But Robert grabbed him by the arm again, shoved him backward hard against the hall’s stone wall, and said, close into his face, “Don’t ever try to bring your mother in between us. Nor are you going for any ride. Until everything is settled, you’re staying where I can see what you do. And if ever you’re as rude again as you were just now to Sir Lewis and his son, you’ll spend the while until this is finished in your room under guard. Understand me?” Not bothering with Benedict’s answer, whatever it would have been, he let go his arm and stepped back from him, adding coldly, For that matter, go to your room now and stay there, because all you’ll do if you go near your mother is trouble her, and if you do, God help you because I’ll have your hide for it.“
Benedict lurched forward from the wall, meaning to go for him, and Robert braced to meet him, but Gil said, low and urgently, “The younglings are watching.”
To both their credit, Robert and Benedict stopped and looked toward the nursery window across the yard, and Frevisse, looking, too, saw Robin chin-high to the windowsill waving his arms mightily above his head and Tacine in the nursery maid’s arms flapping both hands in a floppy wave and John who must have scrambled up on something to be leaning that far out but with his tunic’s back firmly gripped by Nurse. Robert raised a hand toward them, managed a wave, and so did Benedict, making Frevisse think the better of him. And when Robin called, “Come play with us, Father!” and Robert called back, “Not just yet, small bits,” Benedict said toward the cobblestones at his feet, “I’ll go,” added at a mutter, “And to my room afterwards,” then looked at Robert, defying him to refuse.
Robert looked back at him, the silence tight between them until whatever he saw in Benedict’s face satisfied him and he nodded curt permission. Benedict nodded curtly back, called to the children, “It’s to be me, instead,” and went, to cheers from the children who promptly disappeared from the window.
Robert, his smile dead the instant they were from sight, his stare flat at Benedict’s back, said to Gil, “See to it everyone, beginning with the stablemen, knows he’s not to leave the manor. By horse or otherwise.”
With a grim nod, Gil headed across the yard the other way from Benedict, toward the stables, with everyone else in sight suddenly on their way to somewhere else, too, likely on business they should have been about before now, except for Dame Claire and Frevisse, caught unsure of which was their best way to go, before Robert looked to Frevisse and said with deep-cut pain rather than any anger, “Blessed St. Mark. What am I going to do?”
Without thought, Frevisse answered, “Come to the chapel with Dame Claire and me.” And to Robert’s momentarily blank stare, added, “There’ll be no one else there.”
To that he nodded, and though she and Dame Claire had said nothing to each other about going to the chapel, Dame Claire said nothing now, either, simply came with them as they crossed the yard and into the chapel’s cool silence, where Robert went forward and sank onto his knees in front of the altar, bending his head over his tightly clasped hands. Behind him, Frevisse and Dame Claire exchanged brief looks, then went to kneel a little to one side and behind him, making no attempt at any Office, only silently praying as suited them each. Or Dame Claire did, Frevisse supposed. For herself, she was too much heeding the tense curve of Robert’s back and the rushed whisper of his praying. The words were too low for hearing but the pleading and pain in them was clear enough and never bettered, only the outpouring broke down at last into shorter and shorter rushes until it finally altogether ceased, leaving him in bowed stillness.
Even then, Frevisse waited until at last he drew a deep, ragged breath and straightened before she said quietly to him, “Robert.” And when he looked at her, blind-eyed with uneased pain, she said, “Come away and sit,” and rose to her feet.
He stood up heavily, as if years older than he was, and followed her aside to the chapel’s single long-backed bench, brought out for the manor’s lord and lady to sit when they came to service and otherwise kept out of the way against one wall. Because Frevisse sat, so did he, and when he was seated, said toward the floor, his clasped hands clamped between his knees, “My head is one huge ache. All day, ever since this morning, I’ve tried to watch every word out of my mouth, be careful of everything I said, and now I’ve gone and ruined it all at Benedict in front of lord knows how many people.”
More than that, he was not used to giving way to anger at all, toward Benedict or anyone else, Frevisse guessed, or he would not be in such after-pain, and she offered, “Not all the blame of it is yours.”
‘Enough of it is.“ He jerked his hands up and scrubbed at his face as if to drive something out of or something into his aching head, dropped them back into his lap, limp now, and said, ”This making peace with Sir Lewis was supposed to better things, save us from trouble to come. All it’s done so far is make everything go from bad to worse. Everything“
‘Without you dealt with Sir Lewis, think what would come. Worse than all this, from what I’ve heard.“
Robert cast back his head, looked up and said at the roof beams, “Yes,” but not as if it comforted him any.
‘There would have been people hurt who had no part in the rights and wrongs of the Allesley matter at all,“ Frevisse persisted.
‘Yes,“ Robert granted, still at the roof beams, and added with a forced calm that betrayed he was not calm at all, ”I just wish that that certainty was enough to stop what’s hurting now.“
But he knew as surely as Frevisse did that present pain could only be lived through to its end, with only the hope that better would come afterward; and to give him something of that better for comfort, she said, “If nothing else, Katherine and Master Drew were pleased and pleasant with each other’s company the while they were together this afternoon. That at least may go to the good.”
Finally, for the first time since they had sat down together, Robert brought his gaze down and around to stare at her with what looked too much like naked, heart-deep despair for a blank half-moment before saying, “Yes. I thought as much. Watching them cross the yard just now.” He stood abruptly up. “I’ll leave you to your prayers, my lady. By your leave.”
But he did not wait to have it, simply left. And left Frevisse afraid, without being certain of what.
Chapter 12
There was no more sight of Benedict that day or evening, and Lady Blaunche kept to her room the while, with Dame Claire in attendance after returning from the chapel, and Master Geoffrey, Mistress Avys and Emelye for company. Even the children she saw only briefly and then left them to Robert who, between leaving the chapel and when Frevisse saw him next, at supper served simply in the solar, had rid himself of—or, more likely, buried—his anger and pain. He was simply Robert again and openly glad of his children’s company in the parlor for the evening, as ready for play as they were.
Katherine, changed into an everyday dress and her hair braided back, would have joined them, but Mistress Dionisia declared she was too pale, had had too tiring a day, should sit quietly, and looked somewhat surprised when Katherine agreed with her and withdrew to a corner, to sit on piled cushions and read.
Frevisse tried to read, too, Psalter in hand, but found it difficult to hold to the words while Robert and the children played a loud game requiring much climbing on, over and under the settle and on, over and under Robert as well, bringing them all to hot, red faces and laughter until Master Geoffrey brought word from Lady Blaunche they had to stop, she couldn’t bear the noise. Silence fell with a rock’s grace, along with the children’s faces, but when Master Geoffrey was gone back into the bedchamber, Robert leaned toward them and said in a mock whisper, “Ah, well, small bits, we can always go clean the nursery.”
Against expectation, the children brightened back into laughter, immediately ready to go, and Katherine set her book aside and started to rise, but Robert said, “No. Stay. Dame Frevisse, will you help me see them to their room?”
‘Assuredly,“ she said, and though she fou
nd it was no easy matter to manage eager children down the steep curve of the stairs, even with Robert carrying Tacine, they made it safely enough and she was spared her next fear—that she would be expected to help with them in the nursery—by Robert bidding them tell her good night in her bedchamber and going on with them himself into the nursery where Nurse and Anabilla were presumably waiting to even the odds.
On her own part, Frevisse stayed where she was, thinking she would prefer the bedchamber’s quiet to going back to the parlor; but the quiet was a long while coming because whatever “clean the nursery” meant, it entailed much shouting, laughter and thumping that must have had very little to do with settling down to sleep. When quiet finally did come, she thought Robert would be back but instead heard him leave by the stairs to the yard, not much before Dame Claire joined her.
Together, talking about nothing else, they went to say Compline in the chapel and the rest of the evening went much like the evening before and the next morning began the same as yesterday’s, though it was the nursery maid Anabilla who was just out of bed and readying for the day when Frevisse and Dame Claire returned after saying Prime in the gray light of the overcast almost-dawn. She was a shy, freckled girl who ducked her head and whispered when spoken to, murmured them good day, and slipped quickly away to the nursery where sounds of merriment said the children were up, as early a-stir as the rest of the manor, it seemed, because a servant shortly came to the other door with Frevisse and Dame Claire’s breakfast.
Despite how Lenten-spare it was—yesterday’s bread and some warmed, lightly spiced wine—it was welcome. Fasting at its best brought not greed for more food but grateful pleasure in what there was, and they made no haste with it, were soaking the last of their crusts in the wine when Emelye scratched at the tower door, entered at Dame Claire’s bidding, made quick, low curtsy to them, and said, “Please you, my ladies, where’s Nurse?”
‘With the children,“ Dame Claire said with a nod toward the nursery. Emelye curtsied her thanks and hurried out by the room’s other door, only to hurry back soon, curtsy to them again, and say to Dame Claire. ”Can I tell Lady Blaunche you’ll be there soon? She’s asking for you.“
Dame Claire held up a curve of bread crust and her cup. Tell her I’ll be there directly I’ve finished this.“
Emelye bit her lip and Frevisse realized that her haste Was from more than duty; her eyes were large with fright’s she said, “Yes, my lady. But soon, please,” curtsied again and more fled than merely left.
‘Oh my,“ Dame Claire said but made no greater haste toward finishing her bread or wine.
If anything, she moved the more slowly at it, bringing Frevisse to ask, on the chance she wanted to talk of it, “Nothing is the better with her?”
‘Nor will be, no matter what I do, I’m afraid, until she decides herself to make it better. I think someone told her sometime that women feel rather than think, and she’s been intent on feeling as much as ’womanly‘ possible ever since.“ That was an unusual amount of bitterness to come from Dame Claire, and Frevisse had no answer to it, could only sit watching her stare at her bread crust still soaking in the wine without noticing it was falling into soaked bits as she said on, ”Her humours are badly awry. There’s no doubting that. But she makes it the worse by giving in to it so completely. I wonder if Master Fenner would send for a potion of poppy if I asked? Some could surely be had from Coventry in no more than a day or two.“
Frevisse suspected Robert would send for essence of the sultan’s beard if it held out promise of quieting his wife the while he was dealing with the Allesleys but before she could say so, Dame Claire sighed, “Ah well. In the meanwhile there’s today to be dealt with.” She noticed her crust, ate what she could of it and drank the rest with her wine, finishing as Frevisse did, just as there was a rap at the stairway door followed immediately by Robert’s two small sons pushing each other into the room.
Out of sight behind them, Nurse said crisply, “Master Robin, John, you know better than that. Come out and go in properly.”
They promptly pushed each other out of the room, pulled the door closed and knocked at it again. With great seriousness, in honor of their effort, Frevisse said, “Come in, and with equal seriousness Robin did, John solemnly at his heels. They both bowed to her and Frevisse bent her head to them in return, saying, ”Sirs.“
Grinning at their success, they came farther in, clearing way for Tacine who tried a curtsy, spreading her baby skirts as if they were a lady’s gown, wobbly on her short legs but with Nurse’s hand to the small of her back to steady her, followed by an approving, “That’s well done, all of you. Now all of you say, ‘Good day, my ladies.’ ”
They did and Frevisse and Dame Claire gravely returned the greeting before Nurse, seemingly taking them in charge along with the children, said, “Would you be good enough to see us all up the stairs to the parlor, please? If you’ll do the boys, I’ll come with Tacine, please you.”
It made no difference to Dame Claire who had been going up anyway but Frevisse only reluctantly held out her hand to Robin and together, Dame Claire with John and Nurse following with Tacine, they went into the solar where two servants were busy polishing and shifting furniture. The children would have stopped to watch but Nurse said, “Your lady mother is waiting,” and the boys pulled loose from holding hands to take the stairs at a scurry and scramble ahead of everyone.
Dame Claire and Frevisse and Nurse with Tacine followed at a more reasonable pace, Frevisse first, pausing in the parlor doorway to set John firmly back on his feet after a stumble over the sill, only seeing after she had straightened and followed him into the room that Katherine, Master Geoffrey and Mistress Dionisia were there, standing oddly rigid and scattered around the room, a warning to her that something was badly awry. And the next moment she knew what it was, as Lady Blaunche’s voice rose, shrill with anger, beyond the bedchamber door, “And today? What are you meaning to do today? Yesterday you humiliated Benedict in front of everyone. Today—”
‘No one humiliated Benedict but himself.“ Except it could only be Robert lashing back at her, Frevisse would not have known his voice, it was so raw with anger, the last dregs of his patience all too obviously gone. ”And no one could have done it as thoroughly as he did, save for maybe you, sending him out there to it.“
He should be stopped, Frevisse thought. They both should be, before they did worse to each other than they probably already had. But there was no one to do it and Lady Blaunche was flailing on, “I sent him out there to watch out for Katherine which was more than you were doing!”
‘Watch out for Katherine? What did you think was going to happen to her in our own garden with two nuns, her woman and Gil to keep watch?“
‘That Allesley—“
‘Is someone who’ll be far the better for her than what you would have wished on her!“
‘Benedict—“
‘Would still be thinking of her more as a sister than a wife if you’d not put other into his head.“
‘And why not? Is it any the worse than what you’re doing? Selling her—“
‘Using her to pay off the wrongs you’ve done,“ Robert snarled back. ”That’s what I’m doing. Unlike you who only want to use her to make another wrong. Look to yourself for the wrong of it, not to me.“
‘Not to you? Not to you? You’re the one too coward to face down Sir Lewis! You’re the one…“
The bedchamber door flung open and Robert came out, furious-faced, as Lady Blaunche shrilled after him, “… too coward to keep what’s rightly mine! I’ve held that manor for a score of years and now you…”
Midway between bedchamber and stairs Robert spun around and shouted back at her, “That’s a score of years longer than ever you should have. Why can’t you understand that?”
Lady Blaunche in an amber-colored dressing gown flung into the bedchamber doorway, bracing herself against the frame as she cried, “What I understand is that you’re helping the Allesleys t
o rob me! Why don’t you just give them everything we have at once and leave us all to starve and be done with it?”
‘Because when I let myself be driven into marrying you, my lady wife“—he made the name ugly—”our marriage vows bound me to care for you while we both lived, whether I liked it or not. And just now I don’t like it at all.“
‘You wanted to marry me! You know you did!“
‘What I wanted,“ Robert said coldly, ”was not to spend the rest of my life cleaning pigsties. That was the only other choice Sir Walter offered me.“ He paused, then added deliberately, viciously, ”I should have chosen the pigsties.“
He might as well have struck her with his fist, for the cruelty of it. Frozen, Lady Blaunche stood staring at him openmouthed, then tried to breathe and could not, gasped for air, gasped again on a sob, and turned away, back into her bedchamber, one hand pressed to her throat, the other blindly groping for something, anyone to hold to, and Mistress Avys was there, come hurriedly to put an arm around her waist and catch her outstretched hand, leading her away toward the bed as Dame Claire passed Robert to follow them into the bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.
Robert, for his part, turned his back on the slammed door, his face cold, blank of even anger, his stare past everyone to the far wall that he did not look like he was seeing, and no one else moved or made sound before, after a moment, his gaze dropped and he took in that his children were there, staring at him, stricken, and his coldness cracked and was gone and he went down on one knee, holding his arms out to them, saying, “Come here, my hearts.”
Robin and John hung back, uncertain, but Tacine squirmed free of Nurse to the floor and came at him in a toddling rush that carried her full into his arms and the instant after that her brothers came, too, and Robert crushed them all to him, his face buried against Tacine’s warm, small neck, his hands curved to the back of Robin and John’s smooth heads as they burrowed against him.
10 The Squire's Tale Page 15
