by Linda Sole
‘That is right,’ he told her. ‘Push when the pain comes, Rhoda. You are brave and good and it will soon be over.’
‘Don’t leave me…please don’t leave me…’
‘I shall never leave you,’ he vowed and then as she brought her knees up and moaned with pain, he looked down and saw blood staining the sheets. ‘I believe the child comes…’ Lifting her tunic up above her knees he saw the mass of dark red hair and then the head as it came through the dilated opening. He felt a thrill of excitement, as extreme as if the child were his own. ‘The child comes, Rhoda. You are almost there. One more push and the worst will be over.’
He gave a cry of triumph as Rhoda screamed loudly once more and then, in a rush of blood, water and slime the child came shooting into his hands. At that moment the women returned and he felt himself pulled impatiently away as they crowded round Rhoda. The child was taken from him and the cord cut. He stood back and watched as they worked, feeling bewildered by the emotions that had swept through him as the child was born. Then one of the women pushed something into his arms and he looked down at the babe, which had been wrapped in clean linen.
‘The lord has a son,’ one of the woman said and bent over Rhoda. ‘You have given your husband a son, lady.’
‘Thank you…’ Rhoda whispered, sounding faint and weak. She turned her head on the pillows, looking towards Jonathan. He took the child closer so that she could see her son, but she did not look at the babe. Her eyes were on him. ‘Thank you…for what you did…’
‘You must go now, sir.’ Joanne took the babe from his arms. ‘It is not fitting that you should be in my lady’s chamber at such a time. ‘Please, I beg you, go now so that we can make my lady comfortable.’
‘Take good care of her or you will answer to me, woman.’
Jonathan looked at Rhoda. She smiled and nodded. He walked to the door, glancing back once. The women were busy cleaning her and getting rid of the afterbirth. Rhoda did not need him now. She had given birth so quickly and though she had suffered her ordeal had been slight compared with that many women endured at such times.
Walking down the steps to the courtyard, Jonathan stood for a moment in the sun, then went to saddle his horse. He needed a long hard ride. His emotions as the child had been born were so intense that they had left him feeling shocked and incapable of rational thought. The son Rhoda had brought into the world was not his child, though it had felt as if he were seeing his own son. Rhoda was the wife of a man he had always loved as a brother but he wanted her for his own.
These past months he had believed he could play his part as her comforter and protector and then step back when Robert returned, but now he understood his feelings far better. He was in love with Rhoda. If and when Robert came home, Jonathan would have to find some excuse to leave. How could he stay when the thought of her sharing Robert’s bed again would drive him mad?
Yet she had wanted him in her pain and distress. She had clung to his hand, begging him not to leave her. How could he walk away from her knowing that Robert did not love her?
THIRTY FIVE
It was a beautiful day. The later spring had been cool and Marta had continued to feel safe while Will toiled on his fine leather work, making belts and girdles, leather gloves and pouches, a beautifully worked scabbard for a sword, which he had made to order and several pairs of boots and shoes. A few people had started to seek him out at the shop and he had taken down Todd’s sign that proclaimed it as the home of a carpenter, replacing it with that of a producer of fine leather goods.
‘People thought me just an itinerant peddler at first,’ he told Marta when she looked at the sign and exclaimed at its bright colours. ‘Now they know that I am a craftsman and a member of my guild. I am a master of my trade and they can rely on the quality of the goods I make.’
‘Anyone with an eye for quality can see that,’ Marta told him. She smiled, feeling warmth spread throughout her body as his eyes went over her. Will was a satisfying and tender lover. She had no reason to complain of her life in more ways than one.
What had also given Marta a great deal of pleasure was the discovery of Todd’s secret hoard of gold. She had discovered six gold coins in a pouch under the brick, which she had pried loose when Will was out at the market. The coins had now been transferred to her own money pouch, which she wore at her waist at all times. She had no idea what the coins were for they looked foreign and she had never held a gold piece in her hand until the day she found them.
Todd had taken the bag of silver that he kept in his strongbox, because it had been the easiest to find when he was in a hurry to leave. He must have thought that the gold was safe in its hiding place, as it would have been if the brick had not somehow come loose.
Marta had looked to see if there were any more loose bricks where other money or valuables might have been hidden, but she had found nothing further. The six coins were riches beyond her wildest dreams. The silver pennies she had received from her share of the bench they had delivered to Father Andrew had been more than she had ever expected to have for her own use, but the gold was an unexpected treasure. She hardly knew what to do with it or how to spend it. For a woman like her to produce a gold coin would look suspicious. She did not know how much each coin was worth and would have no idea if she was being cheated when she was given change.
Will would probably know the worth of the coins, but she was reluctant to share her treasure with anyone just yet. Marta wasn’t sure that she trusted Will completely, even though she shared his bed every night. He was a charmer and she hated the idea that he might leave her, but if he knew about the money he might take it to buy his horse and cart and go off without her.
For the moment she did not need to spend her money. Will no longer paid her rent for his room, but gave her money to buy food and things they needed instead. They were living as man and wife and he acted much as any husband would, expecting her to work in the house, wash clothes and cook. Marta was content that it should be so but determined to keep her secret until she saw which way things went.
The summer was creeping closer and she still wasn’t sure that Will would stay with her. He was a travelling man and she knew that the roads called to him.
*
Will had gone to market with some of his goods and the workshop was empty as Marta went in to tidy and sweep the dust from the floor. Like all men, Will never thought of clearing the debris after he had been working. However, tidying was not the only reason she had taken the chance to visit the shop. She had finished searching the kitchen but found no more coins. Now she wanted to be certain that there was nothing hidden in here. She had looked carefully at the flagstones that Todd had so meticulously laid, because he needed a floor that was perfectly straight. It did not look well if the floor sloped and furniture stood unevenly so he had taken great pains with his stone tiles. As far as Marta could see they were all as they had been when they were first set in place so it seemed that he had not hidden anything here, unless it was under the heavy workbench, which was impossible for her to move alone. She had pushed at it in vain several times, and was ready to admit defeat when the door opened and a man walked in.
‘You should not move that heavy counter alone, mistress,’ Father Andrew said, seeing what she was about. ‘Perhaps if I help you we can move it together.’
‘Thank you. I need to sweep underneath,’ Marta made the weak excuse, ignoring the puzzled look the priest gave her. ‘If you could push when I do…’
With the man’s added strength the workbench slid easily to a new position. Looking down, Marta saw that the reason she could not move it alone was because one of the stones had lifted slightly and prevented it from sliding until sufficient force was applied. Her heart beat faster but she controlled her excitement as she thanked the priest.
‘I hope you have not hurt your shoulder, father?’
Father Andrew rubbed at his upper arm. She guessed that he was not used to heavy work and felt sore. ‘It will eas
e soon enough,’ he assured her. ‘I have come today to tell you something, mistress. I was asked recently where my bench came from and who did the carving. When I told him who had done the work, he asked if I knew you – and whether I believed the child was your own…’
Marta felt the chill strike through her. She shivered, because she had thought all this was settled. Todd had done murder to keep her and Mary safe, and whatever else he had done after was caused by the guilt that lay heavily on his conscience.
‘Of course Mary is my child. Who else should she belong to?’
‘If your conscience is clear, mistress, you have nothing to fear. I thought I should warn you that fresh inquiries are being made in the search for a child that might have been born to the Countess of Devereaux. The countess was known for the remarkable colour of her hair…your daughter has hair of a similar colour, mistress, whereas yours is simply brown. Some might wonder if the child is really your own.’
‘Mary is my child, the child of my man Eric and me…’ Marta said and then wondered if she had made a mistake. Eric had been dead many years. Could they know that? She had buried him herself in the woods, scraping out the earth with an axe and her bare hands until it was deep enough to cover his body. Surely no one could prove how long it was since she had given birth to her dead child?
Marta knew that her word would count for little against that of an earl. If the Earl of Devereaux saw the child and claimed her for his own she would be taken away and Marta might be punished for stealing the child. Nicholas Malvern might have reported the loss of the babe…no, he would not wish to become involved for he liked to keep his secrets. Yet even he might have to bow to the wish of a powerful noble. Why should he keep quiet if he saw a way to protect himself?
‘Who asks this time?’ Marta said trying to control her nerves.
‘The man who spoke to me was a monk but the questions were on behalf of the Bishop himself. I do not believe the matter will be allowed to rest this time. The Bishop is thorough in all he does. As soon as he feels certain of his facts the Earl will be advised and then…’ Father Andrew shook his head. ‘I shall pray for your sake that you have proof of your story, mistress. Otherwise things may not go well with you.’
Marta raised her head. She was trembling inside but she would not let the priest see that she was frightened.
‘Thank you for coming to give me this news, father – but I am innocent of any wrongdoing.’
‘Then I can leave you with an easy heart,’ he said. ‘I have been anxious for you, mistress. Your brother was a clever craftsman but I fear he was led into evil and I have wondered if I played some part in his downfall. My conscience will be easier now that I have spoken to you.’
Marta thanked him again. She could not wait for him to leave and watched impatiently as he looked at several pieces of Will’s work but left without purchasing anything. As soon as he had gone, she bolted the door after him and looked for an instrument to lever the raised flagstone. She found one of Todd’s chisels and worked at the edge of the stone for a while but saw that it would take more leverage. Leaving the front door locked, she went out to the lean-to behind the kitchen and found a spade with a rounded head.
Returning to the shop, Marta inserted the blade under the stone, pushing it under as far as she could; then she went to the rounded handle and stood on the knob, applying all her weight. The stone lifted and she thrust the spade further under it then got down on her knees and moved it to one side. It was heavier than the stones Todd had used for the kitchen floor and difficult to move but she managed it at last. When she saw the small pouch she gave a cry of triumph and snatched it up, conscious that time was passing and Will would soon return for his meal. She opened the strings of the pouch and tipped the contents into her hand. Staring at the gold chain set with red stones she felt stunned and disappointed. She had hoped for more coins; the chain might be worth something, because it was pretty but she would have rather had money.
‘Marta…’ Hearing Mary’s cry from the kitchen she hurriedly pushed the chain into her pocket and moved the flagstone back into place. To her relief it fell back easily. However, it was plain that it had been moved for there were scratches and one corner had not slotted in as it should do. ‘Marta…Marta…’
Marta rubbed her shoe over the scratches but had no time to do more. She rushed to the front door and slid the bolt back, then went into the kitchen to discover what the child needed. Mary had been sleeping and woken wet. She was crying because she did not like to wet herself and it took Marta a little time to comfort her. She had changed her clothes for dry ones and was pouring a cup of warmed milk for the child when she heard the door open.
She had hoped to move something over the flagstone before Will returned but it was too late. He was moving around in the shop and she hoped he might drop some of his tools down on the floor, covering the flagstone, but as soon as he came in she knew that he had noticed the counter had been moved.
‘What have you been doing in the workshop?’
‘I cleaned up the shavings of leather and swept the dust from the floor.’
‘Why did you move Todd’s work bench?’
‘I wanted to clean beneath it. The priest helped me move it.’
‘It is much too heavy for you,’ Will said. ‘Why did the priest come here?’
‘I will tell you later.’
In her haste to examine the flagstone and answering Mary’s cries, she had forgotten the priest’s warning for a moment but now she was remembering.
Now his words were coming back to haunt her. Father Andrew had wrestled with his conscience before coming to warn her. That meant that someone might come to take the child away at any time. This house was no longer safe for her and Mary.
She began to ladle a mess of mutton and vegetables into trenchers of bread and set them on the table. Will had rinsed his hands in water she had fetched in earlier that morning and he wiped them on his tunic as he came to table.
‘I have been thinking this morning,’ she told him as he took up his knife and sliced into the bread, which was soft and delicious from the juices of the stewed meat. ‘The weather is set fair now and if we are ever to leave for a life on the road we might as well start now.’
Will glanced up, a puzzled expression in his eyes. ‘I thought you wanted to stay here? I took an order for a pair of boots this morning.’
‘Did you take money in advance?’
‘No…’ Will frowned, suspicion in his eyes. ‘Why do you want to leave now, Marta? What are you afraid of?’
‘It is some months since my brother ran away. I think he may come back…’
Will’s gaze narrowed. ‘I think there is more – something you are not telling me.’
‘Not in front of the child,’ Marta said, because Mary was watching, her eyes wide and inquiring. ‘She knows more than you might think.’
Will nodded but did not answer. When he had finished his meal he went through to the workshop. She heard him moving something and went to the door to look. He had lifted the flagstone and was staring at the empty hole.
‘Something was hidden here,’ he said. ‘Do not lie to me, Marta. You did not move that heavy counter to clean beneath it.’
‘I thought my brother might have hidden something in here.’ She hesitated, then reluctantly took the chain from her pouch. ‘This is what I found – is it worth much?’
Will came to her and took the chain, running its intricate links through his fingers and holding it to the light so that the red stones glittered and sparkled.
‘Where did your brother get something like this? It is worth a great deal of money, Marta. With this I could buy us a horse and cart – and we would have money left over to buy lodgings for the winter.’
‘You take it and sell it,’ Marta said, knowing that she would only be cheated if she tried. ‘I want fifty silver pennies for myself but you can use the rest to buy the horse and cart and pay for our lodgings – if there is enough?’
Marta nodded. She went to the kitchen door and put her ear to it, listening for a moment. Mary was singing to herself and would not hear.
‘Mary is not mine. Her mother died giving birth to her and I was told to take her to a wet-nurse but I kept her and brought her here. I have been told that the Earl of Devereaux is looking for a lost child – and that I am suspected of having stolen her.’
‘Was her mother the countess?’
‘I did not know her name. She turned up at the gates of Malvern one snowy winter night and was near dead when we took her in. Why would a countess be wandering alone on a night like that and so near her time?’
‘Perhaps because her home was attacked by the Earl of Montroy in revenge for his brother’s death.’
Marta stared at him feeling scared. ‘How do you know this?
’
‘I am a travelling man, Marta. I came from the north of England before I arrived here. The story of the missing countess was being spoken of in many villages and inns for her husband had sent people to look for her.’
‘If it was her he would not find her,’ Marta said. ‘She died that night and it was a miracle that the child did not die too. I fed her on goat’s milk as I walked here through many a bitter day and night. It would break my heart to give her up – and how can I be sure that she is the earl’s daughter?’
‘You cannot be certain but if the earl decided that she was his you might be in terrible trouble. You stole her and that is a crime for which you could be punished.’
‘What would they do to me, Will?’
‘You might go to prison but if the earl were vengeful you could be hung for the crime of kidnapping a child.’
Marta shuddered, her hands to her face. She felt cold and frightened. ‘What shall I do?’
