Thomas lowered his head until his forehead touched the edge of the bench, partly because he was tired and partly because if he looked at her laughing through tears, he might do something fully witless before God, crown, and Walter’s fragile nerves.
Edith took control then, as she had been born to do. She clapped once, sharp enough to startle one of Pickering’s clerks into dropping his quill.
“Mald, take those children before they melt into puddles. Wat, don’t argue with me unless you’re longing for barley gruel without honey for three days.”
Wat shut his mouth.
“Alyson, give Amelia room to breathe. No, not that face. She’s not vanishing if you let go of her sleeve.”
Alyson released one tiny fist from Amelia’s gown, though she kept hold of the other with the grim resolve of a jailer.
“Father Martin,” Edith continued, “sit before you fall. Dame Margaret, Joan, move near the hearth. You’ll take hot ale, and no one in this hall will make a face at it unless he wishes to sleep in the stable.”
Hob looked up. “Why are you looking at me?”
“Because you’ve got the face of a man about to speak.”
“I was not.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
Friar Huck patted his belly. “A dangerous habit.”
Edith pointed at Thomas. “And you. Sit or I’ll have Amelia scold you, and none of us has strength for that.”
Amelia blinked. “Why am I the weapon?”
“Because you’re effective.”
Walter, perhaps still dazed from having defended her before royal authority and lived, muttered, “She is that.”
Amelia turned to him, and for a moment the hall’s noise softened around them. “Walter.”
He looked as if he would rather face three armed men and an enraged goose than tenderness.
“What?”
“Thank you.”
His mouth compressed. “I spoke only what was true.”
“I know. That’s why it mattered.”
Walter’s face went redder than the coals. “Hrumph.”
It was a distinctive sound, one that managed to convey embarrassment, affection, reproach, and indigestion all at once.
Hob sighed happily. “There it is. The old man’s heart.”
“I have no such thing,” Walter snapped.
“Course not. Just accounts and vinegar.”
“Accounts are useful.”
“So is vinegar,” Huck said. “Keeps things from rotting.”
Amelia’s laugh came easier this time, though she leaned heavily against the table when she did. Thomas saw the tremor move through her fingers.
