The guard remained outside the open door.
Joan dipped a quick curtsy. “Dame Margaret said you’d need washing.”
“That sounds ominous.”
The girl blinked, then decided it was safe to smile. “Only hands and face, my lady. Unless you like to be cleaner.”
Amelia stared at her, then, absurdly, she laughed.
Joan’s smile grew. “My aunt says washing has saved more souls than preaching, though Father Martin says that’s near heresy.”
“Father Martin?”
“The chaplain here, my lady.” Joan poured water into the basin. Steam rose, smelling faintly of rosemary. “He says much is heresy when his feet ache.”
Amelia walked to the basin slowly, trying not to look too eager. Warm water. Actual warm water. She might be imprisoned, but apparently she could be imprisoned with rosemary and hot water.
History was complicated. She dipped her hands in and nearly groaned.
Joan looked pleased. “I can bring more if you wish.”
“You’re very kind.”
The girl lowered her voice. “Are you truly his wife?”
Amelia met her gaze in the polished bit of metal hanging near the basin. A poor mirror, wavy and dim, but enough to show a pale woman with wild eyes and a wimple losing its argument with gravity.
“No.”
Joan’s mouth opened.
Amelia turned. “I’ve never seen Edmund Crale before today. I don’t know him. I didn’t marry him. I didn’t run from him. I’m not his wife.”
Joan swallowed. “He says you’ve forgotten on purpose.”
“That’s convenient for him.”
“Aye.” Joan glanced toward the door. “He asked Father Martin to speak sense to you.”
“When?”
“Before you came upstairs. Sir Roger sent for him as soon as we heard the riders. Father Martin was in the chapel copying something and was most displeased.”
“Does Father Martin know a Father Odo?” Amelia asked carefully. “Of Saint Alphege’s near Alcester?”
Joan’s brow wrinkled. “Father Odo?”
“That’s the priest named on the parchment.”
“I don’t know. Father Martin knows many priests. He complains about most of them.”
“Did you hear him complain about this one?”
The girl bit her lip. “I heard Sir Roger say the attestation was enough until inquiry could be made. Father Martin said…” She looked toward the door again.
Amelia lowered her voice. “What did he say?”
Joan leaned closer, eyes shining with the dangerous pleasure of gossip. “He said Father Odo’s hand was too fair for a man dead these three years.”
