Eleanor nodded. At least she did not have to see the younger son, George. Had he been here, it would have been painful for them both. Not only had he had been her father’s choice for her husband, George had been eager for the marriage himself. She had been fond of him, a feeling perhaps rather different than what a sister would feel for a brother if she were honest with herself, but she had never felt sufficient lust to turn her heart from the convent. That passion, she thought ruefully, had not conquered her until she had met Brother Thomas.
Eleanor took a sip of cider to hide the blush she felt rising at the thought of the finely formed priest. “If Juliana is your choice to be Robert’s wife, it is a good one,” she said at last. “I remember her as a witty and lively girl, one who did not lack in certain feminine attributes which my brother might view with more favor than the fine mind I enjoyed.”
Her father grunted with amusement, then his expression turned solemn. “Juliana has changed, child. Her mother’s death and her father’s over-quick marriage to her childhood friend have made her into a somber girl. Despite the bewitchment of his whore, Geoffrey still has wits enough to grieve over the change. He thinks a husband and children of her own will chase melancholy from Juliana’s soul.” Adam glanced away from his daughter and stared fixedly into the hearth.
As her father remained silent, Eleanor tapped her foot with impatience. “There is more to this story, is there not?”
“I hesitate to say that grief has unsettled Juliana’s mind entirely, yet I have heard tales of most curious behavior. Her father does not believe she is bewitched, rather that her womanly humors have been unbalanced of late. If so, we must act quickly in the matter of this marriage to restore her to full health.”
“Behavior such as…?”
“One morning she came to break her fast in a robe. A monk’s habit. It seems she had slipped into their priest’s room and stolen his summer robe.”
“It would not be unlike Juliana to play such a mischievous trick, but I can only hope their confessor is more pleasant of scent than ours. Father Anselm has never exuded a sweet odor of sanctity. Unless I were performing a severe penance, I would not steal a robe from him.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose.
“You will make me laugh, child, and this is a serious matter. There is yet more to the story.”
“Forgive me, father. What else?”
“Before their arrival here, Juliana cut her hair, then shaved her head.”
Eleanor frowned. “My jest was indeed out of place. That act is far beyond the innocent mischief-making of the girl I knew.” She fell silent for a moment, then continued. “Juliana and her new stepmother were once friends, yet you suggest they may now be estranged. How has their behavior together altered? Do they no longer speak civilly with one another?”
“They have been seen to speak together, civilly enough I’ve been told, but Juliana is often in tears afterward. Were I Geoffrey’s daughter, I, too, would be in tears. This marriage was not a happy pairing.”
“Except, it seems, to Sir Geoffrey. If you will, father, what has so turned you against his second wife? Finding a good husband is the duty of most women of rank, and surely it is not her youth. She can bear children to bring him joy in his later years. Nor can you fault the dowry she brings, for I do recall that she had lands from which the Lavenhams took revenue whilst she was their ward.”
Her father’s face flushed a deep purple. “I would not fault the lands, but the son should have been the match, not the father. Henry both expected and has wanted the woman as wife for years. He resents that his father took her from him. In that he has the right of it. Nor do I understand why she chased after the father rather than the son, who would have been the better, as well as the expected, match for her. Yet I could have put all that aside had she been a more dutiful wife to her new lord once he took her bait and she had pulled him to the marriage vows.” The baron banged his fist on the table.
“You have called her whore. Has she taken lovers? Is that your objection?”
Adam glared as he fell heavily into the chair facing his daughter. “This is something you know nothing about and have no reason to as prioress to women and womanish monks. When a man reaches his middle years, things often happen to him, which require a wife to be kind and resourceful in the marriage bed. I cannot speak of this to a…”
The sound of a pewter cup flung against the stone wall reverberated like the clank of a cracked church bell.
Adam stared at his daughter, his face paling as if he had just seen a ghost. “My child,” he gasped, “I have not seen a woman do that since your mother died!”
“Did she have as just a cause with you as I have, my lord?” Eleanor’s face was also white but with frustration overlying rage.
“She did tell me that I sometimes gave her less than her due in comprehension.”
For just a moment, father and daughter stared at each other, he in amazement and memory, she in fading anger but with stubborn determination.
The father lowered his eyes first, although a smile teased at his lips. “Very well. I see I may no longer regard you as an innocent child. In court circles, many have said that my daughter is gaining reputation in her Order as a resourceful woman with wisdom beyond her years. It seems only just that I treat her as such.”
Eleanor bowed her head. She could feel the flush of pleasure the hard won words of praise brought. “As my mother would have wished as well, my lord, or so I would presume.” She made her tone conciliatory.
Adam smiled at his daughter with both sadness and pleasure, and his hand moved ever so slightly toward hers. Then he quickly pulled it back, empty of any touch of her. “Aye, lass,” he said, his voice catching almost imperceptibly. “That she would have.”
Chapter Five
“How did he die?” Thomas asked as he watched two men lead the horse bearing the corpse of Hywel, the retainer, away.
Robert said nothing for a moment, then he turned his head away so his expression was unreadable. “The death seems to have been an accident. Sir Geoffrey said the horse bolted. Threw Hywel. His neck was broken in an instant.” He swallowed. “He was riding as attendant to Henry at the time. However thoughtless Henry may have been in slapping the steed, the horse should not have reared like that.” Then Robert ran one hand over his eyes and added, his voice sharp with anger, “Hywel will be sorely missed.”
An accident seemed a reasonable enough explanation, Thomas thought. Nonetheless, Sir Geoffrey’s overheard remark about Henry’s soul finding a place in Hell suggested that there might be more to the tale, perhaps something omitted that would explain why this particular horse had bolted. Indeed, from Robert’s manner of telling the story, Thomas suspected that he did not believe the servant’s death had been an accident at all.
“The Lord Henry seemed uneasy lest others think he was in some part to blame for what happened,” he said, curious to see how Robert would answer.
“The Lord Henry believes that he, not God’s created earth, should be the center of the universe. Whether the matter be good or ill, he cannot bear to have attention focused away from himself.”
An interesting reply, Thomas thought. It carefully evaded addressing whether carelessness, accident, or even a deliberate act had caused the death of the servant. “And the woman who so grieved over Hywel? Is she sister or wife?”
“Widow. In a fortress full of soldiers, she will not remain long without a man, but they did have young children together. Henry may not have dropped one coin into her hand, but his father has a more generous spirit. Nor would we let them starve. Nonetheless, even the promise of food in their bellies and a warm enough hearth will not chase the bitter chill of their father’s death from the hearts of those little ones this winter season.”
Thomas nodded in silence as he turned to look at Robert’s future brother-in-law. Henry was standing with the two women who had been part of the tragic morning ride. At this distance, the color of his face seemed to have cooled, but he was waving his hands with animation. Thomas bent his head in the direction of the Lavenham heir. “Not even a coin? Has he always been such a brutish man?”