by Mary Wine
Anne missed her father greatly.
Times were good when the earl was in residence. Her lips twitched and she clamped them back into a firm line lest she offend Philipa. But her heart was happy as she thought about her father. Her mother was always filled with joy when he returned, even dancing at her age when the front riders burst through the gate to announce the approach of the lord of the manor. He had been at court all winter. Four long months of Philipa’s sour disposition to tolerate without his loving attention. He did adore her and her siblings but clung to tradition. Philipa was the lady of the house, so Anne fell under her direction.
Still, it was better than many others had. She had a roof over her head and food on the servants’ table below. There was a good wool dress on her back and shoes on her feet that had been made for her, not passed on from someone else. There was much she had to be thankful for. One unhappy mistress was less than many had to suffer.
At least Mary wasn’t at home.
Anne shuddered. The legitimate daughter of the house was a mean-hearted bitch and she didn’t feel a bit of shame for thinking it, either. Mary whined like a babe and could throw tantrums better than a madwoman. Even going so far as ripping good fabric because it was not as fine as something one of her friends attending court had. Philipa coddled such outbursts, finding money in the estate coffers to buy the things her daughter demanded.
Anne frowned as she faced away from Philipa. More rightly put, it was she who found the funds that made Lady Mary stop her howling. By tradition the ledger books should have been kept by Philipa and the duty taught in strictest detail to Mary. ’Twas not the case here at Warwickshire. After seeing to the duty of dressing Philipa, Anne would spend the rest of the daylight hours and even more into the night ensuring that the estate books were balanced. Her lord father had insisted that she and her siblings be educated. Yet Philipa was the one who directed where their education was put to use. Anne’s duty was the estate books and making sure that the budget was tight. Every time Lady Mary demanded more gold, it was Anne who was set the task of finding it where the lord would not notice. The funds were found either from the sale of lambs or from the cloth woven by the household staff. Anne hated seeing the waste. Warwickshire would be stronger if it wasn’t being plundered so often for vanity.
A heavy thud came from the door. A maid hurried to open it. As the wide wooden panel swung wide, the ringing of the wall bells became clear.
“The master returns, madam.”
Philipa scowled. “Well, finish dressing me you lack-wits.”
Everyone hurried while keeping their eyes lowered. Anne handed things to the other maids because she’d learned to keep out of the mistress’s reach when she was getting ready to receive her husband. Philipa was quick with a slap when she was anticipating a conversation with the earl. One of the girls fumbled a shoe and there was a sharp pop of flesh on flesh. “Get out.”
The maid lowered her head even as she backed toward the open doorway. A bright red splotch marked her face. Anne tightened her courage and knelt to take up the shoe.
“Why is it I am cursed with the worst staff in England? These Warwickshire families all breed idiots for daughters.”
No one spoke but a few stares met behind the mistress’s back. Disgruntlement was shared with silent glares. Anne stood up, grateful to have finished her task. Philipa eyed her when she failed to lower herself promptly upon standing in her eyesight.
“Bastard.”
Anne hurried to give her deference. Philipa sneered at her. “Bastard born means conceived in sin. Better be grateful that the church has pity, else you never would have been baptized.”
“Yes, madam.”
Truly the insult didn’t hurt. She had grown scars long ago from Philipa’s lashing tongue. It was much easier to endure than her slaps.
In a flutter of silk skirts, Lady Mary flew into the room.
“Father married me off! Oh, Mother, I don’t want to go to Scotland.”
Lady Mary flung herself at her mother, crying on her chest loudly. “Tell me I don’t have to go, Mother. Please.” She began wailing loud enough to wake the dead. Huge tears flooded her eyes as she tore at her mother’s dress.
“Tell him I won’t go to any Scot’s bed.”
“That’s enough out of you, Mary.”
Everyone in the chamber turned as the lord of the castle entered. Even crowned with silver hair, he was no less powerful, no less the master of the home. Even Philipa lowered her head in deference, dragging her daughter with her.
“And I’ll be damned if you will shame me, Daughter. It’s a solid match with young Brodick. He’s already a titled man.”
“Of Scots.” Mary’s lip protruded as she whimpered.
“Times are changing, Daughter. We’ll soon be a single nation, united under a Scot-born king. McJames will be a good match, better than many of your court friends will have.”
The earl looked at his wife but his attention strayed to Anne. Anne couldn’t stop her lips from curving upward in welcome even as she lowered her head. A sparkle lit her sire’s eyes but there was a low hiss from Mary as she noticed the exchange. Anne’s half-sister looked over her mother’s shoulder, hate glittering in her eyes.
Her father stiffened, his gaze returning to his wife’s. “The Earl of Alcaon’s retainers should be here within the week. I was only granted leave to escort Mary home. I leave for court at daybreak.” He pointed one thick finger at Mary. “You’ll take your place as I’ve arranged it and there will be no more tears. Childhood is finished. See to it, Philipa.”
“Must she marry?”
The earl scowled. “Good God, woman! She’s twenty-six years old. This child has turned up her nose at every match I’ve laid before her. There will be no more discussion. It’s my own fault for giving either of you a say in the matter. Mary should have been wed four years ago but I tried to wait until she agreed with a match or brought me one of her own thinking. Madam, it’s been eight years since we placed her at court.”
“But he’s Scots, Father.”
“He is an earl, madam.” Mary sank back as her father moved toward her. “A man whose land borders ours which makes him a fine choice as husband for you.”
Mary sobbed louder and her father made a low sound of disgust. He turned his displeasure on Philipa.
“You see there, Wife? This is the only child you had to see to and she is a whining whelp, ungrateful for the good match that’s been made for her. What would you have of me, Daughter? Would you be a spinster? Or one of those disgraced courtier friends of yours with bastards growing in their bellies? There are not many lords who will have you due to the fact that your mother never birthed a son.”
Mary shuddered and stood up, her eyes round with horror. Her head shook back and forth as her father glared at her. Anne did pity her half-sister; the world was most cruel to daughters because they carried the stain of their mothers. Because Philipa refused to give her husband an heir, Mary was suspected of being a poor choice for a wife as well.
“Aye, now you’re seeing the truth of the matter. Another year and who will have you? It’s time for marriage and children. ’Tis not an engagement, Daughter. You’ve been wed by proxy. Young McJames was not in the mood to be delayed by having to wait for a wedding to be arranged. The matter is sealed. You are now a wife with duties to attend to.”
The earl turned and left, his spurs clanking against the stone floor. His men followed, having witnessed the entire event. But Philipa was oblivious to the maids in the chamber with her. Privacy was an extreme luxury. As wife to an earl, Mary would have to learn to deal with the many eyes that would know her every movement. Better now than on an estate she was expected to manage.
“Mother, you must give me Anne. For the books. I don’t know how to keep them.”
Anne’s throat constricted as she caught the look her half-sister aimed at her. It resembled the way the lady looked at a new mare she was considering buying. Philipa turned to consi
der her and Anne lowered her head even as her temper began to simmer.
“Everyone, out! Except Anne, you stay.”
Joyce cast her a helpless look as she herded the rest of the maids out the door.
“Come here, Anne.” Philipa was in her element, her voice full of commanding authority.
Anne moved toward her without a scuff from her boots. She might be bound to serve the lady but she was not afraid of her. Fear was for children and fools.
“Remove your cap.”
The linen head covering was held in place by a thin strap running under her chin. There was a single button on the left side of it that kept the cap on her head and her hair out of sight. Removing it, she looked at the lady to see what she wanted. Philipa studied her for a long time, her eyes roaming over every detail.
“Leave.”
Replacing her cap, Anne made it halfway to the door before Philipa stopped her.
“Have you been attentive in your studies, girl?”
Turning back to face the lady, Anne answered, “Aye, lady.”
But not because of your dictates.
Her temper would be the worse for her but she couldn’t stop it from rising. Still, she studied hard because learning was something that was a skill. It resided inside her and could never be stripped away.
“Take yourself up to the books and remain there.”
Anne lowered her head because she didn’t trust her voice to be smooth or anywhere near respectful. Lady Mary getting married wasn’t any reason for the mistress to turn sour. Anyone with half a wit in their head had been expecting such an announcement for years. Having to be dragged home by her father—now that was reason for worry. Mary was fortunate her new husband didn’t know what a brat she was; otherwise she just might gain her wish and escape consummating the marriage. But that would brand her a spinster and the gossips would have a heyday with it. Suspicion would grow as everyone wondered why Mary was so loath to commit to a marriage that would gain her a better estate than her mother governed. With her dowry to join with her husband’s land, their children would live a better life than they did. It was a grand match.
Lady Mary was simply too childish to understand how food appeared on the table when she sat down for supper. Anne knew where the grain for every loaf of bread came from. She knew when the harvest was slim or the sheep not lambing as often as they should. It took a keen wit to balance everything and ensure there was enough stock to see the castle population through the winter. If you sold too much, there would be empty bellies. A true noblewoman was the mistress of the castle, shouldering the responsibilities of running the estate.
“What did she want?”
Joyce was hiding around the corner, the senior housekeeper wringing her apron as she waited to hear what had happened after she left the chamber.
“She ordered me to the books. I’d wager she plans to raid the coffers again for Mary’s wardrobe.”
“That tongue of yours came from your father. Only a noble would talk that way. Better have a care, girl; the mistress has no love for you.”
“I know it well.”
Joyce softened her stern look. “Oh, my lamb, I’m sorry as can be. She’s a mean-spirited one. You’ve been a faithful daughter. Your father should be proud of the way you give that sour cow her deference.”
Anne felt her face brighten. Her father was home. At least she might enjoy the secret that he’d be in her mother’s chambers tonight. He always came when he was home, much to Philipa’s disdain. Sometimes Anne suspected that he did it to annoy his fine-blooded wife.
After sunset
Anne hurried along the corridor; her duties had kept her late tonight. A smile brightened her face when she neared her mother’s chamber. It was on the far end of the castle, facing north. It could be a bit chilly in the winter but Ivy refused to leave it even when the earl suggested it.
Ivy didn’t want trouble. Her family had to live with Philipa while the lord was away at court. The lady had given her the chamber, so she would be content in it. Winter chill or not.
Anne opened the door. Yellow light shone out from several candles.
“There’s my girl. My wife claims you’re the worst maid she’d ever had to tolerate.”
“Good evening, Father.” Anne lowered her head, for once meaning the respectful gesture. Her sire nodded with approval. His face was unreadable for a long moment before he spread his arms wide.
Anne flew into his arms, laughing as he squeezed her tight. He released her and thumbed her nose.
“You’re a good girl to not complain. Nothing pleases my wife but ’tis not your fault.”
“I promise to try harder tomorrow, Father.”
The earl smiled. “I know you shall. Just as I know that Philipa will still be unsatisfied. But I am not here to talk about my wife.”
He laughed as he reached for Ivy. Drawing her close, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “I have missed you all very much.”
“Tell us about court, Father.” Bonnie, her parents’ youngest child, eagerly awaited her father’s tales.
The earl held up a thick finger. “I suppose I might tell you about the mask the Earl of Southampton presented last week…”
Bonnie wiggled with excitement. Anne enjoyed watching her younger sister. She reached for a dried fruit sitting on a plate. The humble table that often held only porridge and whey tonight offered fruits, scones and small beer. Brenda must have snuck the fruit tarts out of the kitchen in response to the tongue lashing Philipa had given her that morning. Such treats were only made for the mistress of the house but since the lady of the manor didn’t know the first thing about how to prepare a meal, her servants could retaliate by using more than they needed. Philipa would have a fit if she witnessed Anne’s children eating the same fine fare that was presented to her and Mary.
That fact made the tarts taste so much better.
Anne tried to reprimand herself for thinking so meanly but failed.
The rich fare made for a holiday humor but it was her father’s attention that all the occupants gorged on. The chamber was lit well into the night, laughter spilling beneath the doorjamb. When Anne finally sought her bed, her heart was full.
No, Philipa’s insults could never puncture such love as Anne had from her father. The mistress of the house might believe herself powerful but she could not break the bond Anne’s sire had with her.
Everyone had something distasteful to bear in life. Philipa’s disdain was hers to bear. It was nothing to worry about. It was, frankly, not important at all.
Sunrise
The Earl of Warwickshire swung up into his saddle with as much skill as any man riding with him. There were no fine clothes on him, but good English wool to keep the chill at bay. Anne watched from a second-floor window, the shutters pushed open, her sister Bonnie sharing the last view of their father.
“Do you think Father will bring you back a husband next time?”
Bonnie, at fourteen, was still unaware of the harsher realities of being born out of wedlock. Of course, the entire family went to great lengths to shelter her. Bonnie would grow up soon enough.
“I don’t know, sweet, but I will try not to worry. Father always takes care of us.”
Bonnie laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. “I think he shall bring you a knight. One who earned his spurs doing a noble deed for the queen and she dubbed him a knight with her own hands.”
Bonnie sighed, lost in girlish foolishness. Anne couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. Even she liked to believe that there was happiness for everyone. Tugging on Bonnie’s hair, she smiled at her.
“Maybe that knight is waiting for you to grow up.”
Bonnie’s eyes glittered as her chin dropped and her mouth hung open in surprise. “Do you really think he might?”
“I do. Every town from here unto London knows what a treasure you are. You will likely have to choose between suitors.”
“You are teasing me.” Bonnie’s lips twitched. “That isn’t ve
ry nice. I might become vain.”
“Now, sweet, I am but joining you in your daydream. You wouldn’t deny me that pleasure, would you?”
Bonnie lifted a hand, waving to the earl. Their sire spurred his mount and started for the outer gate. Anne left her hands on the wooden window casing because she knew that her sire would not turn to look back. He never did. Philipa and Mary stood on the front steps, in their place as the ladies of the house. Her father never looked back at them when he left.
“You will have a husband, Anne, I dreamed it last night.”
Anne pulled the shutter closed, ensuring the lock was secure. Casting a glance down the hallway and back the other way, she shook her head at her sister.
“Bonnie, you know what Mother has told you about your dreams.”
Bonnie refused to be contrite. She raised her chin high in stubborn display.
“Well, I did dream it and I’m only telling you because you’re the one he’s coming for. By next spring you will have a baby growing in your belly. It will be a boy born before harvest moon. I saw it. Do not fear, you will not die.”
A shiver went down her spine as Anne stared at her sister. Bonnie had the sight. The whole family knew it and tried to cover it up. There were men who burned people at the stake for less. With the queen so old, the local magistrates wielded their power with iron fists.
“You told no one else?”
Bonnie shook her head. “You know I promised Mother I wouldn’t talk about my dreams. Only it was about you, and Mother did say no one outside the family, so I haven’t broken my word.”
“Very good, sweet, make sure you hold your tongue. Knights don’t like women who act like ravens, chattering all day long.”