Maude had removed the shutters, and Petra gazed at the brilliant blue square of sky visible through the unglazed window. Winter wasn’t ready to release its grasp on this part of the world, but this didn’t upset Petra. She had a whole day to enjoy herself, her family was thriving, and the sun shone brightly, lifting her spirits. She would put both Avery and Lord Thomas from her thoughts and make the most of this gift. Tomorrow and its worries would come soon enough.
Chapter 29
Petra stood at the edge of the crowd, content to trade a better view of the play for a bit of space. She had no wish to be jostled by overexcited onlookers who’d been at the ale and were growing rowdier by the minute. The mild winter sunshine felt warm on her shoulders, and she could hear seagulls screeching in the distance even over the din of the audience. She would have preferred to take a walk, but needed to keep an eye on the girls, who were at the front with their two friends, enjoying the performance.
Petra could hardly see what the mummers were up to, but the bursts of laughter were a testament to their skill. They’d done a somber play about the presentation of Jesus at the Temple forty days after his birth to mark the occasion and then moved on to what they did best, which was bawdy comedy. The subject matter wasn’t appropriate for Ora and Elia, but Petra couldn’t deny them this rare entertainment. She suspected that the lewd meaning, which infused nearly every line of dialogue, went over their heads, innocent as they were. Instead, they focused on the physical comedy, laughing joyously as the cuckolded husband spied on his errant wife and wound up stepping on a hoe, which promptly hit him in the face, giving the wife’s ardent lover time to escape.
Petra gave up on the play and looked around, hoping to spot Edwin. He’d gone off with Alfric right after Mass, leaving Petra and the girls to participate in the candlelight procession. Maude had decided to return home. She claimed it was to bring back the blessed candles, but Petra suspected that she was just too tired to spend hours on her feet as they made their way from one entertainment to another. Petra watched Maude hobble away, her feet raw with chilblains and her lower back aching from the cold and damp that seemed to seep through the walls of the house and be an ever-present reminder of their reduced circumstances.
Petra finally spotted Edwin by the wrestling ring that had been erected on the green. He stood off to the side with three other boys, all of whom were Alfric’s friends. Several men had already tried their luck, and several more were awaiting their turn as two brawny lads went at each other at the center of the makeshift ring. There was much booing and hissing when the crowd favorite went down, but he managed to spring back to his feet and get his opponent into a headlock, effectively ending the match. A roar of approval went up from his supporters, likely members of his guild, and the judge pronounced the match over.
The next pair of contestants were already entering the ring. Their friends clapped them on the back and offered words of advice, but neither was listening. They were fixated on each other, teeth bared and fists curled as they prepared for the fight ahead. Edwin was mesmerized. He’d pushed up his bear mask onto his head and was watching the match, Alfric at his side. If Petra knew Alfric, he’d try to enter the contest, despite his age, but unless he could find an opponent close to his own height and weight, he would be denied a chance to fight. Alfric bent down and said something to Edwin, who shook his head, his eyes never leaving the two men in the ring. They were evenly matched, and their supporters were split down the middle, yelling insults and jeering every time one of them lost his footing and seemed about to lose.
Petra looked away. Seeing the two men going at each other, their faces feral and their eyes narrowed as they searched for any hint of their opponent’s weakness reminded her too much of Cyril. He never missed an opportunity to enter the ring, winning nine out of ten times and strutting around afterward as if he’d done something miraculous. He usually hurt his opponent more than was necessary, and basked in the cheering of the crowd after the win, preening like a jackanapes. Cyril always rode her extra hard on a feast day, needing to get his aggression out before going to sleep. Sated at last, he would leave Petra crying into her pillow as her tender parts throbbed with unbearable pain.
Petra was just about to check on the girls when she saw Edwin shift from his spot. The two men in the ring were finished. They were donning their jerkins and joking with their friends, the loser not sore at all about being defeated. He clapped the winner on the shoulder and they shook hands, all animosity forgotten as the organizer called for the next set of volunteers.
“Edwin, no!” Petra cried, but it was too late. Edwin was already in the ring, his bear mask tossed to the side as he faced Alfric. It wasn’t a fair match-up since Alfric was a head taller and at least a stone heavier, but the men were hungry for entertainment, and the disparity in the boys’ size didn’t seem to bother anyone. Edwin had removed his jerkin and was wearing just his shirt, which was the only one he had. Maude would be furious if he tore it, but Petra couldn’t be bothered about the shirt. She was too worried about Edwin getting hurt.
Alfric was smiling and jeering as he danced around the ring, taunting Edwin in a friendly manner. Alfric would never hurt Edwin, but Petra couldn’t bear to see her boy engage in physical combat, not even with a friend. He had that look on his face, the kind he had whenever the subject of his future came up. He felt defiant, scared, and outraged by the unfairness of his lot. This was his chance to prove something, to show the world that he was a man, and not some invalid who couldn’t be trusted with sharp tools or other men’s welfare.
Edwin let out a roar and charged Alfric, nearly knocking him off his feet. Alfric laughed and righted himself, grabbing Edwin and pinning his arms to the side as he brought his foot behind Edwin’s ankles. Edwin’s legs went out from under him when Alfric moved his foot, and Edwin went down hard, Alfric on top of him. The crowd cheered, and Alfric gave his fans a winsome smile as he held Edwin down on the grass. Edwin struggled like a landed fish, but Alfric was too heavy and had the advantage of position. Alfric finally released Edwin and helped him to his feet, inviting him to have another go. Edwin had no chance, but he wouldn’t slink away in shame. He resumed his defiant stance and glared at Alfric, now genuinely angry. This was no longer a game to him, but a fight to the death.
Edwin began to circle Alfric, who was still enjoying the approval of the spectators. Edwin charged again, this time knocking Alfric off his feet and jumping on top. Alfric wrapped his arms around Edwin and flipped him onto his back, straddling him and holding him prone. It took him mere moments to reverse their positions, and the crowd booed Edwin, calling him a milksop and a weakling. Edwin’s face was puce with rage, and his mouth opened as he was about to say something. Petra stifled a scream of panic when she saw Edwin’s eyes roll into the back of his head and his body begin to jerk. If Alfric didn’t release him, Edwin could choke on his tongue. Petra tried to push her way through the crowd, but the men closed ranks, watching with interest as Edwin’s teeth began to chatter and foam appeared at the side of him mouth.
Petra was wailing with fear and helplessness. There was no way she could get to Edwin, and even if she could, what could she do? Everyone was watching, craning their necks to get a better look at the boy who was having a fit right in front of them. Alfric was still sitting on Edwin’s chest, his mouth open in shock. Petra cried out for someone to help Edwin, but no one moved, not even the organizer, who just stood off to the side, watching the show. Someone pushed through the crowd from the other end, shoving men aside as if they were nothing more than stubborn sheep. Someone yelled out an insult to the newcomer, but was instantly shushed by his friends. This man wasn’t one of them, he was someone who commanded respect and awe. His fine dress proclaimed his status, but he would have been known to the men even if he wore a leather jerkin and breeches.
Lord Devon entered the ring and physically lifted Alfric off the ground, tossing him aside like a sack of wool. He covered Edwin with his own body and held him
until the fit passed, leaving Edwin shaking and sputtering, his eyes wild with incomprehension as he finally came to. The men were muttering among themselves, trying to understand what they’d just witnessed.
“He’s possessed,” someone cried, and the rest of the men surged forward, driven by ignorance and fear. “The Devil must be driven out before it comes for the rest of us.”
Thomas glared at the men at the front and they hesitated, afraid to offend a nobleman. Thomas held up a flat stone and showed it to the crowd. “The boy hit his head on a stone when he went down,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “He’s been knocked senseless. Step aside. He needs to lie down somewhere quiet until he recovers.”
Thomas lifted Edwin gently. The crowd parted, allowing Thomas to walk through unchallenged. Some were still muttering, but didn’t dare to say anything out loud. Lord Devon had the power to ruin their lives if he chose to do so, and it wasn’t worth the risk to anger him. Alfric trailed behind Thomas, whining that he never meant to hurt no one, and it was all just a bit of fun.
“Go home, boy,” Thomas growled as he cleared the crowd of onlookers. “You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
Petra stumbled toward Thomas. Her heart pounded with fear, and her legs felt like jelly. She reached out for Edwin and touched his face. It was flushed, but cold to the touch. “Edwin,” she whispered.
“I’m all right, Mother.”
“Come, let’s get him inside,” Thomas said. He carried Edwin to the house and set him down in front of the fire where Lady Blythe was dozing up until that moment.
“What’s this then?” she asked, staring at the boy seated across from her.
“Nan, bring Edwin a cup of hippocras,” Thomas ordered. “And some bread and cheese.”
“Mother, Edwin hit his head and was taken ill,” Thomas explained. “He needs to rest for a moment.”
He grabbed another chair and set it by the fire, pushing Petra into it before she collapsed. Petra felt as if all her insides had been scooped out and dumped on the hearth. This was what she’d dreaded for the past ten years. Their secret was out. Edwin’s fit would be the talk of Dunwich tomorrow, and soon enough someone would set the priests on them. What would they do to Edwin?
Thomas knelt by Petra’s chair and took her hand. “Mistress Ordell, all will be well. Edwin was taken ill, that’s all. No one will say a word about this, if they know what’s good for them.”
Lady Blythe gave her son a shrewd look, but refrained from saying anything. She’d find out what happened later, probably from Robert. Thomas wouldn’t say a word; she was sure of that.
“I thought you went to a tourney,” Lady Blythe said, watching her son. “What were you doing on the green?”
“I got bored,” Thomas replied, his tone curt.
“Is Robert still there?”
“How should I know?” Thomas replied without looking at his mother. He was saved from more questions by the arrival of Nan, who brought wine, bread, and cheese. Thomas poured a cup of hippocras and handed it to Edwin.
“Drink it all.”
Edwin took an experimental sip. He’d never had hippocras. It wasn’t the drink of poor people. He appeared to like it and drained the cup, clearly hoping for a refill. Thomas obliged, but told him to eat some bread and cheese first. He then poured wine for Petra and placed the cup in her hands.
“I think it’s time for me to retire,” Lady Blythe said. “I would have had Nan prepare something for your supper, but you said you wouldn’t be home, and I just had some broth and bread,” she added reproachfully.
“Sleep well, Mother,” Thomas said. He barely noticed his mother’s pique, and seemed relieved when she shuffled off to bed.
“Petra, are you all right?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for your help, Thomas.” She didn’t know what else to say. Perhaps Thomas really believed that Edwin had hit his head and the shaking and foaming at the mouth was the result of that trauma. It was best not to disillusion him and let him draw his own conclusions. Thomas poured himself a cup of wine and took a long sip.
“I must go get the girls,” Petra said, springing from her chair. Edwin never had more than one fit at a time. He was safe now, and needed to go home. Elia and Ora were still out there on the green, and it was growing dark and dangerous. Men had been drinking for hours, their blood up after watching contests of strength and bawdy plays. They were still young girls, but old enough to draw the eye of someone who was bent on mischief.
“Go on then. I will walk Edwin home once he’s fully recovered,” Thomas offered. “You’ve no need to worry about anything, Petra,” he added softly. “I will look after you.”
“Thank you, Thomas,” Petra whispered and fled. She should have felt relieved to have the protection of Lord Devon, but instead she felt indebted and trapped by his good intentions.
Chapter 30
February 2014
Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland
The day was mild for the beginning of February, the approach of spring just discernible in the air. The wind of the previous day had died down, and the sun that played peek-a-boo with the clouds held just the tiniest bit of warmth. Gabe gazed out the library window, his eyes never leaving Emma, who ran around happily with Buster. Graham Russell did his best to keep up with his granddaughter as he threw the ball across the lawn and cheered Emma to get it before the puppy did. Emma was laughing, her cheeks rosy with cold and her yellow wellies flashing by as she ran after the puppy who barked happily. Buster hadn’t had this much fun since arriving from the kennel just before Christmas.
“Fancy a cuppa?” Phoebe Russell asked as she came into the library, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea and a plate of freshly-baked scones.
“Thanks, Mum,” Gabe replied and took the tray from his mother, setting it on a low table in front of the hearth. A cheery fire burned in the grate, making the room feel snug and welcoming, and Gabe felt that wonderful sense of belonging that he experienced whenever he came home.
Phoebe settled herself in her favorite chair and took a sip of tea before reaching for a scone. It was still warm, with fresh strawberry preserves spread in the middle and a dollop of clotted cream to complete its perfection. Delicious. Phoebe pushed the plate toward Gabe, urging him to take one. She loved elevenses. It was the perfect time of the day to take a break, enjoy a cup of tea, and have a little something to tide one over until lunch, which was usually at one. Phoebe took a bite of scone and chewed thoughtfully.
The past two days had been a revelation and a joy. Meeting Emma had been one of the happiest moments of Phoebe’s life, and the spark the little girl lit in her aging husband was remarkable. Phoebe hadn’t seen Graham this animated in years, possibly never; he hadn’t been very hands-on with Gabe, preferring to read the paper or work on the estate instead of playing games with his son. Seeing Graham running around after Emma was almost surreal, and wonderful.
The child, who looked so much like their son, walked into their stuffy old pile and filled it with sunshine, illuminating every dark corner and murky corridor. Ironic how terrible tragedy often led to unbearable joy. A granddaughter. Phoebe still couldn’t say the word out loud, thinking it secretly to herself and smiling as if it were a delicious secret. A beautiful granddaughter, she thought and grinned into her mug.
She’d known Emma for only two days, but thought her heart would burst with the love she felt for the child. She’d tell her siblings and friends soon enough, but for the moment, she wanted to keep this miracle all to herself. She’d be even happier if she wasn’t so worried about Gabe. He wasn’t himself. True, he’d just gotten engaged to the woman he’d loved for eight years and, within two weeks, his world turned on its axis, and he got full custody of the daughter he’d known nothing about, but it was more than that. Something was troubling her boy.
“Where’s Quinn this morning?” Phoebe asked. Her tone was light, but her gaze fixed on her son, accessing his expression. She noted that he
hadn’t taken a scone, and that was alarming within itself. Gabe never passed up on homemade goodies.
“She’s having a bit of lie-in. She has a headache,” Gabe replied.
“Everything all right between you two?” Phoebe asked. Graham always told her that she was too nosey and should leave Gabe to sort out his own problems, but Phoebe thought that to be absolute nonsense. To ignore your child’s pain was paramount to admitting that you didn’t care. She cared; she cared a lot, and she’d be damned if she let her boy suffer without trying to help him.
“Of course, Mum,” Gabe replied, but the tightening of the jaw and the defensive stance weren’t lost on Phoebe. Even the way he held his mug of tea showed tension.
“Gabe, are you all right?” Phoebe asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but you’ve been here for two days, and the only time I’ve seen you smile was when you look at Emma. What is it, son?”
“I don’t know, Mum,” Gabe replied, exhaling loudly. He slumped into a chair across from Phoebe and set down his mug, his hands gripping the armrests as if he were experiencing turbulence on an airplane. “I can’t put it into words.”
“Try,” Phoebe encouraged. “It helps to talk.”
Gabe shook his head and shrugged in frustration. He’d always been articulate and straightforward, but at the moment, he seemed to have trouble expressing his feelings, possibly because he was having so many of them all at once. He was also a British male, and therefore not someone accustomed to wearing his heart on his sleeve. There were times when Phoebe envied the Americans their penchant for oversharing. There was such a thing as giving too much away, but at times, it was probably very liberating to just say what one thought without fear of appearing weak or worrying about the reaction of others. It was too late to change Graham, who never volunteered anything of a personal nature without being threatened with bodily harm by his frustrated wife, but Phoebe still had high hopes for Gabe, especially since Quinn wasn’t the type of woman to shy away from difficult conversations and would never think less of Gabe for having fears or succumbing to momentary bouts of weakness.
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 14