by Alexa Aston
“Fetch my casket. It’s in the bottom of the chest.”
Margery flung the chest open and dug until she found the casket. She hadn’t seen it in years.
“Bring it to me.”
She did as her mother asked, wondering why this was so important when they were pressed for time.
“There are only a few jewels in here. They belonged to my mother. When I married, my father passed them along to me. They were pieces your father didn’t know about or he’d have gambled them away or sold them. Lord Umfrey gave me none in all these years, so you’ll have to make do with what’s left.”
Margery opened the casket and found an amethyst ring and a pearl necklace. She quickly tucked both of them into her pocket.
“Lift the bottom out,” her mother commanded, her voice stronger than Margery had heard it in months.
She tugged at it until her nail could get under the false bottom. When she pulled it up, she discovered a silver pendant that she’d never seen before. Margery removed it from the casket and held it up by the chain, intrigued with its unusual design and inlay of garnets.
Her mother’s face softened. A beautiful smile came to her lips, making her look years younger. She reached for the necklace and Margery placed it in her hands.
“Oh, I haven’t seen this in so long.” She shook her head, her lips moving silently.
Suddenly, the door flew open. Sarah, Margery’s favorite servant and only friend, rushed in and slammed it. She had some bunched up brown wool in her hands and quickly shook it out. Margery recognized it as one of Sarah’s unadorned kirtles.
“They’re coming,” she gasped. “We’ve got to hide you both. They’ll kill you. They’ve already attacked the soldiers in the field.” Tears spilled down Sarah’s cheeks. “Those poor men. They didn’t know it was coming. Suddenly, scythes being swung left and right. Blood everywhere. It was horrible.”
Margery clasped her mother’s hand. Her mind reeled, trying to think about places they could hide without being discovered.
Sarah came toward her. “Quick, my lady. Put this on over what you’re wearing. If you manage to get away from here, you might be able to pass as a serf. At least for a little while.”
The servant held the gown up and slipped it over Margery’s head as she said, “The Wycliffe preachers have stirred up the crowds. The rumor is that the pardons will be revoked. It’s started the uprising again.” Sarah cast her eyes downward. “You know the baron and the Crown constantly squeeze us for more money, my lady. The people are tired of it. They’re tired of everything.”
“But Margery and I have done nothing wrong,” her mother proclaimed weakly. “We haven’t hurt a soul.”
Sarah shook her head. “You are nobility, Baroness. ‘Tis all they’ll see.”
“I must tell you about the pendant, Margery. About your father.” Marian wheezed and then began coughing uncontrollably.
Margery thumped her mother’s back, hoping to get the coughing to cease.
Then a thought struck her fast as lightning. A place to hide. Somewhere no one would find them. She’d seen the boys go into it years ago. A secret passage in the solar, hidden behind a tapestry. They’d chided her, warning her not to enter behind them. She could still hear Thurstan’s stinging words.
“It’s not for girls. It’s only for us. For real Vivers. You and your mother will never be Vivers as we are. You’re a stupid girl whose stupid father killed himself. You’ll never be one of us.”
No, Margery remained an Ormond. She’d persevered in being a good girl and hadn’t explored the passageway though she wished now that she had. At least she knew where it was located, even if she had no idea where it went.
Sarah placed a cloak around Margery’s shoulders. “You can pull the hood over your hair and face, my lady. That might help disguise who you are since your cloak is so plain.” The servant fastened the cords as she spoke.
So her stepfather’s penury in supplying her with cloth to make her cloak might come in handy after all.
“Come, Mother. I know of a place in the solar where we can hide. It may lead away from the manor house.”
Her mother shook her head in sorrow. “I can’t leave, child. I wouldn’t last the day. I can barely walk, much less run and hide. You must go without me.”
“No,” Margery said, tears blurring her vision. “I won’t leave you.”
“You must.” Her mother held out the silver pendant. “Put this on. It’s yours now. It comes from your father. He wanted you to have it when you were old enough.” She shook her head. “I should have told you sooner. And now there’s not enough time,” she fretted.
“I know everything I’d ever need to know about my father. He gambled away our home and his lands. He lost everything of value. He took the cowardly way out and killed himself.”
“Nay,” her mother said, another coughing fit preventing her from speaking. Marian took Margery’s hand and dropped the pendant in her palm, closing her fist over it. Finally, her mother wheezed, “Lord Joseph Ormond wasn’t your true father, Margery. My—” More coughing erupted, with blood spilling from her mother’s mouth and dribbling down her chin.
Margery wanted to stay and ask what her mother meant. Her father wasn’t her father?
Then who was?
But Sarah tugged urgently on her hand. “Come, my lady, or it may be too late.”
Margery let Sarah pull her toward the door. She paused when they reached it, wanting to turn back and kiss her mother goodbye. Her mother still coughed harshly, the blood more profuse now. She fell back into her pillows, spent, her eyes closed.
“Now!” Sarah insisted.
They raced down the stairs and across the empty great hall toward the second staircase that led to the solar. As they approached the stairs, Margery could hear angry shouts in the distance.
“They’re coming,” Sarah warned. “You need to go by yourself, my lady. Hide. Do whatever you must to survive.”
“Won’t you come with me?” Margery pleaded.
“Nay. You go. Stay hidden away. I’ll try to come to you at nightfall if I can find you.” Sarah took off running toward the kitchen.
Margery pulled the cloak about her and ran up the stairs. She could hear the voices now.
“Find the baron!”
“Find the bloody bastard!”
“And his sons!”
“And kill them all!”
“There he is!”
Margery dashed into the solar, blood rushing in her ears so loudly that she couldn’t hear. She ran into the bedchamber, straight to the tapestry, as she brought the necklace over her head to free her hands. She lifted the tapestry and felt along the stone wall, pushing high, low, in the middle, frantically searching. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. It had been so many years ago that she’d seen Thurstan and Gervase playing here.
Where was it?
Was she wrong? Had she dreamt it? Suddenly, a large stone popped back, swinging as if it were on some kind of hinge. Memories flooded her. She remembered the boys dropping to the ground and crawling through. Margery did the same now.
It was like a half-door, low to the ground. She climbed through it, pulling her cloak away from the opening, and dropped to her knees in order to push the stone back into place.
Now, she was in total darkness. The passageway smelled musty and damp. Margery ran her fingers along the hidden door and discovered a bar. She pushed and heard it snap into place. Relief washed through her. Then she heard steps on the other side as if someone had run into the solar. Had the mob already arrived?
She held her breath as tapping sounded on the other side of the doorway. A groan occurred as if someone had triggered the secret stone but the door didn’t move, thanks to the bar holding it in place.
“Bloody Christ! Who’s in there?” a panicked voice demanded.
It was Lord Umfrey.
Chapter 3
Margery’s hands flew to her mouth to keep any sound from escaping.
“God’s Bones! Open up! They’re almost here,” the baron pleaded, his voice cracking in despair.
Dare she open the secret passage and admit her stepfather? Was there time?
With trembling fingers, she reached out in the dark and located the bar. Before she could slide it, a muffled noise thundered on the other side of the stone wall. Angry shouts followed and she knew the peasants had arrived. She snatched her hands back and wrapped them tightly around her as she crouched on her knees in the dirt. Fear paralyzed her. Even if Margery had wanted to help her stepfather, she couldn’t move.
A surge of voices filled her head, as many people began to bellow. Margery could pick out Umfrey Vivers. At first, the noblemen shouted boldly at the mob. Then their voices swelled in volume and number. She could hear him begging them.
And then screaming . . .
She cupped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound. Tears leaked from her eyes and fell into the dirt as she leaned over and pushed her forehead hard against the ground. A blood-curdling shriek shattered the air, traveling through the thick wall that separated her from certain death. Margery sobbed silently, her body heaving as terror filled every fiber of her being.
Then the unearthly cry abruptly ended. Shuffling sounded again. The throng withdrew from the bedchamber and the solar. An eerie silence reigned.
Margery remained where she was, her arms curling about her head. Her entire body trembled in fear. She didn’t know how much time had passed since the darkness was so disorienting.
Then she knew she had to act. She’d left her mother alone and helpless while she cowered like a gutless weakling. Her mother’s life might depend upon it. Margery had to go back or she would never be able to live with herself.
Gradually, she pushed herself to an upright position and reached out to explore her surroundings. All she felt was the dirt beneath her and the cold stone walls of the secret passage around her. She was afraid to exit her hiding place where she had entered in case anyone remained in the solar and decided she would push onward to see where the hidden route led her.
After she took two steps, she stumbled, pitching to her knees. Her hands came to rest upon something. Running her hands along it and feeling smooth wood, Margery determined it was a large chest. She tried to open it and found it locked. It piqued her curiosity but she could always return later and examine it with the light from a candle. For now, she would press onward.
Though she was of average height, she had to stoop as she made her way through the narrow passage. Both hands ran across the walls on either side of her as she inched her way along. In the dark, she had no idea of the direction she took and she came across no other doors in which to exit. Surely, the concealed path wouldn’t lead to a dead end.
Then she came to a widening of the corridor and found she was faced with a choice. Should she go to the left or the right? Margery was left-handed and chose to go that way. Using the walls as her guide, her fingers finally brushed against something that was similar to the slide she had thrown across the door when she first entered the passageway. With trepidation, she took a deep breath and decided to push the bar aside to see where she might be.
Then, suddenly, voices startled her. She dropped her hands to her sides and leaned her ear against the half-door.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
Her heart tore in two as she recognized her mother’s voice. The path had led her to the other side of the manor house as she had hoped.
And her mother wasn’t alone.
“We want what’s due us,” a resentful voice cried. Margery recognized it as belonging to their carpenter and her stomach twisted.
“I have nothing,” Marian said. “If you are from Highfield, then you know I’ve been ill for many years. Whatever could I have done to wrong you?”
“All nobility has wronged us,” another man called out.
Margery bit her lip. She was too frightened to open the door at this point.
“When did I or my daughter ever mistreat any of you?”
It surprised her how calm her mother seemed. For a moment, she sounded like the Lady Marian of former times, assured and in control of any situation.
“Where are your jewels?” demanded a woman, her tone harsh. “Your casket?”
Margery could hear objects being tossed about. She assumed the peasants confronting her mother rooted through her chest.
“There’s nothing here,” the same woman said. “Lord Umfrey probably took it.”
“My husband treated me worse than you,” Marian revealed. “There are no jewels from him. No rich clothing. He never gave me any boon in all the years of our marriage.”
Deep coughs erupted and Margery knew her mother was spent. The brief interlude of standing up to the unruly group had taken its toll on her.
“You lie,” the woman proclaimed, her raspy, grating words full of spite.
A groan erupted, eerie and long, then nothing.
What had happened?
But Margery knew. Either these people had snuffed out her mother’s life or she had finally passed from what ailed her. Margery’s resolve strengthened as she promised herself that she would find justice for her mother—no matter how long it took.
“You! Where is Lady Margery?”
Margery tensed. Sarah must be in the room.
“I don’t know,” her trusted friend said. “Lord Umfrey had Lady Margery polishing armor in the armory. Mayhap, she’s still there.”
Margery sent a silent prayer to the Blessed Virgin that Sarah wouldn’t be caught in her lie and punished by these bloodthirsty peasants.
She could hear footsteps retreating from the bedchamber and bided her time. When several minutes passed, she decided it was safe to leave her hiding place for a few moments. As quietly as she could, Margery pushed the bar away and then eased open the door and nudged a stone away similar to the one in the solar’s bedchamber. A tapestry blocked the way, which was why her attention had never been drawn to it before, though it must have been as concealed as the panel in the solar had been. She wondered if her stepbrothers even knew this bedchamber could be accessed from the hidden passageway. Something told her they didn’t—else they might have used it to visit her during the night.
Climbing out, she stepped into the room where she had slept for many years and forced herself to move toward the bed that she shared with her mother.
Shock reverberated through her as she saw Marian slumped against the pillows, her throat cut, blood soaking the bedclothes. Margery knelt and forced herself to stare at the image, burning it into her soul.
Taking her mother’s cold hand, she pressed it against her cheek and whispered, “You were very brave, Mother. You stood up to them. I am so proud of you.” She placed a kiss on the dead woman’s forehead, the tinny scent of blood filling her nostrils. Rising, she promised, “They will pay. Of that, you can be certain.”
With new resolve, Margery took the candle from the table next to the bed and returned to the wall. Lifting aside the tapestry, she bent and set the candle inside the passage and then climbed inside again. She secreted herself once more, though this time she now had a source of faint light. Making her way back more quickly than before, she arrived at the fork and took the other branch this time. Her legs trembled as she followed it to its end.
Who would have dreamt the serfs of England would rise up as they did and kill anyone of noble birth without rhyme or reason?
Though she had sympathized with them in the beginning, murdering her innocent, helpless mother had changed everything.
Slumping to the ground, Margery set the candle down beside her and leaned against the wall. She would bide her time and wait till nightfall before she revealed herself.
*
Margery opened her eyes, unsure of where she was. Darkness surrounded her. Her hands fell from her lap and brushed against dirt.
The secret passageway.
Everything came back to her in an instant.
She bit back the scream that threatened to erupt. She must have fallen asleep and wondered how much time had passed.
Listening to her surroundings, no noise came. She remembered that she’d reached the end of the hidden path that wound through the manor. The candle must have gone out. Gathering her courage, she removed the bolt from the half-door and pushed at it. It didn’t budge. Margery supposed it could have been many years since the entrance had been opened. She threw her shoulder into it and still made no progress. Finally, she sat facing it and brought her feet to the entrance to kick against it. That did the trick.
As she crawled out of the space, a cool breeze greeted her. Night had fallen. From somewhere, faint laughter carried on the wind. In the distance, she saw light and believed something burned. Replacing the door so it would remain unnoticed by anyone who might pass by, Margery kept close to the walls along the manor house in order to hide in the shadows.
Footsteps caused her to pause and hold her breath.
“They all got what they deserved,” a man said.
“The baron thought he was so grand,” a woman cackled. “He ain’t much to look at now, is he?”
“The bastard always had a heavy hand in punishing his serfs,” the man added. “It’s a good thing he finally got a taste of what he doled out.”
The voices faded as the pair’s footsteps receded. Margery waited and heard no one else coming, so she continued to skirt the building until she came to a corner. She forced herself to venture beyond the house now and sneaked across the empty bailey. As she passed the training yard, she tripped over something and hit the ground hard with her hands and knees, skinning them. Turning, she realized that she’d stumbled on a body. The wind blew a cloud against the sky, allowing moonlight to shine down and expose the face of a knight she recognized. His vacant eyes stared up into the sky.
