The Traitor's Daughter (16 page)

Elizabeth, the widow of Hugh’s older brother, was
another matter. Alais thought that she seemed remarkably cheerful for a barren
widow who would never marry again. She could only assume that Geoffrey had
taken after his father to such an extent that Elizabeth was glad that he was
dead. It seemed harsh, but who was she to judge what happened between man and
wife? Elizabeth came from an ancient aristocratic line and had wealth and
property of her own and Alais did not understand why she had not returned to
her own property. Geoffrey had been dead almost seven months and there could
surely be nothing to keep her at Liss.

Having little to occupy her, Alais quickly found herself
joining in the favourite occupation of the servants and lower members of the
household – speculation. She excused herself on the grounds that she had to
learn as much as she could about the family, retainers and servants as quickly
as possible. Even so, she was scandalised by the amount of gossip that she was
exposed to and even more scandalised by the things that Elizabeth and Agnes saw
fit to pass on to her. From one or the other she heard about Sir William’s
meanness and violence, Hugh’s generosity of spirit, Stephen’s contempt for
everyone but his wife and sister and Geoffrey’s cruelty to both man and beast.
She had not been at Liss many days before she decided that she must listen to
no more gossip. It was a sin and if it left her uninformed when her husband
returned, then so be it. Nonetheless, she continued to exercise her own mind
with theories and stories, particularly about Elizabeth. Why would she stay in
a despised position at Liss, when she could, presumably, return to her own
property?

Understanding came one afternoon when she was on her way
to Hugh’s room. She came upon Elizabeth and Sir John who were standing very
close together. Sir John had been Sir William’s ward and had grown up at Liss.
The couple had sprung apart as she approached and Alais began to understand the
attraction that Liss might still hold for Elizabeth. Sadly, Elizabeth must know
that Sir John would never marry a barren woman, and would not be permitted to
do so, no matter what her wealth might be. Alais decided to give the matter no
more thought; she could not tell what she did not know. She had already
discovered that, as well as being a house of secrets, Liss was also a house of
gossip. She suspected that some of the servants listened at doors and reported
to Stephen. It saddened her that she could not talk as freely as she wanted,
but she guarded her tongue carefully. She was also wary of conversations with
Marguerite and Stephen which seemed to be solely for the purpose of gathering
information about what was happening in the house.

The days passed and there was no word from her husband,
or from Hugh. Her life developed a pattern, as she had known it must. She
offered Joan to teach her daughters to read, but Joan did not think they would
have much use for it. Alais did not persist, although she grew bored. Having
expected to have a household to run she found it difficult to content herself
with the mundane tasks that she had taken on herself.

Gradually Alais became aware, as no one else seemed to,
that Elizabeth was with child. Of course, no one else spent as much time with
the widow as she and Agnes did and in a house of secrets it was hard to gauge
what anyone else knew. She began preparing healing drinks for her, which
Elizabeth accepted gratefully, without comment. Early one morning, they went
out together to gather mushrooms and as soon as they were in a place where no
one could overhear, Alais brought up the subject. “Yes,” confirmed Elizabeth,
“I am with child.”

“And Sir John is the father?”

Elizabeth nodded. “He wants to marry me, but will not
while he thinks I am barren.”

Alais had already put together the chain of events in
her own mind. Convinced that there could be no child Sir John had somehow taken
Elizabeth to his bed. Alais did not know how they had done it or where, but
they must have managed to be alone together on many occasions, perhaps even
before Geoffrey had died, although a courtship could not easily take place
under the eyes of an entire household.

“What will you do now?” asked Alais. “Does Sir John
know?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It is one thing to be with
child, it is another to bear a healthy son into the world.”

Alais secretly doubted whether Sir John would need this
final proof; Elizabeth’s wealth would go much in her favour. There was only one
thing that puzzled her and she hardly dared to broach the subject. “But you
were married to Geoffrey for many years and there was never any sign?”

“Geoffrey was a cruel man in many ways,” sighed
Elizabeth, “and I was not sorry to lose him, despite the way his family has
treated me since. But he was not a man in the marriage bed.”

Alais did not know what Elizabeth meant. Was she somehow
saying that her inability to bear children was her husband’s fault? Alais knew
this could not be true. A woman must always be at fault where there were no
children, but there was no doubt that Elizabeth was now with child. Perhaps she
had somehow displeased Geoffrey in the marriage bed and he had taken his
attentions elsewhere. That would make some sense.

“When will you tell Sir John?” she asked.

“I will not need to tell him. It will soon be obvious
enough. And then he will beg me to marry him.”

Her tone made Alais wonder if there might not be some
discord between the lovers. Had Elizabeth expected Sir John to take a barren
wife for love? Alais did not know. She could not guess what Sir John might have
said to Elizabeth to make her believe that he would, but she wondered about her
own husband; a man who could bring up a son as gentle and considerate as Hugh,
whilst at the same time nurturing someone as disdainful and distrustful as
Stephen and then another son as cruel as Geoffrey. And she did not doubt that Geoffrey
had been cruel. Elizabeth was a woman of little imagination and Alais doubted
her ability to make up something of this nature. She did not want to know how Geoffrey’s
cruelty manifested itself. Unlike Elizabeth’s, her own imagination was very
active. Fed by the many stories that her family told around the fire in the
winter and the things she had heard about Sir William, she found herself able
to guess at all kinds of cruelty that a man could exercise against his wife.
She found herself glad to think that Elizabeth would soon be leaving the manor
house. It pleased Alais to imagine her as mistress of her own home with the husband
she loved and surrounded by many children.

As the days drew on, Alais realised that no further
guests had arrived for her marriage to Sir William. On the day on which the
wedding was supposed to take place she sought out Marguerite when she was alone
in the solar and asked her why no one else had come to celebrate the marriage.
Surely Sir William had not sent out messengers to all the guests telling them
that he had been called to court.

“There are no guests,” said Marguerite with a sneer. “Do
you think he wanted to celebrate the fact that he is marrying the daughter of a
traitor?” Alais turned away. In truth, this was the answer she had expected.
Her husband did not want her, except for her land. The answer did not even add
to her humiliation. She wondered, though, why Sir William had ever chosen her.
Four years ago she had still had two brothers alive; it would have taken a lot
of foresight to see that both would die so quickly. Sir William’s first aim
could not have been to have Leigh. He was already wealthy in money and land. If
his purpose had been to humiliate the family of a traitor, there must have been
easier things for him to do that did not involve him marrying the traitor’s
daughter. Her curiosity piqued, she went in search of Joan. Edmund’s wife was
vigorously scrubbing one of the tables in the hall. Anyone else might have
thought that Joan was taking out her anger on the tables and in a way, Alais
supposed that she was. She had never met anyone like Joan for cleanliness.
Alais did not know how she had managed to live at Liss for so long in all the
dirt and darkness.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

“Of course,” responded Joan, without looking up. Alais
did not take it as an insult. Joan was waging war, but she could fight and
listen at the same time.

“Do you know what my husband was doing during the
rebellion against the old king?” Alais surprised herself with her question. It
was not what she had intended to ask.

Now Joan stopped and looked at her. Then she nodded.

“He was loyal to the king. He said the king had the
right to rule as he saw fit.”

“And after the king was dead?”

“He was loyal to the son. He was the most vigorous of
them all at rounding up the traitors.” She paused, “Are you sure you want to
know?”

Alais felt her hand begin to shake and she feared that
she most definitely did not want to know. No one at Leigh spoke about those
times and she could not remember what had happened and had never been told the
details. She nodded, slowly.

“The king wanted to show clemency. It was his wish to
destroy only Mortimer.”

Alais could remember Mortimer. He had visited her father
when they had been staying at one of his estates in the west. He had been a
dark and energetic man. He had played in the garden with the de Montjoye
children one spring afternoon. Her father had called him a great general, but
he had been a greater traitor.

“And…?” she prompted.

“And Sir William persuaded him to send two more traitors
to the gallows.”

“Simon Bereford and my father.” Alais felt tears start
to her eyes. How had her brother given his blessing for her to marry the man
responsible for the death of their father?

“Lady Alais,” said Joan gently, “do not let anyone here
see you cry.”

Alais nodded and sniffed, hoping that no one had seen
her. Now she understood why Sir William had wanted her, even without Leigh. It
made his victory over her father complete. He had taken his life, his surviving
child and what was left of his land. She thanked Joan and left her in the hall
and went out to the herb garden. When she thought that anyone who might be
watching her would have given up with boredom, she walked to Hugh’s chamber,
threw herself on his bed and gave herself up to her tears.

“How did Geoffrey die?” Alais and Agnes were alone in
the still-room one afternoon, each making her own salve to see whose was the
more efficacious recipe. The question had been worrying at Alais’ mind for days
and she had been waiting for the right moment to ask Agnes.

Agnes stopped what she was doing and thought for a
moment. “No one really knows. His naked body was found in a ditch. There was
only one wound - to the stomach made by a sword or a large dagger.”

Alais stopped work, too. She had forgotten that Agnes
told her stories well and she could not divide her attention between Agnes and her
salve.

“It was April,” continued Agnes. “Hugh had just returned
from France. That meant that Geoffrey could leave his tasks to Hugh,” explained
Agnes at Alais’ questioning look. “I am afraid that Geoffrey did not like hard
work and made Stephen or Hugh do his work for him whenever he could. So Hugh
was supervising the spring sowing and Geoffrey was drinking in Petersfield.”
Agnes paused significantly and Alais guessed that she was supposed to assume
that Geoffrey was also spending time with a woman or women in Petersfield.
Given what Elizabeth had told her, she was quite prepared to believe this. “One
night he failed to return. Hugh and Stephen organised a search, but they did
not find him. The next morning he was found in a ditch up at the high field. He
must have been attacked by outlaws.”

“But that…” blurted out Alais.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

But it was something. The high field was as far away
from the road to Petersfield as it was possible to be and still be on Sir
William’s property. Outlaws would not have taken the trouble to take the body
all that way. They would have wanted to leave as quickly as possible. And they
would not have been lying in wait by the field; no one would be passing by
there after dark. And there would have been more than one wound; outlaws were
not known to be neat killers. It was an even greater mystery than she had
thought at first, but no one else seemed to have commented on it if Agnes
accepted that version of events. She had a lively imagination and should have
been able to see that this could not possibly have been what had happened, but
Alais did begin to wonder just who had lain in wait for Geoffrey that night and
what he had gained from Geoffrey’s death.

After a fortnight of rain Alais desperately needed to
get out of the house on the first dry day. She had diligently exercised Full
Moon every day, but the experience had been so miserable that she felt as if
she had not left the house at all. She and Agnes offered to walk to the high
field with a message from Stephen for the steward to return to the house just
to get out. Alais began to regret her decision almost immediately. The path was
muddy and soon the hems of their gowns were filthy. It was too late in the year
to dry clothes easily, so they could not wash them. They would have to hope
that they could beat the mud out when it was dry.

Agnes was unusually grave and Alais asked her whether
she were ill.

“No,” replied Agnes, “I just miss Hugh.”

Alais was surprised, but smiled. “Yes, he did seem to
make the house a bit more cheerful.”

“It is not just that,” said Agnes, “I hope I can trust
you, Alais.”

Alais looked at Agnes and knew that she did not want to
know whatever her secret was and was about to say so, but Agnes continued
before she could get the words out.

“I am in love with Hugh.” Agnes said it calmly and for
that Alais was grateful, but she must know that that even if that love were
returned, which Alais had reason to doubt, there could be no hope of marriage.
Alais realised that Agnes was waiting for her to ask some kind of question, but
Alais knew that any question she could ask would only result in a conversation
that would be disappointing for Agnes.

“Do you…do you have reason to believe that he returns
your affection?” she said when she saw she could be silent no longer.

“Oh yes,” breathed Agnes happily.

Alais was surprised; she had seen nothing between the
two of them in the short time that Hugh had been at Liss which would seem to
encourage Agnes in her belief. He had certainly not taken the opportunity to
dance with her the night before he left and he had not seemed to seek her out
particularly.

 “Why do you believe that to be the case?” she asked,
carefully, trying not to let her scepticism be too obvious.

“Hugh always seeks me out when he is here. He asks me to
read in the evening. And if he has sewing to be done he asks me to do it.”
Agnes reeled off her response as if she had been rehearsing it and Alais
realised that she probably had. There was no one in the house with whom Agnes
could trust such a secret, even Joan had probably not been consulted. Alais’
position was so lowly in the household that Agnes probably thought that she
could cause her no harm. Alais felt her stomach turn. Poor trusting Agnes had
just told her something that could be used to destroy her and she had not
realised. Agnes’ secret was safe with Alais, but she wondered in how many other
ways Agnes had made herself a hostage to fortune. Well, she thought, that could
not be her concern; her priority was to find her proper place in this house, to
take it, if necessary. Her immediate problem, however, was how to deal with
this lovesick girl.

She considered Agnes’ reasons. Her cheerful nature stood
out in the manor house, so it was not surprising that Hugh sought out her
company, as Alais did herself. Although Hugh was of a melancholic nature, he
would still appreciate someone as cheerful as Agnes. She was acknowledged by
all as the best person at reading aloud in the entire household. Alais, who had
herself frequently been asked to read at Leigh had conceded to herself without
much struggle that Agnes was far superior to her in that respect. So, again, it
was easy to imagine that Hugh was not showing any particular attention to her
in asking her to read. Agnes had a fair hand for sewing, but Alais suspected
that it was because she was the most amenable of the ladies that Hugh asked for
her help. No, if this was all that there was as proof, it did not seem to her
that Hugh was in love with Agnes. A man in love would have danced with her at
least once that night, or would have taken care to show her some attention
before leaving again. She knew, as Agnes did not, that Hugh had decided to
marry Lady Katherine, who brought with her wealth and station. And she
remembered, bitterly, that Hugh had told her that he could not love.

“I wanted to ask you to do something for me,” said
Agnes.

“What?” asked Alais, fearful that she would not be able
to agree to whatever it was that Agnes might want.

“When Hugh asks me to marry him,” and here Alais felt
her heart stop, “I should like you to tell Sir William that it would be a good
thing.”

Alais smiled at Agnes’ innocence. She was very confused
about Alais’ own place at Liss. On the one hand she thought that Alais was so
lowly that she could not be a threat to her and on the other she thought that
she would carry some influence with her husband.

“You envisage some difficulty, then,” she managed to
say, “in persuading Sir William to consent to the marriage.”

“Some,” acknowledged Agnes. “But of course, one of his
sons is already married to my sister.”

Alais caught her breath and swallowed before she could
speak. Agnes could not see the difference between Sir William allowing his
illegitimate son to marry a woman of no wealth, property or aristocratic line
and allowing his heir to marry a woman in the same situation. “Agnes,” she
said, gently, “I think it unlikely Sir William will permit such a marriage,
whether you have my support or not.” Alais saw anger briefly cross Agnes’ face.

“I know it will be difficult,” she said, stubbornly, “but
Hugh does love me.”

 “Do you think Hugh loves you enough to give up his
inheritance, because that is what it must come to,” she said gently.

Tears spilled out of Agnes’ eyes and onto her cheeks. “He
does love me,” she said again and Alais considered her question answered.

“His father will not give permission,” Alais said.
However little she knew of her husband, she did know that. No father would
allow his son to throw away his marriage prospects in such a way, especially a
son who had already made one poor marriage.

“Dry your eyes,” she said gently, “and let us return to
the house.”

The next afternoon, the boy that Hugh had taken with him
to London returned. He carried a letter for Stephen from his father and a
letter for his steward and, to Alais’ delight, a letter from Hugh to her. Hugh
must have told the page to make sure that no one saw him give her the letter,
for he came to her and said “Sir Hugh says you have much knowledge of healing
herbs and that I was to come to you with this,” and he stuck a perfectly
healthy hand in front of her face.

“Ah,” said Alais, nodding her head thoughtfully,
understanding immediately. “I see why he was concerned. Come with me, there is
something in the still-room that will help you.”

Once they were in the still-room, the boy grinned at her
as if pleased with the ease with which his subterfuge had worked. He said
nothing as she bound his hand, but took out of his bag a letter which she put
into her pouch without looking at it.

“When do you return to London?” she asked.

“My lord bade me to stay here as short a time as
possible, but I will not leave until tomorrow morning.”

Alais knew that she had time to reply to the letter.
“Then I will leave you to get yourself to the kitchen and have some food. I
will have another look at your hand and replace the bandage in the morning.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

The boy bowed and left her. Alais followed him into the
passage and was not entirely surprised to find Marguerite walking by the door.
How disappointed she must have been at their conversation, thought Alais. There
was no letter for her to report to her brother, only solicitude for a servant.
Even if she had looked through the doorway that Alais had carefully left open,
she would have seen nothing, since Alais’ body had shielded the exchange from
prying eyes. She hurried to Hugh’s room, where she could read the letter
without fear of discovery or interruption. It was a surprisingly long letter.
In person, Hugh said little, but he seemed to express himself best in writing.
He told her about the court and how it was faring without its king and queen.
He told her that messages from the Low Countries said that the king thought the
people of Southampton had betrayed him to the French. How else could they have
attacked so easily and done so much damage? Hugh added, dryly, that much of the
wool and wine that had been destroyed had belonged to the king. What he did not
say, since it might have been considered treasonable, but what he would have
known as well as Alais, since Roger had complained of it many a time, was that
the sea defences of the town were very poor and that the burgesses had
petitioned the king for money on many occasions to improve them. Since Hugh had
grown up at court, he knew better than to criticise the king in a letter. The
rest of the letter described court entertainments, a hunt, what the ladies were
wearing. She smiled at that, guessing that he had not told her because he had
thought she would want to copy their costume, but because he knew that she
would be amused at the strange style of dress.

He asked no questions and demanded no reply. He had
signed the letter ‘your dutiful stepson’ and there was nothing in it that his
father could not have read, but Alais knew that the mere fact that he had
written when his father had not, that he had made no mention of her husband
asking after her in the letter, meant that the very existence of the letter was
a danger to them. Nonetheless she was resolved to write back. It took her a
while to decide on the tone of her letter. She must be as mindful as he that a
letter did not always reach its intended audience first, so she was careful to
include details of her daily routine without complaint or comment. She told him
nothing of Elizabeth and Sir John, or of Agnes’ hopes, or of the way she was
being treated by his brother. All these things would be made plain to him on
his return to Liss, which return she both longed for and feared. She feared it
for both their sakes. Hugh would not be pleased to see the way that she was
being treated. That he had defied his father over her escort from Leigh showed
that he had a highly formed appreciation of what was due to his stepmother,
even from his own father. She doubted that the threat of losing his inheritance
would hold him back. Unlike Agnes, Alais knew that Hugh would follow his heart
in that regard, even if it meant losing everything.

She finished her letter and carried it with her until
she could give it to the boy in the morning. Since Hugh had trusted him, she
knew that she could, too, but there was the problem of what to do with the
letter that Hugh had sent. After much consideration, she wrapped it in a
leather pouch and hid it in the bottom of Hugh’s chest. She did not wish to
destroy it, but once she had it by heart, she knew that it was the safest thing
to do, for both of them

As Elizabeth had predicted, it was all too soon obvious
that she was with child. In most cases, the reaction was what Alais had
expected: surprise, a little condemnation. This was mostly voiced by Father
Alonso. Generally, however, Elizabeth’s logic was understood and approved and,
since Sir John had proposed as soon as her condition was obvious, the problem
of bearing a child out of wedlock did not present itself.

It was Stephen’s response that surprised Alais. She
could only categorise it to herself as fury. It was almost as if Elizabeth had
taken something from him personally. Alais was not entirely sure now who had
stood to inherit Elizabeth’s property. She knew that Elizabeth had her own
lands, she having been her father’s sole heir on his death. Now Alais began to
wonder how much of these properties had passed to Geoffrey on their marriage.
If that was the case, these now belonged to Hugh, who would undoubtedly have
returned them to Elizabeth or permitted her their use in her lifetime.

If they did belong to the childless Hugh, then Stephen
was the heir. Like his brother, he must expect that the life of a professional
soldier was more likely to be short, than not.

Poor Stephen, thought Alais. He was going to be even
more disappointed when Hugh married Katherine and began producing heirs of his
own.

This thought was increasingly painful to Alias. She had
found that, just as the devil makes light work for idle hands, so he made light
work for idle minds. With no conversation other than mindless chatter with
Agnes, Joan and Elizabeth, Alais found herself spending more and more time
alone in Hugh’s room, reading his letter and thinking about him. For all she
chastised herself, she found it easier to dwell on pleasant times past, than on
an uncertain and possibly unpleasant future. She could not feel guilty for this
- her husband had abandoned her twice. There was not even respect on his part,
but Hugh had shown her respect and affection. She did not need to think him in
love with her; he had treated her with kindness. Never one to lie to herself,
however, she knew that she was in love with him. She had not betrayed her
marriage vows in deed, but she had in thought. She could never betray her vows
as her husband had, but she knew that hers was the greater betrayal.

At the beginning of Advent there was more news from Sir
William. He was still at court and likely to remain there until Candlemas.
Still there was no message for Alais, no request to join him. Sir William had
sent his own messenger, so there was no letter from Hugh. In the second week of
Advent, however, Tom came again from Hill bearing letters from Roger, Matthew
and Hugh. Roger sent her a small gift and told her how the rebuilding was
going. Matthew thanked her again for the care she had given to Marion. She had
given birth to a boy, Piers and was starting to recover. He sent some ointment
that he thought she might be lacking at Liss. Hugh’s letter wished her well and
said that she could reply by the same route. He was sorry he would not be
seeing her at court for Christmas. He had heard the news about Elizabeth and
was pleased, although his father was sorry to have harboured such an ungrateful
and immoral woman for so many years. He had reminded his father that Alais had
lost everything in the raid and Sir William had given him permission to send
her some cloth. Alais bit her lip at the thought of that conversation. Hugh had
sent three bolts of very fine cloth and she set about planning how she was
going to use them. Once she knew what she was going to do, she wrote back to
him, careful to ask that he pass on her thanks to her husband, sure that he
would not do so.