Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (31 page)

No! Janna shook her head, unable to imagine Edwin doing any of those things. Besides, he seemed happy enough. He certainly didn’t seem to be harbouring the sort of hatred and spite that must lie behind acts of this sort.

What most worried Janna was the thought of what disaster might happen next. If someone was causing problems for a reason, he’d be unlikely to stop until his purpose was achieved. What could that purpose be? If she could only find that out, she might be able to put a stop to these so-called ‘accidents’, which, in turn, would help ensure her and Edwin’s safety.

Questions continued to bedevil her as the villeins prepared to enjoy medale, the drinking festivity to celebrate the end of haymaking. The grass had been cut and dried, and collected into stacks with thatched covers to protect it through the winter rains, or carted off to be stored in the barn. For the moment, their task was done, although Serlo had already warned that sheep-shearing and harvesting were next and that he expected them to stay on and help. She took comfort from the notion that he couldn’t suspect them of causing the problems – unless it was at Hugh’s urging that he wanted them to stay.

It was with a sense of anticipation that she followed Edwin up to the manor hall on the night of the celebration. Mistress Tova, Gytha and the rest of the kitchen servants had been busy. Trestle tables were set up to form a large square and were laden ready for the feast. Wooden platters were piled high with food, with brimming pitchers of honey mead and ale set beside them.

‘This’ll do me,’ Edwin said cheerfully, as he surveyed the spread. ‘You can have the leftovers.’ He patted his stomach and gave Janna a wolfish grin.

Janna laughed, but her mirth vanished as she looked beyond Edwin and saw Hugh standing beside Serlo at a table raised up on a platform. He was surveying the crowd below.

‘I have to go,’ she muttered, and swung around.

‘You can’t miss out on medale!’ Edwin caught her arm and dragged her back, looking horrified at the thought.

‘But he’s here! My lord Hugh is here!’

‘So what? Why are you so afraid of him? What makes you think he’ll even remember you?’

It was a fair question, Janna acknowledged, and one she couldn’t answer unless she told Edwin how kind Hugh had been to her after her mother died; how they’d played ball with his cousin, Hamo; and how he’d taken her home on the back of his destrier afterwards. And then he’d kissed her! She blushed at the memory.

‘Stay,’ Edwin urged now. ‘He thinks you’re my brother. He doesn’t know who you really are. Don’t let him spoil the feast for you.’

Janna risked another glance in Hugh’s direction, her heart jolting painfully as she noticed who else was standing beside him. Gytha. She wore a new gown for the occasion, homespun but with a greenish tinge that became her dark locks and creamy complexion, and added a bewitching green tint to her hazel eyes. Hugh sat down at the high table, accompanied by Serlo and several others. After he’d said grace, Gytha began to serve him, bending over so that she could smile into his eyes.

Janna stood still, swept by a tide of pure envy. She wanted to flee, to hide from the sight, yet a painful curiosity bid her stay, to watch the interplay between them so she would know for sure whether the girl’s trust in Hugh’s intentions was well-founded or misplaced.

‘See?’ Edwin nudged Janna, unwittingly adding to her distress as he said, ‘You don’t need to worry that he’ll notice you. He has eyes only for Gytha.’

‘As she has for him,’ Janna said bitterly, wondering how Edwin could sound so cheerful. ‘Don’t you mind?’

‘About Gytha? No, why should I?’

So Edwin was over his infatuation with the cook’s daughter. Good, Janna thought. She must work on him anew to get him to leave the manor with her. She might feel sorry for Gytha if the girl’s high hopes for Hugh came to naught, but she’d feel even sorrier for herself if Hugh defied common sense and became betrothed to the young girl. It seemed flight was her only choice if she was ever to know peace of mind. She sat down beside Edwin, but she found now that she’d lost all appetite and could only look without interest at the mound of food he’d piled on the trenchers of bread in front of them.

‘Do you mind if I sit with you two?’ Without waiting for a reply, Bertha took a seat on Edwin’s other side, flashing a cheerful smile at Janna as she did so. The two of them set about wolfing down huge portions of fish, fowl and mutton, but Janna felt too sick to eat. Instead, she picked up her cup of ale and drained it, then sneaked a glance at Hugh and Gytha.

It was clear that the girl was doing all in her power to woo him. Janna wondered if it was only wishful thinking that made her question whether Hugh was quite so enamoured with the serving wench as she was with him. She knew Hugh to be courteous, and so he was now, bending his head to listen to something Gytha was saying. Yet his gaze roved the room until he caught sight of Janna. She blinked and looked quickly away, while her face flamed scarlet. His glance had been questioning; he was frowning at her. Had she done something wrong? Worse, did he suspect that she or Edwin might be behind the laming of his horse and the other disasters that had befallen the manor? Janna wanted to leap up, to go to him and protest her innocence. With an effort, she stayed seated and tried to look as if she was enjoying herself. She sneaked another look, to find Hugh still watching her. Her heart thudded painfully, her chest felt too tight to breathe. She cast about for a chance to escape, but knew there was none. She would not be able to leave the hall until after the lord had arisen from the table and retired to his solar. It would be unforgivably rude to do so. In case Hugh was still watching, she poured herself another mug of ale and quaffed it down, trying to look as unconcerned and as boyish as possible.

‘You should eat something, John,’ Bertha urged, and held out a portion of fat hen in her fingers. ‘You’ll never grow as tall and strong as your brother, else.’ She smiled at Janna.

Distracted from her dark thoughts, Janna felt a flash of amusement as she took the food from Bertha’s fingers. ‘Thank you,’ she said, wondering if the cook’s sour gossip had some truth in it. Was Bertha indeed flirting with her as well as with Edwin – and everyone else who wore breeches, if Mistress Tova was to be believed? Janna ate the fowl, her appetite reviving somewhat as she savoured the delicacy, so that she continued then to help herself from the trencher.

‘Are your family here tonight, mistress?’ she asked Bertha, seeking to distract herself from the scene being played out at the high table.

‘Yes, indeed.’ Bertha waved an arm towards the tables opposite. ‘That’s my father and mother, and my two sisters sit next to them. Not for anything would any of us miss this feast.’ With an expression of bliss on her face, she began to tear the flesh off a chicken bone with her teeth.

Janna had met one of Bertha’s sisters when she’d taken medicaments to cure her of the pox. Now she looked with interest at the rest of Bertha’s family.

‘Bertha’s little sister wants to meet you, John,’ Edwin told her, with a sly smile. ‘She thinks you’re very handsome. Perhaps you might like to dance with her later?’

Janna choked on a piece of fish, and began to cough. Edwin thumped her on the back. Scarlet in the face, she quaffed down some ale. ‘Fish bone,’ she spluttered, by way of explanation.

Bertha smiled in ready sympathy. ‘I had an uncle who choked to death on a fish bone,’ she said, and embarked on a long story, giving Janna a chance to recover her equilibrium.

Only when every last morsel was eaten were the tables cleared away and stacked. Now I can leave, Janna thought, but Hugh still stayed seated at the high table, gazing serenely at the scene in front of him. Gytha leaned over him to pour wine into his goblet, her arm against his, her breast almost brushing his cheek. Janna clenched her hands and turned away, knowing she was trapped for the while.

Several villeins stood together at one side of the hall. Janna recognised the shepherd with his pipe, then noticed that the others also carried musical instruments. Occasionally she’d heard someone playing a tune in the marketplace; sometimes people sang words to the music, or even danced around. Janna hadn’t paid them much mind. Her mother only ever hummed a tune when she thought she was alone and no-one was listening. Janna thought there must be something shameful about it because Eadgyth had been so angry when Janna had asked if she would teach her the song. Music had never been part of Janna’s life, so she could hardly contain a gasp of surprised pleasure now as, with one accord, the villeins turned to the eager crowd gathering around them and began to play.

The shepherd held his pipe to his mouth and blew through the holes in it, dancing his fingers up and down to produce the sounds. One of the villeins struck a small drum, setting up a rhythm for the dancers, who were now swirling around in pairs, stamping their feet in time to the beat, and shrieking with delight. The third member of the party held a wooden bowl with a long neck along which several strings were tied. His fingers plucked and stroked the strings so that his sounds and the sounds from the pipe spoke to each other, sometimes blending together and sometimes taking turns to create different sounds altogether. Janna listened, enchanted, while her feet tapped in time to the rhythm.

‘John? I would have a word with you.’

Hugh’s voice dragged Janna from her reverie. She gave a start of surprise, and looked anxiously for Edwin and Bertha to save her. But they had joined the throng of dancers and she sat alone.

She leapt to her feet and bobbed her head. ‘Sire,’ she murmured, remembering to keep her voice deep. She did not dare look at Hugh. Instead, she moved closer to a shadowy recess where the light from the candles scarcely reached.

‘I believe I have you to thank for ministering to my workers when they were ill with the pox. I am grateful to you. Serlo tells me we would have been even further behind with everything but for your cures.’ Janna felt her hand seized. Something round and cold was pressed into it. Hugh released her hand and she looked to see what he had given her. A dull glint told her what it was: a silver penny! She thrust it into her purse.

‘Thank you, sire,’ she stammered, glancing quickly up at him before looking away again.

‘I have a horse gone lame – a nail awry in a loose shoe. Will you see if you can do aught to help? Arrow is in pain, and I fear he may become crippled if the wound festers.’

‘Yes, sire. Of course I’ll do all I can.’ Janna’s heart lurched at the thought of ministering to Hugh’s destrier under his watchful gaze. She kept her head bent.

‘Come to the stables tomorrow, after you have broken your fast. I’ll wait for you there.’

Janna nodded. ‘Sire,’ she whispered, wishing that he would go and leave her alone yet wanting him to stay, wanting this moment with him to last for ever.

‘You have no need to fear me, John.’ Hugh’s voice was kindly. But his next action filled Janna with alarm as he reached out and tilted up her chin. She had no choice but to look full at him.

‘I thought so,’ he murmured, coming closer to peer at her in the shadowy darkness. ‘You remind me of a young healer I once knew. Her name was Johanna. Do you know of her, John? Was she perhaps a sister, or a cousin to you?’

‘No! No, sire. My brother and I come from Wales.’ Janna’s voice shook as she told the lie. She longed to confess to Hugh, and to ask if he had kept his promise to her, but she dared not. ‘We have no living kin here in England,’ she said, in case he still harboured suspicions about her.

‘And yet you look so like her,’ Hugh mused, adding as if to himself, ‘They say Johanna died in a fire.’

And were you sorry to hear that? Janna pressed her lips firmly together so that she could not ask the question, although she longed to know the answer. It was some comfort that Hugh remembered her; she took more comfort from the regret in his voice when he said, ‘Johanna had a great gift for healing, and so did her mother. They are much missed at the manor of Babestoche, and in the neighbouring hamlets, for there is no-one now to physic the sick and help the dying.’

‘Surely there is a midwife in the village, my lord?’ Janna knew he was mistaken about the villagers’ regret, but she wondered what had become of Mistress Aldith, one of the few of her mother’s acquaintances who had shown her any kindness.

Hugh shrugged. ‘Her business is to birth babies, but my aunt has little faith in her, that I know. Whether she can do else, I know not.’ His gaze sharpened on Janna’s face. ‘Where did you learn your healing ways?’ he asked.

‘From … from my mother, sire.’ Janna knew she should stick to her story. Others had heard it, and could repeat it to Hugh if he asked. It would increase his suspicion if she told him something different now. ‘She was Saxon born, but when she wed my father, she went to live with him in Wales. He died when we were still quite young, but my father had a cot and enough land to keep us so my mother stayed on, for her own family were either dead or gone away.’

‘I thought Serlo told me your mother worked in an alehouse?’

‘So she did, sire, sometimes, for she had us to help her about our home,’ Janna improvised rapidly. ‘As soon as he was old enough, my brother tended the fields and planted the corn. He also looked after our sheep and goats, while I helped by growing vegetables for the pot, and herbs for my mother’s medicaments. My mother was settled in Wales. It was her home. And ours, until she died.’ Janna knew she was gabbling, but she hoped the wealth of detail might help to convince Hugh. She hated lying to him, hated it, but she knew that her safety depended on it.