Read Online Face Down under the Wych Elm by Kathy Lynn Emerson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathy Lynn Emerson
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cousins guilty?” Jennet asked the moment she and Lady Appleton were left alone there.
"He may. Most people do believe in witches.” She sent a wry smile in Jennet's direction. “I know full well that my views on the subject are shared by few others. Most people would consider them heretical."
Jennet paled. “Madam, it is not a matter for joking."
But instead of listening to Jennet's litany of concerns, Lady Appleton declared herself in need of a nap and suited action to words. Jennet was left with naught to do but unpack and clean her mistress's boots. Time dragged until they were summoned to supper.
When they arrived in the great hall, Master Garrard conducted Lady Appleton to the place of honor next to him at the high table. Jennet thought his hospitality now seemed a trifle less grudging, although he signaled for servants to bring water, basins, and towels for hand washing in the same peremptory manner he'd displayed earlier. Once these had been used and cleared away, he stood to recite the prayer before the meal. His chaplain, Jennet recalled, was still in Maidstone.
"All things depend upon thy providence, O Lord,” he began, “to receive at thy hands due sustenance in time convenient. Thou givest to them and they gather it. Thou openest thy hand and they are satisfied with good things."
Assuming Master Garrard was done, since he fell silent, Jennet reached for the bread. Before she could lay a finger on it, the stream of words resumed. With each phrase he sounded more pompous.
When this soliloquy had continued for some minutes, Jennet began to wonder if the fellow might not be exaggerating his piety for effect. This pretentious prattling struck her as an effort to seem more religious than, in truth, he was.
"O heavenly Father,” Master Garrard intoned, “which art the fountain and full treasure of all goodness, we beseech thee to show thy mercies upon us thy children and sanctify these gifts which we receive of thy merciful liberality, granting us grace to use them soberly and purely, according to thy blessed will."
Again, Jennet's hand crept toward the bread. Again she had to pull back when the droning voice resumed the prayer.
"Hereby we acknowledge thee to be the author and giver of all good things and above all remember continually to seek the spiritual food of thy word, wherewith our souls may be nourished everlastingly, through our Savior Christ, who is the true bread of life, which came down from heaven, of whom whosoever eatest shall live forever and reign with Him in glory, world without end."
Jennet hesitated.
"So be it.” He sat down, draped his napkin over his shoulder, and began to eat.
On the dais, there was little conversation. From her vantage point below, Jennet got the impression that Master Garrard gave only monosyllabic answers to Lady Appleton's remarks.
She had no better luck gleaning information from the upper servants seated at her table. Arthur Kennison, the man Mistress Crane had said carried messages between Mill Hall and Edgecumbe Manor, was already deep in his cups before the meal had scarce begun. The broken veins in his nose and the ruddy color of his cheeks suggested to Jennet that his state was not uncommon. It would have served her purpose well if he'd been the sort of drunkard to grow verbose and loquacious when he imbibed, but he was a silent, surly lout. He took no notice of her and the rest of the company proved equally close-mouthed.
Even for a fish day, the food was uninspired. Jennet consumed it in sullen silence, wondering why she had not elected to remain at Leigh Abbey when she'd had the chance.
The unending dullness of their stay at Mill Hall continued after supper. Someone played a lute, but with indifferent talent. The boy who tried to sing mangled every tune. Master Garrard did at last begin to talk to Lady Appleton, but only of crops and the weather and the pinnace he'd recently hired to carry fruit and vegetables from Hythe around the coast of
"He may. Most people do believe in witches.” She sent a wry smile in Jennet's direction. “I know full well that my views on the subject are shared by few others. Most people would consider them heretical."
Jennet paled. “Madam, it is not a matter for joking."
But instead of listening to Jennet's litany of concerns, Lady Appleton declared herself in need of a nap and suited action to words. Jennet was left with naught to do but unpack and clean her mistress's boots. Time dragged until they were summoned to supper.
When they arrived in the great hall, Master Garrard conducted Lady Appleton to the place of honor next to him at the high table. Jennet thought his hospitality now seemed a trifle less grudging, although he signaled for servants to bring water, basins, and towels for hand washing in the same peremptory manner he'd displayed earlier. Once these had been used and cleared away, he stood to recite the prayer before the meal. His chaplain, Jennet recalled, was still in Maidstone.
"All things depend upon thy providence, O Lord,” he began, “to receive at thy hands due sustenance in time convenient. Thou givest to them and they gather it. Thou openest thy hand and they are satisfied with good things."
Assuming Master Garrard was done, since he fell silent, Jennet reached for the bread. Before she could lay a finger on it, the stream of words resumed. With each phrase he sounded more pompous.
When this soliloquy had continued for some minutes, Jennet began to wonder if the fellow might not be exaggerating his piety for effect. This pretentious prattling struck her as an effort to seem more religious than, in truth, he was.
"O heavenly Father,” Master Garrard intoned, “which art the fountain and full treasure of all goodness, we beseech thee to show thy mercies upon us thy children and sanctify these gifts which we receive of thy merciful liberality, granting us grace to use them soberly and purely, according to thy blessed will."
Again, Jennet's hand crept toward the bread. Again she had to pull back when the droning voice resumed the prayer.
"Hereby we acknowledge thee to be the author and giver of all good things and above all remember continually to seek the spiritual food of thy word, wherewith our souls may be nourished everlastingly, through our Savior Christ, who is the true bread of life, which came down from heaven, of whom whosoever eatest shall live forever and reign with Him in glory, world without end."
Jennet hesitated.
"So be it.” He sat down, draped his napkin over his shoulder, and began to eat.
On the dais, there was little conversation. From her vantage point below, Jennet got the impression that Master Garrard gave only monosyllabic answers to Lady Appleton's remarks.
She had no better luck gleaning information from the upper servants seated at her table. Arthur Kennison, the man Mistress Crane had said carried messages between Mill Hall and Edgecumbe Manor, was already deep in his cups before the meal had scarce begun. The broken veins in his nose and the ruddy color of his cheeks suggested to Jennet that his state was not uncommon. It would have served her purpose well if he'd been the sort of drunkard to grow verbose and loquacious when he imbibed, but he was a silent, surly lout. He took no notice of her and the rest of the company proved equally close-mouthed.
Even for a fish day, the food was uninspired. Jennet consumed it in sullen silence, wondering why she had not elected to remain at Leigh Abbey when she'd had the chance.
The unending dullness of their stay at Mill Hall continued after supper. Someone played a lute, but with indifferent talent. The boy who tried to sing mangled every tune. Master Garrard did at last begin to talk to Lady Appleton, but only of crops and the weather and the pinnace he'd recently hired to carry fruit and vegetables from Hythe around the coast of
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