Authors: Linda Sole
‘I do not know.’ She hesitated, then, ‘I shall stay here for a while – if I may?’
‘Can you manage here alone?’
‘Marthe rarely left the hut. I set the traps and foraged for our food.’
‘I will give you money…’ He smiled oddly as she took a step back, shaking her head in denial. ‘No, not to be my mistress. To help you live as others live with a proper home and friends.’
‘You have been my friend today.’
‘I am glad to have been of service.’ He took a step towards her. ‘You will not come to the castle?’
‘You have said, I am safe enough now – thanks to you.’
‘I regret what happened. I would make reparation if I could.’
‘You have this day. I shall not forget your kindness, Sir William.’
‘But still you will not come?’
She shook her head.
‘Very well, if you will not accept my help – but the offer stands.’
‘Thank you.’
Beth watched as he mounted his horse and rode away. She did not move, standing where she was even when he looked back. Then, after he was out of sight, she knelt by Marthe’s grave, bent her head and wept.
Her tears had dried and Beth knew she must return to the hut. If she were to eat that day a fire must be built and lit and the remains of the stew heated. Pain swept over her as she remembered her night of anxious waiting for Marthe to return. She had saved her supper but Marthe would never eat it now and food must not be wasted. Sir William had offered her money but Beth knew that if she accepted his gift he would expect her to give him something in return. Perhaps she was foolish to cling to her pride but she did not wish to be his whore, knowing that people whispered behind her back. If she gave into him he would tire of her before long and then she would find it harder to return to her life in the woods.
After she had made up the fire and set it going, she left the stew to heat and looked around her. There was little enough to see for Marthe possessed only her bedding, various pots, vessels to hold her potions and the pestle and mortar she used for grinding; also two stools and the large coffer that stored her personal things and provided a bench for her work. In the cottage in the village there was a roughly made chair, table, two coffers and many items used for cooking, also a frame that Mistress Soames had used for her embroidery and a pewter candlestick. Most of the things Beth wanted would fit on to the handcart Mistress Grey had promised she could borrow; though the table might have to be left behind. She might need to make two trips to fetch them, but it would be worth it, because she did not feel she could live in the village now.
Beth’s eyes went to Marthe’s coffer as the stew began to simmer gently. What secrets did that trunk contain? She had never before seen the cloak that she had taken to cover Marthe in her grave, and she remembered her mother’s cryptic words that she might find the truth in her coffer one day.
She corrected herself mentally. Marthe was not her mother. She had hinted as much on more than one occasion when her mind was wandering. Now that she was dead, Beth needed to know the truth.
Breathing deeply to steady herself, she knelt in front of the coffer and began to take out the contents. Lying on top was a tunic of rich blue wool and with it a headband of blue bound with red ribbons, also a pair of good leather shoes. Beth thought they looked as if they might be Marthe’s wedding clothes for they were too small for the woman she had known and looked hardly used. Marthe must have put them away to save them. Lifting them out carefully, she looked beneath and discovered two linen shifts with embroidery on the hems and two girdles made of plaited strips of leather, all unsuitable for the woman Marthe had become in later years. There was a small leather purse, which contained five silver pennies and several groats, more money than Beth had ever seen before. On the rare occasions when Marthe had decided to visit the market she’d given Beth a groat to buy a hot mincemeat pie but only once more than a silver penny. That was the day Beth had visited the fair alone – the day she saw the pilgrim, who was somehow cured of his sickness, if indeed he was ever sick.
Beth counted the money again, then put the pouch to one side for she would only use it if she needed it. She had always bartered for her goods and would do so in future unless she was in dire need. Marthe had earned these coins selling her body to men and Beth thought of them as tainted.
Right at the bottom of the coffer there was a small package wrapped in linen. This must contain the secret if there was one for the coffer was now empty. Beth’s hands trembled as she reached for the package, taking it out carefully and sitting with it in her hands for a moment before she opened it. Inside was a child’s gown made of faded green silk, which still smelled faintly of some perfume, and a small cross and chain. The cross was marked with a pattern and when she held it to the fire it glowed and caught the light. Beth had seldom seen gold, though she thought the heavy ring on Sir William’s right hand must be gold; she was certain that the necklet must be made of the precious metal that people prized so much.
Her hand trembled as she touched it. Her stomach clenched with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Were these things truly hers? They must be. Why else would Marthe have kept them and told Beth to look in the coffer when she was gone?
How could these costly things belong to Beth?
Only the daughter of a lord would have precious items like these. Beth stared at the gown and gold chain for a moment longer, then placed them carefully with the rest of Marthe’s possessions as she got up to stir the pot, which was bubbling fiercely. Her mind whirled in confusion as she struggled to take in what she had discovered. Where had she come from and why had Marthe taken her?
‘You should have told me,’ she whispered as the tears wetted her cheeks. ‘Why did you not tell me who my mother was? Why did you not take me back to her?’
All at once Beth knew that the vague memories she’d had of the lady and the castle were not just dreams but her life as it had been before Marthe found her. She seemed to remember a beautiful lady who had smelled nice. She had kissed Beth and told her stories…stories of kings and of history…It was no use, Beth could not push back the veil that hid that other life from her. There were only vague scenes, like wisps of mist floating through her mind. She could not be sure if they were memories or dreams. Who was the man with the golden band about his forehead? Why had he called her his precious girl? Too many years had passed and she had been a small child, though old enough to learn her letters at her mother’s knee – which explained why she’d known them when Marthe struggled to teach her.
She returned to the coffer and began to replace Marthe’s things, leaving the silk dress and gold chain until last. Beth did not want Marthe’s things, even though she might be able to sell the clothes if she took them to the market. It was a long walk for the market was held at a small town some ten miles beyond the lord’s boundaries at the edge of the huge sprawling forest that had been created in the eleventh century for the King’s hunting ground. If she grew desperate she might take the clothes and sell them but not yet. It was too soon.
The silk dress and the chain were hers. She picked the necklet up again and tried the chain about her neck but it was not long enough to fasten properly. It had been a trinket for a much-loved child. Beth examined the necklet and saw that there was a loop through which it would be possible to thread the cross onto a ribbon. There were ribbons in Mistress Soames’s coffers. In the morning she would fetch her things from the village and then she would wear the cross about her throat so that it hung beneath her gown. She would keep the necklet hidden inside her gown for the moment lest someone stole it whilst she was out. The child’s dress could stay with Marthe’s things until she had somewhere better to store it.
Her supper done she placed her bowl and horn cup into the wooden bucket she used to wash them. She would do them in the morning. Slipping outside to relieve herself, Beth looked warily about her lest John the Blacksmith had lain in wait to catch her alone. He had been very angry over his banishment and she thought he might seek revenge on her, but there was nothing to disturb her in the silence of the woods and the occasional hooting of an owl.
The woods did not frighten her. She had lived here with Marthe for so many years and she knew where the sounds came from and which animal had snorted or barked. Yet the night was bitter cold. Shivering, Beth hurried inside to the warmth of her fire. The hut seemed empty without Marthe, but in truth the older woman had scarcely noticed her for months except to grumble if she kept her waiting for her food.
Beth put the wooden bar across the door to keep it safe during the night, checked that the fire would last without causing a log to fall and set the rush mats alight. Then she crawled inside her nest of covers made from rabbit skins and closed her eyes.
She wished that she could pray, as Sir William had over Marthe’s grave, but she did not know what to say or who to pray to and sought in her mind for something that would give her peace and shut out the loneliness of the night.
‘Mother…if you live, my real mother. I pray that you are safe and that you do not grieve for me. I thank you for the pretty things you gave me when I was with you – and for your smile and the scent I can still remember. If you still think of me I would like you to know that I am safe – and if I could I would come to you.’
A deep warm calm feeling came over her and for a moment she felt as if she were not alone. It was almost as if a pair of loving arms surrounded her, keeping her safe. Her fingers felt for and held the cross and chain she’d found in Marthe’s coffer and as she held it she smiled, drifting into sleep.
Twenty Nine
Beatrice woke with a start. The fire was still alight but her chamber felt cold. She turned to Tomas and shook his shoulder, waking him. He stared at her in alarm.
‘What ails you, Beatrice? Are you ill?’
‘I dreamed of her, Tomas. I saw her, not as the child she was when we lost her but as a young woman. She was alone and desperately unhappy. She called to me and in my dream I held her in my arms and comforted her.’
‘It was but a dream, my love.’
Beatrice wept, her body trembling as the dream stayed with her, haunting her. Tomas took her in his arms to comfort her, stroking her hair. For a moment she let him hold her, then she kissed him and wiped her eyes, but instead of lying back against her pillows, she left their bed and went over to the window to gaze out at the night sky. It was black with only an occasional star to light the darkness. Even now she was awake she felt the pull of the voice that had spoken to her in dreams.
‘She is alive, Tomas. I feel it in my heart. She called to me tonight. I know that somehow she lives – and she needs us. She is in some kind of trouble. We must find her and help her.’
‘You wish me to search for her yet again?’
She turned to him, a look of entreaty in her eyes. ‘I know it sounds foolish but yes, I want you to search for her. I believe she needs us.’
Tomas sighed, leaving the bed to stand with her and look out at the night.
‘You know that it is almost impossible? I have sent out so many messages, offered rewards, and every time we have false hope that leads to naught but pain and disappointment for you. Even if she lives she will have changed. She might be anywhere. In truth, I do not know where to start looking.’
‘I think she lives in a wood. In my dream there were trees…’ She turned in his arms, gazing up at him. ‘I know I ask too much. I always have – but please, do this for me. Send out men to ask if anyone knows of a girl who lives alone in a wood. Say that you look for a lost daughter but no more and offer a reward. Please, Tomas. For one last time. If she truly lives we must find her.’
‘As if I could refuse you,’ he said and touched her cheek. ‘You know that it would give me pleasure if I could return your Elspeth to you, my love.’
‘I know she lives,’ Beatrice said. ‘But we must find her before it is too late.’
Tomas made no reply. He felt that it would be a thankless task. How could he hope to succeed after so many years had passed? Yet he must try, because he could not refuse Beatrice.