Your brother in God,
Father Roan.
Prior Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose, as he was prone to do when deep in thought. He liked Father Avery and believed him to be a trustworthy and learned man, but this changed everything. It was Prior Jacob’s duty to protect his men and the community of Dunwich from this heretic. He would keep an eye on his movements and report anything untoward to the abbot, who would be of a similar mind on the matter. In the meantime, Prior Jacob would do nothing to alert Father Avery to his investigation. If anything, he would cultivate his good-will by granting his request of taking on a young boy of his acquaintance as an apprentice scribe. They did not need another scribe, but the boy, who was surprisingly literate, could mix pigments for ink, sharpen quills, and assist the scribes in any other way they required. At the very least, the child would be removed from the influence of the man who had the power to damn his soul.
Chapter 34
Petra’s feet barely touched the ground as she made her way to Lady Blythe’s house the morning after her encounter with Avery. She didn’t know what the future held, or if there would ever be another opportunity for them to come together, but over the years, she’d learned to take a moment of happiness and make it last, since they didn’t come around often. She’d committed a sin, again, but all she felt was an all-encompassing joy and a sense of being alive such as she hadn’t felt in years. Her body was still aflame, her hunger for love awakened with a start after years of being suppressed and ignored.
Petra hung her cloak on a peg by the door and walked to the kitchen to check on her mistress’s breakfast. Nan was hard at work, having been up for hours. She slept on a narrow cot in an alcove behind the kitchen and rose well before dawn to get the fire going, bake fresh bread, and get a start on the day’s chores. She looked harassed as always, her hair escaping from her linen hood and clinging to her sweaty brow. This was laundry day, which was a monthly ordeal that took most of the day. Doing the laundry left Nan shaking with fatigue, the muscles in her arms and legs aching and sore by the time she finally fell into bed. It wasn’t a job for one person, but Lady Blythe, always intent on economy, was too tight-fisted to hire an additional servant, and Thomas, being a man, was oblivious to what was expected of the poor girl.
“The bread’s nearly done,” she huffed as she stepped away from the hearth. “And there’s hot broth if you’d like a cup before waking Lady Blythe.”
“Thank you, a cup of broth would be most welcome. Is Lord Devon in?” Petra asked carefully.
“Oh, aye. He’s still abed. Came in just before dawn. Drunk he was, and disorderly,” Nan complained. “Scared me half to death when he stumbled into the kitchen by mistake. Then he took a piss into one of the pots,” Nan added with distaste.
“Does he come in in that state often?” Petra asked, realizing how little she actually knew about Thomas. Cyril didn’t drink himself into a stupor often, but when he did, it didn’t bode well for Petra or the children. Drink mellowed some men, and awakened a rage in others, provoking them to violence against those who were to hand and had no means of defending themselves.
“No,” Nan replied as she poured Petra a cup of broth. “He’s a good man, Lord Thomas. Kind. I think he’s just lonely, and last night he’d had a blazing quarrel with her ladyship. He really put her in her place; I’ll tell you that. Told her to mind her own business, or he’d send her to a nunnery. Imagine, Lady Blythe in a nunnery,” Nan giggled. “Now that’s a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
“What did they argue about?”
“How should I know? Not like I was listening at doors, was I?” Nan retorted, suddenly defensive. “And no refreshments were called for,” she added sarcastically. “Now, get on with you. I have things to do.”
“Is there any hot water for me to take up to her ladyship?”
Nan nodded, her mind already on something else. She was as easily distracted as a child, her mind flitting from one thing to the next. Petra took a sip of her broth and mentally reprimanded herself. Nan was a child. She was only thirteen, hardly older than Elia, and already forced to make her way in the world. She was an orphan, and had little chance of a respectable marriage since there’d be no one to provide her with a dowry, unless Lady Blythe decided to be charitable, which was unlikely.
“I’ll come and give you a hand with the laundry while her ladyship naps,” Petra promised, glad to see a hint of a smile. The poor girl really was overworked and underpaid, since all she got was a roof over her head and her meals. She wouldn’t earn a wage until she was older and considered to be properly trained.
“I would be most grateful,” Nan replied as she began to carefully extract the hot loaves from the oven niche in the hearth. They looked perfect, which didn’t happen often. Usually Nan got distracted and burned the bread a little, invoking the wrath of her employer.
Petra finished her broth, poured some hot water into a pitcher, and headed upstairs to wake Lady Blythe. The old woman was already awake, sitting up in bed, propped up by several pillows. Her gray hair hung in two limp plates, and there was noticeable puffiness beneath her eyes, a testament to a night spent tossing and turning.
“Shall I help you dress, lady?” Petra asked as she set the pitcher down.
“Hmm, look at her,” Lady Blythe said, as if speaking to a third person in the room. “So cool, so aloof. When all the while she’s been laying plans, and looking to take my place.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t take your meaning,” Petra replied, confused by the venom in Lady Blythe’s voice.
“Don’t you?”
Petra remained silent. Lady Blythe was not one to hold back. She would vent her anger on Petra no matter what she said, so it was safer to remain quiet and keep her distance. She still remembered the sting of Lady Blythe’s belt when she was a girl. Lady Blythe didn’t beat Nan as often, simply because she lacked the energy, but she made up for it with scathing tongue-lashings that left the girl in tears and trembling with fright at the thought of being thrown out with only the clothes she stood up in.
“It seems that my son wishes to marry you. “You are a fool,” I told him. “An ungrateful wretch, who wants to throw away all that had been done for him.” But he won’t listen. His mind is made up. What have you done to bewitch my Thomas?”
“I’ve done nothing, lady. I have given him no encouragement.”
“You better not have, or your back will be striped like a tiger’s. Ever see one of those? No, I thought not,” she answered herself. “My Thomas can have any girl he wants. A girl of breeding and means, a virgin whose womb is fertile and ripe for planting. He could still have sons. Instead, he wishes to marry a lowly nobody. And not just a nobody, but a nobody who is too old to bear children and has three whelps of her own to support. You are of low birth and advanced years. You have nothing to offer a man of his stature.”
“No, lady, I don’t,” Petra agreed. Lady Blythe’s bluntness was cruel, but everything she said was no more than the truth.
“You will refuse him, you hear?” Lady Blythe demanded. “You will not give him any hope.”
“And if I refuse to refuse?” Petra asked, taunting the old woman despite the consequences. She couldn’t afford to lose her place, but even a woman of her station was entitled to some pride.
“Then I will convince him to wait until June to wed. He will change his mind by then, you can be sure of that, my girl. He’s no fool, but it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman in his bed. He’s not thinking straight. I will tell Robert to bring Thomas a whore, a dozen whores, if that’s what it takes to cool his lust. He’ll forget all about you then, you’ll see.”
Petra looked at the old lady and let out a giggle, which she immediately stifled by clamping a hand over her mouth and pretending to cough. The notion that it would take a dozen whores to turn Thomas away from her was laughable. She was no great beauty, nor was she young and pure. She was a mother of three; married, widowed, and battered by life. Su
rely there was no need for such extreme antics.
“Am I dismissed from my position, Lady Blythe?” Petra asked, not wishing to suffer any more abuse if she were to be let go anyway.
“No, you are not! You will continue with your duties, and remain by my side where I can keep an eye on you. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, they say,” she replied, her eyes narrowed with dislike.
“Am I your enemy then?” Petra asked. Lady Blythe was clearly more threatened by her chances with Thomas than Petra previously imagined. Was it possible that Thomas truly loved her? What a strange and unexpected turn her life had taken since Cyril died. Lady Blythe didn’t reply, her silence signaling that the conversation was at an end for the time being.
“I’d like to wash now. Take out my blue gown and woolen stockings. I’m cold.”
“Yes, lady,” Petra replied. She was as distracted as Nan while she helped Lady Blythe dress and escorted her down to break her fast. She had to talk to Thomas, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what to say. The sensible thing to do would be to accept his proposal and get on with her life, but her encounter with Avery made accepting Thomas seem like a betrayal of all of them.
Chapter 35
“The master wishes to see you,” Nan announced as she shuffled into the kitchen with an empty basket on her hip, having finished hanging out the laundry in the yard. Her normally sallow cheeks were rosy with cold, and her hands were nearly blue after handling wet bed linens and Lady Blythe’s underthings. She set down the basket and held her hands out to the fire, sighing with contentment as they began to regain their normal color. “I saw him coming out of the stable,” she added.
“How did he seem to you?” Petra asked, wondering if he regretted the argument with Lady Blythe and was perhaps already reconsidering his intentions toward her.
“Sore-headed and shame-faced,” Nan replied. “Serves him right for drinking like a peasant.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Petra laughed. Nan really was too outspoken at times, a trait that earned her the back of Lady Blythe’s hand at least once a week.
“Tis the truth,” Nan shrugged. “I saw him being sick behind the stable. If I ever marry, I’ll find a man who has an aversion to drink. Nasty, it makes them, and violent.”
“Was Lord Devon violent toward you?” Petra demanded. Nan shook her head, and Petra suddenly wondered what Nan’s life had been like before she came to serve Lady Blythe. Nan had her opinions and was always up for a gossip, but she never talked about herself. Petra always assumed that there wasn’t much to tell, but perhaps she was wrong. Some memories were too painful to share. Could be that this place was a refuge for her as much as it had once been for Petra herself.
“Lord Devon is the exception. He gets maudlin when he drinks, but not belligerent, like some. You know how men can get when their blood’s up. They need to kick and punch someone, someone who’s too weak to defend themselves and won’t put up much of a fight. Can’t have their manhood challenged. Can they?” Nan asked with disgust. “That’s about the only thing I recall about my father — his fists, and how often he used them.”
Nan wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the hunk of venison she planned to make for supper. She skillfully impaled it on a spit and positioned it above the flames, where it would roast until suppertime, filling the house with its appetizing smell. If Thomas was too unwell to eat, Nan would get a nice portion for her own supper, since she ate whatever was left over from the mistress’s table.
“You’d best go see him now. He said he’d be waiting in the parlor. Likely wants to say his piece before his mother wakes from her nap, the old sow.”
Petra couldn’t help smiling at the girl. Nan had spirit; she’d give her that. It might not serve her well when it came to staying in Lady Blythe’s good graces, but perhaps saying what was on her mind made her feel a little less downtrodden. “All right; I’m going,” Petra replied and left Nan to her work.
Petra tried to push aside a feeling of apprehension as she hurried toward the parlor, but she couldn’t help worrying. If Thomas still wished to marry her, she’d feel beholden to him, and if he’d changed his mind, she might lose her position. Neither outcome would bode well for her. Petra entered the room and approached slowly, not wishing to disturb Thomas, who sat staring into the flames, his expression pensive.
“Ah, Petra, come in. Sit down,” he said, getting to his feet as a sign of respect. He reached out, as if to caress her cheek, but snatched his hand back, recognizing the intimacy of the gesture. Thomas held out his hands instead, enveloping Petra’s in his own. His hands were large, warm, and calloused. Thomas wasn’t a man who enjoyed idleness, despite his wealth. He often worked right alongside his men, loading sacks of wool, driving the ponies, and delivering shipments to the waiting ships, unlike Robert, who preferred not to get his hands dirty and conducted most of his business in taverns.
Petra took a seat and waited for Thomas to speak. He looked tired and upset, his face pale, and his eyes bloodshot from overindulgence in drink the night before. Petra wished he’d look away, but his gaze never wavered as he studied her face.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he finally said. “Today of all days.”
“Is something wrong, Thomas?” Petra asked. She didn’t think an argument with Lady Blythe would leave Thomas this unsettled. He used to argue with her all the time in days past, standing his ground despite his mother’s ire. Thomas had always been dutiful, more so than Robert, but he resented his mother’s bullying ways and preferred to decide for himself, even when the outcome was a foregone conclusion, much as his betrothal had been.
These days, Lady Blythe had little power over her sons, who ran the family business and controlled the Devon wealth. She liked to pretend that she still held sway over them, but in truth, they had no need of her counsel or her sharp tongue. They indulged her desire to feel involved, and gave her the respect sons owned their mother, but their personal choices were no longer any concern of hers. They were grown men, and masters onto themselves.
“Petra, I’m leaving tomorrow. I must visit the sheep farmers before the shearing starts. I’ll be gone a fortnight, possibly longer.”
Petra nodded, wondering what the urgency was. Normally, the sheep weren’t sheared until the spring, allowing the animals, especially lambs, the extra protection of their fleeces during the winter months. Once the shearing began, the wool came in continuously for weeks, the pack-whackers and pickers working practically non-stop to prepare the fleeces for shipment.
“There’s trouble a-brewing,” Thomas said, shaking his head in dismay, or maybe disbelief.
“What kind of trouble?”
“There’s a wool merchant in Lavenham. Walter Nevins is his name. I’ve never met the man myself, but have heard him mentioned. He’s ambitious and shrewd,” Thomas said. “And ruthless. He seems to have come into a sum of money. An inheritance from a relation, no doubt. He’s putting that money to good use. Nevins has been visiting the sheep farms, and offering men who’ve worked with us since the days of my father a higher price per sack of wool in an effort to cut us out.”
“How much more is he offering?” Petra asked. She had no notion of what a sack of wool went for, but to buy as much fleece as Thomas and Robert did would require a fortune, even without paying more per sack.
“Enough to make the farmers think twice about refusing. If he buys up our share of the fleeces, our profits will suffer, and we might not have enough put by to buy fleeces next year, opening the way for Nevins to pay the farmers less, since he would have eliminated the competition.”
“Would the Guild not have something to say about that?” Petra asked.
Thomas shook his head. “The Guild cannot be expected to eradicate competition among its members. That would harm everyone in the long run. We all negotiate our own terms and prices. Nevins is within his rights.”
“What will you do?” Petra asked. She never imagined that th
e wealthy worried about their income, and just assumed that they led comfortable, well-provided for lives. This was a glimpse into a world she knew nothing about.
“I will visit all the farmers and remind them of their commitment to us. We’ve treated them fairly and guaranteed their annual income for decades. Nevins might be paying more this year, but that doesn’t mean that this price will apply in the future, or that he will return to buy from them in the coming years.”
“And what if they refuse?” Petra asked. Her mother always said that a bird in the hand was better than two on a branch. More money this year might outweigh the fear of making less in the future.
“If they refuse, then I will renegotiate the terms and offer them a higher price. I cannot allow Nevins to steal my livelihood from me, nor will I.”
“Then I wish you Godspeed, Thomas, and hope that you will put this Nevins in his place.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Thomas finally smiled, his eyes filling with gratitude and hope.
“Petra, I know that you are recently bereaved and need more time to consider my proposal, but I’ll have you know that I told my mother of my intention to marry you.”
“So, I’ve heard,” Petra replied, smiling back. “Your mother is none too pleased.”
“She’ll come around,” Thomas replied, dismissing Lady Blythe with a wave of the hand. “I won’t press you for an answer now, but I would like to settle things between us when I return. Please, think about my proposal most carefully. I really am very fond of you, and I will give you and your children a good life, regardless of what happens in the coming weeks. You have my word.”
“You shall have my answer when you return, Thomas.”
Petra rose to her feet and was about to leave when Thomas came up behind her and took her by the arm. He pulled her close and bent down to kiss her, his lips gentle against hers before he deepened the kiss, his desire for her obvious. Petra didn’t resist, but neither did she return his kiss. That would have been a promise of sorts, and wouldn’t be fair.
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 17