An Honourable Estate (21 page)

On
the third day, in the afternoon, Sir Edmund Neville came to see her.  He
closed the door behind him but didn’t lock it and stood beside her fire,
fiddling with the key, as he scrutinised her.

“Are you well?” he asked.  “Is there anything that you
need?”

Mabel looked down at the floor, ashamed of her unkempt
appearance, her grubby gown, her unbrushed hair and the smell that she knew
must make the small unaired chamber almost unbearable. 

“I am well, thank you,” she replied.  “How is Sir Peter?”

Neville raised an eyebrow.  “You’re concerned for him?”
he asked.

“I enquire after his health as a matter of courtesy only,”
she told him and found herself annoyed to see the man smile.  He looked so
fresh and clean, she thought.  He had shaved his face and his slightly
wavy dark hair was neatly brushed, falling almost to his collar on either side
of his thin face.  His dark tunic looked new and his hose fitted well to
his muscled thighs and calves.

She looked back to his face and met his pale blue eyes.

“Sir Peter is much improved, though very sore and bruised in
many shades of purple and vermillion.  He will live, you may be relieved
to know, but has sworn vengeance on the man who attacked him.  He says he
would recognise him again with ease and has given me a detailed description –
fair hair, hazel eyes, medium build – all of which could, I am told, describe
your late husband.”

“I’m sure there are many men who fit that description,” she
said. 

“Lymesey also said that the dog he took appeared to know the
man and that the horse he was riding unseated him at a given signal.”

Mabel watched Neville’s face carefully.  Inside her she
could feel an excitement growing, a belief that William was alive and in the
forest and that he was the one who had given Lymesey a good kicking.  But
what if Neville was playing some game with her, she wondered.  What if he
was telling her these things to see how she would reply, to see if she would
reveal any knowledge that would condemn her?  She realised that she needed
to be very careful what she said. 

“Indeed?” she remarked, after a moment.  “Perhaps he
needs to make an excuse for why he didn’t get the better of his attacker.”

“So you think he invented a story?”

“Perhaps.”

She flinched as Neville closed the short distance between
them.  He stood so close that they were almost touching and she hardly
dared breathe as she felt him watching her.

“The dog,” he said almost conversationally.  “Was it the
same dog you had at the hall that barked and snarled at me so fiercely?”

“We have many dogs at Haigh.”

“This one was a hunting dog.  A big animal with grey
fur.”

“What of it?”

“I searched the barns for it when I was there this
morning.  There was no sign of it, or the horse that Lymesey spoke of.”

“Well,” said Mabel, looking up to meet his eyes with a show
of confidence, “the outlaws must have kept them.  Perhaps they butchered
and ate them, for they must be as hungry as the rest of the peasants.”

“Even after they have feasted on the king’s venison?” 

Neville held her gaze and Mabel was the first to look away.

“My daughters will be sorry if the dog is dead,” she told
him.  “They were very fond of it.”  She hesitated.  “Did you see
my daughters?” she asked.

“They are well,” he reassured her.  “Lady Bradshaigh,
would you have supper with me – in the hall?” he asked. Mabel hesitated,
wondering if this was some new ploy to wear her down.  “I will not insist
if you prefer to stay here in your chamber.  I will see that ample food
and wine are sent up.  But I would enjoy your company for a while. 
I... I would like to get to know you better,” he said.

Mabel glanced up again at his well-presented demeanour and
she wondered what he intended now.

“I beg your indulgence, my lord,” she said warily, “but I am
very tired and I fear I would not be the best company tonight.”

“Tomorrow then,” he said and she nodded briefly as she
realised it was not a question but a statement of intent.  “And is there
anything else I can provide you with, my lady?”

She hesitated for only a moment before asking for the
priest.  “I would be grateful if you would allow me to see my confessor,
Father Gilbert,” she said.

Neville watched her curiously.  “You would like to make
a confession?”

“I would like the comfort of my priest’s blessing.”

“Very well,” he agreed.  “I will arrange it.”

Mabel
was relieved the following morning when she saw the familiar face of Father
Gilbert.

“Father!” she exclaimed getting up from the low stool as the
door was closed and locked again behind him.  “I am so glad you have come
to me!”

“Are you well, child?  No one has harmed you, have
they?” he asked as he closed his warm fingers around the hands she held out to
him. 

“No, I’m not harmed.  I am well looked after, although I
am confined to this chamber − and I apologise for the condition you find
me in.”

“You look well enough to me,” he reassured her.  “Just
tired and afraid.  Though Sir Edmund assures me that he keeps you here
only for your own safety and well-being.”

“He keeps me here because he suspects me of collusion with
outlaws, and with my husband,” she whispered as she looked beyond him towards
the door and wondered if Neville was there, with his ear pressed to the wood,
trying to hear what she confessed.

“But that is not true?  You have not seen Sir William? 
Or heard from him?”

“No,” sighed Mabel.  “But you know that the outlaws
rescued Ned Kemp?  Neville thinks that I sent them word of his being taken
to Lancaster gaol.  And he thinks that one of the outlaws may be William
and that it is he who attacked Peter Lymesey.  Father, do you think that
William really is alive and in the forest?” she asked.

“Mabel, my child,” soothed the priest.  “How often must
I advise you not to excite yourself with false hopes.”

“But Lymesey told Neville that Calab recognised the outlaw
and that Hengist threw him off at a signal.  Neither has come home and
they would have come home, unless they have found William.”

“Mabel... Mabel, hush!  Come and sit down with me near
the fire and we will speak calmly of this,” said the priest.  “I know how
much you loved Sir William and I know it is hard for you, child, but you must
look into your heart and admit to yourself before God that your husband is
dead.  Only when you have done that will you be able to find any peace.”

Father Gilbert patted her hand as he spoke to her in the
gentle way that she recognised as the tone she used to comfort Amelia if she
woke from a bad dream, holding her and reassuring her that none of it was real,
just a figment of imagination. 

“But what if this outlaw is William?” she pleaded, looking
into his kind yet concerned face.

“And do you think that your husband would dwell so closely by
and not send you a message to tell you that he was safe?” asked the
priest.  “And I have seen Sir Peter’s injuries.  I would never
believe that Sir William did that.  It was a cowardly attack on a man who
only wanted to enjoy a few hours hunting in the forest.  It was the work
of thugs and scoundrels.”

“William has a temper when roused,” argued Mabel, not wanting
to believe the priest.  But Father Gilbert was still shaking his head.

“You are making yourself ill with this,” he told her,
reaching out a hand to her head.  “It grieves me to see you so
distressed.  You must stay strong, Mabel.  You must pray for strength
and God will grant it.  You owe it to your daughters to be strong and not
to torment them with the hope that their father will return.”

Mabel pulled her hands away and the sobs began to convulse
her body unchecked and uncontrollable.  She had thought that when he heard
what she had to say that Father Gilbert would agree that William lived. 
But his mind had not been changed and she began to think that he might be right
and that she was deluding herself and holding onto a vain hope rather than facing
the truth... the truth that when her year of widowhood was ended she would have
to marry again.

She felt Father Gilbert’s hands on her shoulders as he tried
to comfort her.

“Do not cry, child,” he said.  “God will comfort you in
your loss.

“What will become of me, Father?  Must I be forced to
take Peter Lymesey as a husband?” she asked, unable to contemplate how horrific
that fate might be, especially if the man believed that she had tried to have
him killed.  She thought of the weals that she had seen across Dicken’s
back and she shivered convulsively. 

Father
Gilbert had given her his blessing and left.  Alone again, she had thought
about the future that awaited her.  She could accept it, as the priest
recommended or she could try to avoid it, though how she wasn’t sure. 
Even if she could escape her imprisonment she had nowhere to go.  Her
mother was dead and she doubted that William’s brother would welcome her at
Bradshaw Hall.  And she had Amelia and Bella to consider.  If she ran
and took them with her, how could she feed and protect them if they were forced
to wander homeless through the forest with the sheriff’s men hunting them
down?  And if she chose to leave them behind in the care of Mistress
Palmer there was the risk that Lymesey might decide to take Bella as a bride
instead, to gain possession of the land – and Mabel knew that she would rather
submit to him herself a thousand times than allow that to happen.

As it drew dark and she heard the church bell ring out in the
distance, her door was unlocked and a servant girl told her that Sir Edmund
Neville was awaiting her in the great hall.  Having made herself as
presentable as she was able, Mabel went down the stone steps to where he was
standing, waiting to greet her.

“My lady,” he said with a slight bow.  “I am pleased you
are well enough to keep company with me this evening.”  He took her hand
in his firm grasp and led her towards the fire.  Servants were busy all
around, bringing warm water, platters and wine for the meal and once again the
smell of roasting meats from the kitchen tempted her appetite despite her
anguish.

“I wish that you could send some of this food to my daughters
at Haigh,” she told him as the meats were brought in and placed before them and
he reached out with his knife to carve some for her.

“I am not surprised that you are concerned for your
daughters’ welfare, my lady,” he said as he laid the meat on the trencher
before her.  “A villager’s house is not the place for such well-born
girls.”

“I will not have them beneath the same roof as Lymesey.”

“And what will happen if... when you marry him?”

“I will not marry him!”

“Is that wise?” asked Sir Edmund.  “After all if you
were Sir Peter’s wife I would feel less inclined to distrust you.  I would
certainly not be able to keep you here.”

Mabel stared at the meat before her and knew that if she
tried to eat it she would choke.  “Are you saying that I must marry him to
be released?” she asked quietly.

“I didn’t say that, my lady.”

“But you inferred it.”

“Perhaps you misunderstand me.  Eat your supper,” he
urged, pouring some wine for both of them.  “But what alternative do you
have” he asked her as he placed the flagon on the table.

Mabel met his blue eyes and remained silent for a long
time.  “I could remain a widow,” she said at last. 

“The Earl of Lancaster will not allow it,” said Sir
Edmund.  “As your lord, he has the right to compel you to marry a husband
of his choosing.  If he decides that you are to marry Sir Peter Lymesey
and Sir Peter is willing to take you as his wife then you have no choice in the
matter.  It is the law,” he added, glancing at her as she sat in a
sickened silence.

“Did you make your confession to the priest?” he asked her
after a moment.

“Yes.”

“And did Father Gilbert offer you any guidance?”

“We spoke... about my future,” she said.

“Lady Bradshaigh, there is another solution,” he told
her.  Mabel said nothing, but looked up to see that he was carefully
studying her reaction.  “The earl could be persuaded to nominate someone
else as your husband.”

“Who?” she asked.

He reached out to take her hand.  “Lady Bradshaigh...
Lady Mabel... would it be more acceptable to you to become my wife?”

Chapter Ten

An Audience With The King

The
Scot was outside the church chopping logs when they got back.  William
frowned at the sight of the man with an axe in his hand and wondered who had
given it to him.

As they approached, Harry Palmer hurried towards them from
where he and Ned Kemp had been hammering stakes into the ground to make the
framework for a new house.  Martha dropped her basket and ran to him.