Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6

by Felicity Pulman

  With her mind preoccupied with the future, Janna forgot to take precautions in the present. So the accusation, when it came, took her completely by surprise. The family was assembling for dinner when Blanche strode in and stood, arms akimbo, facing them.

  “My brooch has been taken,” she shrilled, piercing Janna with an accusing eye before turning to her husband. “You gave it to me when we were wed, do you remember? Gold and pearls in a-a love knot.” She choked up, genuinely upset by the loss.

  “You must have mislaid it, Blanche. Have your maid look for it more closely.”

  “We have already hunted everywhere, both of us, but it has gone!” Blanche turned to face Janna once more. “Where is it?” she demanded. “What have you done with it?”

  “I don’t know where it is!” Caught unawares, it took Janna a few moments to realize how unconvincing she sounded. By then her father had already jumped to her defense.

  “That’s a monstrous accusation, wife. I am sure Johanna has no knowledge of the whereabouts of your brooch.”

  “Then ask her to show us the contents of her purse. Let us see just how innocent she is.”

  Janna looked to her father for direction. To her dismay, he gave a curt nod. With unwilling fingers she untied the drawstring of the small purse dangling from her waist. She withdrew a small lacy kerchief, several silver coins, and Godric’s letter, now crumpled and tattered after being read and reread so many times. Finally, reluctantly, she withdrew a brooch.

  “Aha!” Blanche pounced on it. She held it up for a closer inspection and then dropped it as quickly as if it had seared her hand. Janna could understand why: its inscription, amor vincit omnia, which Janna knew meant “love conquers all”, signified her father’s devotion to her mother. While Blanche could not have known its provenance, she must have guessed it easily enough. Looking at her pale face and shaking hands, Janna found it in her heart to pity this woman who had always been second best in her father’s affections.

  But finding the love token served only to inflame Blanche’s anger. “If my brooch is not on her person, then it must be among her belongings,” she insisted. “We must go straight away to search them before she has time to remove anything. I insist you come with me, husband.”

  Janna wanted to tell Blanche she was wasting her time, that she was showing herself as a vindictive fool, but she knew very well that the woman would not rest until a search had been made. She was already dragging John out of the room. Their children followed after them and Janna hurried behind, sickened at the thought of Blanche prying into her private possessions. But she wanted to be there, to witness Blanche’s face when her search proved futile and she was forced to apologize.

  Blanche flung open the lid of the small coffer that held Janna’s possessions and began to throw them out onto the straw-covered floor, one by one, with little regard for cleanliness or care. Janna watched, seething with a fury that turned instantly to alarm when, with a cry, Blanche’s fingers closed over something at the very bottom. She held it aloft, brandishing it just inches from her husband’s nose. “See! I told you that little she-wolf had stolen my brooch!”

  “But…” Janna could find nothing to say, nothing to explain how the brooch had got into her chest. Unless Blanche had put it there herself? She had seemed genuinely upset by its loss, but her insistence on looking first in Janna’s purse might only have been a ruse to show her own innocence.

  By now Blanche was on her feet again. She thrust her face into Janna’s, so close Janna could smell her clove-scented breath. “You’re nothing but a common thief,” she sneered, and turned to her husband. “She has to go, John. We are not safe while she stays here with us. First she tried to poison us, and now it seems that our possessions are hers for the taking.”

  “You’re making a mistake!” Janna’s voice shook with the effort of hiding how upset she was. “I know nothing about this, Papa, on my life I swear it!”

  “Then how did the brooch come to be among your possessions?” John’s voice was as hard and cold as iron.

  “I don’t know! I certainly didn’t put it there.” Janna looked from one face to another, desperate for some signs of belief and support. Richildis and Giles both wore spiteful smiles, although Rosy seemed merely perplexed. Blanche’s face was red and swollen with anger. And her father? Janna’s heart sank as she read his stern, unforgiving countenance. Even if she had the courage to accuse the true culprit, Janna knew he would not believe her, not without proof. To be branded a thief stung worse than a hive full of bees, yet Janna knew she was powerless to change John’s mind. He had seen the evidence. He was convinced. And her future now hung in the balance.

  Janna could think of no way out of this coil, none at all. Worse, with this misunderstanding between them, she realized she had very little hope of persuading her father to accompany her back to her old home. Which meant her mother’s murder would go unavenged, for even if she made her own way there, her situation now would be no different from how it was before. She was powerless to act without her father behind her. Despair overwhelmed her.

  Unless she could find something to prove to her father that she was innocent of this charge? Once she was alone, Janna resolved to look more carefully at the contents of her chest, which were now scattered over the rushes. Maybe the thief had dropped something, left some telltale trace of her passing, something Janna could use as evidence of her own innocence.

  She became aware of their silence. They stood around her like a circle of crows, waiting for…what? A confession? It would be a black day in hell before they got one, Janna thought grimly. “I am innocent,” she said firmly, even while knowing it was useless to say so.

  “A poor girl, brought up with nothing. It’s not hard to see why you might be tempted by a precious object,” Blanche said. Janna noticed that she no longer seemed quite so pleased to have found her brooch. Instead of pinning it to her gown, she had dropped it into her purse and tightened the string with a vicious tug. What had been treasured had now been shown for what it truly was: a token gesture denoting a loveless marriage. Even though she hadn’t examined Blanche’s brooch, Janna would have staked her life on there being no loving message inscribed on it. Another wave of pity for Blanche swept over her, surprising her, even while she warned herself to guard against it. The woman was a formidable adversary, with just one thought in her mind: to get rid of Janna and the threat she posed to her own and her family’s inheritance.

  “I have a precious object of my own. I don’t need yours.” Even as she said the words, Janna understood how spiteful and vindictive she sounded.

  “Enough of this.” John sounded weary to death. “Johanna, we shall leave you to repack your belongings and contemplate your – your actions. The rest of you, come away with me.” He put a firm hand on his wife’s arm and drew her out of the room. To Janna’s relief, the two girls and Giles went with him.

  Once she was sure she was alone, she dropped down onto her knees in front of her box, but she could not hold back her tears. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried to become a part of this family, they rejected her, and worse, took steps to drive her away. She was tired of trying to fit in, tired of leading a life where she was no longer free to make her own decisions and control her own destiny. A picture of Hugh’s manor farm flashed into her mind, and she was seized with an urgent desire to go back there; go back to a time when he had offered her sanctuary, and even his love. But he was wed now, and besides, her heart belonged to another. It was cold comfort to know that, even if she traveled back to her home on her own and saw Godric again, there could be no future for them unless he had his liege lord’s permission to marry her – and that would not come without the blessing of her own father.

  Missing Godric, longing for his love and support at this darkest of times, made Janna’s tears fall faster. She ached with loneliness and despair; the futility of her situation, and even of her existence, almost overwhelmed her. She wept for all that might have been, when she
was younger and all things seemed possible. And she wept for the family that might have been hers had they not turned so resolutely against her.

  Finally she became aware that she was cold and hungry, and as her tears ceased and the reality of the present intruded once more, she rose to her feet. With a tired sigh, and mindful of her idea that the real thief might have dropped something, might have betrayed her presence in the room without realizing it, she began to gather up her possessions.

  Blanche. She had tried to poison her stepdaughter with a fruit pastry, but that had failed. She would not dare try again in the face of John’s warning, for fear of endangering the family’s inheritance, but Janna was sure that she would not stop trying to discredit her. She’d already succeeded only too well, Janna thought drearily, as she carefully restored her possessions to the chest, finishing with the beautiful gown that she had managed to save from the ruins in Oxeneford, and the fur mantle and veil that Gervase had been dispatched to recover. Without much hope, she began to search the room she shared with Richildis and Rosy. Traces of them were everywhere: a discarded comb carved from ivory; Rosy’s rag baby that she loved and cherished; a crumpled kerchief. There was nothing to mark Blanche’s presence in the room.

  Suddenly desperate to escape the close confines of the house, Janna hurried outside and into the small garden behind their lodgings. Uncoiling tendrils of green thrust toward the light of a pale sun; primroses poked gilded faces through the grass; the heady scent of spring was in the air. On the thought that she might find plants that would be of use in her own garden, Janna crouched to inspect them more carefully. Absorbed in her task, and grateful for the distraction, she finally became aware that she was not alone. Her father stood behind her. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, watching her, but as he saw that he was noticed, he cleared his throat and held out his hand to help her rise.

  “Daughter, we need to talk,” he said.

  It seemed to Janna that there was little left for her to say. She’d already told her father, and his family, that she knew nothing about the theft of the brooch. Now it was up to her father to tell her whether or not he believed in her. She waited for him to continue, but he stayed silent. So did she. This was the second time she’d been accused of something she hadn’t done, and she would not argue her innocence all over again.

  Her father was the first to give in. “Perhaps we should go inside where it’s warmer.”

  “I would rather stay outside, Papa.” At least here their conversation couldn’t be overheard.

  Her father cupped his hand under her elbow and propelled her forward to walk with him. “We cannot go on like this,” he began. “Do you have anything to say about what’s happened?”

  “Only that you must look for someone else, someone wanting to cause trouble for me, for it was not I who took that brooch. Nor did I hide it among my belongings.” Janna lengthened her stride to match her father’s, glad to have the chance to walk, for her stomach was fluttery with nerves. “If I had taken it, I certainly would not have been so stupid as to hide it in such an obvious place.” She glanced at her father, praying to find in his expression the love and trust she craved.

  He sighed. “I would like to believe you, for I have seen with my own eyes your courage and your generosity of spirit.” He paused. “And your intelligence. If you were given to a life of crime, I suspect you would be far more successful at it than appears to be the case in this regard.”

  It was a backhanded compliment, and Janna wasn’t quite sure how to react, other than to point her father’s suspicions in a different direction.

  “I have seen how much your family resents me. If they cannot get rid of me in one way, there are other ways to discredit me in your eyes.”

  “No, Johanna, you must not think that. My wife is very upset by what’s happened. So is Richildis. She feels things so deeply. As for Giles…” John sighed. “I cannot believe the boy would steal something from his mother or that he would interfere with your possessions in that manner. No, I think we must look to one of the servants for the answer, and that is what I intend to do next. I shall interrogate them to see if any can shed light on what’s happened.”

  Janna didn’t like to tell him how very unlikely it was that a servant had stolen Blanche’s brooch and then stashed it in a place to which there was no ready access in the future. But there was a small hope that someone among the servants might have seen something untoward, something pointing to the real culprit, and would speak of it.

  “I don’t know what else I can do if we can’t resolve this affair.”

  “You could send your family back to Normandy.” Janna didn’t see why she should be either the problem or its solution.

  “I shall suggest it again to Blanche. The weather is more clement now.” John released his hold on Janna, and studied her intently. She suspected that, while he was reluctant to believe she’d taken Blanche’s brooch, he was also not entirely convinced of her innocence. The thought brought a deep sadness, but there was nothing left to say on her own behalf. After what had happened they could not continue as before, she understood that well enough. But pride, and the fact that she had nowhere else to go, kept her from offering to move out of their lodgings.

  “Can you keep out of my wife’s way in the meantime? Can you keep peace between you?”

  Janna wanted to protest that he would do better to extract the promise from the rest of his family, for they were the ones causing the problems – but perhaps he would do that even without her prompting. “I shall do my best,” she agreed, knowing she could promise no more than that.

  Seemingly satisfied, her father nodded. “I shall speak to the servants,” he said abruptly, and strode off toward the house.

  Left alone in the garden, Janna realized she was shaking with nerves. Her eyes burned with tears; angrily, she dashed them away. A gate in the wall caught her eye and desperation drove her to it. She didn’t have to put up with this. She could just run away, go back to the tavern and live an independent life once more.

  She was at the gate, testing to see if it was unlocked, before common sense overcame desire. She was not in the wrong, but if she left it would confirm everyone’s suspicions about her. Everyone but the real thief, who would know then that she had succeeded in discrediting Janna.

  No! She would not give up, nor would she give in. She must stay until, somehow, she could clear her name. But there was no one around to see her, and the urge to escape was strong. Tempted, Janna tried the latch; the gate swung open. The laneway spread before her, enticing her to freedom. It was a siren song Janna could not resist. Quickly, before anyone came out to stop her, she slipped through the gate and hurried on down the lane. She had no clear idea of where she was headed, she just knew she had to get out for a while, get away from everyone until she could calm down and think more carefully about her future.

  She walked on, relishing being alone, although the laneway was crowded with people making the most of the spring sunshine. The crowd thickened as she approached the high street. Without making a conscious decision, she found her steps taking her to the Bell and Bush and to Sybil Taverner, who had taken her in when she most needed a home and employment, and who had no illusions about the world and the people who inhabited it. She could do with a dash of Sybil’s common sense right now. Her steps quickened with the anticipated pleasure of seeing Sybil again.

  She was pleased to note how crowded the tavern was when she arrived. While she’d been employed there, a series of problems had seen Sybil deserted by her customers, and it had taken strategy and hard work to entice them back. As she looked around for Sybil, Mary rushed past, balancing several laden trenchers in her arms. Janna was delighted to see her; it seemed her replacement had worked out well. There was no sign of the taverner, and Janna debated going through into the yard to find her. Giving in to a sudden whim, she sat down instead and waited for Mary to serve her. Was Sybil still brewing ale to Janna’s mother’s recipe? Her mouth watered
at the thought of it; she remembered how thirsty and hungry she was, as well as being in great need of reassurance.

  “My lady?” It was clear Mary didn’t recognize her. She stood waiting to hear Janna’s order, but then, as Janna began to speak, her face split in a delighted grin. “Is it really you?”

  Smiling, Janna nodded. Mary clapped her hands in delight. “Let me fetch Sybil Taverner,” she cried. “I know she’ll want to see you. And my lady…I thank you every day for finding me a place here! I swear to you, you saved my life!” And she hurried off before Janna had a chance to place her order.

  Soon enough Sybil emerged, and after exchanging all their news, Janna found herself pouring out her woes in between mouthfuls of ale and stew that Sybil had insisted on providing free of charge.

  “They sound like a real nest of vipers,” Sybil commented, when Janna finally came to the end of her recital. Janna shrugged and took a swallow of ale, relishing its taste and the memories of her mother it evoked. How she wished her mother was still alive to advise her now. Yet how differently her life would have turned out if her mother hadn’t died in the way she did.

  “Can you find out who is behind this trouble and expose the culprit?” Sybil glanced sideways at Janna. “You were clever enough to work out who was behind my problems here at the tavern. I’m sure you can do the same to save your own skin!”

  “I know who it is,” Janna said fiercely. “My stepmother! But proving it is something else again, for my father will hear nothing against her. And I fear what that she-devil will think of next to set my father against me.”

  Sybil reached for her own mug of ale, frowning as she mulled over Janna’s words. Then she brightened and snapped her fingers to summon the potboy, who was busy clearing trenchers and mugs from a nearby table. “There’s an old friend of yours back in town,” she told Janna, after she’d quickly muttered directions to the lad and bid him make haste. “He’s been looking for you, but he told me your father’s new home is not yet finished, while his contact at the bishop’s palace thinks that the family might have returned to Normandy.”