The Hunter’s Tale (20 page)

Lady Anneys drew in a sharp breath. “He said that?”

Lady Elyn now could not tumble the words out fast enough. “He said he’d point out that maybe Hugh took advantage of the quarrel to make it seem Tom’s death was Sir William’s fault but wasn’t it more likely Hugh killed him for the sake of having everything for himself?”

Angrily, Lady Anneys said, “There was nothing that showed anything like that. There was no sign Tom’s death was anything but accident and ill chance. How could he even think to blame Hugh?”

‘Master Wyck said that, too. That there was no proof that way at all. But Sir William said proof didn’t matter and he didn’t want to have Hugh into true trouble. He would have said it just to draw trouble off from himself if Hugh had tried to make it. I was so angry I didn’t even dare go in. I just went away and… and came here because I had to tell someone!“ Lady Elyn sniffed on her dried tears. Having shifted some of her upset’s burden onto someone else, she was beginning to calm. ”At least it never came to him really saying it to anyone, so I suppose it’s all right. But I thought it was a vile thing for him to think of.“

‘It was,“ Lady Anneys said, the words flat and hard.

‘Do you think Hugh should know?“

‘He should not.“ Lady Anneys was sharply certain of that. ”No one should know it. And you must never, ever, speak of it again to anyone. Even me.
Ever,
Elyn. Do you understand?“

Startled by her mother’s vehemence, Lady Elyn fumbled, “Well… yes.” She looked aside at Frevisse. “But…”

‘Dame Frevisse will never speak of it either. None of us will. Even the slightest whisper of something as ugly as that can fly into full-blown rumor clear across the county before you can turn around. Do you understand?“

‘Yes.“ Lady Elyn was impatient at having to say it again. ”But what am I going to do? How am I even going to look at Sir William, knowing he thought such a thing about Hugh?“

Lady Anneys’ fierceness was suddenly gone. Or… not gone, Frevisse thought, but drawn back out of sight, into wherever she kept it. Her face was returned to its usual smooth quietness as she let go Lady Elyn’s hands, patted them gently, and said, “You’ll find a way. We all have to find our ways.” She took her hands back into her own lap, looking at them rather than Lady Elyn as she added, sounding just as she had when lessoning Lucy over the account roll, “Accept him as he is. Submit to what he asks of you. Be dutiful. Demand nothing.”

Lady Elyn gave an impatient sigh. “But it makes me so
angry
he even thought of it.”

‘Feel whatever you need to feel,“ Lady Anneys said, ”but never let Sir William know it.“

Lady Elyn gave another sigh, heavy this time, and stood up. “I have to go back.”

Lady Anneys stood up, too, embraced her gently and, as they drew apart touched her cheek lovingly and said, “St. Anne be with you.”

‘And with you, Mother,“ Lady Elyn said.

Frevisse watched Lady Anneys watch her daughter leave and did not try to hide what she was thinking when Lady Anneys turned around and looked at her.

‘You don’t agree with what I told her,“ Lady Anneys said.

‘You know her husband better than I do. You know whether your advice was good.“

Lady Anneys sat down, took up the account roll, put it down again, took up Ursula’s sewing, searched out the needle thrust into the cloth, and began to stitch the gathering of a sleeve into a cuff, before she said, wearily defiant, “It was at least necessary advice, if she’s to live in anything like peace. Sir William won’t be changed.” She laid the sewing on her lap and met Frevisse’s gaze. “You understand that it was a lie? What Elyn said Sir William threatened to say about Hugh? Hugh never harmed his brother.”

Slowly, measuring her thoughts and words, Frevisse said, “I think, from what I heard at the crowner’s inquest, that the right verdict was given. Your son’s death was by mischance.” She paused, thinking to leave it there, but after all went on. “What I don’t see is why Sir William would think Hugh might try to use his brother’s death against him.”

She made that a statement, not a question, and waited. Lady Anneys took up the sewing again, stitched a single, jerky stitch, put the shirt down, and said to her lap, “In his will, my late husband made me his chief executor and left me considerable property beyond simply my dower lands. Enough that I could live very well rather than merely in bare comfort. He also gave me control of all our children’s marriages and of our daughters until they marry, with disinheritance for any of them who refuses my choice.”

‘He must have thought well of you to trust you that far,“ said Frevisse carefully.

‘It wasn’t trust. It was bribe.“ Anger and bitterness sharpened Lady Anneys’ voice. ”In order to have that property and to keep control of my children’s marriages, I have to live chastely and unmarried. If I’m unchaste or if I marry again, I lose it all, save for my dower land. The property is no matter. If that were all that stood between me and being finally, fully free of Sir Ralph, I’d spit on his will and let it go. But if I forfeit my say in my children’s lives, Sir William takes my place. If I fail Sir Ralph’s strictures against me, the girls’ marriages and Hugh’s all become Sir William’s to control and profit from as he pleases.“

‘And you don’t trust him?“ Frevisse asked, still very carefully choosing her words.

‘I trust him no more,“ Lady Anneys said coldly and precisely, ”than I would have trusted my cur of a husband.“

She held Frevisse’s eyes in a long look that Frevisse met, letting Lady Anneys see that she understood. And Lady Anneys drew a shaken breath and said, “It helps to say it.” She looked at her hands lying on the shirt across her lap and went on, “And while I’m saying so much, I have to warn you that any day now Master Selenger will begin to visit me here.”

‘The man who came to see you at the nunnery.“

‘Him. Yes.“

‘He was at your son’s inquest and funeral but kept his distance. He was with Sir William, I thought.“

‘He’s Sir William’s steward and Philippa’s uncle.“ Lady Anneys lowered her gaze and began to smooth the shirt across her lap. ”He began coming to see me after my husband’s death. He says… he said once, when he had the chance to do out of anyone else’s hearing, that he’s long loved and wanted me.“

‘Wanted you,“ Frevisse repeated, keeping the words as empty of meaning as she could.

‘For his wife. He claims.“

‘You don’t believe him?“

‘He’s Sir William’s brother-in-law and his steward. How likely do you think it is that he doesn’t know about the will and how much power would come into Sir William’s hands if I marry again or am unchaste?“

‘It isn’t open knowledge?“

‘We agreed among ourselves—Tom, Hugh, Miles, Sir William, and I—that no one else needed to know.“

‘Your daughters don’t know?“

‘Not even Lady Elyn. Of that I’m sure because if she knew she’d talk of it. Discretion is not her better part, unless she’s frightened. The way she was frightened by what she overheard today because she has wit enough to know what trouble that kind of talk could make.“

‘But you think Sir William has told Master Selenger?“

‘I don’t know. But if Master Selenger does know and hasn’t said, then I have to fear he’s working to Sir William’s purpose, to bring me to forfeit my place in the will, giving everything over to Sir William.“

‘Is it the kind of thing Sir William would undertake? Is Master Selenger the kind of man who would do it?“

‘I haven’t enough trust left toward men to say Master Selenger wouldn’t do it. As for Sir William, look what he would have done to Hugh if he’d felt threatened at the inquest. With rumor creeping about that Hugh might have killed his brother, who would be eager to marry their daughter to him? Only Sir William. He and Sir Ralph were set on Philippa marrying Tom…“

‘Were Tom and Philippa set on it?“

‘There was no reason for them not to be. They knew each other and there was nothing against either one.“

‘But she’ll marry Hugh instead?“

‘The marriage is a good one for all the reasons there were before and no reasons against it. It’s what Sir William would do with the girls’ marriages that I worry over.“

Frevisse sat silent, considering, and finally asked, “What if Master Selenger
isn’t
working to Sir William’s purpose?”

‘You mean what if he does truly desire me?“ Lady Anneys shoved the shirt aside, onto Lucy’s sewing basket again. ”Then I have only myself to fear. No.“ She made a sharp dismissing movement of one hand. ”That’s wrong. I doubt there’s enough womanhood left in me to rouse to any desire. What I’m afraid is that somehow some
seeming
might happen that could be used against me.“ She dropped her voice to a strained whisper, sounding almost ashamed to say it. ”What I fear is that if he can’t seduce me to marriage, Master Selenger may simply claim we’ve done… wrong together. That would be enough to serve Sir William’s purpose.“

Frevisse briefly wondered whether Lady Anneys were grown so cold as she said. At a guess, she was hardly to forty years and the body’s fires were rarely burned out by then, however weary the heart and mind might be.

But that same weariness could lessen the guard against the body’s lusts and maybe, whether she admitted it to herself or not, Lady Anneys did well to fear, if only her own body’s possible treachery. But if she were right in her suspicions against Sir William and Master Selenger… If she were right… then she had much more than that to fear, and slowly Frevisse said, “So you wanted me here to stand guard of you against Master Selenger, the way I did at St. Frideswide’s. But you have family and servants here who could do that.”

‘I don’t dare let Hugh or Miles know of this! If ever they suspected such a thing…“ She made a taut gesture of helpless fear of their anger and what might come of it. ”And the girls are too young and any servant’s word not enough. Your oath that I’d done nothing wrong would have weight, if it comes to that, but yes, I want you to stand guard between me and Master Selenger.“

Rather than immediately answering, Frevisse looked away from her, stared out of the arbor to the bright sunlight on the garden path while inwardly seeing the layers of Lady Anneys’ fears—of Sir William and Master Selenger, who possibly intended ill against her; for what Hugh and Miles might do in anger; for her daughters if she lost the care of them. If Master Selenger and Sir William were indeed sporting with Lady Anneys’ life the way she feared, then she needed whatever help Frevisse could give. But…

Frevisse returned her gaze to Lady Anneys and said, “We can’t stay here forever, Sister Johane and I.”

‘I know. I just need…“ Lady Anneys shook her head, impatient at being unable to find the words. ”When Hugh came for me, to tell me Tom was dead, I didn’t have time to think anything through. Tom…“ Tears flooded her eyes. She fought them, steadied her voice, and said, ”I couldn’t think of anything but that he was dead and I had to be back here and I was afraid. I needed… needed…“

‘Someone to somewhat guard you until you’re certain of things again. Until you have chance to find your balance,“ Frevisse offered.

‘Yes.“ Lady Anneys put a world of heartsick weariness into the word. ”Yes. That.“ Relieved to have someone say it for her.

Voices warned that Sister Johane, Lucy, and Ursula were returning, and Lady Anneys straightened her back, wiped her eyes free of tears, and smoothed her face to calm again, so that to outward seeming there might have been nothing but the day’s quietness in her. But her gaze sought Frevisse’s, asking, and quietly to her quietness Frevisse said, “I’ll do all that I can.”

Chapter 12

Hugh made no haste homeward despite the day was wearing out and suppertime was near. The small excuse he would give if asked what kept him so long was that in the afternoon’s heat neither he nor the hounds had felt like hurrying. That was somewhat true enough; Bane and Brigand, pacing patiently beside Foix, were lightly panting and he had taken off his doublet and untied his shirt at the throat. But the true reason he was making no haste—the reason he hardly admitted to himself, let be to anyone else—was that he did not want to be home. Away from the manor, he could almost believe things were as they had been those few weeks after his father’s death. Could almost believe that when he reached the manor he would see to the hounds, talk with Degory awhile, wander to the hall, and wash off the day’s dirt while listening to Tom complain over some village disagreement he had probably enjoyed settling. Miles would be leaning easily on an end of the high table, teasing Lucy or Ursula. Mother would be coming from the kitchen, having seen that supper was nearly ready and tucking a stray strand of hair back under her wimple. Hugh could not remember her hair ever straying loose while Sir Ralph was alive.

Those had been good days, with Tom happy to have all his own way with the manor, Miles not constantly ready to be angry, Mother content and smiling, no one wary with waiting for Sir Ralph’s next anger. Even when Mother and Ursula were gone to the nunnery and Lucy to stay with Elyn, the days had gone on being good.

And now they were not.

He did not mean to turn aside from the greenway as he came through the woods. He had not been to the gathering place since the day Sir Ralph had died and had no thought to go there now, but as they reached the side-trail that went to it, Brigand lagged, looked up at him, and whined, letting Hugh know he was thirsty and saw no reason he should wait until the kennel when water was close here. Hugh hesitated but suddenly wanted a drink, too, and why not of fresh, cold spring water? It was hardly as if Sir Ralph had died there. And without admitting to his thought that he would now be even later reaching home, he turned Foix into the side-trail.