by J G Lewis
“That is true, but I’ve brought her and our child into poverty and danger. I truly thought the Lord had burned our house and taken Edyth away to punish me for my sins.”
“Your sin is loving Alys?”
“I could have loved her from afar like a knight in a song. A chaste love wouldn’t have wrecked her vows and upended her life.” Distress carved at his young face.
Ela’s heart ached for him. “Did you join the order of your own free will?”
“My father paid for me to join because my older brother was to inherit our lands.”
“So you had no choice?” Holy orders were considered a suitable career for landless younger sons, and they were often pushed into the religious life.
“I tried to make the best of the path laid out for me, but I strayed from it.”
“You were tempted by her beauty?”
“And her kindness. I was foolish—reckless—and she became pregnant.”
“You do realize that happens literally all the time?” She didn’t have enough fingers to count the instances that she’d heard of. “There are bishops and abbots and priors all over England who’ve fathered children that are being raised right under their nose in their own parish.”
“I’ve heard of such. But I couldn’t continue to live a lie.”
“Ah, you’re a man of principle. That’s always dangerous.” She smiled. John’s honesty and candor—of words and spirit—touched her. “I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong but be a man instead of a holy statue. I don’t believe the Lord means to punish you either. I believe he brought us together for a reason.”
He looked at her curiously, but he didn’t dare ask what the reason was.
“Never mind about holy water. I shall leave it up to you to cleanse and prepare the space as you see fit, if you’re willing to have your family sleep here tonight.”
“I shall do my best. But how else can I repay your kindness?”
Ela hesitated for a moment. “Pray for the soul of my dear husband, William, who died an unexpected, painful and premature death in March of this year.” And for my soul, she wanted to add. She still burned with fury about her husband’s untimely death. Her anger—and her desire to one day see his murder avenged—was most unchristian.
But she didn’t need to burden John Wheaton with her sorrows. He had enough of his own.
The next morning Ela had a spring in her step as she went about her daily rounds. She could finally breathe a sigh of relief that Edyth was back safe in the arms of her parents. Yes, Elsie Brice was missing, but having found one child she knew there was at least a chance she could find the second.
But now there was the problem of restoring the Wheatons to their home and livelihood, and teaching the citizens of Salisbury—and its sheriff—a lesson in the process.
She’d made some scented oil in one of the bottles she bought from Sibel’s husband. She’d bring that with her today. She could tell that Bishop Poore used oil as a pomade in his luxuriant silver locks, and she imagined he’d enjoy one that smelled of lavender.
She dressed in a finely embroidered gown and wore the rings recently restored to her by the sheriff of London. Hilda pinned on a veil so fine and delicate that it might have been spun by orb weavers. Today Ela wanted to look like the Countess of Salisbury.
She rode to Bishop Poore’s house, where a cowled brother explained that Bishop Poore was “in prayer.” Ela suspected that he was simply sleeping late—as he was rumored to do quite often. “It’s a pressing matter. I’ll wait,” she said with a polite smile.
The monk ushered her into the bishop’s lavish parlor, where she noticed a handsome new set of iron fire tongs with an embossed design in gold on the handles. After some time spent admiring a beautiful tapestry with a woodland scene that might be biblical but probably wasn’t, she heard footsteps on the stairs.
A grumbling voice called for wine and spice cake, and she rose from her chair as Bishop Richard Poore swept into the room.
“My lady countess, what a very great pleasure.”
He pressed her hands, and she decided to surprise him by kissing his ring. Which was one of the most magnificent jewels she’d ever seen. While he was still blinking with shock, she shoveled on a heap of flattery.
“Bishop Poore, you’re known throughout the land as a true good Samaritan. You’re a man who cares about children—creating a school for them—and who feels deeply the suffering of the poor. The almshouses you’re building here in Salisbury are a model for other cities to follow.”
She paused to take breath and assess the effect of her blandishments.
He looked worried. Good. “Perhaps you’ve heard of a terrible injustice committed right here in Salisbury in this past month?” She looked at him curiously.
He seemed to be consulting a long list of injustices and trying to consider which one she meant.
“Not only was Edyth Wheaton spirited from her home by child thieves, but her parents were burned out of their house while they visited the castle to seek help.”
“Very sad. Very sad. I’ll keep them in my prayers.” He twisted his huge ring.
“I’m afraid prayers won’t keep the rain off their heads, my lord bishop. They’re in need of sturdier roofing. I hoped that perhaps they could take up residence in the newest of your almshouses. Perhaps the one that faces the cathedral close?”
She knew the property she referred to wasn’t an almshouse, but was in fact to be a grand new mansion for some burgher or other—no doubt in lieu of a generous donation to “the church.”
“I’m afraid the new buildings are all filled, indeed oversubscribed and—”
“Then perhaps the church can see fit to provide men to help rebuild their small cottage at the crossroads. They own the land, inherited from Alys parents, and such a modest building surely wouldn’t take more than a few days to build.”
A gray look descended over Bishop Poore’s face. “I really feel this is outside the purview of my—”
“Do you resist because you know that they’re both formerly cloistered? It’s surely God’s will that they left their holy orders to dwell among us. I feel sure that the Lord would wish to see his sheep well sheltered from the upcoming winter.”
Bishop Poore’s hair smelled of some rich Eastern resin. Perhaps her offering of lavender oil would be used to scent the rushes on the refectory floor.
The bishop’s mouth opened. Then closed.
“Do you feel it’s just that some cruel individual can take a torch to their house without fear of censure or rebuke, simply because they’re disliked?”
“They did choose to flout the laws of God and the conventions of society.”
Ela wondered how often Bishop Poore flouted the laws of God. He certainly paid no attention to the Rule of St. Benedict, which would require him to forsake worldly goods and consider himself “inferior to all.” Although she wasn’t aware of him having sired any children, she had heard rumors that he was himself the illegitimate son of a bishop. “Have we not all sinned in the sight of God? These are good, hardworking people. Although John Wheaton has been working lately as a farm laborer, he’s an educated man. Perhaps you could find him a position serving the church?”
“I’m afraid that I have no need of another—”
“Bishop Poore, let me speak plainly.”
Chapter 13
Ela paused for effect and watched a look of alarm rise in Bishop Poore’s pale eyes. “As Countess of Salisbury I find it my duty to see God’s will done in this small part of his creation.”
“I believe Sheriff de Hal has been charged with—”
“Sheriff de Hal has not seen fit to interest himself in the matter of the Wheatons. He showed little concern when their daughter disappeared and now does not care that they’ve been cruelly abused by the people of Salisbury. His lack of interest does not mean this matter can be swept away with the rushes. The good people of Salisbury—and I use the word good reservedly—need to be taught a le
sson about Christian charity. I intend to see that the Wheaton’s house is rebuilt in its former location.”
“I don’t believe Sheriff de Hal will be happy about that.” The Bishop’s lips closed in a tight rosebud, and he wound his plump fingers in front of his robe.
Two servants entered at that moment, one carrying two cups of wine and another a fine platter bearing a spice cake rich with cherries and currants and dates.
Ela took the cup offered her but politely refused the sickly sweet cake. Her stomach wouldn’t tolerate such overindulgence this early in the day.
After the servants had left, she sipped her wine, then put the cup down on the table. “Simon de Hal may be sheriff of Salisbury at this moment, but he will not be sheriff of Salisbury forever. The king, whom I visited while in London, is in favor of my taking on the role once my period of mourning is over.”
His mouth formed a tiny round O.
“So I do not intend to sit quietly at my manor embroidering while the town of New Salisbury becomes a place where a family can be robbed of their children or driven from their home.”
“Quite.” She could sense his brain working fast beneath his scented hair. “But I fail to see how I fit into this…scheme.”
“Good triumphing over evil is hardly a scheme, Bishop Poore.” Ela drew herself up to her full height. “It’s your role as the Bishop of Salisbury—and God’s highest representative here—to ensure that His will be done. Do you think that God wants innocent children to be stolen from their homes?”
“Well, no…”
“Do you think God wants the people of Salisbury to decide who gets to live here in a trial by fire?”
He hesitated and for a horrible moment she thought he was actually asking himself this question. “No. But there are other places to live than Salisbury. Neither of them grew up in this area.”
“Where you born in Salisbury, Bishop Poore?”
“Well, no—”
“Yet you find yourself here and I know you take a keen interest in the spiritual and physical health of our residents. You’ve no doubt saved countless lives with your weekly exhortations that children not be left unattended near fire or water.”
“I have prevented a few tragedies, I trust.” He glanced at the cake.
“One tragedy prevented enriches countless lives, and I am inspired by your example.” She cleared her throat and went in for the kill. “John and Alys Wheaton may have left their cloistered existence, but they have not abandoned the Lord their God and I feel sure that he has not abandoned them. Together we must prove it to them and to all Salisbury.”
Bishop Poore seemed to sag. “Would you please sit down?” he said quietly.
She realized he was waiting for her to sit so he could sit and enjoy his cake. She obliged by sweeping her skirts under her and perching on the edge of one of his extravagantly carved chairs.
His chair creaked under his weight as he sat down hard. He reached for the slice of cake that the servant had placed on a napkin for him and took a large bite. Ela waited while he chewed it.
“If you can find employment for John Wheaton so he can support his family, I will provide materials and labor for the restoration of his home. He’s an intelligent man, and I have no doubt that he’ll prove an asset to the parish.”
“His presence might encourage the monks to desert their calling.”
“If their calling is so weak as to be easily broken perhaps that is for the best.” She gave him a stern look. “I intend to seek the peace of the cloister myself one day when the time is right. The time is not yet right for me, and apparently not for John and Alys Wheaton either. That does not mean we aren’t still devout children of God.”
Bishop Poore looked like he wanted to cross himself, but his hands were full of cake. “Perhaps I could find a secular role for him. The leper hospital might suit.”
“The leper hospital is not a suitable place of employment for a man with a wife and child. John Wheaton reads and writes and knows French, English and Latin.”
Bishop Poore nodded and took another bite of cake. He looked defeated.
“I shall send him to meet with you this afternoon.”
He looked like he wanted to protest but then thought better of it. “Send him to the monastery counting houses. I’ll meet with him there.”
Ela smiled. “Excellent. The Lord has already blessed Salisbury with our magnificent new cathedral—for which I give you credit—and I hope to see our town thrive as a shining example of God’s will being done on earth.”
“Quite, quite.”
John Wheaton’s meeting with Bishop Poore led to him being offered a job traveling between the various manors belonging to the cathedral and its monastery. Throughout the year there were fleeces and cheeses and cut firewood and candles and even spun and woven wool to be gathered from the manors for sale at the market in Salisbury.
Poore preferred not to have his monks riding about the countryside, which clearly bristled with temptations. John accepted the job and Alys wept with joy.
Ela then set men to cutting down three great trees in the woods of Gomeldon, explaining that they were in the way of a new lane being cut between two meadows. The Gomeldon woods proved a rich source of willow and hazel stems and other sticks for the wattle. A thick stand of reeds clogged the fishpond on one of her other nearby manors, and Ela ordered them cut and stacked for thatch.
Cartloads of manure and straw were gathered for the daub, some of them surreptitiously gathered from the castle floors and stables by her old friends on the castle staff. Ela expanded the Gomeldon fishpond which produced several cartloads of clay and sand to add to the daub mixture.
Within days, the wood was cut, dressed into stout beams, and lifted into place on the foundation stones of the burned cottage. Ela—with the help of a rousing sermon by Bishop Poore—managed to shame the townspeople of Salisbury into turning up to help. They wove the wattle and trampled and smeared the daub and laid the thatch in exchange for the bishop’s blessings for the safety of their eternal soul.
Three of the Wheatons’ chickens, a rooster, and two rabbits were even returned. Edyth was thrilled to find them pecking and hopping around the bright new house on the morning the family arrived to take possession of their newly dried home. Ela took this as a sign that the people of Salisbury realized the error of their ways and looked to right the wrongs they’d done, for they could have easily eaten the animals and no one would have been the wiser.
While this went on, Ela didn’t forget about Elsie Brice. Part of her wanted to return to London immediately and exhort the sheriff to retrieve the second girl.
But that wouldn’t keep other children out of danger.
Ela also didn’t want to excite Bill Talbot into rising from his sickbed prematurely. He needed time for his wounds to heal properly, and he’d never sit quietly indoors while Ela rode around London seeking help for her cause. It would do no good to either of them if his wounds reopened. She needed to restrain herself at the sidelines of this particular battle and gather her strength for the next fight she could win.
Ela had plenty to do in overseeing the education of her younger children and the smooth running of Gomeldon and the other manors in her possession. It was a busy time of year, with the harvest underway and preparation for winter storage of the crops.
The Wheatons had lifted the spirit of the barn by their cheerful presence and—while Hilda wished to never enter it again—the servants no longer stared and whispered or crossed themselves when they walked near it. Its loft soon filled with fresh summer hay that would keep their horses and cattle fat over the winter.
No one raised a fuss about the missing Brice girl. Her aunt and uncle probably had their hands full with the harvest as well as all the other children. While her siblings must miss her and pine for her, no one in authority raised a finger to help her.
But Ela prayed daily for the girl’s safe return. She wrote again to Spicewell and told him to keep a watchful eye on
the whole operation. If a little pressure caused them to release Elsie, like they did Edyth, so much the better.
After about two weeks, burning with impatience to search for Elsie and to hunt down the men who’d abducted both Edyth and herself, she resolved to return to London.
Ela brought Hilda with her, and an entourage of men-at-arms. She didn’t want to take any chances on being attacked again.
Her mother had retired to the countryside, leaving Bill Talbot with the run of the house and a full staff of servants, who were also caring for the other injured men.
Ela found the wounded men in good spirits and recovering, though she suspected it would be some time before they could be counted on to protect her again. Bill greeted Ela at the door when she arrived, and the housekeeper told Ela ruefully that no amount of pleading could make him rest in bed while the sun was high.
After the initial greetings she told Bill there was another missing child.
“But she’s been gone almost a month?” Bill looked appalled. “Why didn’t you send word? I could have been looking for her this whole time.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. I can see you’re healing well but that’s in part because you weren’t trotting about London on your horse or—worse yet—getting into fights with a band of criminals.”
Bill looked offended. “I’ve been most careful. At this point I’ve probably sustained more injury from the housekeeper’s scolding than from the dagger that pierced me.”
“He views taking the stairs one at a time as resting quietly,” muttered the housekeeper, who was a brisk middle-aged woman with pointed features. “I will say he has an appetite, though.”
“They’re trying to fatten me like a hog for market.” He patted his belly. “I need some exercise or I’ll start to look like Hilda.” Hilda’s condition was now clearly visible. “I’m fine for activity, truly. My wound was just a small puncture.”
Ela lifted a skeptical eyebrow. He’d bled so copiously that they’d feared for his life. But he did look hale and hearty now. His color had returned, and he actually did have the beginnings of a belly. She didn’t say that, though, as she knew Bill could be quite vain about his appearance.