The Silent Songbird

  Should he marry Sabina? It was not the first time he had asked himself that question. He must marry someone, after all. Why not Sabina? She seemed to adore him. What man wouldn’t want a wife who adored him?

  None of the other Glynval maidens interested him. His father and mother had offered to take him to Lincolnshire where his father had grown up and find him a bride from among his relatives’ friends, but he had declined. But now that he was twenty-one, he seemed to be thinking more about who he might marry.

  For some reason, this thought pattern brought to mind the new maiden, Eva, with the vibrant red hair and the thoughtful green eyes. Sometimes the way she looked at him . . . It was not the same as Sabina, but it was wistful, sweet. And knowing she had been so mistreated made him want to protect her.

  “Westley.” Sabina leaned even closer, so close her shoulder was pressed against his arm. “I don’t think I could bear it if someone hurt you. When I think about it . . .”—tears welled up in her eyes—“my heart breaks in two.”

  Westley realized he was leaning away from her. But what if he did allow her to kiss him? What if he put his arms around her and kissed her? He cleared his throat instead.

  “Perhaps if we went to the place,” Sabina said, also leaning away, “where I saw you fall in, one of us would remember some detail about what happened. Perhaps your memory would return.”

  “That is a good idea.” Westley pushed himself away from the stone wall around the well. He allowed her to hold on to his arm while they walked down the path toward the river.

  Sabina chattered on about the upcoming harvest festival that would take place soon, about how much she looked forward to it every year. It was rather pleasant to listen to her cheerful voice.

  Suddenly he heard another voice, and this new voice was singing.

  “I think I hear something.” Sabina turned her head, as if listening. “It’s coming from over there.”

  The closer they got, the more beautiful the voice sounded. So pure and lovely. It made a warm feeling sweep over him. He recognized the song—a ballad about a shepherd boy and a goose girl. His mother used to sing it to him. And the voice sounded somehow familiar, as if he had heard it before but indistinctly.

  Then he remembered—the voice at Berkhamsted Castle, the one he’d been dreaming of hearing again. But how could that be?

  Sabina pulled on his arm, urging him forward. They moved through the trees and ferns, then finally came to the tiny glade. Two women sat on the ground—Mildred and Eva. He stared. Mildred’s mouth was not moving. It was Eva’s voice he was hearing. Eva was singing.

  Chapter Twelve

  She lied. A sharp pain went through his chest. But why would she pretend to be mute? Had her voice come back all of a sudden? No, she had been making a fool of him.

  He walked away, his hands curling into fists. If he confronted her now . . . Heat welled inside him.

  “Where are you going?” Sabina came from behind and caught his arm.

  “Did you know Eva could speak?” When they were back on the open path near the river, he stared Sabina in the eye.

  “I thought she was mute. We all did.” Her eyes were wide and she placed her hand over her chest. “Could she have lied to us? Could she have been deceiving us all this time?”

  Mildred had said she had been beaten, that her throat had been severely injured.

  Westley turned and went back through the trees.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To confront her.”

  He made his way back and burst into the small clearing, abruptly bringing an end to the singing.

  Mildred and Eva both stared at him with their eyes wide and their mouths open.

  Westley stomped toward her. He wanted to demand answers. Had she lied to him? But he read the answer on her face, and it made his heart sick.

  Evangeline jumped to her feet, her heart dropping. Westley had heard her singing. How could she possibly explain? Her cheeks tingled. She should say something, beg for forgiveness, but somehow she couldn’t speak.

  “Was it all a lie? Were you not ever mute?”

  Evangeline could not allow Muriel to lie for her any longer, and she could not lie to Westley either. “Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  “So you were never mute.” His face was turning red, his eyes accusatory.

  Evangeline shook her head. The look on his face twisted her insides.

  “Why did you lie?” A coldness infused his voice.

  “I . . . I wanted to get away . . . from someone. It was the only way I could think of to disguise myself.”

  He just stared, not saying anything.

  Sabina was standing just behind him. She took hold of his arm. “Let’s go, Westley.” Her voice had a distinct note of disgust. “You don’t deserve to be lied to.”

  Sabina tugged on his arm, and he walked away with her.

  Evangeline sank down on the ground and put her head in her hands.

  “Now do you think it’s time to go back to Berkhamsted? Now that you know Westley le Wyse is not going to marry you? Sabina will have dragged him to the church altar to say his vows before you can even speak another word to him.” Muriel’s arms were crossed over her chest, looking down at her.

  “Do you hate me so much?” Evangeline was too miserable to even cry.

  “I don’t hate you, as I told you before, but I am worried about you.” Muriel knelt beside her. “You are a gentle-hearted maiden who has never had to live in the world. I underestimated you, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you would hate the hard work. I thought you would work half a day and beg me to take you back to Berkhamsted. In fact, I did not imagine you would walk so far. But you’ve worked hard, taken your blisters, and hardly complained.” A wistful smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “But you still don’t want to leave Glynval, do you?”

  Evangeline shook her head.

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Seeing Westley walk away from her with Sabina . . . Was there any way Evangeline could get forgiveness from Westley and show him that she was not a bad person? For a long moment Muriel said nothing. Then, “I will help you fight for him, if it’s him you want.”

  “Fight for him?” Evangeline shook her head. “He is not a laurel wreath or a piece of money. He is a human being.”

  Muriel shrugged. “If you want to let Sabina have him, that is all very well. Just as you choose.”

  She certainly did not want Sabina to have him. And she certainly did want to marry him herself. But the thought of “fighting for him” did not feel right either. “I don’t plan to ever go back to Berkhamsted, Muriel. I’ll do anything to keep Richard from finding me and forcing me to marry Shiveley. But to marry Westley, a good and noble person who could choose anyone as his wife . . . Well, if that were to happen, I would believe anything in life was possible, and that God was on His throne, granting miracles to His children.”

  Muriel sighed. “And if you don’t get what you want? Does that mean God is not on His throne and that He is not granting miracles to His children?”

  Evangeline sighed. “I suppose that is not very good reasoning, is it?”

  “Perhaps it is not for mortal man to reason out such things.”

  “I’m sure Sabina is praying she will be the one to marry Westley. But hopefully Westley is praying he doesn’t marry someone unkind.” Evangeline picked the tiny wildflowers on the ground around her. “I don’t want to fight for him. That sounds low and common. I do want to gain back his favor, though.”

  “That won’t be easy. He was very disappointed to find that we had lied to him.”

  Her stomach twisted.

  “But that is also a good sign, a sign that he has some feelings for you. If he did not care, he would not have been so disappointed.”

  “I hate to think of him feeling disappointed in me.”

  She should never ha
ve deceived him, even if she did have a good reason.

  That evening Westley wandered out into the garden behind his family’s home.

  Would Evangeline come for their Bible reading now that her secret was discovered, now that he knew she had lied and deceived him?

  He shouldn’t even allow her near his family’s Bible. If she came thinking he did not care that she had lied to him, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control his temper.

  He kept glancing behind him at the back of the house. Then he walked along the row of trees at the edge of the garden. He still had a clear view of the house.

  He had talked to her like a friend, had helped her and been kind to her, had told her all about the worst time in his life, the Peasants’ Uprising, and all along she had been pretending she couldn’t speak. He even got the wax tablets just so she could communicate with him, and it had all been fake. She must have been laughing at him, at so easily making a fool of the lord’s son. So why was he looking for her, half disappointed not to see her there?

  The sun had just sunk behind the trees, spreading its last fingers of light through the sky. Westley trudged back to the house.

  “Good evening.”

  Eva stood in the shadowy area near the back door. Her voice was smooth and feminine and more sophisticated than the village maidens of Glynval—and he hated himself for noticing.

  “I wanted to say again that I’m sorry we deceived you about my being able to speak.”

  At one time he would have praised God at hearing her speak. But now . . .

  “I thought you were someone who could be trusted.” He tried to look her in the eye, to see if she was ashamed of her sin, but it was too dark to see her expression. “I am not accustomed to being deceived for no good reason.”

  “Perhaps I did have a good reason.”

  He snorted. “What reason?”

  “I will tell you, but I beg you not to tell anyone else.”

  He did not answer for a few moments. “Very well. What reason could you possibly have for pretending to be mute?”

  “As I told you, I was trying to get away from someone. It was the only way I could think of to disguise myself.”

  “Why?” The word exploded from him. “If you had told me you were in danger, I would have protected you.” He never shouted, and he hadn’t planned to shout at her, but the heat inside him forced its way out. “You did not have to make a fool of me, making me think you had been beaten until you lost your voice. I felt sorry for you.” His insides twisted and he rubbed a hand across his eyes, unable to even look at her.

  His mind flashed back to a few years before, when he was going fishing with John Underhill. A young woman had approached them and asked to go fishing with them.

  “My family is hungry,” the maiden said, “and needs me to catch some fish, for we have no other food and have not eaten for two days.”

  John had laughed and told her, “Go away. Westley is too virtuous for you.”

  “Why did you do that?” Westley asked. “Perhaps she really was hungry.”

  John laughed again. “You are never suspicious of anyone, and you believe everything anyone tells you.”

  Westley had inquired about the maiden later and discovered that she had not been going without food. She had admitted to his sister that she simply wanted to get close to him and John because they were the wealthiest young men in the two villages.

  Another time a maiden stumbled and landed in his arms. Or at least Westley thought she had stumbled. John told him he was naive.

  “Foolish,” John had said. “To feel compassion for the villeins or servants.” More than once he had said, with that contemptuous tone, “Westley, you’re too trusting. Do you think every last one of your villeins wouldn’t slit your throat to trade places with you? You think they care about you, but they don’t.”

  Westley’s face had grown hot as he told his friend, “You are wrong. It is not foolish to feel compassion, and I pity you that you think so cynically.”

  But that old humiliation that had made his face grow hot at John’s words now rose up inside him again. Eva had done what those other maidens had tried to do—made him feel sorry for her by lying to him.

  Eva hung her head, staring down at her hands.

  “I felt sorry for you, Eva, if that is even your name. But you were lying to me. How can I believe anything you say?”

  “I understand why you would be angry. But I had to leave suddenly.”

  “Why? Why did you make a fool of us?” Of me? He shouldn’t care. Besides, she could be lying again.

  “Someone wanted to marry me, and I did not want to marry him. So I ran away. I had nowhere to go, and we were very grateful you let us come along with you and your men.”

  Westley remembered the king’s guards, along with Lord Shiveley’s, seeking someone the day after they left Berkhamsted Castle. They had been searching for two women, one who was tall and had red hair. They must have been looking for Eva and Mildred, but why would the king send his men after two servants?

  “Who was this person who wanted to marry you?”

  “I . . . I would rather not say.”

  “Why?”

  “It would be safer for me if you did not know.” She seemed very uncomfortable, fidgeting with her hands, staring down at her feet, looking anywhere but at him.

  “Could he still be searching for you?”

  “He could be.”

  “And why should I not turn you over to him?”

  She lifted her head, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Even in the dim light, he could see fear in her face. His stomach twisted. He did not want to trust someone who was lying to him, but neither did he want to be cold and cruel.

  Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat. Would Westley turn her over to Lord Shiveley? Most men would, without hesitation. Many people believed a woman should have little say in whom she married, and she should feel honored to marry someone like Lord Shiveley. But Evangeline had believed Westley was different.

  Perhaps he wasn’t different after all.

  Or perhaps he was only hurt that she had lied to him. Either way, his words made her heart crash against her breastbone.

  “Why would you not want to marry this man?” His tone had softened a bit.

  “I have reason to believe . . . he would not be kind to me.” She remembered his words, “You may not care for me, but you will submit to me,” as well as his promise that she would marry him whether she liked it or not.

  “You fear he would beat you, the way you were beaten by your masters?”

  “I was not beaten by my masters.” Her cheeks burned. She understood why that lie would make him angry. “It was wicked of us to falsely say I was beaten and lost my voice as a consequence. We did not think about the harm our lie would cause. We were not accusing anyone in particular. Still, it was inexcusable, and I am sorry.”

  “But you are afraid of this man finding you. That is why you told the lie.”

  “Yes. I do not wish to be found. Please. I am relying on your mercy and kindness should he come looking for me.”

  He did not say anything for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I shall have to hear what he has to say. Perhaps he has a very different tale to tell. Perhaps you are betrothed or are already married and have run away from your husband.”

  “No! No, I have no husband.” When she had run away from Berkhamsted Castle, she had declared herself free, as free as any free man, belonging only to God. But the king might not see things that way.

  “I would not turn over one of my servants—my father’s servants—to anyone without a very good reason for doing so.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “The lord is my father. You should continue to call me Westley.”

  She nodded.

  “It is still difficult for me to trust you after you deceived everyone in Glynval.”

  Hearing him speak the consequences of her wrongdoing pricked her heart, but she forced herself t
o say, “Of course. I understand.”

  They were both silent, standing near each other but not making eye contact in the relative darkness. But it helped calm her breathing, because if he hated her, he would leave and go in the house.

  “I have a request to make of you. We will be having our harvest festival in a fortnight, and there is always a singing contest. People come from the surrounding villages to compete, and I would like you to sing for Glynval.”

  “Oh, I . . . I don’t think I should draw attention to myself.”

  “You shouldn’t be in any danger, and I am asking you to sing. I wish it. You have a beautiful voice.”

  The idea of singing in front of people who had thought she was mute and now knew she was lying was not a pleasant prospect. “Everyone will scorn me because I pretended to be mute.”

  “They will scorn you—or not—whether you sing or not.”

  That was no doubt true. She looked into his eyes and her heart skipped a beat. “As you wish. I shall sing . . . for Glynval.” For you.

  “Thank you.”

  “I also . . . I was wondering if your memory of what happened to you when you fell in the water had come back to you.”

  “No. Why?”

  “Has Sabina told you that there were a couple of men nearby, men who may have pushed you into the water?”

  “She said something like that. How did you know?”

  “I was there, as you will remember the men saying I stayed with you while Sabina went for help. But what they didn’t know is that I was there before you fell in the water. I saw what happened and jumped in to save you.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. Of course he wouldn’t believe her, but she had to try.

  “I saw the men. One of them hit you in the head with a block of wood and then pushed you into the water.”

  He stood still. “Are you saying Sabina is lying?”

  Did she dare tell him the whole truth? She took a deep breath. “Sabina came because I was calling for help.”