An Honourable Estate (10 page)

“He will not test you beyond endurance, my lady,” comforted
the priest.  “He knows that you are strong.”

“But I am not strong, Father.  Every day I would like to
give up and not continue.  Every night I want to lie down on my bed and
sleep and never wake.”

“And what would become of your daughters then?” he chided
her.  “And what would become of the villagers who look to you for
inspiration?  No, you must remain strong, my child.  God will grant
you the strength.”

“But what of William?” she asked.  “I do not know if he
lives or not.  He may lie cold and unburied in some forgotten ditch, or,
if not, I cannot even bear to think of him starving in the forest, afraid to
come home.  They say the land is forfeit to the king,” she told the
priest.  He nodded slowly.  “No one has come yet to turn me out, but
every day I fear they will.  Do you know anything, Father?  You must
hear things,” she said.

“I hear many things, my lady, but I can truthfully tell you
that I have heard nothing of this matter.”

Mabel sighed and thanked the priest who blessed her, but she
walked back to the hall with her thoughts as troubled as ever.  Robert
Holland had stayed away.  She doubted there was much to bring him to
Lancashire in these dark, wet winter days, and although she watched each day
for the return of the sun, praying for a summer that would bring them food and freedom
from the diseases that had plagued them for so long, she also feared the
springtime that would thaw the roads would bring him north to claim what she
believed was rightfully hers.  But she would not give it up, she decided,
as she stared up at her home.  She would not give it up without a
fight. 

At
last the darkness abated and the tightly curled buds on the tree branches began
to swell with new life as it grew warmer, if not drier.  But there was
still no news of William, or Harry Palmer, and as each day passed Mabel found
it harder and harder to hold onto the hope that they were still alive.

She decided that when the rain stopped she would leave Bella
and Amelia in the care of Edith and her mother, Mistress Palmer, and she would
take Ned Kemp and go to look for William’s body at Preston.  If it could
not be found she could continue to believe that he lived.  And if they did
find him, she could bring him home and see him decently buried in the church at
Wigan with the blessing of Father Robert upon his soul. 

But before she had the opportunity, she was disturbed one day
by the sound of hooves approaching from the south.  Thinking that it was
Edmund Neville come again she reached to untie her apron, took off the woollen
shawl she had been wearing for warmth and, pushing stray hair beneath her coif,
she told Edith and the girls to stay in the kitchen as she went to greet her
visitor at the door of the manor house.

To her surprise the men she saw ride into the courtyard were
strangers.  One rode a large bay with a wide blaze down its nose.  He
looked contemptuously down at Mabel from narrow eyes of an indeterminate colour
and said nothing until his page came to hold the horse’s bridle and help him
down.  He stood and, as he stretched and flexed his legs as if they were
stiff from a long ride, Mabel noticed how short he was, short and squat with
his rotund body almost incongruously balanced on his stick thin legs.  She
watched with a mixture of curiosity and dismay as he glanced up and around the
courtyard, as if taking an inventory of the house and outbuildings.  Then
at last he looked at Mabel and she saw the disdain in his eyes.

“I take it you are Mabel Bradshaw?” he asked in a high
pitched whine that reminded her of a petulant child.

“I am Lady Mabel Bradshaigh,” she replied, with more
confidence than she felt as she watched him, wondering who he was and what he
wanted.  Glancing at his companions she saw that they were armed and wore
surcoats bearing a spread eagle with a blue beak and claws; it was not a livery
that she recognised.  Perhaps they were lost, or merely passing by, she
hoped, though she suspected that neither explanation was the true one.

He nodded dismissively at her words.  “My name is Sir
Peter Lymesey,” he told her.  His hard eyes stared at her as if he
expected the announcement to mean something.

“You’re welcome at my house,” she said uncertainly.

“Your house?”  laughed the man suddenly.  “I don’t
think so Mistress Bradshaw.”

Mabel looked at him, puzzled, not knowing how to
respond.  The man was not only uncouth, but ill-mannered and a sudden
horror seized her that he was the one to whom her lands had been demised.

“Yes, indeed,” he smiled in a self-satisfied way as the
recognition of her situation must have become apparent on her face.  “I am
your lord and master, and you a mere tenant here, so if you are not going to
invite me inside I will gladly take the privilege owing to me.”

“Of course.  I apologise.  Do come in and take some
food and drink,” replied Mabel, quickly gathering her scattered thoughts and
fears.  She stood back to allow the man to pass into the hall ahead of
her, determined to cling on to her position as hostess and not to let him
render her entirely powerless.

He swaggered into the manor house and stood looking around as
if calculating its worth.  Mabel saw three pairs of frightened eyes
peeping from behind the kitchen door and she smiled to reassure them before
calling for Edith.

“Bring some wine and cakes for our guest,” she said, frowning
a warning as she realised that Edith was about to say there were none to
spare.  “And what of your men?” Mabel asked him.  “Do they need
food?  A place to stay?  Or do you have other plans?”

“I have no plans that I wish to discuss with you Mistress,
except of course the matter of your rents and taxes,” he replied as he pulled
off his thick gauntlets, unfastened his cloak and removed his wolf-skin hat,
laying them all proprietorially across the largest coffer.   Mabel
saw that his head was almost bald of hair, except for a few greying strands
that barely covered his pink scalp.  His chin on the other hand bristled
with an untidy beard and along with his slightly protruding ears gave the
impression that his head had been adjoined to his body upside down.

She was about to invite him to sit when he pulled William’s
chair across the hard earthen floor, nearer to the hearth, and lowered himself
onto it with an audible sigh.

“You need to feed your fire,” he observed.  “This meagre
blaze will not warm me at all and I am chilled to the bone with this damp,
northern weather.”

“I will fetch more logs,” said Edith as she put a flagon of
the best wine and a filled cup beside him.

“Bring the food first,” he ordered her and with a bewildered glance
at Mabel, the girl dropped a curtsey and did as she was bid.

“Keep the girls out of sight and find them some occupation to
distract them whilst I attend to our visitor,” Mabel whispered to Edith,
catching hold of her arm as she passed her.  

“What are you mumbling about?” he demanded.

“I am merely ensuring your comfort, my lord,” replied
Mabel.  “I have no wish to seem unwelcoming.  It is just that your
arrival was... unexpected.” 

He raised his sparse eyebrows as he quaffed great gulps of
the wine.  “Neville did not tell you to expect me?”

“No.  I have neither seen nor heard from Sir Edmund
Neville since before mid-winter.”

Mabel stood before him in the uncomfortable silence and
wondered why she had not been warned of his coming.  As she had heard no
more from Sir Edmund she had presumed that the lands were still under the
control of Robert Holland, and that it would be his bailiff who would come
again to collect rent from her.  And although she had found that there was
less than she had hoped when she counted the coins in the coffer at the foot of
the bed, she was sure that there was enough to pay any reasonable demand. 
Now as she looked at this avaricious little man who sat before her fire in her
husband’s chair, she couldn’t help but wonder if he meant only to collect money
from her and leave.  He had the air of someone with different plans.

“Your house is tolerable,” he remarked with a slight
sneer.  “I have a mind to stay awhile,” he added, confirming her
suspicions.

“I would have thought the house of Sir Robert Holland would
have offered you better comfort that my humble home,” she said.  “I
presume that you are acquainted with him?”

“Oh yes.  Sir Robert however is merely secretary to the
Earl of Lancaster, as you no doubt know, whereas I am a knight of the household
of his majesty the king.”

“My husband is loyal to the king,” said Mabel, grasping at a
hope that the man would after all reveal himself as her ally. 

“Your husband was an outlaw, mistress,” he replied with a
dismissive shrug of his shoulders.  He picked up the cup again and drained
it, then took a honey cake and chewed noisily with a slightly open mouth. 
“Very good,” he remarked.  “Did you make these?”

“Yes... but we are very short of flour and of all supplies,”
she burst out in irritation that he should take for granted her ability to
place food and wine before him.

“Oh I’m sure your villagers have plenty stashed away. 
You should squeeze them a little more.  They will take advantage of a lone
woman you know.  Perhaps you would like me to have a word with them?”

“No.  That will not be necessary,” she said
quickly.  “I’m sure they have paid all their dues.  I keep careful
accounts.”

“Then perhaps now would be a good time to show me those
accounts so that I can judge for myself,” he suggested with a short smile.

“Of course,” said Mabel and excusing herself she went to the
bedchamber and unlocked the coffer with the key from her belt.  Her hands
lingered regretfully on the shining silver coins that she knew she would soon
be forced to part with.  Then she took out the rolls on which she had
written all the payments and expenses of the manor and, after securing the
chest, she returned to the hall and gave them to Sir Peter who unrolled them
and studied them closely.

“The manor has shown no profit this year,” he observed.

“There has been famine,” she reminded him.

“Well I will still expect a fair rent.  I have been
granted the income from these lands as a reward for my loyal service,” he said,
with a subtle emphasis on the word loyal.  “I cannot afford to be
charitable.”

“How much will you require?” she asked.  He looked up
and studied her for a while.

“I haven’t quite decided yet.  It depends upon your
ability to... to make me welcome,” he told her.

A terror struck Mabel as she began to comprehend his
meaning.  She was sickened and afraid that the kind of payment he was
hinting at would be a far greater cost than the hoard of silver.  Trying
to remain calm she breathed deeply to steady herself.

“I have made you as welcome as I am able,” she replied, her
voice shaking.  “But if you would like to stay to supper then I’m sure
that we can provide for you... and your men... though it will be only simple,
homely fare.”

He laughed as he rolled up her accounts.  “I’m sure that
supper will be a start, and will allow us to get to know one another
better.”  He smirked as he reached for his hat and gloves. “And in the
meantime I will inspect the barns and shippon to make sure you have no grain or
animals hidden away that you have not accounted for.  You would be
surprised how many tenants are a little... creative... in their
reckonings.  But you will find, Mistress Bradshaw, that I am not a man to
be duped or cheated.”

“My name is Lady Bradshaigh,” she reminded him in an attempt
to keep control of some dignity.

“I think not,” he remarked.  “Remember that you are now
merely the widow of an outlaw, without even a strip of land to call your own.”

“I will accompany you,” she said as she picked up the rolls
to return them to the bedchamber and collect her cloak.

“No need,” he said.  “I am quite capable of finding my
way.”  And before she could say more he had left the hall and called for
two men to accompany him whilst the page took the horses to be stabled, and
Mabel feared that by the time she was rid of them all their precious supplies
would have been eaten.

“Have we enough food to provide dinner for so many?” she
asked Edith when she found the silent girl cowering in the kitchen with her
daughters.  Mabel guessed that she had been listening at the door and
that, although Bella and Amelia were too young to understand Lymesey’s
innuendos, Edith understood all too well and probably feared that she might be
the next to feel the thrust of the man’s attentions.

“We have pea stew,” she said.

“Ah,” remarked Mabel, in an attempt to lighten the mood with
humour.  “Whatever we become short of we never seem to be without
peas.  Do what you can Edith.  We have some bread at least and
oatcakes.  Let us hope they are not too hungry.”

As she came from the buttery after checking the ale she saw
her pale-faced daughters watching her and realised that not only were they
afraid, but they were vulnerable.  If she had to make a payment to Lymesey
of the kind that he had hinted at then it was something she would force herself
to do to keep them safe, but it was not an act which she would want them to be
under the same roof to witness.