The Wife Test

by Betina Krahn

  “Lord Bromley is your nephew?” Chloe sat straighter, seeing in the old lady’s lined face a lifetime of broken connections, losses, and tragedies.

  “My husband’s.” Lady Marcella looked to the floor, where the dancing was spiced by bursts of laughter and wine-warmed flirtation. “Look at them.”

  Chloe followed her gaze, expecting a diatribe on the silliness of people under the influence of too much wine.

  “I never danced, you know,” the old lady said. “Never imbibed too much. Never dallied with men who came to see my husband, or stayed abed all day, or wore fancy headdresses and lots of jewels. I kept to my place … never went to bed without confession … tended the sick … kept a worthy household … and bore my sorrows in seemly silence. Now I have to wonder why.

  “No children survive me. I have no home, but that which is allowed me out of charity. Worst of all, I have no joyful memories to sustain me or even to pierce my heart.” She sighed and looked at Chloe sadly. “When my sweet cousin and I meet in Heaven, I wonder who will have had the better life? Her years were cut short, true, but at least for a time she was happy.”

  She reached over and squeezed Chloe’s hands.

  “I am not so eager to denounce ‘dreams’ anymore, my dear.”

  Chloe’s throat was tight, but she managed a small smile.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” the old lady said, brightening. “I cast your stars, as I promised. You’ve quite a bit of excitement ahead. Your Venus is rising and transecting your Mars, who seems to have settled in your ninth house.” She frowned. “Or is that your Moon rising? No, no … I don’t think your Moon ever transects your Mars. Mars is so touchy … and it’s difficult to get things right if you can’t see all the angles …”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hugh had dragged Graham from the hall and up the tower stairs to appear before the king and his privy councilors on the rampart of the round tower, where a handful of soldiers were standing watch. He clasped his wrist, glanced anxiously at Graham, and waited for the king to respond to the news he had just delivered … the abduction attempts on the other side of the Channel.

  “Details. I want every godforsaken detail,” Edward demanded, leveling a your-head-is-hanging-by-a-thread glare on the pair. “And I want it now.”

  “There were less than a dozen the first time,” Hugh began, “dressed in rags to pass themselves off as thieves. We took one prisoner and found they wore mail and armor beneath. The prisoner said they took their orders from a seigneur, but he swore he did not know the lord’s name.” He glanced at Graham, deciding how much to reveal. “We took pains to see that the maids were secure, thinking they might try again. They attacked the next morning, just after sunrise and carried off some of our men who were disguised as the maidens. We had hoped to learn the identity of the lord behind the attacks, but in defending themselves, my men had to kill their abductors. I decided it was best to get the maids to the ship and to England as quickly as possible.”

  “And you didn’t see fit to inform me of these attacks until now?” the king demanded irritably. What had begun as a diversion, a pleasant interlude in an otherwise grim bit of ransoming, was turning into a serious political threat.

  “The moment we arrived, I was assigned other—” Hugh quickly changed course. “We believed we had left any real danger on the other side of the Channel. But now … the cut cinches, the wild boar set loose near the spot where the duke’s daughters were known to be … two such incidents in two days point to a continuing threat.”

  “What I don’t understand is why,” Graham spoke up. “Why try to harm a handful of maids fresh from a convent?”

  “They are not just maidens, they are ransom,” Bromley declared, meeting the king’s gaze. “There are many in the king’s newly claimed French provinces who would gladly spill blood to disrupt English rule.”

  “Prevent the marriages and the duke’s ransom goes unpaid,” Hugh said, reasoning it out. “And the longer you hold the duke—”

  “The stronger the sentiment against me will grow in Normandy and the Aquitaine,” Edward declared, sitting forward, staring intently at a treacherous political tableau only he could fully see. “The question is … how large is this plot? Who is involved? And why haven’t I heard something about it from Essex and Northumberland? They occupy the largest cities and noble seats …”

  The king’s gaze hardened as his thinking went one grim step further. All present could see suspicion flicker across his face. What if his trusted nobles had decided to betray their king and use their positions to further their own ambitions? In the game of thrones, all loyalties—even strong ties of blood and pride—were subject to ambition and often available to the highest bidder.

  Edward rose and paced back and forth in the strained silence, thinking, pausing occasionally to study Hugh and Graham. After a time he halted and turned to Bromley.

  “Send word to Norwich. I want Avalon brought here as quick as his arse can be hoisted into a saddle.”

  “You think Avalon could be party to such treachery?” Bromley interrupted. “He’s given you his daughters and, despite his part in the fighting, he has always been a moderate with regard to English claims in the Aquitaine.”

  “Seeing my armies storm across his lands and take his villages may have hardened his attitude,” Edward said archly. “When Norwich arrives, I will have to determine who had access to or may have communicated with Avalon since he has been in Norwich’s keeping.” He turned to Hugh and Graham.

  “I want you to watch and guard the duke’s daughters. Enlist Candle’s help … and Chester’s. Use them all. Keep the maids close to the castle and know where they are at all times. Bring me immediate reports of anything unusual. I don’t want them to sneeze without me knowing it.”

  “Surely you don’t suspect them of—” Graham blurted out.

  “In perilous times a king is a fool not to suspect everyone,” Edward declared, his features taut with resolve. “I accepted Avalon’s daughters as part of his ransom because I desired a strong tie between his house and English fortunes in France.” He paused a moment, speaking to himself as much as to them. “But anything that has the power to forge such ties also has the power to break them.”

  As they hurried down the tower steps, Hugh began to lay plans.

  “I’ll speak with Jax and old Ketchum, you tell William and Simon. They’re not to let the maids out of their sight. Escort them to their chamber straightaway, and don’t leave their door until guards are posted outside.”

  “It’s bloody well not fair,” Graham muttered. “The first time I have a chance to be with little Margarete, you and the king go and ruin it for me.”

  “It could be worse,” Hugh said tersely. “You could be on your way to the dungeons, under suspicion of treason.”

  “You don’t honestly think the king suspects us?”

  “Someone is trying to prevent the duke’s ransom from being paid. Such opposition could come from any one of a hundred different quarters … some of which are damned close to the king.”

  They were silent for a time as they hurried through the passage leading to the great hall.

  “I used to envy him, you know. I used to wish I could be that rich and powerful,” Graham said grimly. “Sometimes it’s good not to be the king.”

  Later that evening, inside the maids’ chamber, Chloe was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice the deep silence that descended. Out of habit she removed her cap and hung it on a peg, then began to untie the cords at the sides of her overgown. After a few moments she looked up to find her sisters staring intently at her.

  “You didn’t have to give them the true order, you know,” Alaina said, and the others nodded agreement.

  “You could have let Sir Graham believe the cherry duckling was mine,” Lisette added with crossed arms and a petulant look.

  “The test is … the test.” Chloe faced them squarely, surprised by their prickly attitude, but somehow not surpri
sed. “It was not up to me to change that. Tomorrow will be a different test—the ‘gift test’—which will undoubtedly yield different pairings.”

  “Will it?” Helen said, studying her in a way that made her feel like bacon tossed onto a hot griddle.

  “Most certainly.” She forced a smile. “After all, I mustn’t keep milord Ketchum all to myself, must I?”

  A chorus of stifled groans was interrupted by a knock on the door. Outside stood a ragged servant boy with a covered earthen crock in a willow basket.

  “What is this?” she asked, feeling heat radiating from the crock as he thrust it into her hands.

  The boy shrugged and hurried back down the steps toward the kitchens, leaving Chloe staring after him, until her gaze fell on two pike-bearing guards not far away on the landing. Castle guards in the passage? Had they always been there at night, or was this something new?

  “What is that?” Helen asked as Chloe stepped back inside and kicked the door shut behind her.

  “I have no idea, but it’s from the kitchens.” She placed it on the table and, grabbing a length of toweling, lifted the hot lid. A billow of steam rose into the chamber, and the others crowded around to look at a gray, unappetizing mélange of lumps with pungent, pepper-laden fat pooled around the edges.

  “It looks like Alaina’s mackerel,” Lisette said, giving it a sniff and then rubbing her tingling nose. “Only with lots more pepper.”

  “How dare they suggest my recipe needs improvement?” Alaina was outraged. “And look at it—it looks like they dumped the kitchen slops into it!”

  “If it’s a peace offering from the kitchens,” Helen said testily, “they’ve sorely misjudged the depth of our ire.”

  “Not to mention our tolerance for garlic,” Margarete added with a wince.

  “Well, it’s insulting. I’ll have none of it and neither will you!” Alaina declared furiously, slamming the lid back on it. She carried the basket to the window and looked as if she meant to toss it out crock and all. But the window well was deep and sharply sloped, and after a moment she reconsidered and set it down on the floor in front of the window instead. It was soon forgotten as the maids removed their garments, brushed and braided their hair, and knelt for evening prayers.

  And pointed prayers they were.

  “Open our eyes to the consequences of our hurtful stubbornness.”

  “Help Chloe to see that bonds of the heart are already being forged between some of us.”

  “And help her remember that a good wife must first be a willing wife.”

  As the tallow lamps were blown out and they settled beneath their woolen blankets, Chloe longed to tell them the truth, to assure them she would do her best for them. But if they knew she had made up the wife test, they would feel entitled to demand their own preferences. And what if their preferences were a disaster in the making? Like Lisette, who had her heart set on Sir Graham, who went pale every time she looked at him. Whatever was she going to do about Lisette?

  Then Margarete made one last comment that descended on Chloe in the darkness, delaying her sleep and then deviling it with disturbing dreams.

  “I wonder which dish Sir Hugh would have chosen.”

  The next morning the wife test began to unravel.

  The maids and husbands met in the queen’s courtyard midday for the conduct of the “gift test,” which had been announced to them last evening. Each man brought a gift that represented his home in some way and laid it out anonymously on a bench in the courtyard. Then the maids were called upon to chose which gift meant the most to them. They all stubbornly selected the same one … a newly weaned puppy which had been brought by the old Earl of Ketchum. The husbands were outraged, Chloe was dumbfounded, and Sir Hugh nearly fell off a bench laughing.

  Chloe hedged and stammered and pulled her sisters aside to try to get them to reconsider their choices. The maids closed ranks and crossed their arms, utterly unrepentant.

  “A dead trout? What kind of gift is that for a wife?” Alaina hissed, eyeing the smoked fish lying on the bench nearby.

  “And a hunk of wood. You’d think he’d at least have the decency to have it whittled into something useful first,” Helen complained.

  “A carding comb. Do they honestly think our hair looks like raw wool?” Lisette gave an indignant toss of her sleek raven locks.

  “But these things were meant to represent their homes,” Chloe pleaded. “Well-stocked streams … lovely walnut trees … lots of fine wool …”

  “They were also meant to be gifts to us,” Alaina declared.

  “If they were thinking at all, it was certainly not about us,” Helen added.

  “If all of us chose him, which of us gets him?” Margarete asked, cradling old Ketchum’s puppy against her and scratching its silky ears.

  Lisette gave a throaty laugh. “Who? The puppy or the old earl?”

  Clearly, her sisters’ behavior was aimed at her as much as it was those admittedly unappealing gifts. Chloe had chosen the rules of her test over their wishes … now they would let their wishes try the limits of her precious test.

  Desperate to get things back on course, Chloe declared it was time for another riding lesson and ordered them to adjourn to the stables. Her directive was instantly countermanded by Sir Hugh, who rose and declared that the stables were closed for the foreseeable future.

  “Closed? How can that be?” She turned on him and was surprised by the depth of his determination. It almost equaled his arrogance.

  “The saddles are all being examined and repaired … to avoid a repeat of what happened to Lady Lisette the other day.”

  As the others stared expectantly at her, Chloe scrambled to decide which of the other tasks she had planned might be able to bring the men and maids together again. What did men like to do that women could bear to learn?

  “Wait here,” she ordered her sisters, then turned to the husbands. “I shall return shortly.” She didn’t see Sir Hugh signal a smoldering Sir Graham to watch the other maids, and then strike off after her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice from close by startled her.

  “To seek the king’s permission for us to visit his mews for a lesson in falconry. Any objections?”

  “It happened just as I said it might,” he said, ignoring her question. “They all chose the same gift.”

  “And why wouldn’t they?” she said shortly. “A cuddly, adorable puppy.”

  “So, what did you learn?” When she glanced over at him, there was a small, superior arch to his brows. “You said if they all chose the same dish or the same gift, it would still be useful. What did you learn from it?”

  “That perhaps … all of the maids respond better to … a playful, sensitive, and sympathetic heart.” When he hooted derision, she flushed so hot that even her hair seemed redder.

  “I’ll give you ‘playful’ … the old boy’s hip deep in a second childhood,” he declared. “But sensitive and sympathetic?” He began to laugh, and she found herself staring raptly at him, entranced by the sound. “Ye gods, woman—the old clout’s just plain daft about his hounds!”

  It took her a moment to recover, summon a suitable glare, and stalk on toward the great hall.

  Half an hour later, as the group traipsed down the hill to the mews, there was none of the usual pairing. The maids walked together in a clump, chatting noisily, and the men trailed behind in sullen silence.

  Her sisters’ laughter caused Chloe to look back and give them a censuring look, which they ignored. When they arrived and spoke with the head falconer, Chloe suggested they sort themselves into pairs for instruction, and then had to finally assign them into pairs herself. Ignoring her own smarting pride, she paired Lisette with Graham and Helen with Simon. And in the interest of efficiency, she assigned Jaxton and Alaina, and Margarete and William to work together. To her chagrin, Lisette and Graham seemed to have nothing to say to each other and even the formerly cozy Simon and Helen seemed strained toget
her.

  What followed seemed to be the longest afternoon on record. The falconers were less than pleased at having to disrupt their training, the birds were fractious, the maids were skittish, and the men were less than chivalrous in their reaction to the maids’ fears. For every abrupt movement there was a scream, and for every scream there was an unsettled bird that had to be hooded, stroked, and put away in the dark mews until it calmed.

  Chloe was bitten on the finger as she tried to reward a bird with a morsel of food, Margarete swooned when a bird shrieked unexpectedly in her ear, and Helen got sick as she watched a hawk eat a baby rabbit it caught. Strangely, of all of the maids, it was Alaina who seemed to take to the birds and handle them with interest and confidence. The day’s one consolation was the sight of Sir Jaxton and Alaina walking side by side as they returned to the castle, exchanging smiles and speaking eagerly about the fine mews at his home in Somerset.

  Chloe was tense to the point of numbness as she climbed the steps to their chamber behind her sisters, late in the day. She was doing her best to see that they would be well wedded and happy. Why couldn’t they believe that?

  As they reached their chamber, one of Lady Marcella’s serving women came running up the steps after them, calling to Chloe.

  “What is it Moll?” Chloe caught the distraught woman in the doorway.

  “Milady’s beasties … is one of ’em here? Milady had me come to freshen yer linen an’ the li’l minx followed me. Must’ve stayed behind.” Moll pushed past Chloe and began calling, “Cherub, come ’ere, ye little rag mop!”

  They all began to peer under the cots and around the chests, calling the little dog. Margarete screamed and everyone froze for an instant before rushing to see what caused it. There on the floor, beneath the window well, lay the furry little dog with its legs rigid and eyes closed. Moll rushed to pick it up, but all could see as she did so that it was too late.