Read Online The outlaw's tale by Margaret Frazer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Frazer
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fireplace on the farther wall, built up with a goodly fire. Stools had been set there for them and Sister Emma sank down on one gratefully, hiccuping a few sobs of relief as she held out her hands, white with cold, to the heat.
Mistress Payne had clearly had some thought of playing hostess to them, but Sister Emma's condition was clearly too poor. She asked, worry in her voice, “Do you think it might be better if you went straight to the room we're readying for you? I think she's more than merely chilled. She's sickening for something, isn't she?"
Watching Sister Emma shiver and huddle nearer the fire, Frevisse nodded. “I fear so. Is the room warm?"
“Oh, very warm, yes. It's private, too, with its own fireplace and a fire already going." There was more worry than pride in that, as if Mistress Payne feared Frevisse might disapprove of the extravagance.
Far from disapproval, Frevisse said, “That will be wonderful. Thank you." At St. Frideswide's only the prioress' parlor and the warming room had fireplaces, and their use was very limited. A private room with a fireplace was luxury, and just now she was in no mood to consider how far from the Rule it might be for her even here. She took Sister Emma around the shoulders and by the arm and urged her to her feet. “Come, Sister. We have some place better for you."
Coughing heavily against her sleeve, Sister Emma resisted, still keeping her free hand out to the fire. “But I like it here," she protested. “This feels so wonderful ."
“We have some place more wonderful," Frevisse insisted. “With a fireplace just as warm. Where you can be rid of your wet clothes and have dry ones." She glanced at Mistress Payne, who nodded agreement. “And a bed, too. So come. It’s only a little farther."
“H—he that was b—born to be hanged sh—shall never be drowned," Sister Emma chattered. But she let Frevisse, with Mistress Payne on her other side, manage her to her feet. She was shivering uncontrollably now. “I'm n—never going to be w—warm again, I know it," she whispered, leaning more heavily on Frevisse with every step.
“You're going to be warm again very soon. And dry. You just have to go a little way."
“Hope long deferred makes the heart sick," Sister Emma offered.
“This won't take long," Frevisse said curtly. So long as Sister Emma could still drag out proverbs she was not beyond hope. “But you have to walk. There's no one here can carry you."
Mistress Payne, looking all worry edged with nervousness, led them back into the screens passage at the end of the hall where the tall, carved wooden screen sheltered the hall from the drafts of main and back doors. They had entered from its left end, where the main door opened to the foreyard of the manor. Now they turned right, went past the door to the kitchen where a drift of good smells gave hope of supper to come, to another doorway and the narrow darkness of a spiral staircase upward to another floor.
“I'm so c—cold," Sister Emma chattered.
“So am I," Frevisse said. “But if you keep walking, we'll be warm soon enough. Up now."
Even if there had been someone to carry her, they could not have done it up those stairs, except over the shoulder like a bag of grain. With difficulty, and despite Sister Emma’s insistent helplessness, Frevisse and Mistress Payne managed her, emerging at the top into a long, narrow room that ran from where they were to the front of the house. Its further end was curtained off into a small chamber where Frevisse glimpsed a bed and writing desk. There were also doors to either side; Mistress Payne, panting with nervousness and exertion, led them right, to the door nearest the stairhead.
“My sister-in-law's chamber," she said. “Poor Magdalen was widowed three years ago and came to live with us and her room's the most private we have. All her own. None of the rest of the family
Mistress Payne had clearly had some thought of playing hostess to them, but Sister Emma's condition was clearly too poor. She asked, worry in her voice, “Do you think it might be better if you went straight to the room we're readying for you? I think she's more than merely chilled. She's sickening for something, isn't she?"
Watching Sister Emma shiver and huddle nearer the fire, Frevisse nodded. “I fear so. Is the room warm?"
“Oh, very warm, yes. It's private, too, with its own fireplace and a fire already going." There was more worry than pride in that, as if Mistress Payne feared Frevisse might disapprove of the extravagance.
Far from disapproval, Frevisse said, “That will be wonderful. Thank you." At St. Frideswide's only the prioress' parlor and the warming room had fireplaces, and their use was very limited. A private room with a fireplace was luxury, and just now she was in no mood to consider how far from the Rule it might be for her even here. She took Sister Emma around the shoulders and by the arm and urged her to her feet. “Come, Sister. We have some place better for you."
Coughing heavily against her sleeve, Sister Emma resisted, still keeping her free hand out to the fire. “But I like it here," she protested. “This feels so wonderful ."
“We have some place more wonderful," Frevisse insisted. “With a fireplace just as warm. Where you can be rid of your wet clothes and have dry ones." She glanced at Mistress Payne, who nodded agreement. “And a bed, too. So come. It’s only a little farther."
“H—he that was b—born to be hanged sh—shall never be drowned," Sister Emma chattered. But she let Frevisse, with Mistress Payne on her other side, manage her to her feet. She was shivering uncontrollably now. “I'm n—never going to be w—warm again, I know it," she whispered, leaning more heavily on Frevisse with every step.
“You're going to be warm again very soon. And dry. You just have to go a little way."
“Hope long deferred makes the heart sick," Sister Emma offered.
“This won't take long," Frevisse said curtly. So long as Sister Emma could still drag out proverbs she was not beyond hope. “But you have to walk. There's no one here can carry you."
Mistress Payne, looking all worry edged with nervousness, led them back into the screens passage at the end of the hall where the tall, carved wooden screen sheltered the hall from the drafts of main and back doors. They had entered from its left end, where the main door opened to the foreyard of the manor. Now they turned right, went past the door to the kitchen where a drift of good smells gave hope of supper to come, to another doorway and the narrow darkness of a spiral staircase upward to another floor.
“I'm so c—cold," Sister Emma chattered.
“So am I," Frevisse said. “But if you keep walking, we'll be warm soon enough. Up now."
Even if there had been someone to carry her, they could not have done it up those stairs, except over the shoulder like a bag of grain. With difficulty, and despite Sister Emma’s insistent helplessness, Frevisse and Mistress Payne managed her, emerging at the top into a long, narrow room that ran from where they were to the front of the house. Its further end was curtained off into a small chamber where Frevisse glimpsed a bed and writing desk. There were also doors to either side; Mistress Payne, panting with nervousness and exertion, led them right, to the door nearest the stairhead.
“My sister-in-law's chamber," she said. “Poor Magdalen was widowed three years ago and came to live with us and her room's the most private we have. All her own. None of the rest of the family
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