife and spoon to serve her with a slice of roast pork in sage sauce from the platter just set on the table in front of them. “But the Commons are tired of the war in France . . .”

Along the table talk had paused while Sir Gerveys likewise served Mistress Say and—overhearing—he said, “It’s not the war in France they’re tired of. It’s Suffolk’s and Somerset’s mishandling of it.”

“No,” Mistress Say said mock-sternly at him. She swung around and held a silencing finger up at her husband. “Nor you. We are
not
having talk about the war. Stop before you even think of starting.”

Both men froze as they were, and then they and Mistress Say all burst into laughter as at some long-standing jest among them. Even Cristiana slightly smiled. The men returned to the business of dinner, Master Say still smiling as he put the slice of roast on Frevisse’s platter, saying, “No French war then. Nor you surely don’t want to hear about the wherefores and whyfores of loans and grants and moieties and tenths and fifteenths and tunnages and poundages and poll taxes and all the other dealings back and forth there were about ways to pay for things.”