Authors: Margaret Frazer
Lady“ Ermentrude drew herself up with a sharp hiss of disapproval, but before she had regrouped herself to make reply, Domina Edith, apparently oblivious to any possibility of offense, said, ”Thank you, Thomasine. You still have duties in the kitchen, do you not? You’d best be back to them, I think. Dame Frevisse, pray serve the cakes to our guests.“
It was dismissal and diversion together, and Thomasine gladly used it, curtseying quickly before escaping out the door. Knowing too well her great-aunt’s skill at anger, she had no wish to be there for it, and as she fled down the stairs, she wished she could flee as swiftly down the next two weeks to Michaelmas.
Behind her in the parlor Chaucer said musingly, ignoring Lady Ermentrude’s ire, “So earnest a lamb. Unfit, I’d judge, for the world beyond her cloister walls.”
“I’ve never seen a greater urge to give one’s life to God,” agreed Domina Edith. “Never a more fervent vocation. Too intense sometimes, I think, but that’s her youth. She’ll surely be a blessing to our house.” The prioress crossed herself.
Chaucer and Frevisse echoed her gesture. Lady Ermentrude followed them more slowly. There was a silence then, until Lady Ermentrude broke it with “You’re new as hosteler since I was last here, are you not, Dame Frevisse?”‘
Frevisse was reminded of a vicious dog who, balked in one attack, looks for another. But mild as milk, looking at the plate of cakes she now held, she said, “Yes, my lady.”
“And you must serve as Domina Edith’s body servant, too, it seems. I wonder how you manage your duties in the guest hall if you’re so much busied here?”
“We all serve our lady prioress gladly,” Frevisse said blandly, “whenever the chance comes, and do all our duties as best we may. Will you have a honey cake?”
She held out the plate with proper meekness and downcast eyes. Lady Ermentrude gazed at her a moment longer than was necessary, then took one. Frevisse turned away to offer them to Chaucer, who took another, and while Lady Ermentrude examined hers on all its sides—looking for something to criticize, Frevisse thought uncharitably—Chaucer took a swift bite of his and said, “Delicious. You’ve a cook to be kept.”
Lady Ermentrude nibbled at an edge. “Truly,” she agreed. “You do well for yourselves here.”
“God sends us generous friends.” Domina Edith smiled as Frevisse held out the plate to her.
Frevisse added, with subtle malice, “These cakes are a special matter. Master Chaucer sent word ahead of his coming, giving our kitchener time to ready them.”
“He is a thoughtful man,” Domina Edith murmured. Her face and voice were a study in aged innocence. Frevisse smothered a smile, having long since learned that though Domina Edith’s body was wearied with life’s long journey, her mind was not. Chaucer, himself well aware of the strength of the prioress’s mind, seemed to choke on a bite of cake and was forced to cough heartily behind his hand.
Lady Ermentrude sent sharp, darting glances at all their faces. Her mouth tightened. “I shall be staying only a few days here,” she declared. Their faces betrayed nothing but polite interest. “I hope that will be convenient to you as hosteler, Dame Frevisse, and to St. Frideswide’s, Domina Edith?”
“Truly,” the prioress agreed. “Dame Frevisse?”
“As convenient and pleasant as it always is to serve you, my lady,” Frevisse answered.
Chaucer choked again, swallowed hastily as Lady Ermentrude’s eyes began to narrow, and said, “Regrettably I’ll not be enjoying your courtesies as hosteler, Dame Frevisse. I must needs ride on this afternoon. There’s a manor of mine I mean to reach this evening if I’m to see to all there is to do before I go to France.”
“France!” Lady Ermentrude was diverted instantly. “You’ll be seeing the King then. So fine a young lad he is. You’re meaning to go soon?”
“This month’s end.”
“Pray, tell His Grace from me that his dear lady mother was happy and well when I left her.”
Chaucer inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Gladly. And is there aught else you might wish done over there?”
Lady Ermentrude smiled, pleased at being treated at last in the way she deserved. “Oh no, I think not. My matters are all well in hand. But thank you. And how regrettable you must go on, or we could chat the evening away.”
“He comes to see Dame Frevisse, you know,” Domina Edith said a little vaguely. “So very kind of him, I think, she being his niece and all.”
“Yes.” Lady Ermentrude’s gaze flicked between Frevisse and Chaucer intently. “I think I knew you had a niece here but had forgotten her name, Master Chaucer. By marriage, I believe?”
“Yes, but nurtured in my own household from middle childhood, and in many ways a daughter to me.” He smiled at Frevisse.
Frevisse smiled back, as perfectly aware as he of how unwelcome Lady Ermentrude would find this piece of knowledge. Anyone so close to Master Thomas Chaucer was an unsuitable victim for her torments.
“Ah,” Lady Ermentrude said shortly. “I did not know that.” Unexpectedly her face brightened. “I remember!” She turned to Frevisse. “Your mother made that unfortunate marriage to the younger son of someone or other. Most regrettable, it was thought at the time. And so you ended up in Master Chaucer’s household when they could not keep you anymore!”
“My mother and father did not find their marriage regrettable,” Frevisse said in a level voice. “And it was my father’s death that brought me to Master Chaucer’s and my aunt’s household. Nothing else.”
The crisp, steady words must have given Lady Ermentrude sufficient warning she should go no farther that way.
“How stand matters with your family?” Chaucer put in. “Did you visit at Fen Harcourt on your way from the Queen at Hertford?”
It was another well-chosen diversion. Lady Ermentrude smiled with straight-lipped disapproval. “I paused there and meant to stay longer but I’m not so old I need to wait on their favors. They could not find it convenient to give me due respect and I’ve come away sooner than I planned. They’ll not be happy when they find how much they’ve offended me.”
“Harvest time can be a heavy matter,” Chaucer remarked.
“So can my displeasure be.” Lady Ermentrude eyed Frevisse as closely as she had eyed the cake. “My own house at Bancroft will be ready in two weeks so I’m thinking to spend a week here and then another week with Isobel. I’m minded to see ItEer-girl she had this summer. A girl child may be all right, and is no problem since they have two sons already and they’re thriving, so I hear. Then I’ll go on to my own manor, and my relations will see how welcome they are in their turn.”
“Concerning sons,” said Chaucer, “how do your own at present?”
“My Walter has been with Lord Fenner these two months past. Lord Fenner is dying now, it seems, and since the title comes by right of blood to Sir Walter, he’s there to be sure not too much is lost when Lord Fenner makes his will, not all the property being entailed, you know. The title and its lands will be a great boon to our family, and it will be best if the wealth comes with them.”
“And Herbrand?”
“In France, in my lord of Bedford’s household still. He fights occasionally, I believe, and should have the captaining of one castle or another soon.”
“Mayhap I’ll see him while I’m there.”
“Mayhap,” Lady Ermentrude agreed with no particular interest. “If so, tell him I mean to see how his manors are doing come the spring. He’s left them to others for too long, if you ask me, and I’ve no mind to let Fenner property go to the bad by his neglect.”
“How fortunate that travel agrees with you,” Domina Edith said.
“It would if it weren’t for servants.” Lady Ermentrude took up this theme as if on cue, as Frevisse suspected Domina Edith had meant her to, and set off on a long, well-practiced dissertation concerning the inadequacies of everyone so fortunate as to be allowed into her service. It went its appointed course while Domina Edith fumbled crumbs off the single cake her conscience would allow her and Frevisse poured wine for everyone. Chaucer was finishing his third cake when Lady Ermentrude ended with “But it’s a common tale, and surely we’ve all suffered from such lowborn folk. Pray, what will you be doing for the King while you’re in France?”
“Very little, likely. Mostly my own necessities draw me there, with some few other matters friends have asked of me.”
“I suppose there’ll be his French coronation soon so he’ll be able to come back to England and be done with it? Is it the coronation you’re going for?”
“There’s no date set for it yet and a great deal of France still to recover. The Witch and her rebellion cost us men and money as well as territory, and even though she’s burned, Bedford reports he can hardly be sure of passage to Paris yet, let alone to Rheims.”
“A French coronation.” Lady Ermentrude shook her head. “You’d think his English crown would be enough.”
“Not for the French,” Chaucer said dryly. “But among other things I’m bound for collecting Lord Moleyns’s heiress. I’ve bought her wardship and marriage rights from the crown and her mother has asked I fetch her myself if possible.”
Lady Ermentrude looked well impressed. “That’s a wealthy wardship to lay hold of! You’ve a choice for her husband? I’ve possibilities if you’d be interested. How old is she now? She was born in France, I think?”
“Six years or nearly. Yes.”
Frevisse turned to set the wine pitcher on the table and hide her face from Lady Ermentrude. It was not like her uncle to stay long after he had said he must be .going. But now he settled back and went on easily. “And that reminds me that there’s word, too, of someone you might remember. A youth named William Vaughan. He squired in your household, I think.”
Lady Ermentrude frowned with thought before nodding. “I remember him, though his family was no one in particular. He went to France to make his fortune and died years back.”
“Not so many years. Just two. At Orleans, during the siege.”
Domina Edith made a sound of regret. The loss of Orleans to the witch-girl Joan of Arc and the English disasters in battles afterward had brought much tears and praying at St. Frideswide’s. Chaucer turned to include her as he talked. “Lady Moleyns is very taken with his story. He was part of her husband’s
meinie,
one of his household men, I gather. In the fighting at Orleans, when Moleyns went down wounded, young Vaughan fought his way to his side before any of his other men and stood above him fighting off the French like a champion from Froissart. He was on his knees and bloodied in a dozen places before help came.”
“A blessing on his courage,” Frevisse said admiringly.
Lady Ermentrude, apparently unmoved by a tale of courage without a Fenner name attached to it, picked a fragment off the edge of her cake.
Domina Edith murmured, “But he did not save his lord?”
“No, alas. It would be a better tale if he had, but they both died of their wounds. Lady Moleyns, as the only reward she could make to him, took Vaughan’s son into her household and has been raising him.”
“A blessing on his courage and her piety,” Domina Edith said. “Vaughan married over there then? Surely not a French woman?”
Chaucer shrugged. “The boy bears his name. That’s all I know. Nor has Lady Moleyns been able to find any English relatives of his father, but she remembers Vaughan talking of your household, Lady Ermentrude, and asked if I would make inquiries. Do you know if he has any family who might want the boy?”
Lady Ermentrude shrugged carelessly. She thought, then mused, “There was a sister, a nun at Godstow, but she died long ago.” She frowned, running her large list of names and connections through her mind. “No, I’m sure there’s no one to be telling he’s dead.” The cake continued to crumble between her fingers. “God give him good rest,” she added perfunctorily. “At Orleans, you say.” She dusted crumbs from her fingers and turned the talk to a subject more to her liking. “One of my sumpter horses has gone lame, Domina. I want your groom of the stable to look at him.”
“As you wish.” Domina Edith nodded.