The Traitor's Daughter

by Munday, April

  A week after her arrival she was crossing the courtyard when someone rode in. She recognised him as Tom, the stable boy from Hill. She went up to him with a smile. He saw her and smiled back, shyly.

  “Lady Alais, I have a message for you.”

  “For me? Come into the house and have a drink.”

  Alais took him into the kitchen and served him herself. He coloured even more and tried to stop her, but she persisted and he sat and drank, then she fed him, heedless of the cook’s protestations about the cost.

  “Now,” she said, once he was comfortable, “what message do you have?”

  “Before he left, my lord asked me to find out and bring you news about Roger and Margaret.” He paused for effect and only continued when he realised that he had worried Alais. “Never fear, they are well.”

  She laughed with relief. “I am so glad to hear it. They were very good to my mother and me. Where are they?”

  “Sir Hugh said that when they were found they were to be brought to Hill and there they stay until their house is rebuilt.”

  Now Alais had yet another reason to be grateful to Hugh and so few means of repaying him.

  “What other news do you have of Hill and Southampton?”

  “Matthew has returned to his duties, but Marion is still unwell. She eats and drinks but only sits and stares the rest of the time.”

  Alais was not surprised. She only hoped that Marion would keep well enough to bear her child.

  “Sarah sends you her regards and hopes that you are well. Everyone else is well,” the boy continued. “The French did not come back. There has been no sign of them.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  “Is my lord here?”

  “No, he had to go to London with his father. Did you have a message for him, too?”

  “No, my lady. Matthew wanted to hear that he was well.”

  “You can tell him that Sir Hugh was very well a few days ago. I will write him a letter to tell him about our journey.”

  The boy’s face had fallen at the news that Hugh was not there, but had brightened again at the prospect of carrying back the tale of his lord’s journey. Alais left him in the kitchen while she went to write the letter.

  She went to Hugh’s room to write her letter. Since there were no fires in any of the rooms, it made no difference that his was cold. Since she used it often, she also kept it clean. Like the rest of the house, it was damp, but she aired it as much as she could, without making anyone aware that she was using it.

  She had noticed that her belongings in the room that she shared with Elizabeth and Agnes had been disturbed, so she kept the few things that she valued in Hugh’s room. There was no doubt in her mind that Agnes and Elizabeth had not touched her possessions, but she knew there were others at Liss who were not so mindful of what belonged to others. There had been no reason for her to write since she had arrived at Liss and she hoped that Hugh had a quill. She made the ink quickly from ingredients in the still-room, then found an old quill, forgotten under the bed. Resolving to volunteer to pluck the goose the next time one was killed, she set about repairing the quill and then started her letter. She tried to make the journey as entertaining as possible, knowing that Matthew would read it aloud to the rest of the household, not once, but many times over the coming months. When it was done, she found Elizabeth and asked what should be done for Tom.

  “He can eat in the kitchen and sleep in the hall with the servants tonight, but he must be gone in the morning.”

  “He will be.” Alais knew that Tom would be as happy to leave Liss as Liss would be to see him go. As she saw him off the next morning, she almost wished she were going with him, back to Hill and its comforts.

  Alais began to get to know the household at Liss. She spent most of her time with Joan, Agnes and Elizabeth and learned quickly that Stephen, Marguerite and Katherine despised them. Joan and Agnes were distantly related to Lady Maud, who had taken them in when their parents had died almost twenty years ago. Alais had the impression that Sir William had not wanted to do so, but had had his own reasons for allowing them to stay. Perhaps he had already seen in Joan the solution to what would be the problem of Edmund’s wife. Since Edmund was acknowledged as Sir William’s son he could not marry one of the village girls, neither could he marry nobility. Alais did not put it past Sir William to foresee a way of humiliating his wife who would surely not have wanted to acknowledge her husband’s bastard as a member of her own family. Joan was very happy as Edmund’s wife. Her only disappointment was that they lived at Liss; she would have preferred to be at Hill. Alais gradually understood that Joan had the expectation that Edmund would eventually be the steward at Hill. It was not impossible. Matthew was getting old and would soon be fully occupied bringing up his grandson and caring for Marion.

  Elizabeth, the widow of Hugh’s older brother, was another matter. Alais thought that she seemed remarkably cheerful for a barren widow who would never marry again. She could only assume that Geoffrey had taken after his father to such an extent that Elizabeth was glad that he was dead. It seemed harsh, but who was she to judge what happened between man and wife? Elizabeth came from an ancient aristocratic line and had wealth and property of her own and Alais did not understand why she had not returned to her own property. Geoffrey had been dead almost seven months and there could surely be nothing to keep her at Liss.

  Having little to occupy her, Alais quickly found herself joining in the favourite occupation of the servants and lower members of the household – speculation. She excused herself on the grounds that she had to learn as much as she could about the family, retainers and servants as quickly as possible. Even so, she was scandalised by the amount of gossip that she was exposed to and even more scandalised by the things that Elizabeth and Agnes saw fit to pass on to her. From one or the other she heard about Sir William’s meanness and violence, Hugh’s generosity of spirit, Stephen’s contempt for everyone but his wife and sister and Geoffrey’s cruelty to both man and beast. She had not been at Liss many days before she decided that she must listen to no more gossip. It was a sin and if it left her uninformed when her husband returned, then so be it. Nonetheless, she continued to exercise her own mind with theories and stories, particularly about Elizabeth. Why would she stay in a despised position at Liss, when she could, presumably, return to her own property?

  Understanding came one afternoon when she was on her way to Hugh’s room. She came upon Elizabeth and Sir John who were standing very close together. Sir John had been Sir William’s ward and had grown up at Liss. The couple had sprung apart as she approached and Alais began to understand the attraction that Liss might still hold for Elizabeth. Sadly, Elizabeth must know that Sir John would never marry a barren woman, and would not be permitted to do so, no matter what her wealth might be. Alais decided to give the matter no more thought; she could not tell what she did not know. She had already discovered that, as well as being a house of secrets, Liss was also a house of gossip. She suspected that some of the servants listened at doors and reported to Stephen. It saddened her that she could not talk as freely as she wanted, but she guarded her tongue carefully. She was also wary of conversations with Marguerite and Stephen which seemed to be solely for the purpose of gathering information about what was happening in the house.

  The days passed and there was no word from her husband, or from Hugh. Her life developed a pattern, as she had known it must. She offered Joan to teach her daughters to read, but Joan did not think they would have much use for it. Alais did not persist, although she grew bored. Having expected to have a household to run she found it difficult to content herself with the mundane tasks that she had taken on herself.

  Gradually Alais became aware, as no one else seemed to, that Elizabeth was with child. Of course, no one else spent as much time with the widow as she and Agnes did and in a house of secrets it was hard to gauge what anyone else knew. She began preparing healing drinks for her, which Elizabeth accepted gratefull
y, without comment. Early one morning, they went out together to gather mushrooms and as soon as they were in a place where no one could overhear, Alais brought up the subject. “Yes,” confirmed Elizabeth, “I am with child.”

  “And Sir John is the father?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “He wants to marry me, but will not while he thinks I am barren.”

  Alais had already put together the chain of events in her own mind. Convinced that there could be no child Sir John had somehow taken Elizabeth to his bed. Alais did not know how they had done it or where, but they must have managed to be alone together on many occasions, perhaps even before Geoffrey had died, although a courtship could not easily take place under the eyes of an entire household.

  “What will you do now?” asked Alais. “Does Sir John know?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “It is one thing to be with child, it is another to bear a healthy son into the world.”

  Alais secretly doubted whether Sir John would need this final proof; Elizabeth’s wealth would go much in her favour. There was only one thing that puzzled her and she hardly dared to broach the subject. “But you were married to Geoffrey for many years and there was never any sign?”

  “Geoffrey was a cruel man in many ways,” sighed Elizabeth, “and I was not sorry to lose him, despite the way his family has treated me since. But he was not a man in the marriage bed.”

  Alais did not know what Elizabeth meant. Was she somehow saying that her inability to bear children was her husband’s fault? Alais knew this could not be true. A woman must always be at fault where there were no children, but there was no doubt that Elizabeth was now with child. Perhaps she had somehow displeased Geoffrey in the marriage bed and he had taken his attentions elsewhere. That would make some sense.

  “When will you tell Sir John?” she asked.

  “I will not need to tell him. It will soon be obvious enough. And then he will beg me to marry him.”

  Her tone made Alais wonder if there might not be some discord between the lovers. Had Elizabeth expected Sir John to take a barren wife for love? Alais did not know. She could not guess what Sir John might have said to Elizabeth to make her believe that he would, but she wondered about her own husband; a man who could bring up a son as gentle and considerate as Hugh, whilst at the same time nurturing someone as disdainful and distrustful as Stephen and then another son as cruel as Geoffrey. And she did not doubt that Geoffrey had been cruel. Elizabeth was a woman of little imagination and Alais doubted her ability to make up something of this nature. She did not want to know how Geoffrey’s cruelty manifested itself. Unlike Elizabeth’s, her own imagination was very active. Fed by the many stories that her family told around the fire in the winter and the things she had heard about Sir William, she found herself able to guess at all kinds of cruelty that a man could exercise against his wife. She found herself glad to think that Elizabeth would soon be leaving the manor house. It pleased Alais to imagine her as mistress of her own home with the husband she loved and surrounded by many children.

  As the days drew on, Alais realised that no further guests had arrived for her marriage to Sir William. On the day on which the wedding was supposed to take place she sought out Marguerite when she was alone in the solar and asked her why no one else had come to celebrate the marriage. Surely Sir William had not sent out messengers to all the guests telling them that he had been called to court.

  “There are no guests,” said Marguerite with a sneer. “Do you think he wanted to celebrate the fact that he is marrying the daughter of a traitor?” Alais turned away. In truth, this was the answer she had expected. Her husband did not want her, except for her land. The answer did not even add to her humiliation. She wondered, though, why Sir William had ever chosen her. Four years ago she had still had two brothers alive; it would have taken a lot of foresight to see that both would die so quickly. Sir William’s first aim could not have been to have Leigh. He was already wealthy in money and land. If his purpose had been to humiliate the family of a traitor, there must have been easier things for him to do that did not involve him marrying the traitor’s daughter. Her curiosity piqued, she went in search of Joan. Edmund’s wife was vigorously scrubbing one of the tables in the hall. Anyone else might have thought that Joan was taking out her anger on the tables and in a way, Alais supposed that she was. She had never met anyone like Joan for cleanliness. Alais did not know how she had managed to live at Liss for so long in all the dirt and darkness.

  “Can I ask you some questions?”

  “Of course,” responded Joan, without looking up. Alais did not take it as an insult. Joan was waging war, but she could fight and listen at the same time.

  “Do you know what my husband was doing during the rebellion against the old king?” Alais surprised herself with her question. It was not what she had intended to ask.

  Now Joan stopped and looked at her. Then she nodded.

  “He was loyal to the king. He said the king had the right to rule as he saw fit.”

  “And after the king was dead?”

  “He was loyal to the son. He was the most vigorous of them all at rounding up the traitors.” She paused, “Are you sure you want to know?”

  Alais felt her hand begin to shake and she feared that she most definitely did not want to know. No one at Leigh spoke about those times and she could not remember what had happened and had never been told the details. She nodded, slowly.

  “The king wanted to show clemency. It was his wish to destroy only Mortimer.”

  Alais could remember Mortimer. He had visited her father when they had been staying at one of his estates in the west. He had been a dark and energetic man. He had played in the garden with the de Montjoye children one spring afternoon. Her father had called him a great general, but he had been a greater traitor.

  “And…?” she prompted.

  “And Sir William persuaded him to send two more traitors to the gallows.”

  “Simon Bereford and my father.” Alais felt tears start to her eyes. How had her brother given his blessing for her to marry the man responsible for the death of their father?

  “Lady Alais,” said Joan gently, “do not let anyone here see you cry.”

  Alais nodded and sniffed, hoping that no one had seen her. Now she understood why Sir William had wanted her, even without Leigh. It made his victory over her father complete. He had taken his life, his surviving child and what was left of his land. She thanked Joan and left her in the hall and went out to the herb garden. When she thought that anyone who might be watching her would have given up with boredom, she walked to Hugh’s chamber, threw herself on his bed and gave herself up to her tears.

  “How did Geoffrey die?” Alais and Agnes were alone in the still-room one afternoon, each making her own salve to see whose was the more efficacious recipe. The question had been worrying at Alais’ mind for days and she had been waiting for the right moment to ask Agnes.

  Agnes stopped what she was doing and thought for a moment. “No one really knows. His naked body was found in a ditch. There was only one wound - to the stomach made by a sword or a large dagger.”

  Alais stopped work, too. She had forgotten that Agnes told her stories well and she could not divide her attention between Agnes and her salve.

  “It was April,” continued Agnes. “Hugh had just returned from France. That meant that Geoffrey could leave his tasks to Hugh,” explained Agnes at Alais’ questioning look. “I am afraid that Geoffrey did not like hard work and made Stephen or Hugh do his work for him whenever he could. So Hugh was supervising the spring sowing and Geoffrey was drinking in Petersfield.” Agnes paused significantly and Alais guessed that she was supposed to assume that Geoffrey was also spending time with a woman or women in Petersfield. Given what Elizabeth had told her, she was quite prepared to believe this. “One night he failed to return. Hugh and Stephen organised a search, but they did not find him. The next morning he was found in a ditch up at the high field. He must have been attacked
by outlaws.”

  “But that…” blurted out Alais.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  But it was something. The high field was as far away from the road to Petersfield as it was possible to be and still be on Sir William’s property. Outlaws would not have taken the trouble to take the body all that way. They would have wanted to leave as quickly as possible. And they would not have been lying in wait by the field; no one would be passing by there after dark. And there would have been more than one wound; outlaws were not known to be neat killers. It was an even greater mystery than she had thought at first, but no one else seemed to have commented on it if Agnes accepted that version of events. She had a lively imagination and should have been able to see that this could not possibly have been what had happened, but Alais did begin to wonder just who had lain in wait for Geoffrey that night and what he had gained from Geoffrey’s death.

  Chapter Eleven

  After a fortnight of rain Alais desperately needed to get out of the house on the first dry day. She had diligently exercised Full Moon every day, but the experience had been so miserable that she felt as if she had not left the house at all. She and Agnes offered to walk to the high field with a message from Stephen for the steward to return to the house just to get out. Alais began to regret her decision almost immediately. The path was muddy and soon the hems of their gowns were filthy. It was too late in the year to dry clothes easily, so they could not wash them. They would have to hope that they could beat the mud out when it was dry.

  Agnes was unusually grave and Alais asked her whether she were ill.

  “No,” replied Agnes, “I just miss Hugh.”

  Alais was surprised, but smiled. “Yes, he did seem to make the house a bit more cheerful.”

  “It is not just that,” said Agnes, “I hope I can trust you, Alais.”