The Merchant's Daughter (29 page)

“It doesn’t say it’s all good. It only says that God works in all things for the good of those who love him.”

She seemed to think for a moment. “Do you love God, my lord?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I suppose we must believe that all this can be, and will be, worked out for your good.”

“And for your good.”

“Yes.” She seemed afraid to look at him tonight. Had he frightened her that much when he held her in his arms this morning? She hadn’t seemed repulsed by him, had laid her cheek against his chest … but then she’d seemed to realize what she was doing and ran away.

Finally, she did glance up at him, but her gaze darted around so that she never looked him in the eye. “God wouldn’t want us to disbelieve him,” she whispered. “So we must believe it will all … be well in the end.” She sighed.

He reached out, on impulse, and grabbed her hand. “It will be well. I promise.” He squeezed her fingers and let go.

Staring down at her hand, she nodded. After another minute, she continued to read, her voice shaky.

The next morning Ranulf found Annabel in the kitchen.
It has to be done.
“Will you take a walk with me?”

She looked startled, even a little afraid, but she nodded and laid aside the bread dough she was patting into a loaf, wiping her hands on her apron. Mistress Eustacia gave Annabel a look that made him wonder what they had been talking about.

She followed as he strolled toward the clearing where the work was going on for his new home. After several moments of silence, she asked, “How is the construction of your castle coming along?”

“Castle? Is that what you call it?” He smiled in amusement. “I suppose it must look like a castle, but castles are fortresses for the politically ambitious. This house won’t be built for defense. If someone wishes to do me harm, I’m afraid they’ll encounter little resistance.”

“Oh.”

“We have finished the foundation. I hope to move in most of the household by All Souls’ Day — which is appropriate, I think.”

All Souls’ Day came almost two months before Christmas, the day when everyone said prayers to help extricate the dead from purgatory. He only hoped by then he could keep his heart out of the purgatory of loving beautiful women who didn’t love him.

As they drew nearer, the clang of the smiths’ hammers rang out, as well as shouts from the various workers. Soon they were able to view the whole scene on the swell of land above them. Carters hauled stone up the hill and up the ramps built along the sides of the walls. Masons laid the stones with mortar while a nearby lime burner made more.

The trenches for the foundation had been dug, the foundation laid, and the walls were rising quickly. Lead workers, carpenters, and roof tilers all performed their various skilled tasks, with laborers assisting, carrying, and fetching.

“Oh.” Annabel stood still, watching the scene with wide eyes. She looked so fascinated, Ranulf couldn’t help but smile.

“What do you think of my ‘castle’?”

“It’s nearly finished!”

“Only the front section. I shall move into it in a few weeks.” And she wouldn’t even be around to see it.

“I can hardly believe how much has been done. They’ve worked quickly, haven’t they?”

“It’s quite an army of men,” Ranulf acknowledged.

It was certainly a stately home, even he had to admit. The stone front rose two full stories, its gray stone formidable. The wooden front door was wide enough for three people abreast, with long, black iron hinges reaching across it. The roof came to a point, and dipped and rose again at the two round towers on either side. Generous glass panes gave it a peaceful look, as no fear of besiegers had dictated the size of the windows. The beauty of it was undeniable, if he did think so himself, and there was much more house to come, extending far to the rear and to the north from the main section.

Annabel was one of the few people from Glynval who had been to London, and so would have seen other buildings — churches and a few castles — to rival its eventual size, but even she seemed impressed.

Ranulf led her to a felled tree in a shady nook where they could observe the builders without being noticed themselves.

He took a deep breath and began, “We are friends, are we not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You are not an ordinary servant. You’re the daughter of a wealthy merchant.”

“Perhaps at one time, but my father is dead and his ships were all lost. He died a poor man.”

“Nonetheless, you grew up in a wealthy home. You are educated. You learned languages, learned to read and write. You’ve traveled to large cities. None of the other villagers can boast of these things.”

Annabel questioned him with her eyes as she perched on the tree trunk a couple of feet away.

“What I’m trying to say is that there is no one here for you” — he swallowed, having a hard time getting the words out — “for you to marry.”
Except me.
But he was foolish to even think those words. “And you told me once that you didn’t wish to marry. You wanted to become a nun. Is this still true?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then I shall send you to Rosings Abbey. I know the abbess there. In fact, she is my mother’s sister. I have written to her and expect to receive her reply any day. Does this please you?” He did not allow any emotion to show in his face as he searched hers.

Her expression showed interest — and joy. “Oh, yes, my lord. It pleases me. But are you sure you want to send me away? I was indentured to you for three years. My service has hardly begun.”

Ranulf again had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. “I don’t want to send you away, but I want you to be safe. You see, I will be sending you away in secret. Not even Mistress Eustacia knows my plans. If Sir Clement finds out you are going to an abbey before his investigation is over, he will prevent you.”

“Oh.” Sober-faced, she stared out into the milling workers.

“I wish to help you escape any repercussions from people here in Glynval once they find out you know who struck the bailiff. It is the only way to keep you safe from the jury’s inquest.”

“Won’t Sir Clement come to the abbey and force me to tell what I know?”

“Nay, you will be safe as long as you stay within the walls of the abbey.” He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs were too tight. “And as for your service to me, you have done more for me in a fortnight than most other servants do in three years.”

She blushed and looked confused. She stared down at her hands fidgeting in her lap.

He wanted to tell her so much more, how she had convicted him of his bitterness toward women and how unjust that had
been. She made him realize there were good people in the world. And though it was bittersweet, at least he knew he was no longer dead inside. He couldn’t tell her, but he enjoyed being with her, talking with her, seeing the sincerity of her feelings and the purity of her thoughts. God was obviously alive, alive in her. Hearing her thoughts as they read the Bible together had given him joy he had seldom known before.

Perhaps he should tell her this, but it would only strain their friendship. She would be afraid of him if she knew the depths of his feelings.

He sighed. He’d told her his plan. Now he must fulfill his promise to Sir Clement of trying to pry the identity of the bailiff’s attacker from her.

“Annabel.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Sir Clement and I know you saw who struck the bailiff. From what you say, he didn’t intend to kill him, but the bailiff still has not regained consciousness. I need you to tell me who you were with that night.”

“How could I hurt him in this way?” She turned toward him, her forehead creased, her eyes pleading with him. “I have no right to keep the information from you, but how can I do such a traitorous thing to a friend who was only trying to defend me from Bailiff Tom?”

Ranulf felt the heat rise up his neck. Once again, he wished he had been the one with her, the one to help her.

“Annabel, if you tell me now, I will only tell the coroner after you’ve gone to the abbey. And I will make sure Sir Clement and the entire village knows that this person was defending you from the bailiff.” She seemed to be considering it, not looking quite as perplexed as before. “I promise I’ll do all I can to keep the person safe from repercussions. No one can blame him when they find out what the bailiff was doing to you.”

“I don’t want you to be blamed, either.” Her lip quivered and tears swam in her eyes. But she swallowed and blinked the tears away. “I will tell you, but please promise me that you
won’t reveal it unless you have to, to keep yourself safe from blame.”

“I promise. But I need you also to tell me everything that happened. Don’t leave anything out. Then when this is all over, if the bailiff recovers, he can be properly punished.”

She stared down at the ground, pursing her lips and blinking rapidly. His longing to reach out and comfort her was so strong it was a physical ache. But he held back.

She took a deep breath and began telling about walking through the woods to the privy. She didn’t look at him, just stared at the ground while she talked.

“He grabbed me. I tried to scream, but he put his hand over my mouth. I bit him on the hand, but he just held me harder, hurting my face. He dragged me off the path and into the woods.”

She continued talking in a monotone voice, until she said, “He managed to take my knife, but I got away from him before he could really hurt me.” Anxiety seeped back into her voice as she said, “I tripped and fell, and I was so terrified.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she said, “Then someone came and lifted me up.”

“Who was it?”

She didn’t say anything. A tear dripped from her eye.

“Was it Gilbert Carpenter?”

She shook her head.

“Was it Stephen Blundel?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “He’d heard me try to scream. I told him to run, but he picked up the rock to defend us from the bailiff. He threw the rock and it hit the bailiff in the head. And that’s all. If Stephen hadn’t been there, the bailiff might have caught up with me, and … he would have …” She shook her head and wiped her face with her hands as tears began streaming down her face.

“So it was Stephen.”

She nodded, her head down as she tried to hide her tears from him.

The young furniture maker. He finally knew the protector’s identity, but seeing Annabel’s distress, he was almost sorry he had forced her to tell and to relive that terrible night.

She leaned forward and grasped his wrist. “Please don’t tell anyone. He begged me not to tell. He begged me. Please don’t tell.”

She was suddenly gripped with guilt. Had she done the right thing?
Oh, Stephen, forgive me! I’m a terrible, traitorous friend.
What would happen if the bailiff died and the coroner found out it was Stephen? Would Stephen be executed? Would he have to pay a heavy fine to the king and to the bailiff’s remaining family?

He’d told her he had some money, and he was saving it to build a house for himself and his mother. His plans would be destroyed. What would he think of her?

Compassion was clearly etched on Lord le Wyse’s brow. He slid closer. “I’m so sorry.” He placed his arms around her and pulled her to him.

She let him hold her against his chest. She was getting his shirt wet with her tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. When she started to sob, he held her closer, his arm cradling her shoulders.

She should pull away, stand out of his reach, but instead, she leaned against his solid chest and let the warmth and comfort of his arms flow through her. But the worry over what would happen to Stephen came back.

She lifted her head from his chest and grabbed his arms, holding him away from her. Choking back tears, she said, “I bind you, sir, to what you said before — that you are my friend. Please help Stephen if Sir Clement finds out about him.”

“Please don’t worry. I will take care of Stephen and help him every way possible.”

She sagged in relief, and Lord le Wyse pulled her back into his arms. Her head fell weakly against his shoulder.

She should push him away. His arms were strong, but he would not force her to stay.