[Ela of Salisbury 03] - The Lost Child

by J G Lewis

  “Like he called your husband?” Hilda’s face looked innocent, but her question stabbed Ela right in the heart.

  “Yes,” she said, when she found her voice. “Much as it pains me, he chose to have my husband at his side in Heaven.”

  “What if Drogo isn’t in Heaven?” Tears filled Hilda’s eyes. “Everyone says he wasn’t a good man. He was caught poaching. He took advantage of a…a…”

  Of an innocent young maid.

  Ela took Hilda in her arms and held her close. Hilda shook with sobs, and Ela’s own emotions surged through her along with Hilda’s. The cruelty of the situation was hard to fathom.

  Could she safely assure Hilda that Drogo—that witty rogue who had charmed her almost as much as he’d seduced poor Hilda—had ascended to Heaven? Her own husband had prayed fervently and confessed in terror during his final days, fearing an eternity in the flames of hell. Her beloved William had died shriven and soothed of his fears, but Drogo never had the chance to make his final confession or receive absolution.

  If you were to ask a bishop he might well be forced to admit that Drogo was in a very hot place.

  “We must pray for his soul.” Ela heard her own voice tremble slightly. She was sure her words were cold comfort to Hilda. “And in the meantime we must do everything possible to keep you and your baby safe and healthy.”

  Hilda seemed to calm a little, and they slowly pulled apart. Ela dried Hilda’s tears with her thumb. Hilda’s breathing had steadied, and her hands were no longer palsied by emotion.

  Hilda looked right into her face, bright eyes clear. “What if my baby is cursed?”

  “Your baby isn’t cursed.”

  “Lizzie said she would be. She said it’s the sins of the fathers.”

  Ela racked her brain for who Lizzie was. Probably one of her mother’s gossipy kitchenmaids.

  “All babies are born carrying the weight of the sins of their fathers. That’s why they’re baptized as soon as possible after birth. The water of the baptismal font serves to cleanse them of original sin.” Ela wasn’t entirely sure how a voiceless babe could carry the burden of every sin since Adam and Eve were cast from the garden of Eden, but at least the Lord had given them a means to lift the curse.

  “Will my baby be baptized?”

  “Of course!”

  “What if the priest refuses because I’m not married?”

  “He won’t. They’re entrusted with saving souls.” And Ela made a mental note to apply a judicious application of silver to ensure that the priest wouldn’t scowl at Hilda during the ceremony, either. “Are you going to finish my braid?” She said it kindly, but she wanted to pull Hilda out of her emotions and back into practical activities.

  “I’m sorry, my lady.” Hilda scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve and picked up the half-undone braid. She pulled it tight again and wove the braid a few more turns. “How will I tend to you when I have a baby at my breast, my lady? And where will my baby live? I can hardly keep her under your roof. She might cry and upset everyone—” Her hands started to tremble again.

  Ela took the braid from her hand. “Here, let me finish it. I can actually braid my own hair, oddly enough.” She wound it quickly to the end and tied it with the small strip of ribbon Hilda had put aside.

  “Why do ladies not braid their own hair?”

  “How else would girls like you support yourself if we all braided our own hair?” She hoped her attempt at humor would help dispel the cloud of gloom hovering over Hilda. “Just imagine if I folded my own clothes and lit my own tapers. What would you do?”

  “I’d starve in the streets, since my parents will never take me back home.”

  “Hilda, you’re not going to starve in the streets!” She wanted to shake the girl.

  “No one will want to marry me since I’m not a maid and I already come with a mouth to feed. One day you won’t need me as a lady’s maid anymore, and no one else will want to hire me. I talk too much, for one thing—”

  “That is true,” said Ela with a smile. “And I’m not sure I appreciate you looking ahead to the day I drop dead, but—” She hesitated a moment, knowing she’d probably regret letting this cat out of the bag but somehow unable to stop herself. Nothing else seemed to give Hilda any hope for the future. “I’ve hired a lawyer to pursue ownership of the manor at Fernlees for your unborn child.”

  Chapter 10

  Hilda’s hand flew to her belly. She was barely showing, only a teeny bump swelling beneath her gray gown. “The manor that Drogo was hoping to get back?”

  “Yes.” Hilda had never seen Fernlees—although Drogo must have mentioned it to her while seducing her in the hayloft—and Ela had never given her a reason to hope for it before. She probably shouldn’t even now. But with the long-term tenant and claimant missing and presumed dead, the situation looked promising. “It’s a small manor and not in the best repair, but it has good grazing and if managed well it could provide an income from wool and sustain the needs of a family. There’s a stocked fishpond and a mature orchard. There’s also a small wood to provide timber and fuel and to run pigs.”

  Hilda stared at her, lips parted, hand still resting on her belly. “And you say it belongs to my baby?”

  “As the heir to the rightful owner. Presuming that Drogo is indeed the rightful owner, which thus far appears to be the case.”

  Hilda’s whole face brightened with a glow of incredulity. “So my baby and I would live there.”

  “Indeed you would. And”—again Ela doubted her own good sense—“the manor should provide enough income for you to have your own lady’s maid as well as other servants.”

  “I’d be a lady of the manor.” Hilda blinked, then looked down at her belly. “And my baby would be a lord!”

  “Well, he wouldn’t be a noble.” Ela wanted to laugh. “But he’d be a landowner and you could raise him as a gentleman. When he grows up he could train as a knight, or even study the law or medicine at Oxford or Cambridge.” Ela knew her mouth was running away with her, but she’d let her thoughts gallop off in these happy directions more than once while enduring a sleepless night in her bed.

  Hilda stared at her in silence for a moment, then her expression clouded. “I don’t believe you, my lady. How is such a thing possible?”

  “Well, I’m sure I’ve been imprudent in giving you so much to hope for, but the fact remains that Drogo grew up at Fernlees while his father was the owner, and there’s every chance the manor will return to his bloodline by law.”

  Hilda staggered to a chair and sat down. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I feel a bit faint.”

  “As well you might. But you look more cheerful now.”

  “I feel as if I’ve banged my head and I’m seeing stars.”

  “But you can see that you don’t need to worry about starving in the street.”

  “My parents might forgive me if I’m a lady of the manor dressed in silk and furs.”

  Ela still wanted to laugh, but she could see the poor girl was quite sincere. “It shouldn’t be this way, but wealth and property do have a way of opening people’s hearts. I do hope you won’t waste your prosperity on extravagant clothing and fripperies. Modesty in dress and behavior becomes a fine lady as much as it becomes a lady’s maid.”

  “I shall strive to be as much like you as I can, my lady.” Hilda’s eyes shone.

  Now Ela did laugh. “I do hope you won’t imitate my many failings but strive to put piety and duty before all else.”

  “What failings?” Hilda looked curious. The poor girl was woefully impertinent. But Ela couldn’t help but admire her spirit to keep asking probing questions of a countess who most girls in her position would be afraid to talk to.

  “I have the same failings you chastise yourself for and have had them since I was a girl. My mind is full of questions, and my voice has a way of persisting in asking them even when my sense of propriety begs me to remain quiet.”

  “Which is why we’re here in Londo
n doing the sheriff’s business when some people think you should be home in Salisbury tending to your home and children there.”

  “Indeed.” Ela was curious. “Did you hear someone say that?”

  Hilda shrugged, looking guilty. “Servants do gossip.”

  “They’re right, of course. Most people would think I should leave the pursuit of justice to the men charged with seeking it. But when they neglect their duty I can’t find it within myself to simply ignore their failings and let injustice rule the day.”

  “I admire you for that, my lady. I shall be just like you when I’m a lady of the manor.”

  “You have a lot to learn between now and then, Hilda, and I advise you to question your motives at every turn and ask yourself whether what you’re doing serves you or the greater world.”

  Hilda’s whole demeanor had changed. Perhaps she was just stunned. At least she no longer shook and wept. Ela hoped she hadn’t been premature in her announcement, but Hilda needed something to help her climb out from the pit of horrors she’d been wallowing in lately.

  Still, it wouldn’t do to announce the legal verdict before it was official. “Will you promise to keep this news between us until my lawyer tells me the manor is secured?”

  “Yes, my lady.” Hilda stared at her, clearly preoccupied with visions of herself as mistress of Fernlees. Her hand rested on her belly. “I won’t tell anyone, but I shall sleep well knowing that my baby could have a brighter future than I ever dared to hope for.”

  “In the meantime, don’t forget your duties.” Ela glanced at her bed. Hilda’s gaze followed hers, then she hurried across the room to turn back the covers and plump the pillows. “Thank you, Hilda. Sibel would be proud of you.”

  Hilda waited until Ela was in her bed, then she blew out the candle and left it on the table, before retiring from the room and closing the door. Ela settled back into her mattress with a sigh. She doubted Hilda would be able to keep such exciting news to herself.

  On the other hand, no one would believe her.

  Ela awoke to a great commotion. Raised voices tugged her from sleep, followed by a woman’s scream and a clattering of hooves. Still groggy, she jumped out of bed and flew to the door. She hurried along the hallway and down the stairs—people burst out of every room in the house though it was not yet dawn—and saw a group of people bent over something in the doorway.

  “What’s amiss?” she called.

  “A child, my lady,” called the housekeeper, who was still in her bedclothes. “She was wandering down the street and the guards stopped her.”

  Ela hurried down the stairs. A small girl, white faced and wide eyed, stood in the doorway in a plain brown shift. Ela crouched down so she could look into her eyes and took the girl’s hands in hers—they were ice cold. “What’s your name, little one?”

  “Edyth,” she whispered. “Edyth Wheaton.”

  “Praise be to God!” Ela hugged the girl to her chest. “I came to London to find you for your mama and papa. I know you were taken from your home in Salisbury.” She wanted to reassure the girl that she wasn’t just another fearsome stranger. “How did you find your way here?”

  The girl stared at her. “The man brought me to the end of the street and told me to walk to this house.”

  “What man?”

  “The bad man.”

  “What was his name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Someone cleared their throat. “Begging your pardon, my lady, two of the guards have made chase.”

  “Good.” Ela stroked the girl’s tangled flaxen hair. “Come inside. You’re safe here. I promise to take you back home to your parents at once.”

  Ela brought the girl up to her bedchamber, where they could both be away from the prying eyes of the household. She’d rushed downstairs in only her shift. She told Hilda to fetch water and asked the cook to send up food for the girl.

  In her room she set the girl on her bed—she was small even for an eight-year-old—and rambled on about how happy her parents would be to see her again. Edyth rubbed her eyes sleepily and looked like she wanted to cry.

  Hilda was sweet with her, washing her face and hands and gently combing her gossamer-fine hair. She even sang her a silly song that brought the ghost of a smile to the child’s lips.

  A cup of fresh milk and a piece of hot shortbread brought color to Edyth’s cheeks.

  “Stay here with her,” Ela urged Hilda. “Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be right back.”

  Dressed in her gown, with the fillet and barbette pinned into place, Ela felt ready to address the guards. The two men who’d set out in pursuit of the “bad man” had not yet returned, but two more of the sheriff’s men had arrived with news that the sheriff himself was on his way. The two men stationed at the door had seen the girl turn the corner—by herself. At first they hadn’t thought anything of another urchin on the streets of London, but when she approached the steps, they’d guessed she was the missing girl and called for their horses—which were kept saddled and ready in the courtyard—to pursue her kidnapper.

  Ela asked to be informed as soon as the sheriff arrived, or if they caught the man, then she hurried back up to Edyth and Hilda. Hilda sat on the bed next to Edyth, her arm around the girl’s slim shoulders, murmuring something in her ear. Hilda jumped off the bed as Ela entered. “So sorry, my lady.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for, Hilda. Thank you for comforting Edyth.” She approached the girl and crouched down on the floor in front of where Edyth sat on the bed. “The sheriff is on his way and it’s important that you tell him everything you know about the men who took you and where they kept you, so he can catch them.”

  The girl’s eyes grew huge. “I can’t.”

  “Did they threaten you? They can’t hurt you now. You’re safe.”

  “Not me.” She looked up at Ela. “He said he’d hurt the others.”

  “Other children?”

  The color had already fled from the girl’s cheeks again. “I’m not to tell you anything at all or he’ll…or he’ll kill them.” The last words were spoken in a shocked whisper and sounded horribly wrong in the mouth of a tender child. At the taste of them in her mouth the girl started to cry.

  The sheriff arrived not long after dawn with a phalanx of four men. He jumped down from his horse, dressed in a black cloak trimmed with silver fox fur. He bowed low to Ela. “God save you, my lady.”

  Ela blinked at the odd form of address. “God has indeed saved me, my lord sheriff. And we have been blessed with the return of little Edyth Wheaton.”

  “So I hear. And I have further good news.” He reached inside his cloak, where he had a tooled black leather purse attached to his belt. He removed his glove and slid his fingers into the purse. They emerged with the rings she’d traded at the Eight Feathers…and the gold belt.

  “God is great indeed, my lord sheriff.” She held out her hands, and he deposited the treasures into them. “I certainly had not hoped to see these again. How did you—?”

  Sheriff Roger le Duc bowed slightly. A sly smile snuck across his face. “Let’s just say that the proprietors of the Eight Feathers did not wish to disturb the king’s peace. When they learned that they had entertained a great countess unawares, and had taken advantage of her position as a lone woman in a strange place, they saw fit to mend the errors in their conduct.”

  So he’d shaken them down somehow. Impressive, if a bit alarming. She’d traded the rings in good faith, after all. Still, this was a gift horse and she felt no need to pry its mouth open and examine its teeth. “I’m truly grateful for the work of yourself and your men.”

  “It’s our pleasure to serve the Countess of Salisbury.” Another slight bow. “Now that you have the girl back and your jewels returned, I wish you a safe and speedy return to Salisbury.”

  “I’ve spoken to Edyth and she says there were other children being held captive along with her. The men who took her threatened to kill her if she said anything. I’ve not mana
ged to get a word out of her about them.”

  “The poor moppet must be so frightened and exhausted. Better for her to return to her mother’s loving arms than to trouble herself with reliving her ordeal.” His expression spoke of sympathy, but his body language felt like a door quietly closing.

  “But surely you want to catch the men responsible for stealing her. There’s clearly a child slavery ring operating under your nose right here in London.”

  “And we shall find them and rout them forthwith. With much gratitude for all the help and information you’ve given us.” His expression was pleasant.

  Too pleasant.

  He didn’t mean what he said. He wanted her to leave—happy—and never mention the matter again. “Surely you want to speak to the girl before she returns to Salisbury?”

  “What would be the point, if she refuses to say anything?”

  The rings and chain cut into her palm, and she realized she was clutching them tight. “It pains me to think that there are other children suffering—right now—and that the men who took Edyth could strike again tomorrow and continue their evil trade.”

  “Unfortunately, there is no end to the evil that men do, my lady.” The sheriff tossed his cloak back over his shoulders, revealing his silver-trimmed tunic. “We can but do our best to keep the tide of evil from engulfing us.”

  Ela frowned. This was an alarmingly defeatist attitude for a man entrusted with keeping the peace and protecting the innocent. “I should stay in London until we discover who abducted me.”

  “You’d be far safer in Salisbury while we do the work of hunting the criminals.”

  “That is no doubt true, but my retinue is injured and I find myself without an adequate guard to travel. Bill Talbot is too gravely ill for the rigors of the journey, and I am loath to leave him.”

  “I’m sure he’s well-tended here at your mother’s house. And I shall provide you with a guard to ensure your safe journey home. Four of my finest men shall accompany you all the way to your door.”