Read Online The Witch of Eye by Mari Griffith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mari Griffith
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hens, but it didn’t really matter. William Jourdemayne was an agreeable man, easy to work for and appreciative of what she did. She was settling in well at Eybury Farm and beginning to forget the reasons why she had fled her old life – though she was still a little hard of hearing in her left ear, so she could never forget Jake.
‘Oh,’ said William, remembering suddenly, ‘talking of hens and geese, I meant to ask you whether we had a nice fat goose to send over to the manor house? Abbot Harweden likes to stay at La Neyte for a few days after the day of Obligation and we always send over a Michaelmas goose for him. I’m afraid it slipped my mind this year, with being so busy.’
‘I fattened up a few stubble geese after the harvest, master, as it happens. So I’ll pick out the best of them for him. Just as long as you don’t ask me to kill it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said William, ‘I’ll do that.’
‘It should taste good with an apple stuffing. I’ll send a bag of apples over to the Manor with the bird. A bunch of sage, too, and some onions.’
‘Don’t,’ said William, laughing. ‘You’re making me feel hungry and there’s an hour to go before dinner!’
‘I’m sorry, master. I didn’t mean to do that.’
She had almost slipped back into the old ways, planning a meal, thinking about cooking for a man and enjoying the prospect of doing so. She must guard against that, however much the thought pleased her.
***
W ith his Michaelmas duties discharged for another year, Abbot Harweden was delighted to spend a few days relaxing in the manor house on the Eye estate. La Neyte was very much more comfortable and luxurious than his accommodation in the Westminster monastery, or in any other property where the monks had invested their wealth. It gave him the best of both worlds, since it offered close proximity to the monastery combined with all the advantages of a quiet country retreat. An elegant, moated manor house, it boasted fine gardens, an orchard and a well-stocked fish pond. A small permanent staff saw to his worldly needs and the manor house itself was less than half a mile from the Thames. A fast wherry could whisk him the short distance downriver to the Westminster steps in next to no time, which meant he could return to his monastic duties within an hour, should the need arise.
His neighbours at La Neyte were the tenant-farmer William Jourdemayne and his wife who lived only a few hundred yards away at Eybury Farm. They seemed a quiet couple, tending to keep themselves to themselves except when there was some aspect of farm business to be discussed or the quarterly accounts were to be presented for his inspection. Then, at Michaelmas, they would spend a day together going over the figures for the whole year.
It was also a Michaelmas tradition that Abbot Harweden, as titular head of the Manor of Eye-next-Westminster, was presented with a nicely fattened goose for the midday dinner.
Today, he had invited a guest to join him. His friendship with Thomas Southwell, a Canon of Westminster and Rector of St Stephen’s Royal Chapel, was the result of many years in the service of the church and of the royal family. The two often ate companionably together.
‘This goose is excellent, Richard,’ said Thomas Southwell between mouthfuls.
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ said Abbot Harweden. ‘There are great advantages in having a stock farm attached to the monastery. One never has an empty trencher and we don’t lack for butter or cheese. Or milk, of course. But it’s many a long year since I’ve had a Michaelmas goose as good as this one.’
‘What is your tenant like? What’s-his-name, Jourdemayne, the stockman. Is he good?’
‘Seems a very capable fellow, I must say. He manages the farm extremely well, keeps the stock in good shape. He has even balanced the books for this quarter, though his book-keeping isn’t always perfect.’
‘A man of many parts!’
‘Indeed. I had
‘Oh,’ said William, remembering suddenly, ‘talking of hens and geese, I meant to ask you whether we had a nice fat goose to send over to the manor house? Abbot Harweden likes to stay at La Neyte for a few days after the day of Obligation and we always send over a Michaelmas goose for him. I’m afraid it slipped my mind this year, with being so busy.’
‘I fattened up a few stubble geese after the harvest, master, as it happens. So I’ll pick out the best of them for him. Just as long as you don’t ask me to kill it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said William, ‘I’ll do that.’
‘It should taste good with an apple stuffing. I’ll send a bag of apples over to the Manor with the bird. A bunch of sage, too, and some onions.’
‘Don’t,’ said William, laughing. ‘You’re making me feel hungry and there’s an hour to go before dinner!’
‘I’m sorry, master. I didn’t mean to do that.’
She had almost slipped back into the old ways, planning a meal, thinking about cooking for a man and enjoying the prospect of doing so. She must guard against that, however much the thought pleased her.
***
W ith his Michaelmas duties discharged for another year, Abbot Harweden was delighted to spend a few days relaxing in the manor house on the Eye estate. La Neyte was very much more comfortable and luxurious than his accommodation in the Westminster monastery, or in any other property where the monks had invested their wealth. It gave him the best of both worlds, since it offered close proximity to the monastery combined with all the advantages of a quiet country retreat. An elegant, moated manor house, it boasted fine gardens, an orchard and a well-stocked fish pond. A small permanent staff saw to his worldly needs and the manor house itself was less than half a mile from the Thames. A fast wherry could whisk him the short distance downriver to the Westminster steps in next to no time, which meant he could return to his monastic duties within an hour, should the need arise.
His neighbours at La Neyte were the tenant-farmer William Jourdemayne and his wife who lived only a few hundred yards away at Eybury Farm. They seemed a quiet couple, tending to keep themselves to themselves except when there was some aspect of farm business to be discussed or the quarterly accounts were to be presented for his inspection. Then, at Michaelmas, they would spend a day together going over the figures for the whole year.
It was also a Michaelmas tradition that Abbot Harweden, as titular head of the Manor of Eye-next-Westminster, was presented with a nicely fattened goose for the midday dinner.
Today, he had invited a guest to join him. His friendship with Thomas Southwell, a Canon of Westminster and Rector of St Stephen’s Royal Chapel, was the result of many years in the service of the church and of the royal family. The two often ate companionably together.
‘This goose is excellent, Richard,’ said Thomas Southwell between mouthfuls.
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ said Abbot Harweden. ‘There are great advantages in having a stock farm attached to the monastery. One never has an empty trencher and we don’t lack for butter or cheese. Or milk, of course. But it’s many a long year since I’ve had a Michaelmas goose as good as this one.’
‘What is your tenant like? What’s-his-name, Jourdemayne, the stockman. Is he good?’
‘Seems a very capable fellow, I must say. He manages the farm extremely well, keeps the stock in good shape. He has even balanced the books for this quarter, though his book-keeping isn’t always perfect.’
‘A man of many parts!’
‘Indeed. I had
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