Kate had also written to her father, asking after her mother’s health and inviting her parents to the wedding, but received no reply. She hadn’t expected one, but it still hurt her to know that her father had cut her out of his heart so completely. It was common knowledge that the Earl of Stanwyck had changed sides and swore allegiance to the new king, allowing Hugh and Guy to do the same. They were all on the same side now, and Kate hoped that her father might relent, but Lord Dancy was a proud man and wouldn’t be manipulated by the likes of Hugh de Rosel. Accepting the invitation, or even replying, would open the door to a reconciliation, and that was something her father had no desire for, not even if it meant a reunion with his only living child.
With most of the guests unable or unwilling to attend, the wedding feast was a small affair, held in the hall of the keep. Guy made it to the service, but the journey took a toll on him since he flat-out refused to arrive at the church in the back of a cart. It was the first time he’d been astride a horse since the battle, and although he put on a brave face, Kate saw him wince with pain when mounting and dismounting. Guy could hold the reins with his left hand, but couldn’t manage the rest without putting weight on his injured arm. He cradled it all through the wedding ceremony, but smiled warmly at Kate whenever their eyes met on the ride back. Kate asked Guy several times if he was all right, annoying Hugh with her fussing, but Guy assured her that he was well, and very happy for the newly-wed couple.
Guy refused to return to his room to rest after church and insisted on remaining downstairs for the celebratory feast, but he barely did justice to the meal Joan had prepared for the special occasion. There were several courses, including roast capon, baked fish, and mutton prepared on the spit, followed by a variety of sweetmeats and stewed fruit sweetened with honey and sprinkled with cinnamon, a spice worth its weight in gold and used only on the most special of days. Toast after toast was drunk to the happy couple, and Kate suspected that only a large quantity of wine kept Guy from howling with pain and crawling off to bed.
Kate was relieved when it was finally time to retire. Hugh had consumed too much wine and mead to trouble her with his attentions, and she looked forward to taking off the gaudy gown he’d insisted she wear and enjoying at least eight hours of alcohol-infused oblivion. The gown was a rose pink silk—a color Kate detested, but had been talked into by Eleanor and Mistress Reynolds—with a bodice liberally adorned with gold thread and gemstones. Kate knew she was being ungrateful, since Hugh had been very generous and complimentary of her purchases, but wished only to wear the two day gowns she’d ordered, one of deep blue wool and the other of rust-colored velvet. She’d tried to insist on an unfashionably high neckline and no adornment, but Eleanor and Mistress Reynolds had bullied her into agreeing to fur trim and a lower neckline, to please her lord. Still, the gowns were the most demure garments she owned, and she planned to wear them until they fell apart at the seams.
Once the wedding was behind them, Kate had to face a new hurdle—her increasingly uncomfortable relationship with Eleanor. While William was alive, Eleanor had been the undisputed mistress of the house, but now that he was gone and his title had passed to Adam, she still believed herself to be in charge. Kate supposed that as the mother of the next baron, Eleanor was well within her rights, but Hugh saw himself as the master—being that Adam was only four and could hardly be the head of the family—and he expected Kate to act the part of the mistress. Sensing Eleanor’s growing resentment, Kate decided to diffuse the tension by presenting herself in the kitchen early one morning wearing her old sack gown. A morning away from Eleanor was just what she needed, and she was sure that given time apart, Eleanor might come to value Kate’s companionship more.
“Good morrow, Mistress Catherine,” Joan greeted Kate with some surprise. “Is there aught I can help ye with?”
“No, it is I who’ve come to help you, Joan.”
“I’m coping just fine.” Joan looked defiant, as though taking Kate’s offer of help as a suggestion that she was failing in her duties.
“I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t,” Kate rushed to reassure her. “The truth is that I was busy from dawn till dusk at the priory, and I enjoyed the work. I long for something to do, Joan. Please, allow me to assist you in some small way. Surely there’s something you’d like help with.”
Joan gave Kate a gimlet stare, but quickly relented. She was getting on in years, and there was too much to do for two people. Aileen assisted Joan with the simpler tasks, like fetching water, washing out the crockery, and wringing out the laundry, but Joan did all the cooking and baking. Joan also made sure that every bedsheet, spoon, and morsel of food was accounted for. “Do ye enjoy baking, Mistress Catherine?”
“Please, call me Kate. And yes, I do enjoy baking. Shall I get started on the bread?”
“If ye like.”
Joan didn’t comment, but Kate was aware of her watchful stare as she mixed the ingredients, kneaded the dough, and shaped it into loaves. Kate carefully placed the loaves in the opening beside the hearth used for baking and turned back to Joan, eager for the next task. She was surprised to catch Aileen’s baleful stare.
“Fetch some water,” Joan said to the girl. She spoke loudly and made a gesture as if she were lifting a bucket to clarify her instructions. Aileen turned on her heel, grabbed the bucket, and left.
“She’s in a mood,” Joan commented. “Should be grateful to have a roof over her head and plenty to eat.”
“Is she upset about something?”
“How should I know? Not like she tells me. I tell ye, it’s lonely having no one to talk to all the long day. Aileen is like a shadow. I’d much rather have a nice, friendly lass to help me with the chores.”
“What will happen to her? Once she gets older, I mean,” Kate asked. Aileen was on the cusp of womanhood, and might be wondering what life at the keep had in store for her.
“I don’t rightly know. It’s up to Hugh, I suppose. That girl isn’t much use to anyone, is she?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. She’s deaf, but she’s not slow-witted.”
“No, she’s sharp as a knife when it suits her.” Joan peered at the browning loaves. “Did ye bake at the priory?” She appeared to be satisfied with Kate’s bread-baking skills and seemed open to allowing her to undertake other tasks.
“I didn’t do much baking, but I learned how to do it as part of my training. Every nun and postulate had their assigned tasks, and mine was milking the cows and tending the vegetable garden. I also helped with the pickling and the making of jams and jellies.”
“Is that so?” Joan seemed impressed. “If ye’re still eager for something to do, mayhap ye can help me with that come autumn. I spend half me time preparing supplies for the winter months, and Aileen ain’t much use. More jelly ends up in her mouth than in the jar.”
“I would be delighted,” Kate replied truthfully. “I quite enjoy making jam. I must admit that I’ve been known to help myself to a spoonful or two. Or three,” she confessed.
“And who could blame ye? I enjoy sampling it meself,” Joan added with a smile. “It’s when the sampling turns into outright gorging that we have a problem.”
“What should I start on next?” Kate checked on the loaves and looked around the kitchen.
“Perhaps ye can churn some butter, if ye feel up to it.”
“Of course. It’ll be my pleasure.” Kate filled the butter churn with milk and took a seat on the bench set against the wall. The churn was surprisingly modern, and had a foot pedal instead of a hand crank. Kate set her foot on the pedal and began to rock the churn back and forth.
“Guy used to like coming to the kitchen when he were a little lad.” Joan’s face softened at the memory. “He said he wanted to help, but what he really wanted was a bit of company. He was often lonely, the poor mite.”
“How old was he?”
“About six. My lady died when Guy was five and Margaret was three. I kept Margaret here with
me while I worked, but Guy was left to fend for himself. William and Hugh had gone by that time, and he missed them something fierce.”
“What were they like, as children?” Kate asked. She knew next to nothing about her husband and his family.
Joan laughed and shook her head in amusement as if she recalled some particularly amusing incident. “They were a handful, I’ll tell ye that. Their lady mother, God rest her soul, compared them to horses once.”
“To horses?” Kate asked, so surprised she stopped pushing the pedal.
“She had a funny way with words. His lordship brought her from Normandy. She spoke English well, but often translated sentences in her head from French, and they came out sounding odd. She didn’t have too many ladies of her station to talk to, so that didn’t help neither.”
“Why?”
“People are wary of foreigners,” Joan explained, as if that should be obvious.
“But the people hereabouts support a French queen.”
“Aye, that they do, but a queen is a queen, and a French woman is a harlot and a witch, best avoided.”
“That seems awfully harsh,” Kate exclaimed. She could understand how lonely Marie must have been, if her own experience of life at the keep were anything to go by.
“She was beautiful, and kind. She left us too soon.”
“So why did she compare her children to horses?” Kate asked.
“Oh, that. Marie said that Gulliume—that’s what she called William—was like a work horse: strong, steady, and hardworking. Hubert was like a destrier, bred for war. And Guy was like a pony: gentle and sweet, and perfect for children.”
“And Margaret?”
“Margaret was like a newborn colt—shaky and frightened,” Joan replied, the smile having faded from her face at the mention of the little girl.
Kate liked the whimsical descriptions. She hadn’t known William, but both Guy and Hugh had mentioned that he’d been loyal, decent, and honest. Hugh, from what Kate knew of her husband so far, was aggressive, ambitious, and morally ambiguous when it suited him. And Guy seemed sensitive and chivalrous.
“Funny how bairns born of the same parents can be so different,” Joan mused as she deftly skinned a rabbit. “Those boys had their own personalities from the day they were born, and no amount of schooling or scolding could change them.”
“What about Margaret?”
Joan shook her head in dismay. She never mentioned Margaret unless Kate asked about the child outright. Perhaps the memory was too painful. But Joan’s next words quickly dispelled that notion.
“Margaret was clumsy, and oblivious to all around her. Not clever and canny like her brothers. That bairn had no sense of self-preservation, so someone always had to keep an eye on her, even once she got too old to be minded round the clock,” Joan added.
“Guy blames himself for her death.”
It was difficult for Guy to speak of his sister, but he’d shared with Kate that Margaret had drowned in the river when she was only five. She’d gone there with Guy, who had been distracted by something he saw and wandered off. He didn’t see his sister slip on the mud and fall into the river. Margaret’s desperate screams got Guy’s attention, but it was too late. The waterlogged skirts had dragged the struggling child under before he got a chance to call for help. He’d nearly died himself, trying to rescue her, but she’d drowned nevertheless and her body hadn’t been recovered until it washed up downriver and was found by one of the de Rosel tenants.
“More fool he if he does,” Joan snapped. “Margaret was old enough to know not to come too close to the river. She just wasn’t paying attention, as usual. It weren’t Guy’s fault.”
“That’s rather a harsh view of a child’s death.” Joan hadn’t liked Margaret, that was clear, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“There are those who are taken from us through no fault of their own, and there are those who run toward their own end.” Joan finished with the rabbit and reached for another one, whacking off its head before she carefully peeled the skin away from its body. The fur would not go to waste, not in a place that was cold and windy even in the warmer months. “Ye’d best check on those loaves afore they burn to a crisp.”
Kate jumped up and hurried toward the hearth. She’d clear forgotten about the bread as she listened to Joan. There was much to learn, and some of the most important lessons would be taught here in the kitchen. Kate took out the perfect loaves and left them to cool.
“Now where’s that foolish lass?” Joan groaned. “Ye’d think I sent her to get water from the river.”
“Shall I go and see?”
“Don’t trouble yerself. She’s probably making cow eyes at Walter. As if he’d have anything to do with the likes of her.”
Kate didn’t reply. There was little point. Joan was a woman who spoke her mind and expected little opposition to her opinions. She was reliable, efficient, and capable, but kindness and compassion didn’t appear to be part of her nature, which was odd for a woman who had been employed as a nurse.
Joan turned toward the door when Aileen bustled in, carrying the water, a happy smile on her face. Joan waited until Aileen set down the bucket before giving her a resounding slap. “I won’t have ye dawdling. Ye hear me? No, ye likely don’t, but ye understand the sting of the back of me hand. Now, get to work, ye lazy slattern.”
Aileen nodded in contrition and took her place in the corner, reaching for a bowl of peas to shell. She kept her head down, but Kate saw the sparkle of tears on her thick lashes.
Chapter 29
August 2014
London, England
Gentle fingers of morning light caressed Quinn’s face as she slowly came awake. She’d slept fitfully and had strange dreams, but this morning she felt much calmer. She’d cried for hours last night, soaking Gabe’s T-shirt with tears as she tried to wrap her mind around what she’d learned from Reverend Seaton. She wasn’t sure what hurt more, discovering she had a twin sister out there somewhere, or realizing Sylvia had betrayed her so completely.
Sylvia had known from the start how desperately Quinn longed to find her family, and Quinn had mentioned more than once how excited she was to find out she had siblings. She’d given Sylvia every opportunity to tell her there’d been another baby, a twin no less. But Sylvia’s bland expression had never altered when Quinn spoke of siblings, and not a twinge of guilt had marred her features when she spoke to Quinn about the day she’d abandoned her. Sylvia appeared to love her sons. Why couldn’t she have loved her daughters?
A child was such a gift, even if it wasn’t one’s own, Quinn reflected, as Emma’s piping voice drifted from the kitchen, and Gabe’s baritone answered her patiently.
“What am I getting for my birthday?” Emma asked for the hundredth time.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Gabe replied.
“But I want a puppy,” Emma persisted.
“I know, darling, but there’s no room for a puppy in this flat. Maybe we can get a puppy once we move.”
“But I want a puppy now.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to the puppy to have nowhere to play,” Gabe reasoned with her. “Would you want the puppy to be sad?”
“No, I suppose not,” Emma conceded. “Can I have one when we move?”
“We will talk about it then.”
“But I don’t want to move to Berwick. I like it here,” Emma whined.
“I like it here too,” Gabe replied wistfully.
“So, why can’t we stay? Is it because of Grandma Phoebe?”
“Partially, yes. Now, what would you like for breakfast today? Toast okay?”
“I want a boiled egg and soldiers,” Emma replied. That was her favorite breakfast and she’d eat it every day if she could.
“All right. Boiled egg and soldiers coming right up.”
“I want Quinn to make it,” Emma replied defiantly.
“Are you saying that I can’t be trusted to boil an egg?” Gabe demanded, prete
nding to be outraged. Quinn could hear the smile in his voice.
“I’m saying that Quinn makes it better,” Emma replied, honest as only a four-year-old could be.
“Quinn is still sleeping. She’s tired, darling.”
“Why was Quinn crying, Daddy? Was she sad?”
“Just a little bit. It’s all right to feel sad from time to time.”
“What did Grandma Sylvia do? I heard you say her name.”
“Grandma Sylvia likes to play games, and sometimes they are not fun,” Gabe answered.
“What sort of game is it?”
“The kind of game only adults can play. It’s a grown-up version of show and tell.”
“Did Grandma Sylvia show or tell?” Emma asked.
“Neither, which is why Quinn was upset. Grandma Sylvia didn’t follow the rules.”
“Rules are rules,” Emma intoned. “Miss Aubrey always says that when we don’t want to do something at school.”
“Rules are there for a reason,” Gabe said. “Here’s your egg and soldiers, and a glass of orange juice. Enjoy.”
“Can I have coffee?” Emma asked.
“What? Why would you want coffee?”
“Because I’ll be five soon and that’s what grown-ups drink.”
“I don’t think you’ll like it. It’s bitter.”
“So why do you like it?”
“Because I can’t have whisky in the morning,” Gabe joked, but it fell flat, given that his audience was slightly underage.
Quinn smiled. She loved listening to the two of them. Gabe and Emma’s relationship had come a long way in the past few months, and they had a dynamic all their own, one that she at times hated to disrupt. Quinn had her own relationship with Emma, and she hoped it wouldn’t change once the baby came.
Quinn finally got out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown, and padded into the kitchen. “Good morning, you two. Beautiful day.”
“Are you done crying?” Emma asked.
The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4) Page 16