That evening, when Mistress Alice dismissed Evangeline from her work, she hurried toward the undercroft to change her dress, which was now wet from scrubbing floors all day. Her hands were blistered, cracked, and red, but it had been worth it to spend time talking with Westley.
As she hurriedly pulled on a clean dress, Muriel came up behind her and caught her wrist. “Come outside with me,” she whispered.
Evangeline complied and followed her out. It was not dark yet, so they hid among a stand of trees.
Muriel looked hard into her face. “Are you not tired yet of all this nonsense?”
“Nonsense?” Evangeline spoke close to Muriel’s ear so she could speak as softly as possible and only be heard by her friend.
“Living like a servant, working harder than either of us were ever meant to work. This is not the kind of life you were born for. Your grandfather was a king!”
“Lower your voice. Someone might hear.” Evangeline glanced around, but she did not see anyone.
She grabbed Evangeline’s hand and turned up the palm. “Look at this! Red and raw. Blistered and bleeding. Is this what you want?”
Evangeline only stared back at her.
“Listen to me. I understand.” Muriel’s voice was much softer and kinder. But her eyes still flashed. “You don’t want to marry someone you do not feel a courtly love for. But courtly love is for poems and songs. It is not . . .” She sighed. “Romantic love is very well to dream about, to imagine what it might be like to fall in love and marry and live in bliss for the rest of your life.” Muriel rolled her eyes at the mention of living in bliss. “But it is not the way of kings and those with royal blood. You have the good fortune of being betrothed to the king’s advisor, to an earl. You will be wealthy. You will not have to work or worry about anything. You will be taken care of.”
And thereby, Muriel would be taken care of. But perhaps Evangeline was being unkind to her loyal friend.
“I don’t mind working.” Evangeline stared down at her hands. Some of the blisters were oozing a mixture of blood and clear liquid. The pain would not bother her if she could talk to Westley again tonight and get to read the holy book that he obviously wanted to share with her.
What she did mind was her own incompetence. She cringed inwardly at the thought of there being more incidences such as the ones with the scythe, the water, and the pigs.
Muriel stared hard at her. “What do you think I’m supposed to do? Forget about my life before? I’m thirty-two years old. I have no wish to begin a new life as a servant.”
“Are they treating you badly? Is Lady le Wyse cruel to you?”
“No, she is better to me than I ever was to the servants at Berkhamsted Castle, but that does not mean I want to stay here.”
“I’m very sorry, Muriel.” A fist seemed to pound her chest. “I have been thoughtless. Please forgive me. Perhaps you can return to Berkhamsted Castle without me.”
Muriel grunted, then leaned toward Evangeline, her face only inches from hers. “What do you think they will say to me? They know that I left with you. The king’s men will force me to tell them where you went. I am trapped here. Trapped.” Muriel held out her hands in frustration. “Unless you come back to Berkhamsted Castle with me.”
Evangeline’s heart twisted inside her. Did Muriel think she was very selfish to want to stay here when Muriel obviously wished to go back to her old life? But if they both went back, Evangeline would be forced to marry Lord Shiveley.
“Lord Shiveley will not give up so easily, Evangeline. His men and King Richard’s will find you eventually. You are not far enough away, and your unusual height and red hair will give you away.”
If they thought Evangeline was dead, they would stop looking for her. Perhaps Muriel could say she had died, lying to them the same way she was lying to the people of Glynval.
“Please, Muriel. Give me some time to figure out what to do.” She clasped her friend’s hand. “Please.” Evangeline begged with her eyes.
“What choice do I have?”
She squeezed Muriel’s hand, but Muriel did not squeeze back. She turned away and began walking back to the undercroft in the bottom floor of the manor house.
Did she think Evangeline was selfish, too selfish to deserve her friendship? The old familiar terror—that she was too selfish to be worthy of love—filled her chest like a full bucket of water.
Evangeline couldn’t let Muriel think she was selfish. She needed to think of a plan to get Muriel back to Berkhamsted Castle so she would not lose the one friend she had long depended upon.
Westley was on his way home on a small footpath through the woods when John Underhill rounded the bend just ahead.
“John! I haven’t seen you in half a year.” A feeling of joy filled his chest at seeing his old friend. But John stepped aside and stood still. Something about the look on his friend’s face chased away the joyful feeling and made the hair prickle on the back of Westley’s neck. “Come, and you can walk with me.”
“You are on your way home, then?” John glanced at Westley out of narrowed eyes. His hand rested on a bundle he carried under his arm.
“Yes. Mother asked me to take some bone broth to a sick family.”
“Such benevolence.” John’s voice was quiet but contained a sneer.
Westley shifted his feet. “You know Mother. She’s always wanting to help someone who’s sick or hurt.”
“Your family always did care too much.” John’s lip curled. “If it hadn’t been for your father making the villeins think they should get such easy treatment, they never would have been bold enough to kill Father.”
“John, that’s not true.”
“Your father gave in to their demands. He—and men like him—are the reason the villeins rose up and killed their lords and masters.”
“John, you are not remembering the facts. The two men who killed your father had been beaten the week before, by your father’s orders. You said yourself that you would never treat people the way your father did, working them until they passed out and beating them for little or no reason. I’m sorry to say these things to you, John, but it’s the truth. Surely you remember—”
“How dare you speak evil of my father! He was a good man. If he beat those men, it was because they deserved it.”
“John, I’m sorry, but—”
“You’re not sorry.” John took a menacing step toward him.
“What’s going on here?” Reeve Folsham rounded the bend in the path behind John. “Is there trouble here? Westley?”
John took a step back. “Of course there’s no trouble. There’s never any trouble in Glynval.”
Westley didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice, especially when he said Glynval.
Westley’s heart was heavy as John turned and stalked away, back toward Caversdown.
John’s father, Hugh Underhill, had always been a harsh man. He’d even given John a black eye once when John and Westley were just boys of fourteen. It hurt to see his friend have such an unkind father when Westley’s own father was so good and wise. Westley had even offered to let John come and live with him, but he had refused.
“Why is John Underhill so angry?”
Westley sighed. “I suppose he doesn’t want to think ill of his father, so he’s remembering the past differently.”
Reeve Folsham nodded and frowned.
Evangeline waited in the entryway. A pretty blonde maiden a few years younger than she called, “Westley! The new servant is here.” She walked away, as if to go find him.
A few moments later, Westley bounded in through the back passageway. “That rude girl was my sister Cate.” His brown hair was calmer than usual, as if he had combed it. “I have a place for us to read. Come.” He motioned her forward with his hand.
She followed him through the passageway toward the back of the house. They passed through a room where some older children were hunched over a chess game, but they did not look up as she and Westley passed.
/> Lady le Wyse entered the corridor in front of them. She smiled when she saw them. “Westley.”
He kissed her cheek and she patted his.
“Eva. How are you, my dear?”
Evangeline smiled at her.
“How are you doing with your work? I forgot to check on you today. Golda did not work you too hard, I hope?”
Evangeline shrugged and shook her head.
“That is good. Westley tells me you can read and that you wish to read the Bible. It is a noble ambition, to read the Holy Writ.”
Her words buoyed Evangeline’s spirit and dispelled some of her exhaustion.
The back door opened and Lord le Wyse stepped in.
Lady le Wyse’s face lit up as she turned toward him, and Lord le Wyse’s attention was immediately caught by her. He stepped toward his wife with a small smile on his lips. He kissed her briefly and she put her arm around him.
The look they gave each other made Evangeline slightly embarrassed, as if she had peeked in on someone when they thought they were alone, but it also pleased her to see a married couple so obviously in love with each other. Had they married for love?
Muriel should see this.
Westley motioned for her to follow him, and they passed by the lord and his lady, who called, “Don’t forget supper in an hour.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Fine catch of fish,” his father told him as he passed.
“Thank you, Father.”
Soon Evangeline and Westley were out the back door and standing on a flat expanse of green grass encircled by a low hedge. Beyond the hedge was a beautiful garden that fairly glowed in the light of the late-day summer sun.
“This is a spot where my sisters and I come to read sometimes.”
The vulnerable smile on his face seemed to say that he was inviting her to know something personal about himself.
He pointed to the low bench and the cushions on the ground around it, like a comfortable little alcove in the corner against the side of the stone exterior with the bushes juxtaposed against it.
“Here’s the Bible, the Latin one.” He picked up the large book that lay on the bench and held it reverently.
Evangeline gazed into his eyes. Could he see how grateful she was that he was being so kind to her when she was only a servant girl? How grateful she was for his sharing his family’s precious Bible with her? How would he know if she did not speak?
“Sit down, wherever you will be most comfortable, and I’ll give you the Bible. It’s very heavy.”
Evangeline chose a cushion on the ground. Look at me now, King Richard. Your ward, your pawn, is sitting on the ground about to read the Bible.
Westley bent and laid the book in her lap. “I also brought these.” He picked up a wax board and a stick about five inches long and held them out to her as he knelt beside her.
Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat. She had used a wax board when her tutors had taught her to read and write as a child. She took the instruments and immediately wrote in the wax on the small board.
“I am so grateful to you,” she wrote. She winced, as the action of writing rubbed against her open blisters on the inside of her thumb. But the pain was nothing compared to the joy of “speaking” with Westley.
“Now, which book of the Bible would you like to read first?”
She held the stick a little awkwardly to try to inflict as little pain as possible on herself. “I have read the Psalms already,” she wrote.
Suddenly Westley caught her hand and flipped it palm up.
“How did this happen?” He grabbed her other hand, forcing her to drop the wax tablet into her lap. That hand was equally damaged, her pale, delicate skin red and oozing in several places.
Her cheeks grew warm as he continued to stare at her hands.
“Eva.” His voice was breathless as he said her name, making her stomach tumble as he looked into her eyes.
She pulled her hands out of his loose grip and held them close to her chest, hiding her palms.
“Who made you work this hard on your first full day? I shall have them sent away for this.”
Evangeline shook her head vehemently. She grabbed the wax tablet and stylus and wrote, “Please, no. It was my fault. They did not know I had not done this kind of work before.” Was she revealing too much?
Westley handed her another wax tablet, as she had run out of room.
“I could have asked Golda to give me another task. It is all right. Please do not punish her.”
He closed his eyes for several moments before opening them, then stood. “Stay here. I shall return.”
What was he about to do? Would he bring Golda here and force a confrontation? Her heart pounded. After what she did to the reeve, if she caused their cook to be sent away, everyone would hate her even more than they already did. Should she run after him? What if she couldn’t find him and Lord or Lady le Wyse found her wandering around their home?
She had to make him see that it was her fault and the cook was not to blame. If she had to, she would beg him not to punish Golda.
Westley suddenly returned and knelt beside her, holding a small pot, such as one might use for perfume or salve, and in the other hand he held a roll of bandages.
“Give me your hands.”
She held them out, and he dipped a finger in the small pottery container.
“This is a healing salve my mother makes for scrapes and minor cuts. It will keep your open blisters from becoming septic.” His voice was grim, but his expression softened when he touched her hand, then proceeded to smear the thick, golden salve on her wounds.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head.
“I wish someone had been looking out for you,” he said softly.
Her heart trembled. She’d never known a man could be so kind and tender, so compassionate and gentle, and yet so masculine and appealing. His touch sent warmth and pleasant sensations all through her.
Surely if God loved her, He would let her marry this man.
Chapter Nine
Westley’s heart turned over at the suffering that had been inflicted on this sweet maiden. When he had mentioned sending away the person who made her work this hard, she was horrified at the thought of causing anyone to be punished. And yet her hands were actually bleeding.
He brushed on the healing salve as carefully as possible so as not to inflict any further pain on her, first on one hand and then the other.
His mother always followed any application of her healing salve on one of her children with a kiss next to the wound. What would it feel like to kiss that delicate spot on the inside of Eva’s wrist?
What was he thinking? After all the times his parents had warned him not to take advantage of female servants in any way, he should know better than to allow such a thought into his head.
When he finished applying the salve, she just sat quietly, but he was very aware of her watching him. He picked up the roll and wrapped the cloth bandage around her hand. He cut it and tied it off, then repeated for the other hand.
“Not too tight, is it?”
She shook her head, then picked up the wax tablet and stylus, holding them awkwardly in her bandaged hands. “Thank you,” she wrote. “No other lords in England could be as kind as you.”
“Perhaps it makes up for some of the unkindness done to you.”
She nodded and ducked her head. Perhaps she wanted to read.
“I’ll let you get started. It’s a long book, and you may not be able to finish it before supper.”
She seemed to appreciate his weak jest, as she smiled up at him.
She opened the book with great care to the Acts of the Apostles and started reading.
He went for a walk in the garden, examining the rosebushes and tearing the leaves off a small limb that had fallen out of a tree. A butterfly flitted in front of him, and he was reminded of how joyfully Eva had chased the butterflies on their trip from Berkhamsted Castle. He’d tho
ught her so childlike and full of life. But since coming here, she did not seem quite so unbridled in her joy. In fact, she had seemed horrified and sad, more than once. And no wonder, with being forced to work until her hands bled. Perhaps she would hate it here and she and her friend would leave.
That thought made his heart sink. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want anyone mistreating her. He wanted to keep her safe. But perhaps that was foolish. She had only just arrived here. He was not responsible for her. He did care about her, though. No one deserved to be mistreated, least of all someone who had already been so mistreated in her life, someone as innocent and fair of form and face as Eva.
When Evangeline reported for work at the manor house the next morning, Mistress Alice pulled her aside. “Someone told me you were injured. Rest your hands for today and we will examine them again in the morning.”
Evangeline worried about not being useful to the household for an entire day, and she ended up wandering through the meadow where some sheep were grazing, past the pigpen.
All day and no work to do. If only she could read some more in the Bible, but she did not have the courage to ask Lord or Lady le Wyse. She might be brave enough to ask Westley if she were to find him, so she walked toward the river. Perhaps he had gone fishing.
She wandered along the bank. She smiled to think that Muriel would warn her away, afraid she would fall in, if she were here. The water made a pleasant rushing sound in the still morning air. Even the birds were quiet here. Trees grew right up to the edge of the bank, and it truly was a peaceful place, more beautiful in its wildness than the cultivated and perfectly trimmed bushes of the gardens of Berkhamsted Castle.
Finding a large, smooth rock, she sat down. Wildflowers grew everywhere in Glynval, around the rocky places as well as the open meadows, a whole new world of beauty and wonder. Such a pity that Muriel wanted to go back to her old life.
Evangeline took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If only Muriel could be content here in Glynval. But it was unfair to expect it of her. Poor Muriel. Evangeline had only been thinking of herself, and now, what would the king do to punish Muriel when she returned to Berkhamsted? Of course he would force her to tell where Evangeline had gone.