Authors: Margaret Frazer
Frevisse quickly found she need only listen and was willing to it, letting Mistress Montfort talk on about the one person she seemed to care for, until her daughters returned, two half-grown girls who looked far more like their father than they did their mother and had his manners, too, thrusting into the room complaining of the cold as if somehow their mother were at fault for it. Mistress Montfort tried to quell them, pointing out they had a guest, to which one of them said, “A nun. We’ve had enough of nuns for the while.”
‘You’ll nonetheless make her a curtsy and say ’Good day, my lady,‘ “ Mistress Montfort directed, stiff-voiced, and they obeyed, albeit with little grace, and Frevisse was glad both for her own sake and Mistress Montfort’s when a little later the bell rang to Sext, freeing them from each other’s company. If she had had chance, she would have told Mistress Montfort she did not see her daughters were her fault. Even if they had not so much resembled their father in face and manners, Frevisse had encountered their sort before now—children who seemed to have come fully molded with no impress to be made on them by either love or discipline. This was sometimes to the good, sometimes to the bad, but with these two Frevisse’s thought was that the sooner Mistress Montfort married them off her hands, the better for her.
Unable to say that, the girls crowding close while she and Mistress Montfort made their farewells, ready to claim their mother for themselves, Frevisse merely thanked her for their talk and went gratefully to Sext. Domina Elisabeth did not come, presumably staying with her cousin, and with no one to suggest what else she might do, Frevisse remained awhile in prayer after the other nuns had gone, until even with her cloak and fur-lined gown the cold became too much and she had to move or freeze. Walking in the cloister had no appeal, for the same reason, and for lack of anywhere else to go, she returned to Lady Agnes’s, finding as she came out into the foreyard that the snow and wind had stopped and the sun was trying for a feeble yellow glow through the thinning clouds.
Its effort made the day no warmer. At Lady Agnes’s hall door she knocked sharply only for courtesy’s sake and went in without pause, eager for the hall hearth’s fire. That she had not waited was just as well; she was to the hearth, holding her hands out to the flames and beginning to unchill, before Erame came from kitchenward, curtsied to her, and said, “Please you, my lady, Lady Agnes said you and Domina Elisabeth were come to her directly you’re here, if you would. She’s in her chamber.”
With her unwillingness to be in more talk balanced by the thought that except for the kitchen, Lady Agnes’s chamber would be the warmest place in the house, Frevisse thanked her, went up the stairs, and left her cloak in her own room before crossing the gallery to rap lightly at the solar’s door. At Lady Agnes’s bidding, she went in and was surprised that Emme had not said there was another guest, not only Letice, seated at the far end of the window bench with embroidery in her hands and a sour look on her face, but another woman seated at the fireside with Lady Agnes. Making no haste, Frevisse crossed the room toward them, the other woman standing up to meet her as Lady Agnes said, “Dame Frevisse. Lady Juliana Haselden.”
Lady Juliana was young but, unlike Nichola, well into her womanhood, Frevisse thought as they greeted one another. Her smooth face, as finely proportioned as a painter’s madonna and lovely with a light flush from the fire’s warmth, was the sort that kept its youth through more years than many women’s did, but there was a confidence and grace in even the slight curtsy she exchanged with Frevisse that youth usually lacked.
There was also an awareness of that grace, Frevisse thought. Too much awareness. Just as there was awareness, probably, of the single curl of dark golden hair escaped from the side of Lady Juliana’s wimple to curve against her cheek. But with courtesy as smooth as Lady Juliana’s own and no sign of her thoughts, Frevisse accepted her offer of the chair, leaving her to take one of the stools instead, and asked as she sat, “You’re kin to Master Philip Haselden?” for the sake of conversation.
‘Only distantly. I was wed to an uncle of his.“
Was
wed, Frevisse noted, and therefore was now a widow but not lately because rather than black or even mourning gray, her gown was a deep-dyed wintergreen with a high-standing collar lined with a fine brown fur, a scarlet belt around its high waist.
‘Her husband was Sir Laurence,“ Lady Agnes said. ”A godchild of mine, though I saw little enough of him after he was grown.“
‘And little of me, either,“ Lady Juliana said, ”for which I’ve come to make excuse and ask pardon.“
‘It’s more than excuses you’ll be making to your mother when she finds out you’ve been here,“ Lady Agnes said tartly.
Lady Juliana laughed. “That’s one of the advantages of being once-wed and now widowed. I’m not my mother’s to tell what and what not to do.”
‘Not that you’d likely listen to her anyway. Nor anyone else either,“ Lady Agnes answered.
‘Very likely not,“ Lady Juliana granted, still smiling. ”You don’t, do you, once you’re set on your own way?“
Lady Agnes acknowledged the truth of that with a small, smiling bow of her head. “Not of late,” she agreed.
They may have rarely met but there seemed to be a kind of understanding between them—an accord of spirit if nothing else. But no ease, Frevisse sensed. No more than between two men sparring with daggers to try each other out but not in deadly earnest. Yet. And abruptly Frevisse realized she had seen Lady Juliana before this. At the inquest yesterday she had sat between Mistress Champyon and Rowland Englefield and, yes, as Lady Agnes had said, her mother would very likely object strongly to her being here.
Lady Agnes must have caught Frevisse’s sudden widening of eyes because she said, tinged with somewhat bitter mirth, “Yes. Juliana Englefield she was and her mother is trying to declare my grandson a bastard but here she sits instead of being turned from the door with a rude word.”
If being frank was to be the way of it, Frevisse saw no reason to hold back. “Why?” she asked.
‘Because my idiot man let her in. She told him I was her god-aunt, of all improbable things, and that her name is Juliana Haselden.“
‘And so it is,“ Lady Juliana said. ”Besides, why should he turn me away? You like me and I like you and always have.“
‘Things change,“ Lady Agnes said. ”Don’t go presuming I haven’t.“
‘Besides,“ Lady Juliana said to Frevisse, ”I don’t back my mother’s claim to this manor of Reckling, so why shouldn’t I come here?“
‘You don’t?“ Frevisse said, neither to one side or the other but interested to see Lady Agnes up against someone as openly strong-willed as she was.
‘No.“ Lady Juliana smiled. ”It’s a foolish claim and a waste of money and time.“
‘Ah!“ Lady Agnes said. ”So you admit Stephen is her sister’s son, just as he claims, and your mother is lying.“
‘What I admit is that you and Stephen are known and liked here and hereabout. My mother is hardly known at all and, courtesy of you, probably not liked. If it comes to people swearing to the escheator that Stephen has been known for years to be Sir Henry’s son by my mother’s sister, there’ll be more than enough people around here who’ll swear so and very likely none who’ll swear otherwise.“
A deep-set satisfaction on Lady Agnes’s face agreed with her. They were both, it seemed, well-satisfied women—Lady Agnes with the truth of what Lady Juliana said, Lady Juliana with her own clear-thinking to have seen it, but not satisfied about a great many things and seeing no reason to waste this chance to learn something, Frevisse said, “I’ve gathered your mother and her sister weren’t close.”
Juliana laughed. “To say it gently, no, they weren’t. In truth, according to Mother, they could never abide each other and gladly went their separate ways once they were married.”
‘To the point of your mother not knowing whether her sister had a second child?“
‘Rose sent her word of young Henry’s birth, for certainty, and was bitch-spirited enough, my mother says, that if she’d had a second son she’d have sent her word of that, too, just to let her know Rickling was that much farther out of her reach.“
‘Rose died at Stephen’s birth,“ Lady Agnes said. ”I sent her word of both.“
‘What Mother says,“ Lady Juliana answered, ”is that she had word that Rose had died but no mention there was any birth, Stephen or otherwise.“
‘She’d be bound to say that, wouldn’t she?“ Lady Agnes returned.
‘She would indeed,“ Lady Juliana agreed, her smile like warm honey.
Lady Agnes smiled back with verjuice and be damned to honey. “That still leaves us with the question of why you aren’t with her in this. After all, whatever the truth may be, there is a whole manor at hazard. Not to mention your stepfather’s ambitions.”
Lady Juliana lifted a shoulder in a graceful, disclaiming shrug, rose to her feet, and crossed the room toward the window, saying as she went, “For one thing, I think wanting to be one of my lord of Suffolk’s dog pack is a mistake on my stepfather’s part.”
‘Do you?“ Lady Agnes asked with real interest. ”Why?“
‘Because Suffolk doesn’t have staying power. Lord Lovell does.“ She turned to Frevisse. ”My mother and aunt were in ward to Lord Lovell when they were small. He made the Lengley and Englefield marriages for them.“
‘And you were a lady-in-waiting to Lady Lovell for a while after your marriage to Sir Laurence,“ Lady Agnes put in. ”Your loyalty to the Lovells is very pretty.“ And much doubted, her voice if not her words said.
It was unclear whether Lady Juliana’s slight bow of the head acknowledged her loyalty or admitted to the doubt as she answered, “Of course, it has to be considered that Lord Lovell doesn’t presently have Suffolk’s power with the king, but in the long run, to my mind, he’s the better, steadier man to follow, rather than haring off after johnny-jump-up Suffolk. As for the manor, what am I to care about it? I’m not the one who’ll benefit from it, am I? If Mother makes good her claim, it goes to my brother, not me. It’s all wasted effort and expense so far as I’m concerned.”
‘Ah.“ Lady Agnes leaned an elbow on her chair’s arm and shook a finger toward Lady Juliana. ”The Bowers have never been strong breeders. Your brother, now. He looks to be more Bower than Englefield, if you ask me. Five years come spring he’s been married and that wife °f his isn’t breeding yet, is she? And if he has no issue, toe manor comes to you, doesn’t it?“
Lady Juliana laughed, turned back from looking out the window again. “You’ve been asking about us!”
‘Small need to ask,“ Lady Agnes retorted. ”Once your mother decided to make this hornets’ nest, people have been only too glad to tell me things whether I ask or no.“
The high curve of Lady Juliana’s eyebrows arched higher. “Have they indeed? Well, fair’s fair, I suppose. We’ve heard things about you and yours, too.”
‘I warrant you have,“ Lady Agnes agreed. She smiled and Lady Juliana smiled back at her and there was nothing friendly at all between them, smoothly laid words or no.
But it was Lady Juliana who looked away first, out the window, before turning back to the room and saying as if giving up the challenge laid down between them, “Time I went, I think. Before I outstay my welcome.” She crossed to take up her richly blue cloak from the chest at the bedfoot. “Unless I have already?” she added with a smile.
‘By no means,“ Lady Agnes said graciously, almost no razor edge behind the words. ”You’ve made my morning delightful.“
Cloak over her arm, Lady Juliana returned in kind, “Thank you,” and added to Frevisse, as if it might actually have been, “A pleasure to have met you.”
‘And you,“ Frevisse answered, as blandly as if she had noted nothing beyond courtesies between them.
‘See her out, please, Letice,“ Lady Agnes ordered, and Letice, already on her feet, obeyed, going to open the door ahead of Lady Juliana and following her out, leaving a silence where Frevisse had nothing she wanted to say and Lady Agnes seemed waiting to be certain they were well alone before finally she burst out in disgusted mockery, ” ’God-aunt.‘ And ’I don’t care about the manor.‘“ She looked to Frevisse. ”Did you ever hear such foolery? And don’t tell you have because I won’t believe you. How was the widow? Grieving?“
‘Only over having been married so long to Master Montfort.“
Lady Agnes snorted. “At least she’s neither fool nor hypocrite then. Have you been with her all this while?”
Frevisse began to tell in detail of her going to Tierce and later to Sext, in hope of being so tedious that Lady Agnes would dismiss her, but she had not succeeded before Letice returned and Lady Agnes interrupted to ask, “Is she gone?”
‘Gone,“ Letice confirmed. ”The back way, though. Through the garden.“
‘The garden? Why?“
‘She said she’d come through the alleyway and meant to go back the same in hopes no one would notice her.“
‘The day that one wants to go unnoticed will be the day Hell’s flames turn cold,“ Lady Agnes said.
‘And Master Stephen has just ridden in.“
Lady Agnes brightened. “Has he?” She looked past Letice as if she were somehow hiding him. “Where is he?”
‘Not come in yet.“
Lady Agnes’s heed snapped back to her. “Why not?”
‘I couldn’t say.“ But said, as if to the side of Lady Agnes’s question, ”Lady Juliana was just going into the garden when he rode in.“