Read Online The Widow's Tale (Sister Frevisse Medieval Mysteries Book 14) by Margaret Frazer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Frazer
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carefully curled over nose and paws, unforgiving the interruption of his morning nap.
Frevisse tried not to regard him balefully back while she went on, “Nor is it the usual discontented talk about things ‘not going well’. It’s real anger at very certain things and certain people.”
“Such as?” Domina Elisabeth asked, with more than simple curiosity.
Frevisse suspected that the worry came from the letter from Domina Elisabeth’s brother Abbot Gilberd, brought yesterday by a passing knight. As nuns they might be removed from the world, but they were not remote from it. Trouble was too often a thing that spread and Frevisse’s present unease at things made her answer carefully, “People are angry at how badly the French war is suddenly going and at the king’s people demanding more money when there’s no sign that good use has been made of the money already given. They’re angry at the lords around the king for their greed and misgoverning and for spoiling the wool trade with Flanders this year.”
“The lords around the king,” Domina Elisabeth repeated. “That includes the duke of Suffolk?”
Knowing from where that particular question came, Frevisse hesitated over what to say before settling for, “I would say especially the duke of Suffolk.”
While Domina Elisabeth silently, frowningly, considered that, Frevisse asked in her turn, “Your brother is at Parliament?” Abbots, like lay lords, being regularly summoned to attend.
“Yes,” Domina Elisabeth said, a weight of worry to the word.
“Did he say how things go there?”
Domina Elisabeth stroked the curve of the cat’s back. “Not well, I gather. Gilberd says the Commons are refusing to give any more tax toward the war and he doesn’t think they’ll change their minds.”
A merchant from Northampton had put it more bluntly in the guesthall two days ago. “If Suffolk thinks he’s going to get a grant of money for this French war he looks determined to lose, he’s damn-all in for a surprise, may the devil rot his bones.”
To which a yeoman had said, “If Hell gaped open and swallowed Suffolk tomorrow, England would be the better for it, and the devil can take Somerset, too, for better measure.”
“Why wait until tomorrow?” the merchant had answered. Here in the peaceful parlor, with a dule of doves rising from the guesthall yard below the window with the morning sunlight on their wings, those passions seemed far off, almost unreal; but like an echo to Frevisse’s less comfortable thoughts, Domina Elisabeth said, “You haven’t heard from your cousin lately, have you?”
Frevisse had not, as Domina Elisabeth well knew because any message—by word or writing—that came to a nun had to be made known to her prioress. It was with wariness of the unasked question behind the words that Frevisse answered because she knew from where the question came, “No. I haven’t.”
Unlikely as it seemed, given their so different lives, her cousin was the duchess of Suffolk, wife to the much-hated duke. Because of that, Frevisse knew something more of the duke of Suffolk than she wished she did, and because of what she knew, she and her cousin had not been able these few years past to write or send so much as a word to each other. But as if no word from her cousin were a little matter, Frevisse said, “With Suffolk so busy about the king of late, she’s probably too much occupied with seeing to their lands and all else in his place.”
She was saved from more by the cloister bell starting to ring to Tierce. Domina Elisabeth gave a mild sigh and stood up and Frevisse moved aside to let her go ahead from the room. There should be silence now until they began the Office in the church, but Domina Elisabeth had let the Benedictine rule of silence slacken over the years and said as she led the way down the stairs to the cloister walk, “I meant to ask you, too, what you think of how our widow is doing.” Frevisse missed the strictly
Frevisse tried not to regard him balefully back while she went on, “Nor is it the usual discontented talk about things ‘not going well’. It’s real anger at very certain things and certain people.”
“Such as?” Domina Elisabeth asked, with more than simple curiosity.
Frevisse suspected that the worry came from the letter from Domina Elisabeth’s brother Abbot Gilberd, brought yesterday by a passing knight. As nuns they might be removed from the world, but they were not remote from it. Trouble was too often a thing that spread and Frevisse’s present unease at things made her answer carefully, “People are angry at how badly the French war is suddenly going and at the king’s people demanding more money when there’s no sign that good use has been made of the money already given. They’re angry at the lords around the king for their greed and misgoverning and for spoiling the wool trade with Flanders this year.”
“The lords around the king,” Domina Elisabeth repeated. “That includes the duke of Suffolk?”
Knowing from where that particular question came, Frevisse hesitated over what to say before settling for, “I would say especially the duke of Suffolk.”
While Domina Elisabeth silently, frowningly, considered that, Frevisse asked in her turn, “Your brother is at Parliament?” Abbots, like lay lords, being regularly summoned to attend.
“Yes,” Domina Elisabeth said, a weight of worry to the word.
“Did he say how things go there?”
Domina Elisabeth stroked the curve of the cat’s back. “Not well, I gather. Gilberd says the Commons are refusing to give any more tax toward the war and he doesn’t think they’ll change their minds.”
A merchant from Northampton had put it more bluntly in the guesthall two days ago. “If Suffolk thinks he’s going to get a grant of money for this French war he looks determined to lose, he’s damn-all in for a surprise, may the devil rot his bones.”
To which a yeoman had said, “If Hell gaped open and swallowed Suffolk tomorrow, England would be the better for it, and the devil can take Somerset, too, for better measure.”
“Why wait until tomorrow?” the merchant had answered. Here in the peaceful parlor, with a dule of doves rising from the guesthall yard below the window with the morning sunlight on their wings, those passions seemed far off, almost unreal; but like an echo to Frevisse’s less comfortable thoughts, Domina Elisabeth said, “You haven’t heard from your cousin lately, have you?”
Frevisse had not, as Domina Elisabeth well knew because any message—by word or writing—that came to a nun had to be made known to her prioress. It was with wariness of the unasked question behind the words that Frevisse answered because she knew from where the question came, “No. I haven’t.”
Unlikely as it seemed, given their so different lives, her cousin was the duchess of Suffolk, wife to the much-hated duke. Because of that, Frevisse knew something more of the duke of Suffolk than she wished she did, and because of what she knew, she and her cousin had not been able these few years past to write or send so much as a word to each other. But as if no word from her cousin were a little matter, Frevisse said, “With Suffolk so busy about the king of late, she’s probably too much occupied with seeing to their lands and all else in his place.”
She was saved from more by the cloister bell starting to ring to Tierce. Domina Elisabeth gave a mild sigh and stood up and Frevisse moved aside to let her go ahead from the room. There should be silence now until they began the Office in the church, but Domina Elisabeth had let the Benedictine rule of silence slacken over the years and said as she led the way down the stairs to the cloister walk, “I meant to ask you, too, what you think of how our widow is doing.” Frevisse missed the strictly
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