The outlaw's tale (21 page)

Improperium exspectavit Cor meum et miseriam ... consolantem me quaesivi, et non inveni
. I feared my heart would break with shame and sorrow... I begged someone to comfort me, and found no one.

Where had that Psalm come from?  Not part of Matins or Lauds, but very much to the point after all.  She finished with the Paternoster; and its ending,
sed libera nos a malo
, caught and repeated itself in her mind, over and over.  But deliver us from evil, from evil, from evil.  Amen, amen.

Frevisse was drawn from unsatisfying sleep by Sister Emma's stir and snuffle into wakefulness beside her.  Trying to avoid both Sister Emma and her own thoughts, she buried herself deeper into the bed and blankets.  But it was no use.  Sister Emma groaned and flung her hand out sideways, slapping into Frevisse's back.

“Willo birdie sush," she murmured.  “Uh, oh, fursh!"

Frevisse sat up and turned to her.  “Sister Emma, wake up.  You're dreaming."  She laid a hand on her shoulder; the sheet and blanket were wet.  Quickly she felt Sister Emma's forehead and called out, “Bess, come!  Her fever has broken!"

Sister Emma stretched, coming more awake, shoving the blankets away from her.  Frevisse pulled them back up to her neck.  “No, you must stay covered, you're all damp," she urged.  Among the things they did not need right now was for Sister Emma to take another chill.

Bess, already dressed and neat for the day that was no more yet than a gray glooming between the shutters, drew open the curtains on Sister Emma's side of the bed.  She felt Sister Emma's forehead as Frevisse had and said, “It's broken indeed.  She'll be much better now, poor lady."

“Ohhhh," Sister Emma said, more fully awaked.  “I'm so
wet
.  What's happened?"

“Your fever has broken, my lady," Bess repeated.  “You'll be better now."

Out of sight below Frevisse's side of the bed, Magdalen stirred.  There was rustling and then the rumble of the truckle bed being rolled under the higher bed.  Frevisse hoped Evan could bear cramped spaces.

“I don't feel better," Sister Emma complained.  Her breathing was short, her voice clogged.

“You want something to drink," Bess assured her.  “You're sweating like–"  She thought better of whatever comparison had come to her.  “Your body is exhausting itself.  You must lie quietly and drink as much as you can.  Here."

She deftly pulled up the covers Sister Emma was trying to push away and held a cup to her mouth, distracting her.

“What is it?" Sister Emma demanded.  “I don't want any more medicine.  I've had such dreams...“

“It's just ale, my lady.  Not even spices in it.  See?  Taste it."

Bess seemed to have the matter well in hand.  Relieved, Frevisse sat up as Magdalen straightened from beside the bed.  Their eyes met briefly, acknowledging what they faced today, before Sister Emma burbled, “Yes, that does feel better.  You're right.  I need more to drink.  I'm perishing of thirst."

Her face was shining pink with perspiration, and her short hair stood up in damp golden ringlets.  But she was definitely in better health than yesterday.  As she lowered the cup from another deep drink, she said, “Good morning, Mistress Dow!  I'm so much better today, it's quite exceptional!  I seem to have slept forever.  They say that a night's good sleep is worth a week of rest.  Oh, I do want out of this bed for a while."

“No!" Frevisse and Magdalen chorused.

“No," Frevisse repeated. “For nothing except necessity.  You still have congestion."

“But it's much improved," Sister Emma protested, and coughed to demonstrate how much.

“We want it to improve even more," Frevisse persisted.  “I really think you'll have to have more medicine."  She did not see how they would survive the day with Sister Emma conscious and talking the entire time.  Aside from all else, they needed her asleep again so that Evan could be fed, his wound seen to, and nature answered.

She turned to Magdalen.  “Do you suppose Mistress Payne would allow us just a little more of her syrup?"

“I really don't want..." Sister Emma began.

“Here's more ale, my lady," Bess interrupted.  As she held the cup for Sister Emma to drink again, she looked across the bed at Frevisse and shook her head.

Frevisse suddenly understood she should let the matter rest.  “I had best dress," she said and rose to do so.  Her gown had been cleaned as well it could be by Bess last night, and she had slept in her chemise as St. Benedict's holy Rule required.  Now she dressed and pinned her veil into place while Bess – leaving Sister Emma with the cup refilled with ale – helped Magdalen dress and then put up her hair and veil it.

In every outward way it was simply a usual morning; and that was how they had to make it appear to Sister Emma.  Sipping her ale, she chattered and occasionally coughed, and sank lower on the pillows moment by moment.  Watching her closely, Bess plucked the cup from her hands just before she subsided completely into sleep.  Between one moment and the next she was oblivious, her mouth a little open, her eyes heavily shut, her head sagged sideways on the pillow.

“How did you manage that?" Magdalen whispered at Bess.

“Good drink often takes a body that way after a fever has broken," Bess whispered back, plainly pleased with herself.

“Did you have any of the poppy syrup in the ale?" Frevisse asked.

Bess looked guilty.  “I didn't dare.  There's only a little left from yesterday and I stole that."

“Bess!" Magdalen exclaimed.

“I didn't dare ask Mistress Payne for more!  She said when she gave me some the first day that there should be only one dose at a time and days and days before there was another one.  If she knew we wanted more, she'd want to come see Sister Emma for herself, and then maybe refuse the syrup after all."

Magdalen patted her arm.  “Then you did right.  We'll save what little syrup there is in case of dire need."

There was a rap at the door, and without opening it Adam called, “The family's gathering for prayers and breakfast!  Mistress is asking if Dame Frevisse is coming?"

Frevisse drew in her breath impatiently.  “The letter to Nicholas isn't written yet," she said in a low voice to Magdalen.

“I'll do it.  I know what to say.  Best you go down, tell them that everything is well here, learn what you can."

Frevisse raised her voice to reach Adam.  “I'll be there at once!"

She paused a moment to gather herself.  She had never faced so many people with so great a deception.  Bess, looking as subdued as Frevisse felt, followed her from the room, down the stairs, and went to the kitchen to fetch back breakfasts that would mostly go to Evan, while Frevisse went on to the hall.

Fearing she was delaying the Paynes’ morning prayers she went rapidly to stand at her place at the head table beside Mistress Payne.  Despite Bess's report of Sir Perys' lengthy prayers yesterday, today he went at a brisk pace, finishing them before anyone but Bartholomew and Kate became restless.  When he had finished, everyone sat.

There was no need for serving; the ale and yesterday's bread and cold meats from supper were already set out on the tables.  Breakfast was a meal with scant ceremony and little time given to it because dinner, the main meal of the day, was only four or five hours away, and the morning's work was waiting.  So talk was slight and no one dawdled over their food, but Frevisse learned that there was no word yet as to when the sheriff and crowner would arrive, and that Master Payne had indeed called out the hue and cry on Evan yesterday.  By now word would be spread far and wide to be on the watch for a peddler well known through the neighborhood.

Frevisse also judged that Master Payne was in a seething temper.  He contained it well; his movements were as precise and set as they had ever been, but his face was drawn with an in-held tension that was costing him much effort.  And Mistress Payne's anxious sideways looks at him showed how acutely she felt his strain.

Because breakfast was so casual, Edward and Richard sat at table on their father's left.  To Frevisse's eye, Edward appeared caught in the side-lash of his father’s ill temper; there was both worry and wariness in the looks he dodged toward his father.  Richard seemed equally subdued, concentrating on his food, and at the lower tables so were Katherine and Richard and the servants, though perhaps not so tense.  Only Kate and Bartholomew seemed unconcerned.  And Frevisse suspected Sir Perys's brooding silence was probably centered more on the coming tribulation of morning lessons than anything else.

At the end of the meal, Frevisse thanked Mistress Payne, assured her that Sister Emma was much improved but was best left to rest, that Magdalen had had a quiet night and was no more distressed than was reasonable, and that she would certainly ask for anything Sister Emma might need.

She finally made her escape with great relief, only to have to face Adam sitting on a stool outside of Magdalen's door.  With pretence of normal manners, she asked, “Have you eaten?  Should I bring you something?"

“Nay.  I ate before I came up, but thanks for the kindness.  How is it with her?"  He nodded toward Magdalen's door.  “Bess wouldn't say aught except she's well and it's none of our business, she's not our lady.  But we like her.  All the household does."

Surprised she could say it so easily, Frevisse answered, “She does well enough.  It will be better when this is past."

“That it will," Adam agreed.  “Master Payne has sent two messages to the sheriff to haste and means to have the countryside roused for miles round today in hunt for this fellow.  It'll be best for all when it's settled and he's dead."

“Indeed," Frevisse agreed, sick in her heart.  “The door, please?"

He let her in and shut it behind her.

From the bed Sister Emma said, “There you are.  Do you know, we haven't said Prime yet.  Or at least I haven't.  Have you?  I'm feeling much the better for my little nap.  Do you want to say the office now?"

Her mind elsewhere, Frevisse groped and said awkwardly, “In a moment.  I need to talk to Mistress Dow."

Magdalen was sitting at the window where the poor daylight was best, pretending to sew.  Frevisse crossed to her, glancing quickly around the room to see that Bess was gone, and leaned casually over Magdalen's shoulder as if interested in the embroidery.  “Mistress Payne sends you her well-wishes."

“What's the news?  Is everyone well?"

“Everyone is fine," Frevisse assured her.  “And nothing has changed since yesterday, except there's word come that Colfoot's people should be here maybe late this afternoon to take his body away as soon as the sheriff and crowner are done with it."

“Are they here yet?  The sheriff and the crowner?"

“No.  We don't know when they're expected."  She leaned closer to inspect her work in more detail.  “What very fine stitches you do.  And the colors are so clear.  Is it your own dye?"  Too low for Sister Emma to hear, she added, “Bess is gone with the letter?"

“It's something of Iseult's.  She's very clever with dyes and that sort of thing."  In a whisper she added, “Yes."

“I met her when I first came, didn't I," Sister Emma said from the bed.  “Mistress Payne.  A little woman, I remember.  Very kind.  I do want to see her again and thank her for all her kindness.  Gratitude is the poor man’s payment, and ingratitude is..."  She paused to cough and finished more feebly, “I forget for what..."  She coughed again.  “But for something anyway."

Frevisse looked across to her with alarm, then asked Magdalen, “Has she taken the medicine yet?"

Magdalen shook her head.  “I offered it a few minutes ago and she refused it.  She says she wants her wits about her for a while, she's weary of sleeping."  Her voice dropped.  “And I haven't been able to see to Evan."

“Merciful God," Frevisse breathed.  They could not have Sister Emma awake for much longer.  With seeming casualness she went to her and said, “Do you want to do Prime now?"

“I think so.  I've missed so many of the offices these past few days, it's a scandal."

“I doubt Father Henry will demand penance for it.  You've been ill."

“I'm still ill," Sister Emma said with a trace of peevishness.  She fretted at the covers.  “I don't feel good at all."

“Would you like your medicine?"

“No.  I told you, I'm tired of sleeping."

She was definitely improving, if return to her usual single-mindedness was any sign.

“Well, you probably know best," Frevisse said, but with a cast of doubt.  She studied Sister Emma's face intently.  “You're very pale now that your fever is gone.  Are you sure you're better?"

“I feel much better.  Only a little achy.  But that could be from so much time abed, don't you think?"

“Very likely," Frevisse agreed, still allowing doubt to show in her voice.  “Shall we do Prime now?"

“I do think that will help me," Sister Emma said.

They bowed their heads for the opening hymn, which was less impressive when recited in a swift undertone than when sung by many voices in the choir: “
Jam lucis orto sidere, Deum precemur supplices, Ut in diurnis actibus Nos servet a nocentibus
."  Now in the sun's new dawning ray; Lowly of heart, our God we pray; That he from harm may keep us free; In all the deeds this day shall see.

Frevisse, all too aware of how much responsibility she bore for what was happening and might happen today, prayed that with edged conscience.

At the end of the office Emma was still looking very alert.  But Frevisse, desperate, leaned over her as if concerned, and said, “You're so pale, as if all your strength has wasted out of you.  I'm sure you need more rest than you think you do.  Are you sure you don't want your medicine?  To help you rest?"

“Really, I..." Sister Emma began indignantly, but a coughing fit cut off her words and left her lying weakly against her pillows, breathless.

Given that opportunity, Frevisse simply picked up the cup sitting on the bedside table, lifted Emma with one arm, and held the cup to her lips.

Helpless from the coughing, Sister Emma drank.  When she had finished, Frevisse settled her back against the pillows and patted her shoulder.  “You'll feel better than you believe when you wake."