Page 15 of The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past #2)

FOURTEEN

Dunwich, Suffolk

Petra crept up the stairs, careful not to disturb Lady Blythe, who’d fallen asleep by the fire, and opened the window on the landing.

There wasn’t much of a view from the ground floor since all there was to see were other houses, but the upper floor offered a vista of the harbor and the sea beyond.

Petra inhaled the frigid, salty air and surveyed the scene.

The sea was calm today, the smooth surface sparkling in the weak winter sunshine as seagulls screamed and swooped to catch their prey, coming back up with thrashing fish in their beaks.

Several ships were in port, their sails furled and the masts piercing the sky like blunt swords.

There wasn’t as much activity since many ships stopped sailing during the winter due to gales and fear of sinking, but there was still something to see.

Petra turned her head to the left and craned her neck to see if anyone was still in the square.

It was market day, and although it would grow dark soon, there were still vendors in the square, taking advantage of the last hour of daylight to sell their wares.

Many merchants had already gone, having sold their goods early on.

Foodstuffs tended to sell earlier in the day than trinkets, cloth, and tools.

Petra wished that she could sneak away and take a walk to the square.

She had no desire to buy anything, but she simply wanted to stroll among the stalls, looking at the goods and exchanging a word or two with the merchants who were always eager to engage potential customers in friendly banter.

She particularly liked to visit Micah Sills, who worked in bone.

Master Sills was a farmer who never let anything go to waste, not even a bit of bone, shaping and carving intricate pieces while he sat by the fire after supper.

He sold everything from dice to crosses displayed on strings of leather.

Petra liked the chess sets the best. Not many people understood the complicated game, which was said to have been brought to English shores by traders from Spain, but everyone liked to look at the pieces.

The tallest pieces were no longer than Petra’s finger, but they were surprisingly lifelike.

Kings, queens, and bishops were works of art, each one wearing a unique expression befitting their station.

There were rearing horses to represent knights and castle towers, which Master Sills referred to as “rooks.” Most vendors didn’t permit non-buying patrons to handle the goods, but Micah Sills encouraged people to pick up the pieces and run their fingers over the delicate carvings.

“Makes the bone shine, frequent handing does,” he said as he rubbed the face of a black queen.

All the pieces were either white or black, the bone dyed black by using a mixture made of ground oak galls, water, and iron salt solution.

The black pieces were beautiful, but Petra liked the white ones best. She thought of them as representing good, while the black pieces represented evil.

She wished she knew how to play, but the rules of the game were too complicated even for most men.

Petra heard a noise from downstairs and hastily shut the window.

Lady Blythe did not hold with opening the windows and letting in the cold and the smells from outside.

She would be angry. Petra tiptoed away from the window and descended to the ground floor, ready to make an excuse for venturing upstairs, but Lady Blythe was still asleep.

Petra took her customary seat and studied the old lady.

She’d mellowed with age, and where before all Petra saw was a tyrant, what she saw now was a lonely old woman who was on the verge of losing everything she’d worked for.

Lady Blythe’s sons still gave their mother a report once a fortnight, but they did this out of respect since their mother was no longer directly involved in any negotiations with buyers or sellers.

Lady Blythe knew that they were humoring her but took the meetings with all seriousness, asking numerous questions and barking orders that her sons would most likely ignore.

There were no other social calls. The days were interminable, with Petra arriving just in time to help Lady Blythe dress and make her way to her private chapel, where she spent an hour on her knees praying to the Good Lord.

Petra was expected to join in, and she was thankful for the cushioned kneelers, or she would have simply keeled over.

After prayer, Lady Blythe took breakfast with Petra, then, weather permitting, ventured outdoors.

For Petra, that was the best hour of the day since she at least got a breath of fresh air and an opportunity to stretch her legs.

The rest of the day was spent spinning wool, reading the Scriptures, and, in Lady Blythe’s case, napping.

By the time Petra got home in the evening, she was exhausted from boredom and desperate to have a word with Maude and the children before they retired.

She reminded herself every night that she must be grateful to Lady Blythe, since Petra’s wages kept the family in food and firewood, but the thought of spending all her time just sitting in near silence with the old woman nearly made her weep.

There had been only one occasion when Petra found herself trembling with excitement, but it didn’t last long.

Father Avery had come to call on Lady Blythe a week ago.

Petra’s mouth grew dry with nervousness, and she began to perspire, but she didn’t get a chance to see or speak to the priest. Lady Blythe sent her away and told her to go buy some fish for her supper.

Normally, Petra would have been thrilled to leave the house for a bit and wander along the harbor, but she longed to catch a glimpse of Avery.

She hadn’t seen him since the day she came to see Lady Blythe and hoped that they might get a moment to speak privately.

But Father Avery was gone by the time Petra returned with the fish, leaving her feeling disappointed and frustrated.

Petra spent the next few days hoping that Father Avery would call again, but he hadn’t been back since.

After all, what did Lady Blythe have to confess, sitting by the cozy fire all day and reading passages from the Bible before nodding off for an hour or two?

Hardly a life of mortal sin that required weekly absolution.

Petra forced a smile onto her face when Lady Blythe finally stirred and sat up straighter in her chair, having woken up.

She blinked several times and stared at Petra as if she wasn’t quite sure why the young woman was there.

“Would you like some hippocras, lady?” Petra asked.

“Yes, I’ll take a cup. How long till supper?”

“At least an hour, lady,” Petra replied. Thankfully, Lady Blythe dined early, releasing Petra for the day no later than six.

“What have we today?”

“Boiled mutton and mashed turnips,” Petra replied.

Mutton was the old woman’s favorite, and Petra was glad of any meat she could get, not being able to readily afford it for her own household.

Petra was grateful to have her meals with Lady Blythe since that made for one less mouth to feed on her wages.

Maude purchased some bones and gizzards from the butcher once a week to flavor the stew and supplement the children’s diet of pottage and pease pudding, but couldn’t afford to splurge on a chop or a shank.

Petra fetched her employer a cup of hippocras and resumed her seat, hoping the time would go by quickly until they supped. Lady Blythe stared into the fire, her mind far away .

“I’ve asked Father Avery to dine tomorrow,” she suddenly said, startling Petra out of her reverie.

“Will you need me to leave early, lady?”

“No, I’d like for you to join us. You could benefit from some enlightened conversation,” Lady Blythe said, enjoying her role of benefactress.

“Is Father Avery a new parish priest?” Petra asked carefully.

She’d attended St. Leonard’s all her life, but there were several other churches in the area, and the parish priests were well known in the community, even if only by sight.

A new parish priest was assigned only when the current one died, or was no longer able to perform his duties, but Petra could think of no one who’d lately needed replacing. What was Avery doing in Dunwich?

“Father Avery recently returned from Oxford, where he taught theology for several years after graduating from the seminary. He is a learned and pious man, Petra. A scholar. He’s even been to Rome, where he met the Holy Father himself. It’s an honor to have him in my house.”

“How do you come to know him, lady?” Petra asked, curious as to why such a paragon of scholarly virtue would take the time to visit Lady Blythe. Unless there was a monetary incentive, which was not something most priests were above pursuing.

“Father Avery came to visit me when he returned to Dunwich. He’s originally from these parts, you know.

My husband and his father were devoted friends before my Malcolm was taken into God’s embrace.

Father Avery is staying at Greyfriars Priory at the present.

He tells me that he’s working on a rather difficult translation. ”

“Is he a monk then?” Petra asked, unable to reconcile the image of the carefree young man she’d known as a girl with that of a Franciscan monk, bent over some ancient manuscript as he tried to decipher the words by the flickering light of a candle.

“Don’t be silly, girl. Father Avery is enjoying the hospitality of the monks while he remains in Dunwich. He has grand plans. Hopes to become a bishop one day.”