by Alexa Aston
Beatrice pondered his words. He’d spoken of Sir Henry often over the years and how they were the two Henrys who fostered together, inseparable as brothers while they trained as pages, then squires, and, finally, as knights of the realm. Beatrice wondered if her grandfather had asked Sir Henry to make her his ward once he passed.
Because they had no money, no betrothal had been arranged for her. Without a bride price, she’d resigned herself to a life without a husband or children. At two and twenty, she already felt old beyond measure.
Wearily, she washed their mugs and wiped the crumbs from the table. She ladled out some broth that had been warming while they ate and placed it in a bowl before cutting a slice of bread from the loaf and smoothing jam on it. Placing both items on a tray, she took it to her mother’s chamber.
Beatrice pushed open the door and brought the tray to the bed. Her mother grew thinner by the day and would probably eat only a few spoonsful of the broth, much less try any of the bread. Beatrice wished now that she hadn’t put the jam on it. The bread would only grow soggy—and she knew it would need to be eaten later. Nothing went to waste these days.
“Good morning, Mother.” She set the tray down and helped her mother from the bed and to the chamber pot. Arms and legs as thin as twigs poked out from her mother’s dressing gown. Beatrice tried not to dwell on her mother’s sad appearance as she got her back into the bed.
“I am so tired.”
At least Beatrice heard no bitterness in her mother’s voice and took that as a good sign. She plumped the pillows and brought her mother to a sitting position.
“Let me feed you some of this broth. I hope you’ll try to eat a few bites of the bread, too. Grandfather was especially fond of the jam this morning.”
Her mother glanced at the food with disinterest. “I’m not hungry.” She closed her eyes.
Should she insist that her mother eat? Beatrice knew it would cause cross words between them if she did, but how was her mother supposed to stay alive when she continually refused every meal?
Before an argument started, her mother started to cough violently. She gasped and wheezed as Beatrice thumped her on the back. As the hacking finally eased, Beatrice was able to feed her mother some of the broth, hoping it might help. Her mother fell back against her pillows in exhaustion.
Beatrice studied the shell of a woman before her. She remembered how breathtakingly beautiful her mother had once been when she was married to her father. Beatrice wished she possessed half of her mother’s beauty from the old days. She tenderly stroked her mother’s hand as memories flooded her.
“I miss your father.”
Startled by her words, Beatrice met her mother’s eyes. “I do, too.” Her throat constricted. Anytime she thought about him, those last few moments unfolded. He’d sacrificed himself to keep her safe. She could still see her mother drop to her knees next to his still body, weeping as if she would fill the seas with her tears.
“We loved each other so much. I . . . never . . . wanted to look at . . . another.”
Had suitors courted her mother after she became a young widow? Beatrice couldn’t remember that far into the past since she’d only turned five the day of his death.
She gently squeezed her mother’s hand. “I remember that he was a good man.” Tears stung her eyes as guilt laced her heart. She always believed she’d caused her father’s death and wished it had been she who had died instead. Then her mother would have lived in better health with the man she worshiped by her side. Mayhap they would have had other children—though her mother had lost two babes after Beatrice’s birth.
“Oh!” Her mother’s eyes widened as she looked across the room, then a smile graced her lips. “I am ready, my love,” she said softly.
Beatrice looked over her shoulder, wondering who her mother spoke to.
“Do you see him?” her mother rasped.
Before Beatrice could answer, her mother’s fingers tightened painfully around her hand. Then the pressure lessened and her mother’s hand fell to the bed as she sighed, not in pain—but in relief. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. The corners of her mouth turned up in a small, secret smile.
Beatrice placed her palm against her mother’s cheek. The life had gone from her body. She glanced around the room.
Had her mother actually seen the ghost of her husband?
At least she had been happy at the end. That was what mattered.
Though Beatrice believed that she’d prepared herself for the day her mother would finally pass away, hot tears still poured down her cheeks. She wept as she held her mother’s hand for some time, appreciating these last moments together. Sadly, her grandfather had lost his only child, and she had now lost both of her parents. All the death around her made her feel weary.
She heard a noise outside. Going to the small window, she saw Tolly approaching in the distance, driving the cart home from the morning’s hunt. She caught sight of a large stag in the back as the servant headed up the pathway. She returned to the bedside and kissed her mother’s cheek before she drew the covers over her.
Beatrice went to greet her grandfather, thinking about how to break the sad news to him. When she opened the front door to the manor house, he was nowhere in sight. She stepped out into the sunny day, shielding her eyes with her hand, and saw Tolly scrambling down from the driver’s seat.
“Oh, my lady. ’Tis awful.” He ran to her, his red eyes brimming with tears. “Sir Henry felled the stag and was so proud. We dragged it to the cart. And then . . . he cried out. Grabbed at his chest and collapsed. I hurried home as fast as the horse would come. You’ve got to help him, my lady.”
Panic filled Beatrice as she raced to the back of the cart. Her grandfather was stretched out next to the stag. His ashen face made her think that he’d already died. She scrambled into the cart. Relived to feel a weak pulse in his neck, she closed her eyes for a moment.
The sound of her grandfather moving made her open them. He gave her a feeble smile. Beatrice decided not to tell him his daughter had passed. She saw no need to cause senseless heartache when he had so little time left.
“Wait for . . . Henry’s . . . reply. I . . . want . . . marry . . . not worry . . .”
“Hush,” she told him, stroking his wrinkled cheek. “Save your strength.” Beatrice pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Grandfather.” Tears rolled down her face.
“Strongbox . . .”
She rested her forehead against his, waiting for the dreaded moment he’d take his last breath. Just as she feared . . .
Beatrice raised her head. Her mother and grandfather had died within minutes of each other. It was more than she could take. She collapsed against his chest, sobs racking her body as grief swallowed her whole.
Chapter 2
“My lady?”
Beatrice wearily looked up and saw Tolly standing in the doorway. She had just finished washing and dressing both bodies for burial while Tolly dug two side-by-side graves.
“Has the priest come?”
“No, my lady. He should be here soon. But a rider has arrived.”
“A rider? What does he want?” They rarely received guests, though they occasionally offered shelter to the few travelers that came their way. Since the manor house was set far from the main road, most passed by, not knowing it was there.
“The man has brought a missive from Sir Henry Stollers.” Tolly handed over a rolled parchment with a wax seal.
Sir Henry?
The conversation she’d had with her grandfather only this morning came to mind. This must be the message that he’d anticipated from his friend.
“Ask him to stay in case I need to send a reply. Give him something to eat and drink, Tolly. You know where everything is.”
“Aye, my lady. I’ll offer him our hospitality and see that his horse is watered and fed.”
“Thank you.”
Beatrice found her legs suddenly unsteady and took a seat in the wooden chair next
to the bed where her grandfather’s body lay. She stared at the parchment resting in her lap, not wanting to open it. Too much had already changed in her life today. The contents of this missive could bring even further heartache and transformation.
She broke the seal and unrolled the scroll.
Henry–
I was delighted to hear from you. You’ve always been the brother of my heart. It has been far too many years since we have seen one another. I can shut my eyes and think back to our younger days, full of swordplay and flirting with pretty young maidens as we walked boldly through life, never backing down from any challenge. I think of you often, my friend, and those times we shared before our lives took such different directions.
Now, as we’ve grown old, I’ve missed you even more than I thought possible. Your suggestion of a visit would be a soothing balm to my weary bones. I look forward to meeting this beautiful, intelligent granddaughter of yours and hearing her sing and play the lute. It reminds me of when the two of us thought we could write poetry and set it to song, trying to entice willing women to share kisses with us in darkened alcoves. How I wish we were young again and could live those days over again.
I have a grandson, the only child of Guy, my remaining son. As I write this, Guy is in poor health. It’s hard to think that my last surviving child might pass before I do. But my grandson, Edwin, is fine company, handsome and well-spoken, though a bit arrogant at times. I find it one thing to be confident but quite another to be an overconfident braggart. Edwin is only ten and eight, so I hope he will mature before I see my last days since everything will be entrusted to him to continue the Stollers’ family legacy.
Edwin is to be married in a few months’ time. ’Twould do my heart good to have you and Beatrice come for an extended stay at Brookhaven. You could help us welcome Edwin’s bride to our family and celebrate their marriage.
I hope you’ll make good on your promise and come to Brookhaven, Henry. I don’t think either of us will survive many more summers. I would consider it a pleasure to spend time with my oldest, dearest friend. Please come and stay as long as you can, for you and your granddaughter will always be welcome in my home.
I remain, as always, your loyal and faithful friend.
Henry
Beatrice read the message a second time. She smiled as she finished it, wishing that she and her grandfather could have traveled to Brookhaven together and spent time with Sir Henry.
And then she thought, Why not?
She believed that her grandfather had planned to ask Sir Henry to take her on as his ward. It would be impossible to remain at the manor house for long since she hadn’t the coin to pay rent. She could travel to Brookhaven and meet with her grandfather’s old friend. If he did become her guardian, Beatrice would repay him in many ways. She was quick with a needle and thread and cooked equally well. She could even entertain his guests with her lute playing. If Sir Henry provided her with a home, her worries could be laid to rest.
It concerned her that her grandfather would not be present to act as a bridge between them. If Sir Henry learned of his friend’s death, he might rescind his kind invitation. Beatrice knew if he did, she would have nowhere else to go.
Quickly, she pulled out parchment and ink to compose a reply to Sir Henry. She told him that she wrote on her grandfather’s behalf, as his hand had a troubling tremor. Since her grandfather had already sent a recent missive to the nobleman, Sir Henry wouldn’t be surprised by her words. Promising they would come to Brookhaven in the near future, she left their arrival date open and wrote that they would be there in time to attend the nuptial mass of Edwin Stollers and his bride. Beatrice gambled that once she arrived alone, Sir Henry would prove to be a gracious man and not turn her away.
After the ink had dried, she rolled the small parchment and melted wax to join the ends together before slipping her grandfather’s signet ring from his hand in order to seal the missive. She replaced the ring and left the room, making sure to close the door. She didn’t want the rider to see inside.
Beatrice hurried to the small kitchen where a lean man with kind eyes greeted her. As she expected, Tolly was nowhere in sight. The shy servant rarely spoke, so she knew he wouldn’t have lingered in the kitchen to gossip.
“I am Lady Beatrice Bordel. I hope Tolly saw to your needs?” she asked.
“He did, my lady, and he left to see my horse was taken care of, as well.”
She handed him the missive, which he tucked inside his cotehardie. “This is from my grandfather. He is resting now, but he asked that I be sure you were treated well before you returned to Sir Henry. May I pack any fresh bread or cheese for you as you make your way home?”
The man nodded. “I would appreciate that, my lady. I have a long ride ahead of me.”
His words caused her to ask, “Exactly how long does it take to reach Brookhaven? I’m curious because Sir Henry has asked Grandfather and me to come for an extended visit. He mentioned that we would see his grandson married if we arrived in time.”
“I managed to reach here in just over four days’ time, but that was by myself and on horseback, setting a brisk pace.”
Beatrice drew in a quick breath. Her heart fluttered nervously. “Oh, I can’t ride a horse. We’ll need to travel to the Stollers’ estate by cart.”
The courier thought a moment. “It will probably take you almost triple the time, my lady. Mayhap a bit more. The wedding is to take place in about three months, I believe, around the middle of November. I am sure it would please Sir Henry if you could manage to journey to Brookhaven by then. You could stay on through the Christmas holidays.” He laughed. “And probably longer. Brookhaven is far to the north and has much harsher weather than your fair southern clime. I’d advise that you stay on till spring to avoid returning on treacherous roads.”
“Thank you, sir. I will share this information with my grandfather.”
She heard the front door open and Tolly appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Your horse is ready.” He turned and left them.
“A man of few words,” the messenger noted.
“That describes Tolly quite well,” Beatrice said. “Give me a few minutes to gather things for you.”
“I’ll await you in the stable,” he replied.
She wrapped a chunk of cheese, a loaf of bread, and an entire roasted chicken that had been meant for the next few days’ meals. With the stag from this morning’s hunt, they would not be in need of meat for a while, so she could afford to be generous.
Beatrice took the food outside and wished the rider a safe journey before she returned to the house. It was time to open the strongbox and see exactly what they had for coin so she could decide her future. Before she reached the door, someone called out from the woods. Turning, she saw the priest making his way toward her.
She would see to her loved ones’ burial first—and then find out the state of her grandfather’s affairs.
*
Beatrice lifted the strongbox from its place in the corner of the room and carried it to the oak table. It was quite heavy, but she’d grown strong from hard work. Her hands lingered above the box. Hesitation would not change what she found inside it, so she inserted the key into the lock. Her grandfather had worn it on a chain around his neck and she had removed it before his burial yesterday.
She pulled out a few bits of parchment, probably letters that had meant something to him. One piece caught her eye when she saw two familiar names. Beatrice skimmed the contents of the page, which turned out to be the betrothal contract between her parents. She gasped at the bride price her grandfather had paid, a vast section of land. Vaguely, she remembered her mother mentioning once that the land had been sold by her father-in-law shortly after the wedding. The sale had added quite a bit of gold to the family coffers.
Setting the contract aside, she counted out twelve pieces of gold nestled at the bottom and stacked them on the table. It was more than she had expected. The money would give her
a way to travel to Brookhaven in comfort and not arrive looking destitute. She found her mother’s pearl necklace and removed it with care. Beatrice held it up to the light and admired the sheen and size of each pearl. This has been her father’s wedding gift to her mother. She kissed the pearls reverently.
Beatrice remembered her parents laughing and dancing, embracing one another with deep love. The clarity of the memories hit her hard. She hadn’t known such happy memories existed. Though she appreciated them returning after seeing the necklace, it brought a bitter ache to her soul. Her parents had loved one another so completely.
Something she would never experience.
With trembling fingers, Beatrice opened the clasp and donned the jewelry. She would wear this piece always, in memory of them both. Though the necklace could be sold, she wouldn’t part with it for any sum. It was the last link to her parents and the past.
Beatrice glanced about the room and spied their few precious books on a shelf. She could take these with her on the journey to Brookhaven and hopefully find a place to sell them along the way. The furniture all belonged to the manor house. Beyond her few personal possessions, everything else—including the dishes, silver candlesticks, tapestries, and rugs—had come with the rental of the property. Everything she owned would easily fit into a small trunk for her trip north.
Her attention returned to the strongbox. She ran her fingers along the bottom and found the final item, a ruby ring. Tears welled in her eyes. This had been her mother’s wedding ring. Beatrice closed her eyes and could picture it on her mother’s hand. She opened her eyes and admired the rich color of the jewel set in gold. Her mother must have put it aside after her husband’s death, for Beatrice had not seen it in many years. Mayhap the ring had been too painful a reminder of the man her mother had loved and lost.