The Squire’s Tale (26 page)

Robert, half-dazed, looked at Dame Frevisse and found her looking back at him with seemingly no more words in her than he had in him. It was Dame Claire, looking at a long scratch on the back of her left hand, who said quietly, for no one except him and Dame Frevisse to hear, “She must not be let near the children. Not for any reason.”

‘No,“ Robert agreed and heard his voice hoarse on the word.

‘Nor left alone,“ Dame Claire said.

‘Nor left alone,“ Robert echoed, looking back to Blaunche where she sat clinging to Master Geoffrey’s hands, head still bowed, still mercifully quiet.

Looking the same way, Dame Claire said, “She’ll be calm for a time now but she’s not done. She’s worn herself out is all. She’ll likely begin again when she can.”

Afraid of exactly that, Robert asked, “Can’t you give her anything to keep her from it?”

‘What I have is meant for soothing in the ordinary way of things, not this. I’ll try, but if you could send to Coventry, or Northampton maybe, for poppy syrup, that would do the most good, the way she is now.“

‘Whoever goes won’t be back until late tomorrow with it even at the best,“ Robert said, heart sinking.

‘Better late tomorrow than not at all,“ Dame Claire returned. ”Will you send?“

‘Yes.“ Of course he would, for that and anything else she asked for, if only it would dull the edge of Blaunche’s pain, keep her from rage.

Across the room Mistress Dionisia and Mistress Avys had begun warily to pick up the flung and fallen things—the sewing basket looked to be past rescue and so did most of the joint stools, Robert noted with a corner of his mind— while Emelye had sunk down to the floor in a puddle of skirts and tears in the corner beyond the settle and Katherine was gone to kneel beside her, patting her arm and saying things to her.

‘And in the meanwhile keep her from the children,“ Dame Claire repeated.

Robert nodded, his throat thick with feelings for which he had no clear words. Too many feelings. Of grief for Benedict. Of fear for… and fear
of…
Blaunche. And fear and grief and worry for Robin, John and Tacine who would have to be told Benedict was dead and brought to understand it; and he was the one who would have to do it because there was no one else. He would have to tell them that their half brother was dead and help them understand it and find some way to keep from them that their mother was near to mad, in the worst sense of the word…

‘This will pass,“ Dame Claire said. ”Her rage. It will pass and she’ll better. This isn’t forever.“

Wasn’t it?
Robert thought. Benedict’s death was forever. Why not his mother’s grief and rage? But all he said aloud was, “I pray you pardon me. I’d best go to the children.”

*       *       *

Frevisse stayed standing alone only a few moments longer when Robert had left and Dame Claire gone away to Lady Blaunche, watching Mistress Dionisia and Mistress Avys put the room to rights as best they could be but feeling no urge to help them at it, or Katherine with Emelye, or anyone with Lady Blaunche. What she wanted was to know why Benedict was dead and by whose hand and she left the parlor, taking her thoughts with her, only to find on the shadowed mid-curve of the stairs, out of sight from top or bottom, Robert standing with head and shoulders bowed and one hand braced against the wall, looking as if suddenly he had lost all strength to go on. Guessing he had not heard her soft-soled footfall and not wanting to startle or seem to spy on him, she said quietly, to go unheard by anyone above or below them, “Robert.”

By the small daylight through a narrow arrow-gap in the wall there, she saw his shoulders lift as he took a steadying breath before he raised his head and turned it to look at her over his right shoulder, his face too much in shadow for her to read it clearly, but there was only weariness in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry for all of that. I’m sorry you had to be part of it. I’m… sorry.”

Carefully, trying for what comfort there could be, Frevisse said, “Despite what she does, your wife loves you very much I think.”

‘With her whole heart,“ Robert agreed wearily. ”Her children and I, we’re her life.“

‘But she’s not yours,“ Frevisse said before she realized she should not.

But Robert only shook his head, too weary to more than simply agree, saying low and achingly, “No, she’s not. And to make it worse, there was nothing, no reason why I shouldn’t have loved her as wholly as she loves me.”

‘Except?“

‘Except I simply don’t. There’s no reason why, no great flaw on either side. She simply… we simply don’t suit each other well. It’s nothing more than that and my fault as much as hers.“

‘There’s no fault, Robert, in what can’t be helped.“

‘Maybe not. But there’s nothing to be done about it, either, except what I’ve been doing all these years—enduring it. And it’s not that I don’t love her in some way. For all she’s done for me, given me. But, oh God! I wish I wasn’t married to her!“ His fisted hand flew out and struck against the stairway’s stone wall as he cried out, whisper-low but with a pain that had nothing to do with how much he must have hurt his hand, ”At least Katherine will have better…“ He hit the wall again. ”… with Drew Allesley. But damn Blaunche for bringing us all to this. And damn whoever was Benedict’s death. And damn me!“

‘Robert,“ Frevisse began, catching hold of his arm before he struck the wall again, and as suddenly back under control as he had been out of it, Robert let his arm fall to his side, out of her hold, and shook his head, refusing anything she might say with, ”No. I know. All that’s no use. All we can do is what we’re doing. All I can do is what I’m doing, and when it’s over and there are no more choices to be made, it will all be right again. As right as it’s ever going to be.“ And then, ”I have to go to the children.“

‘Let me go ahead of you,“ Frevisse said quickly. ”Whoever is in the solar will want to be told things. Let me tell them while you go on to your children.“

Robert paused. “Would you? Thank you, yes, that would help.”

He pressed his back to the stairway’s center post, making room for her to crowd past him. It was when she was a step below him that he said in a tightly miserable voice, “With it all, I haven’t even had chance to start mourning him.”

As best she could on the stairs’ narrowness, Frevisse turned back to him, said gently without need to think about her answer, “You’ve been mourning him every moment since you saw him dead. What you’ve lacked is time to give way to it and that will come.”

‘It will, won’t it?“ Robert said, bitter with pain past and to come. ”Time and enough. All the rest of my life. Our lives. Blaunche’s and mine.“

Because there was nothing but useless agreement to say to that, Frevisse laid a hand briefly on his arm, turned from him and went on down the stairs and into the solar where the Allesleys, arbiters and Master Verney were drawn away to the room’s other end, standing around the table making their breakfast from bread and ale and bowls of something probably left over from last night’s supper set out there. It would have been well if Robert ate, too, but better if he went straight on to his children without having to deal with anyone else, and as the men looked up, first toward her, then past her, she made a bustle of her going, beginning an excuse on Robert’s behalf, distracting them while she heard behind her the door toward the nursery open and close, telling her Robert was safely away as Sir Lewis Allesley said, bringing his glance back to her, “No, assuredly, we understand perfectly. If we didn’t have to be here for the crowner’s coming, we’d no more than tell Master Fenner everything over the manor can be settled later and take ourselves off home today.”

‘It might be best if we at least went back to the grange and Master Verney’s,“ suggested one of the arbiters. ”It would put us out of the way and we can be sent for when the crowner comes.“ Which could be several days if he was well away elsewhere in the shire or tomorrow if he was near.

‘I’d like the chance to speak with Katherine before we go.“ Drew put quickly in, but Master Verney was already saying, ”There’s no haste about our going, I think,“ and Frevisse on his words’ heels, lest she have no other chance, asked of them all, ”Did any of you see Master Benedict after he left here with Master Verney last night?“

There was pause then, the men looking among themselves to see what everyone else was going to say, before heads began to shake that, no, none of them had.

She had not supposed so. Among the last places Benedict would have likely come last night was back into the solar but it was better to ask and be sure. What she wanted now was to talk alone with Master Verney and asked him, “Sir, I must needs do something for Master Fenner. Would you come with me to help?”

‘Assuredly, my lady.“

He started toward her and Frevisse started to turn away, but Sir Lewis asked, “How is it with Lady Blaunche?”

Frevisse paused before facing him again. “Not well,” she answered because that much they would have guessed from what they must have heard when Lady Blaunche was at her worst.

‘Is there anything we can do?“ Sir Lewis asked.

Again Frevisse paused, then said, “Pray.”

Sir Lewis nodded sad understanding to that and she went out, Master Verney holding the door open for her into the hall and following her as she passed among the clots of talking men taking their breakfasts from a hastily set up trestle table in the hall’s midst. Talk fell away and heads turned to watch them but no one offered to stop them or ask questions. It was Master Verney, at her side as they neared the hall’s far end, who said, “Have you eaten yet this morning?”

Frevisse came to a halt, realizing she had been ignoring the soft, insistent roiling in her stomach, and said, “No, I haven’t.”

‘Allow me,“ Master Verney said and went aside to the table, to take up a thick, crusted piece of bread and pour ale into a wooden cup, saying as he brought them back to her, ”No butter or meat, I think?“

‘No. Thank you,“ she said, truly grateful to be fed because, now that she had been brought to notice, she found she was light-headed as well as empty-stomached, and while fasting was all very well, making oneself ill with it was not. But she walked on while she ate, through the screens passage and out to the head of the stairs to the yard.

As she stopped there, looking down at where Benedict’s body had lain, the slow toll of the village church’s bell fell clear and heavy on the washed morning air, a single stroke, followed by a long pause, followed by another stroke, counting out the years of Benedict’s life. Starting down the stairs, Frevisse asked, “How old was he?”

‘He turned nineteen the morrow of last St. Hilary’s,“ Master Verney said.

Not even twenty years of life. Not even twenty tolls of his passing bell. Too few, she thought.

As the bell tolled again Master Verney asked, “For what do you need me, my lady?”

‘For your authority. Robert set me to find out Benedict’s murderer…“

‘You’d already set about that before he bid you to it.“

And Master Verney was still not happy about that, but his happiness or unhappiness did not concern her and she only said, “Yes. And now I need someone with me who’ll say I’m bid to it. Someone who can tell me things. Do you think Gil would do well at asking questions I need answered among the servants?”

‘As well as anyone,“ Master Verney said tersely. ”He has authority as Robert’s man and he’s liked.“

‘Will I find him still with Benedict’s body?“

‘Very likely.“

That would make it possible to take care of two things at 0Rce and when they had crossed the yard to the chapel Gil was indeed still there, along with a priest she presumed was Father Laurence from the village, kneeling in prayer at the altar, and three household servants helping with what needed doing with Benedict’s body. It was more usual for the dead to be tended to elsewhere and then brought to sanctuary but Benedict’s unshriven death made necessary all the hallowing that could be managed. Or at least so Father Laurence must think or he’d not have allowed trestles and boards to have been brought and set up and Benedict’s body to lie there for the men to strip and wash and shroud. It would be dressed for burial, likely, but that could not happen until the crowner had viewed it, so shrouding was all there would be for a while, but just now Gil was overseeing the stripping of the body, with basins of water already set by for the washing, and he looked around when Frevisse and Master Verney came in, to say without other greeting, “It’s for the women to do, I know, but I thought his mother…”

He made an uneasy shrug and did not need to finish. There was no possible way Lady Blaunche should have part in this, and her women who would have helped were needed with her and Master Verney said, “It’s better you see to it, yes. Thank you. Gil, Robert has bid Dame Frevisse ask questions about Benedict. About his death. She wants your help with it.”

‘About his death?“ Gil’s unhappy look shifted to Frevisse and deepened toward a frown. ”You were asking questions before, my lady. Like you didn’t think it was just a fall.“

‘Do you think it was?“ Frevisse returned.

Gil frowned more, holding on to his answer before finally saying, “No. Not the way you were looking at things there in the yard. A fall doesn’t make sense. Might have happened but even more might not have, when you come to think about it.”

‘Have you found anything about the body that might show what else could have happened? Scrapes? Bruises? Even a broken bone or bones?“