‘To see Mother? Don’t be witless,“ Tom protested. ”Why would he go without telling us he was? Or else, when he came back, tell us how she is?“
Miles held silent, waiting for them to figure it out for themselves. Tom took hardly longer than Hugh did to see where Miles was going; but while Hugh said nothing, Tom protested more strongly, “Miles, don’t try that one. He’s not angling for her, if that’s what you’re going around the bush to say.”
‘Then why did he go?“ Miles said.
‘I don’t know.“ Tom was impatient about it. ”A letter from Elyn. Complaints from Lucy. Sir William wanting to ask her something. I don’t know.“
‘Why not ask if we had any word to send her?“ Miles demanded. ”That would be courtesy.“
Tom made an impatient gesture at him. “Give it over, Miles. He’s not fool enough to be after her if that’s what you’re on about. She won’t marry again. Why would she? She’s too old to want another husband, anyway.” He stood up and stretched his arms wide to the sides. “It’s too hot for this much thinking. I’m away to see how far they’re likely to get with Pollard Field today. Time you shifted yourself, too.”
Miles waved a lazy hand at him, saying nothing. Nor did Hugh. Tom left, and when he was gone, Miles stood up, still saying nothing, and left, too, with Bevis at his heels. Hugh stayed a little longer where he was, stroking Baude with his hand now, considering everything Miles had said and some of the things he had not, before finally rising to his feet. Baude, who was beginning to feel the weight of her whelping, rose more grudgingly, and he told her, “You stay here.” He pointed at the hall’s cool stone floor. “Stay.”
With a whoof that Hugh took for gratitude, Baude lay down again, and he went in search of Miles.
He found him in the stable, sitting on a manger’s edge feeding carrot bits to Lanval, the squat roan gelding with carthorse in its ancestry that Sir Ralph had said was good enough for him. Bevis, lying flat on his side under the manger, opened an eye at Hugh, decided he was no problem, and shut it again. Hugh leaned a shoulder against the post outside the stall to show he meant to stay awhile and asked, “Where did you get the carrots? And why’s Lanval in stable rather than pasture?”
‘I’m riding out again this afternoon. There’s a stretch of timber over Ashstock way that’s ready for thinning, I think, but it’s been a while since I’ve had a look at it. As for the carrots, they’re from the kitchen garden, of course.“
Raiding the kitchen garden had been a favored pastime with them and Tom when they were small. Helinor would have let them have what they wanted for the asking but the skulking and “stealing” had been better sport, and Helinor had obliged by calling dire threats after them whenever she saw them at it. She never complained of them to Lady Anneys, though, and always had some treat for them when they ventured into the kitchen itself.
Hugh grinned. “Nobody saw you?”
‘Well, yes, but only Alson.“ The kitchen maid. ”I gave her a kiss to keep her quiet.“
‘You would,“ said Hugh. For years he and Miles and Tom had jested at each other’s alleged passion for Alson, who was somewhat old enough to be their grandmother. But this time Miles let the jest lie and Hugh did not keep it up. Lanval crunched carrots and swept his tail at flies whose lazy buzzing was the only other sound in the stable. The other horses were in pasture or at work, and Gib, like everyone else on the manor who could be spared, was out to the barley harvest. There was no one there, no one to overhear, and in a while Hugh asked, ”How did you know Master Selenger went to St. Frideswide’s of late?“
Miles slowly drew his hand down Lanval’s long face before saying, seemingly to the gelding’s forelock, “Philippa told me.”
Carefully, because so far as he knew none of them had been near Sir William’s manor in a week, Hugh asked, “When did you talk with Philippa?”
Miles looked at him, saying nothing at all.
Hugh looked back at him and did not ask again but said instead, very, very quietly, “She’s meant for Tom.”
Miles turned away, ducking under Lanval’s neck to the other side of the stall. “We know,” he said.
‘If you know…“
‘We know.“ Miles pulled his saddle from the stall wall and slung it over Lanval’s back.
Hugh tried again. “Miles…”
Miles began fastening up the girths. “How long have you known about us?”
‘I haven’t known.“ Nor could he say how long he had been working hard not to know it. ”I’ve only thought it… possible. Miles, it’s no good.“
Miles paused in drawing up the rear girth and looked at him across Lanval’s back. “No,” he agreed. “It isn’t any good. Nor is it well-witted of us. And no, it isn’t safe either. We know all that. And no, I’m not going to take Philippa from Tom. We’re neither of us fools, Philippa and I. It will be years, if ever, before I can afford a wife, before my ruin of a manor—a manor I’ve never even seen, mind you—is worth anything again.”
‘But you and Philippa…“
‘Know we have no hope of each other. That she’s all but promised elsewhere. That I can’t give her anything worth having. We sometimes see each other, yes. That’s all. We see each other and take what comfort there is in that, for this little while until we won’t be able to see each other anymore.“
Miles’ sharp bitterness warned Hugh to let that be the end of it, but more than the bitterness, Hugh heard the pain behind the words—he had always been too able to hear Miles’ pain—and found himself saying against good sense, “Even if Elyn bears Sir William children, Philippa will still have a goodly dowry. Enough to make a good start toward bringing your manor back.”
Miles finished with the girth, heaved a sigh heavy with patience, and hands clasped, leaned his arms across Lanval’s back. “Do you really think,” he said, “that Sir William will give her much of a dowry—if any at all—if she marries against his wish?”
No answer was needed to that, and Miles turned away from Hugh’s silence to take down his bridle from the peg where it hung at the end of the stall. But as he turned back, Hugh asked, “About Master Selenger. You really think there’s something to worry about him?”
Slipping the bit into Lanval’s mouth, Miles said evenly, “I think his interest in Lady Anneys is very sudden.”
‘It might not be. He might have… been interested for a long time. He’d hardly have let it be known while Sir Ralph was alive.“
‘I’d be willing to have a go at believing that, save for how hard Sir William tried to delay her knowing Sir Ralph’s will.“
‘He feared Mother was too tired for it just then. That’s all.“
Miles paused in buckling the bridle’s throat lash to look at him. “Hugh, you can think better than that. You just don’t bother.”
Hugh crossed his arms and glared at him, refusing to be drawn.
That did not stop Miles, who went on, “In truth, most of the time, you’d rather not think further than your hounds if you could help it.”
‘I think enough to know you’re trying to goad me into an argument.“
Miles grinned. “See? You can think when you’re forced to it.”
‘You want an argument so I’ll be forced to think about the possibility that Sir William maybe wanted Mother not to know how the will bound her because he wanted Master Selenger to have better chance of… something… with her.“
‘Or ruining her,“ Miles said curtly. ”She doesn’t even have to marry again, remember. She only has to be ’unvirtuous’ for her to lose her control of everything and Sir William gain it. And what’s ‘unvirtuous’ can be almost anything, depending on who’s deciding. Which means Sir William.“
‘And me. I’m executor with him.“
‘Making you an executor was a jest and you know it. Sir Ralph never expected you’d do aught but leave everything to Lady Anneys and Sir William.“
Yes, Hugh knew that. Had known it from the first.
It had not
bothered him until now.
But his bother was not the point at present and he said, “Miles, we don’t even know that Sir William knows Master Selenger is giving her such heed, let alone that he’s behind it.”
‘How does Selenger get away from Denhill so often and easily, if not with Sir William’s leave?“
‘How does Philippa get away to see you?“
‘She doesn’t. We meet at the far end of the orchard, beyond the hedge and very rarely. Leave that. Listen. If Selenger brings Lady Anneys to marriage or anything else or even the seeming of anything else, it’s you who are going to be in as much trouble as Tom. It won’t be Lady Anneys but Sir William who has the say over who you and Tom and Lucy and Ursula marry. It will be Sir William who’ll have the profit from selling you all to the highest bidders, whoever they are, and never mind how any of you feel about it. If any of you refuse his choice, you lose your inheritance.“
‘I know all that, but—“
‘Think about the possibilities. Because I’ll warrant Sir William has.“
‘Tom is to marry Philippa…“
‘There’s no betrothal yet. Nothing that seals and sets it to happen. Let’s suppose Sir William decides instead to find someone else for Tom. Someone who’ll pay Sir William a goodly amount to marry a daughter to the well-propertied young man that Tom now is.“
‘Then Tom will have her for a wife instead of Philippa.“
‘And Sir William will still have Philippa to marry off profitably to someone else altogether. That’s double profit for him. Well and good and all very reasonable, as such things go. But suppose whoever he finds for Tom is so ghastly that Tom can only refuse the marriage? Then everything—this manor and everything else that are Tom’s—goes to you. Whose marriage Sir William likewise controls. You’re now in possession of Tom’s inheritance as well as your own and very well worth marrying to Philippa, who thereby gains more than she would have if Sir William had settled for merely marrying her to Tom. Or he may play the same game on you he played Tom, finds you a bride you have to refuse. Then everything goes to Lucy, and can you imagine what someone is likely to pay him to marry a son to her at that point? He can—“
‘Miles!“ Hugh said harshly. ”Stop it!“
Bevis stood up uneasily under the manger and Lanval tossed his head. Miles caught the gelding by the bridle and stroked his face, speaking to him soothingly. Hugh, regaining control of his anger, said, trying to be reasonable, “None of that’s happened yet and nothing says it’s going to.”
‘It hasn’t happened yet,“ Miles agreed very quietly. ”And it may not. But it’s possible.“
“Not very,” Hugh insisted. Miles straightened and began to back Lanval from the stall.
‘Wait,“ Hugh said. ”Is George going with you or only Bevis?“
‘Only Bevis. George is gone to the harvesting.“
‘Then I’ll come with you, if you’ll wait while I fetch Foix and saddle him.“ His tall-legged bay palfrey. Because he suddenly did not want Miles to ride out alone with himself this afternoon. Not alone with his dark thoughts anyway. ”I haven’t been toward Ashstock for a while either and ought to see how the hunting seems that way.“
Miles did not frown against the thought, only looked momentarily surprised before—surprisingly—he smiled and said, “Hurry up, then. The day won’t last forever.”
Despite of that, they made no haste on their ride, let the horses set their own easy, head-bobbing walk along one of the lesser trails through the forest’s green quiet, and did not talk at all themselves, the only sounds around them the soft fall of the horses’ hoofs on the trail’s bare earth and the softer whispering of the trees among the sunlight-flecked green shadows. And when they reached the Ashstock woods and talked a little, it was only about the five well-grown ash trees and an oak that Miles judged ready for cutting and how many trees could be planted to replace them. Hugh found out enough signs of deer to show there would likely be good hunting this way, and then in companionable silence they started homeward, still making no haste, so that by the time they rode out of the woods above the manor, the sun had slid from sight, leaving the green twilight sky feathered by a few high clouds turned gold from the vanished sun, and smoke from supper fires was rising lazily above the hall and village roofs. Home and supper, and afterward a quiet evening, and then bed. That, Hugh thought, was the way every day should end.
He remembered that day afterward, because, in its way, it was the last of the good ones.
Chapter 7
The morrow started as fair a summer’s day as could be hoped for, warm and clear-skied and the hounds ready to run. The hare-hunt went well. The hares gave fine sport, both the ones that were caught and the ones that escaped—sometimes especially the ones that escaped. At the hunt’s end Tom sent the smallest hare away to old Goditha in the village who was ailing. “It’s old age and she won’t get over that,” he said blithely, “but meat in the cooking pot will make her daughter-in-law better resigned to having care of her.”
The rest of the dead hares were handed over to Degory to take to Helinor in the kitchen. “Tell her to make as many hare pies as she can from them. Two for the hall at supper tonight, the rest for the harvest-folk at their noontide break tomorrow,” he said and Degory trotted away happy at the likelihood of hare pie tonight and maybe tomorrow, too, because when he was not needed for the hounds, he had been at the harvest.
Not ready to end the morning, Hugh and Tom saw the hounds back to the kennel together and helped Degory, back from the kitchen, to settle the hounds to a well-earned, well-fed rest. They made easy talk while they did and while they headed to the hall to wash before dinner, beginning to feel their tiredness now but laughing as they went, reminding each other how one of the young hounds had leaned too far over in turning after a hare and gone down in a flail of legs and humiliation. By the time he had untangled himself and stood up, Bane had been standing with the dead hare in her mouth and a disdainful look at him.
‘Baseot’s young,“ Hugh said in his defense. ”He hasn’t learned w match eagerness to balance yet.“
‘I’ll warrant he remembers after today!“ Tom laughed.
They came from between the stable and byre into the sideyard where the wide-trunked elm that must have been young when the manor was spread welcome shade and found Miles there, sitting on the bench beneath it, doing nothing.
‘Very grand,“ Tom said. ”Wish I had that kind of lazying time.“
Standing up, ignoring the jibe, Miles said, “One of Sir William’s men is here to see you. I thought you’d want to know before you saw him.”
‘What’s he want?“ Tom asked.
‘To see you. That’s all I know.“
‘And thought to warn me so I’d be ready, in case there’s an ambush in it?“ Tom scorned. ”Give it over, Miles.“
They rounded the corner of the hall into the foreyard and Sir William’s man rose from the bench beside the door where the late morning shadow still lay and it was cooler than inside the hall. Someone had properly given him a cup of ale and he had probably been happy enough in his waiting, but leaving the cup on the bench, he came to meet them, bowed, and said to Tom, “Sir, Sir William asks you come to see him.”
‘When?“ Tom asked.
‘Now, please you.“
‘Now? For what?“
‘I don’t know, sir.“
‘Well, I’m not going now. I want to wash, sit down awhile, and have my dinner. When all that’s done, then I’ll go to Sir William.“
He moved to go on, into the hall. The man said, “Please, sir, I think he meant you to come directly back with me and I’ve been waiting awhile.”
Tom stopped, turned back to the man, and smiled on him, not unkindly but not yielding either. “I don’t care what Sir William meant. I’m dirty and tired and starting to be hungry. When I’ve taken care of all that, then I’ll go to Sir William. You’re welcome to ride back and tell him so, or you can wait, eat with us, and ride with me
.”
Looking as if neither choice made him comfortable, the man bowed. “I think I’d best go back. To let him know you’re coming.”
‘As you choose,“ Tom said and went past him into the hall, leaving the man to bow to his back and tossing over his shoulder as he went, ”If he’d had the courtesy to say what he wanted me for, I might be more willing to oblige, but since all he did was order me to come, he can damn all wait until I’m ready.“
The man was staring, startled, at Tom’s back as Hugh and Miles went past him, too. Hugh could only hope the man had wit enough not to pass that along to Sir William with the rest of the message and that dinner would take the edge off Tom’s sudden ill-humour. He had sounded exactly the way he had when readying to do battle with Sir Ralph, and Miles must have thought so, too, because he said, low-voiced for Tom not to hear, “You better go with him, Hugh.”
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