The Silent Songbird

  Surely everyone in the village would hear of what she had done. Would they force her to leave? Was Westley horrified that he had let her come to his village to work? And was he only making light of the incident in front of the reeve so he would calm down?

  When she opened her eyes, Reeve Folsham was stalking toward the castle and Westley and the other man were looking at her.

  “Father,” Westley said, “I’m sure she did not mean to sling the scythe at Folsham.”

  Was Westley’s father the lord of the village? The older man was wearing finer clothes than the other men she had seen; he had on a fine linen shirt that was so bright white it reflected the light of the sun. He was definitely not a peasant or a servant, or even a tradesman. But along with his eye patch, one of his hands appeared to be afflicted in some way, as he held it against his middle.

  Finally, he said, “Did you want to hurt Reeve Folsham?”

  Tears welled up in Evangeline’s eyes. She shook her head.

  “Father, she can’t speak. She and her friend traveled with us from Berkhamsted Castle.” Westley had the same masculine jawline as the lord and the same thick hair. He took a step toward Evangeline. “Eva, this is my father, Lord le Wyse.”

  Lord le Wyse was still looking at her. “Can you tie up sheaths?”

  Tie up sheaths? What was that? Evangeline shook her head and shrugged.

  “Perhaps she is a house servant,” Westley offered. “Are you?”

  How should she respond? Eva nodded. At least if she worked inside, she couldn’t nearly decapitate someone.

  “Go with Westley.” Lord le Wyse nodded to his son. “Take her to the castle. Let your mother find something for her to do there.” He bent to pick up the scythe while Evangeline turned to go with Westley.

  She had imagined joy and sunshine and freedom, and instead she had nearly killed a man with her incompetence.

  “Don’t feel so bad.”

  Westley walked toward the house beside Eva. Her head hung low and her shoulders drooped.

  “The reeve will be well. He will enjoy the attention of getting bandaged, no doubt.”

  She glanced up at him with a sad smile, then slowly shook her head.

  Truly, she was very pretty. He had never seen hair quite the color of hers. But the way she expressed her feelings through her facial expressions was particularly fascinating—vulnerable and yet unashamed.

  How sad that someone had abused her. How unfair that she might never speak again. To think of someone striking her at all, and especially to brutally and intentionally injure such a lovely, gentle maiden . . . It was hard to fathom. He was almost sorry they were dead so he could not exact justice on the maiden’s behalf.

  He remembered her look of abject horror when she stared at the blood on Reeve Folsham’s side. But thank God it was only a scratch. Anything worse and she would have had to stand trial at the next manorial court.

  “My mother will take good care of you. She is very kind. You will see. And the other house servants are friendly. They will help you with whatever you need.”

  She smiled up at him. In truth, she was nearly as tall as he was, but with her head down, the way she looked at him through her lashes made it seem as if she was gazing up at him.

  When they reached the house, he said, “Everyone calls it the castle to distinguish it from the manor house. But it is not exactly an impressive fortress such as Berkhamsted Castle.” She looked at him with interest, so he went on. “My father had planned to build another wing and a new tower, but after the Peasants’ Uprising, he changed his mind.”

  They climbed the front steps and he opened the door, motioning Eva inside. “Mother!” he called.

  “Here I am.” With a smile on her face, Mother emerged from the storage rooms at the back of the house. She hurried forward and threw her arms around him. He kissed her on the cheek.

  “I missed you while you were gone,” she said. “Oh, is this Eva?”

  “News travels fast in Glynval.”

  “My dear, let me welcome you to our little household.”

  Lady le Wyse was as beautiful as Lord le Wyse was handsome, in spite of his eye patch. Her hair was blonde, with a braid coiled around her head and other braids caught in a ribbon at the back of her neck. Her smile was her most beautiful feature, however. She took Evangeline’s hand and squeezed it. “Do you have any special skills, Eva?”

  “Mother, she can’t—”

  “I am aware that she cannot speak. Eva, do you cook?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you sew?”

  Evangeline nodded, then shrugged. How could she tell her that she embroidered pictures on tapestries but had never done any mending and did not know how to make even the simplest article of clothing? Evangeline had to shake her head.

  “Have you ever worked in a dairy, separating the milk and churning butter?”

  Evangeline bit her lip. She had never done anything except read books, hunt, sing, and embroider. What kind of servant would she be? Would they send her away?

  “No matter. We will find something for you to do.” Lady le Wyse smiled kindly at her.

  “I shall see you later, then.” Westley stepped forward, bent, and kissed his mother on the cheek. He nodded to Evangeline. “Mother will take care of you.” He gave her a reassuring smile and walked away.

  “And do not worry about the reeve,” she said quietly, for Evangeline’s ears only. “We are bandaging the scratch on his side and he should be perfectly well.”

  Evangeline expelled a breath of gratitude.

  They walked through the house and out the back door to a stone kitchen a few feet away. Inside, a woman held a large piece of some kind of bloody raw meat. “Lady le Wyse, good morning to you.”

  “Golda, this is a new helper, Eva. Eva, this is our head cook, Golda.” Two other maidens working in the kitchen turned their attention to Lady le Wyse. “Eva does not speak, but she hears and understands what you say to her. Do you have some work she can do?”

  “Can she shell peas?”

  Lady le Wyse looked at Evangeline. How difficult could it be? At least she couldn’t hurt anyone with a pea pod.

  Evangeline smiled and nodded.

  After getting Evangeline a basket of peas, Golda cocked her head to one side to indicate the door since her hands were occupied. “Lora, show her where the others are shelling.”

  A maiden with brown hair tied with a gray piece of wool and small eyes put down her knife and left the vegetables she was chopping. She motioned for Evangeline to follow her outside.

  Out in the sun, Lora led Evangeline around the side of the kitchen. “Why can’t you talk?”

  Evangeline pointed at her throat and shook her head.

  “Did you get your tongue cut out?”

  Evangeline shook her head.

  Lora headed toward a large shaded area. Three maidens, one of whom was Nicola, sat on stools while Sabina hovered nearby, smirking, and eyed Evangeline as they drew closer. Then Sabina drew an unoccupied stool up and sat beside one of the servants. Lora only stared for a moment, then walked back toward the kitchen.

  “Everyone, this is Eva. She just arrived last night, and she can’t talk. I think she can hear what we say, but she can’t say a word.” Sabina spoke with a gleam in her eye, as if Evangeline were not even present.

  “Westley brought her back with him. I suppose he felt sorry for her.” Sabina said the words in a hushed tone.

  Evangeline sat on the stool, holding her head up as her spine stiffened. The other girls stared at her with wide eyes. She looked down at the basket of peas in her lap, picked up a pod, and stared at it.

  “Should we ask her if she sliced off Reeve Folsham’s ear?” a blonde maiden asked.

  “It wasn’t his ear, Cecily,” a dark-haired maiden said, and they laughed raucously.

  Evangeline’s cheeks burned as she fumbled with a pea pod.

  “You are all being rude.” Nicola, who sat on the other side of Ev
angeline, spoke up. “How would you feel if someone was laughing at you while you were sitting there listening?” She turned toward Evangeline. “Don’t pay them any attention.”

  Evangeline gave her a tremulous smile. Her kindness made tears sting her eyes.

  “My name is Nicola, in case you don’t remember. And that is Sabina, Cecily, and Berta.” She pointed to each girl as she said her name.

  Evangeline nodded to show she understood.

  “I saw Reeve Folsham a few minutes ago walking back out to the field, and he didn’t look hurt at all.”

  Evangeline mouthed, Thank you.

  Nicola smiled.

  The others were silent except for the faint sounds of the pea pods being snapped open and the peas hulled, then the pods thrown into buckets at their feet.

  Evangeline surreptitiously watched out of the corner of her eye as Nicola transformed a pea pod into an empty shell that she tossed into her bucket. It happened so quickly, Evangeline had no idea how she did it. She watched again, but Nicola’s fingers moved too fast.

  “Eva has a friend, Mildred”—Sabina rolled her eyes toward Evangeline’s basket—“who’s helping in the house.”

  The other maidens murmured awkwardly, as if unsure what cue Sabina was sending them.

  “I could help you with shelling your peas. I used to be the fastest pea sheller in my household.”

  While Sabina was boasting about her speed and skill, Evangeline concentrated on trying to break the side of the pea pod, but it wouldn’t break the way Nicola’s had. Out of frustration, she used her thumbnail and tore a hole in the pod. She tried to get the peas out but had to rip the pea pod into shreds. She ended up picking out the bits of hull and throwing them into the bucket she shared with Nicola.

  “I see you’ve never shelled peas before. I’ll show you.” Sabina stepped over to Evangeline, picked up one of her pea pods, and held it out. “You hold it like this and snap off the end, like this. You hold the broken end in this hand and break it open with this thumb. You push out the peas with your thumb, then throw the pod and the end away.”

  Sabina picked up another pea pod and did it again, only faster. “Can you do that?”

  Evangeline gave a stiff nod. She picked up a pea pod and tried to do what Sabina had just done. Her pod was more crushed than broken, but within a few moments, she had all the peas out of the pod and into her basket.

  “It just takes some practice,” Sabina said. “I’ve been shelling peas since I was five years old.”

  Evangeline nodded to show she was impressed, cautiously eyeing the girl who went from mocking to helpful in less than one minute.

  As they sat shelling, Cecily and Berta challenged Sabina to a competition to see who could shell the most peas. They took more pea pods into their baskets. Sabina loaded a basket with peas for herself, then cried, “Ready? Go!”

  They shelled furiously, hardly talking as they kept their gazes on their laps and their peas.

  A while later, with Sabina and Cecily both crowing that they were winning, Mistress Alice strode toward them. “Girls, when you get those peas shelled, go and get your midday meal at the manor. Then help clean and get ready for the field workers to come in for their meal.”

  “Are these the last of the peas?” Nicola asked.

  “This will be the last big batch. Tomorrow I will only need one of you. Cecily, Sabina, what are you doing?”

  “They are trying to see who is the fastest sheller,” Berta said.

  “Are the ones in your baskets all that’s left?”

  “Yes, Mistress Alice.”

  Mistress Alice went to look over Sabina’s and Cecily’s shoulders.

  “Finished!” they both screamed simultaneously.

  “Who is the winner, Mistress Alice?” Berta said.

  Mistress Alice picked up each basket and examined the contents. Frowning, she selected a few pieces of pea hull from Sabina’s basket and a few unshelled pea pods from Cecily’s, then said, “Cecily has more.”

  Cecily laughed so loud, they must have heard her in the farthest field.

  “What? No!” Sabina stood and slammed her fists against her hips.

  Mistress Alice raised her eyebrows at Sabina, then walked away. She stopped beside Evangeline and looked down at her basket. Evangeline held her breath.

  Berta said, “I don’t think she’s ever shelled peas before. We had to show her how to do it.”

  Cecily laughed again. Nicola gave both Berta and Cecily a narrow-eyed stare, and Sabina stalked off.

  “Get finished with the last few and come to the kitchen.” Mistress Alice turned to leave.

  Two young women approached, both dressed in patched woolen kirtles. One of them walked ahead of the other and called out, “Excuse me.”

  Mistress Alice took notice of them.

  The young maiden’s face was very pale.

  “Are you Mistress Alice?”

  “Yes.”

  “We were wondering if you needed servants. We are hard workers and can work in the fields or inside, whatever you need.”

  “I’ve only just taken on two new maidservants. Perhaps I’ll have need of you next spring.”

  The two maidens’ shoulders seemed to slump as they thanked her and trudged away.

  A pain went through Evangeline’s heart as she watched them leave. She and Muriel were taking jobs that these two women obviously needed. O God, I’m so sorry. Please don’t let them go hungry. But from the looks of their sunken cheeks, they were already going hungry.

  Cecily let out a whoop. “Did you see Sabina’s face when Mistress Alice said I shelled more peas than she did?”

  Nicola said quietly, “Yes, and I saw how unkindly you treated Eva. You would do well to remember what Lady le Wyse said about being kind to each other. We are treated well here, but if she catches anyone being unkind, she will send us home as she did with Anna and Beatrice.”

  “They were fighting,” Berta retorted. “Did you see any of us fighting?”

  Nicola didn’t answer but continued shelling the peas in her basket.

  But Evangeline was paying little heed to the squawking maidservants as she noticed Westley speaking quietly with Mistress Alice. Had he been near enough to hear what the two young maidens had said to her? He suddenly reeled away from Mistress Alice and ran after the two maidens.

  She strained to hear what Westley was saying, but he spoke too softly and was too far away. The maidens’ faces suddenly spread into smiles. They nodded at him, then they both started walking back to the castle with him.

  Evangeline’s heart soared. Westley would not let the women go hungry. He would find jobs for them. A lump rose in her throat as she turned back to the circle of servants.

  “I’m done with my basket.” Cecily got up and left.

  A few minutes later, Berta did the same.

  Evangeline sighed as she looked into her basket and saw how much more she had left to shell. At the slow rate she was going, it would take her at least an hour.

  “I’ll help.” Nicola took some of Evangeline’s pea pods and put them into her own basket. “We’ll be done soon.”

  Evangeline was so slow. Why would anyone want a servant who could not do anything worthwhile? They would surely get rid of her the way they had rid themselves of the two fighting girls Nicola mentioned. But if they forced Evangeline to leave, she would never see Westley again, and that thought was sad indeed, especially since she was more intrigued with him than ever.

  Chapter Seven

  Evangeline hefted the bucket of water off the edge of the well, and the weight of it pulled the bucket out of her wet hands. It overturned on the ground, and she gasped as the cold water swept over her feet, seeping through her shoes.

  It was only midmorning and already she had dropped the basket of eggs she and Cecily had gathered from the hens in the henhouse. A hen had flown at Evangeline’s head and scratched her cheek, which still stung.

  She sighed and picked up the now-empty buck
et and placed it back on the rope, then lowered it into the well. She hauled it up, the bucket dripping. This time she tipped it over and poured some of the water back into the well so it would be easier to carry.

  When she arrived at the kitchen, Golda stared down at her bucket of water. “Has the well gone dry? That’s not very much water.”

  Evangeline’s cheeks heated—a frequent sensation these days.

  Golda frowned on one side of her mouth. “Never mind. Just go get me another bucket of water.”

  But as Evangeline walked away, the pity in the cook’s voice and expression made a lump gather in her throat.

  “Wait,” Golda called after her, then sighed. “I’ll get someone else to fetch the water. You go and . . .” She glanced around until she spotted a couple buckets in the corner. “Take those two buckets of slop to the pigs.”

  What was slop?

  “Do you know where the pigsty is?”

  Evangeline shook her head.

  “It’s to the east of the manor house, across the courtyard and the small meadow. You’ll see the fence, and you’ll also smell it. Just dump the buckets over the fence and be careful you don’t fall in.”

  Evangeline picked up the two buckets, which were surprisingly light and contained the pea pods from the day before, as well as some scraps from the morning’s meal. She carried them out of the kitchen, past the manor house, through the courtyard, and past the girl who was herding a gaggle of geese with a stick.

  She kept walking until she smelled something foul. She was nowhere near the privy, but she saw a fence in a low place between the meadow and the woods.

  Evangeline set down the buckets, which grew heavier the longer she carried them, to get a better hold on the handles. After flexing her fingers a few times, she picked them back up and finally reached the fence. A long wooden box was on the ground on the inside of the fence, and a wooden step was beside it on the outside. Was this where the slop was supposed to go? Flies buzzed all around it, while the pigs lay in the mud a few feet away.

  As soon as she put a foot on the wooden step, the pigs lifted their heads and snorted. There must have been at least a dozen of them, squealing and squirming.