The Merchant's Daughter (4 page)

Mother returned her sons’ gazes and sighed. “If Annabel will marry him, it will smooth things over, if not solve our problem, and raise our status with the villagers. But she may refuse.”

A stabbing pain went through Annabel’s stomach. She only half listened to the rest of their conversation.
Oh, God, I wish Father were here.
She thought about what her father would say and how he would protect her.

Other things were said before Edward gestured with his arms, angrily slashing the air. “Don’t look at me. Can you see me as a servant? Preposterous! Doesn’t everyone know our father’s family was nobility, that our grandfather was a knight? I won’t do it.”

“Nay, son, of course not,” Mother muttered.

Mother couldn’t defy their lord. They would be thrown out of their house, and who would give their mother shelter?

But Annabel realized the jury had given her a way out, another choice besides marrying Bailiff Tom. She could go to Lord le Wyse and offer herself as an indentured servant. Her brothers would still have to do the boon work and the other days’ work required of them, but they could go home every night, and most of their days would be their own. Annabel would be bound as a servant to the manor house and to Lord le Wyse’s household, sleeping at the manor, eating at the manor, working alongside his other servants without pay.

As much as she dreaded serving under the fierce new lord who had accused her of throwing herself in front of his horse, it was preferable to marrying Bailiff Tom. If she hadn’t fought back and gotten away from him at the butcher’s shop, he might have succeeded in … She didn’t want to think about what.

The villagers resented the Chapmans as idlers, too proud to work, but Annabel would prove that she was not, and she would prevent her mother’s home from being taken from her. She tried to imagine Mother sleeping outdoors, with no food and nothing to protect her from the rain or cold or wild animals. What a sin it would be if she and her brothers allowed that to happen to their mother.

But her brothers would run off, abandon their demesne village to join a band of outlaws before they would become indentured servants forced to do the most menial tasks, carting dung and herding sheep and geese at the lord’s manor house.

Edward was the oldest at twenty-two, and so should be the one to go. However, besides keeping his personal appearance tidy — his black hair cut and combed, his face shaved and clean — all he did was sit around all day and drink ale with the miller’s sons. Now that a crisis had come their way, could Edward not play the part of a man this once?

She looked again through the crack in the door. Durand clutched the back of his neck, emitting a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. He was always fancying himself ill and expecting to be waited upon. Father had not become a wealthy merchant by refusing to work, but her brothers couldn’t seem to grasp that. They’d expected to have wealth dropped into their laps and could not accept that their father’s riches had disappeared forever the moment his ships were destroyed.

“I’m afraid Annabel won’t marry the bailiff,” Durand said, sinking down in a chair and covering his eyes. Then he suddenly lifted his head, almost smiling. “Perhaps she would agree to become the lord’s servant for three years.”

Edward snorted. “Even if she did, we’d still have to work in the harvest fields.”

Durand’s bottom lip poked out like a petulant child. “You’re all healthy and strong, not like me.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Durand!” Edward took a menacing step toward his brother. “Do you expect us to feel sorry for you when we’re all in the same predicament?”

Durand cringed, as though afraid Edward would strike him.

Edward walked away from his brother and stared out a window. “We’ll just have to convince Annabel to marry Tom. It’s the only way.”

Annabel backed away from the door, already planning what to do. She would leave early in the morning before anyone else woke up. And that vile Bailiff Tom would never touch her again.

For the rest of the day her brothers tried coercion, coaxing, and manipulation to convince her to accept Bailiff Tom’s offer, and even her mother tried to tell her all the reasons marrying the bailiff would benefit her. Annabel said very little, allowing them to think she was wavering. But secretly she was vowing she would never marry the vile bailiff.

When her family wasn’t badgering her, Annabel’s mind churned, skittering back and forth between thoughts of her family, the villagers, Bailiff Tom, and Lord le Wyse. Evening encroached, and Annabel collected her belongings — a few books her father had bought for her long ago, clothing, a comb, and a coif and veil to wear to church — and stuffed them into a bag.

The thought of leaving home and living at the manor house, being at Lord le Wyse’s mercy, tied her stomach in knots, but she had little choice. He was as scarred and disfigured as everyone had said he was, but it was his ferocious manner that made her nervous.

She would have to avoid him and not make him angry. But would that be possible? She had seen his outrage at his own bailiff for pushing her. The episode in the village had shown that Lord le Wyse had an ill temper — though it could also show his desire to protect women. But he hadn’t seemed very chivalrous when he accused her of throwing herself in front of his horse. Perhaps he was simply … fierce.

She’d heard the rumors about a nearby lord, young like Lord le Wyse, who regularly took advantage of the young maidens of his village and then bestowed a “dowry” on them, which
amounted to paying someone to marry them. Was Lord le Wyse capable of doing something so vile?

She pictured him again, forcing Bailiff Tom to apologize to her. The eye patch gave him a sinister look, and while his fine clothing made him look sophisticated, the beard was strangely out of place. Nearly all the men of the village were clean shaven. He had looked like a bear of a man while holding Tom.

Tom.

Her hand stopped in the middle of placing a dress in her bag. Since Bailiff Tom was Lord le Wyse’s bailiff and worked directly for him, he would be at the manor house — with her — skulking about every day. He would look at her, speak to her, could manage to get her alone …

The noise of a thousand bees filled her ears.
Dear God, how can I do this?
How could she work so closely with the bailiff? See him every day?

She couldn’t do it.

But what choice did she have? If she didn’t become the lord’s servant, Tom would still remain a problem. Even if she told her brothers that she was afraid of Bailiff Tom, even if she told them exactly why, it wouldn’t be enough for them. She imagined Edward, his face twisted in that intense way of his when he was agitated. She knew what he would say: “And what did the bailiff do to you?” If she told him the whole story, how the bailiff had grabbed her, what he intended to do to her, her brother would shrug and say, “Well, I did tell him he could marry you.”

He would see the issue as resolved. And Durand would say the same thing, that she should simply marry the bailiff. He would think her objection nothing compared to his sickliness.

As always, her brothers would fail her.

She had no choice. She had to go — but she also had to find a way to protect herself.

Annabel got up early after sleeping very little. The black of night still cloaked her window, but rather than lighting a
candle, she groped until she found her second-best dress and slipped it over her head. Her heart pounding, she grasped her cloth bag and tiptoed down the hall into the kitchen. A sliver of gray light was now illuminating the room enough that she was able to see, on the table, their sharpest cutting knife. Her hand closed around the smooth handle. She took a piece of leather and wrapped it around the blade, then slipped the knife into her skirt pocket.

Her hand lingered over the knife, pressing it against her thigh. The bailiff would surely see her at the manor, would quickly learn of her servant status. Would he be able to catch her alone, away from the other servants? Would he finish what he had started yesterday? The thought of him touching her again almost made her heave.

Could she truly use the knife to do harm to Bailiff Tom?

Yes. She could. She would.

Clutching her bag, she went out the back door and stepped into the goat pen. Dawn gave a glow to the sky and revealed a foggy morning. The little garden seemed fresh and waiting, shimmering with droplets of dew.
I hope someone will remember to pick the peas.
What would her family eat if they didn’t tend the garden?

She couldn’t worry about that now.

She rubbed the goat’s head. “Farewell, Dilly.”

I shouldn’t feel so sad. I’ll be coming back in three years.
But a feeling of finality came over her, a sense that she would never live in her family’s home again.

The gray manor house, a plain, rectangular building, emerged out of the mist, its large yard empty of all the people who had witnessed her family’s reckoning yesterday. A rooster crowed, and a boy appeared from behind the dovecote, herding a flock of geese. He yawned so big she wondered if his jaw would come unhinged. The fog that obscured the sun and surrounded the manor and its grounds lent the scene before her a dreamlike
quality. The dewy grass had soaked her feet, and her worn-thin shoes squeaked with each step.

Annabel fought to gain control of her thoughts before she reached the manor.
I am no longer a merchant’s daughter. I must accept my plight and forget the hopes and dreams I once cherished.
The other servants would hate her if they thought she expected any sort of preferential treatment. She must show that she was strong and capable, not a girl mourning the loss of home, comfort, and security.

There was another reason she couldn’t allow herself to appear weak. Bailiff Tom would no doubt be nearby and would sense her fear and be emboldened toward her.

She straightened her back and shoulders, determined to face whatever dangers or indignities awaited her. Anything was better than marrying Bailiff Tom.

Annabel climbed the stone steps to the upper hall and took deep breaths to calm her racing heart, praying with all her might that the bailiff wasn’t in the upper hall with Lord le Wyse. Of course, the bailiff didn’t know she was coming to offer her services to the lord. No one knew.

She reached the top and knocked on the tall, rounded door. It opened and a hefty older woman stood with a broom in her hand. “Yes?”

“Good morning. I’m Annabel Chapman.”
How to explain?
“My lord, Lord le Wyse, is expecting me — that is, I’m to serve …”

“Come in. Annabel, is it? Call me Mistress Eustacia. I’ll tell Lord Ranulf you’re here.”

Mistress Eustacia stepped back, and Annabel entered the dim room. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed a few people engaged in various tasks around the large hall, a single room encompassing the entire upper floor of the manor house. A dairy was set up at one end of the room, where two young women were churning butter. Some people she recognized, including the bailiff’s daughter, Maud, who was stirring up the fire in the fireplace and adding more wood. Another maiden was sweeping
cobwebs from the walls, as the building hadn’t been occupied for as long as Annabel could remember, except for occasional visits by the old lord’s steward.