“How fares Raymond? I hope he’s safe and sound!” she said, because she was indeed fond of her step-cousin, who was a mild, kindly boy.
“As well as can be expected. He lives. And I suppose he should be thankful for that. Yet he’s not as fortunate as some,” Edith said, looking pointedly at Judith.
Then she added, in a voice which seeped with venom, “I always told my sister not to disparage your ill looks or lack of wit. God saw fit to endow you with the body and ways of a slattern, and surely even a man unable to claim his husbandly rights is lured by such easy charms. And now these charms served you well indeed. You’ve both a husband and a home.”
Judith had meant to feel sorry for her aunt, whose husband had fallen in battle and who’d had to take the veil for her support of Eleanor. Yet at this time she couldn’t but recall Edith must have plotted with her mother to keep her away from Tristram.
“I remember that, on my wedding night, you didn’t deem my husband at all unable to claim his rights. I wonder… Was it you who spread the ugly rumours when I petitioned for the annulment? And was it you behind the forged letter which stated the Church had unbound me from Tristram?”
Her aunt cast her a guileless look.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Tristram saw the letter, and so did his cousin. And so did Lord FitzRolf. He has it now,” Judith said in a calm, quiet voice.
“FitzRolf?” her aunt asked and her voice strived to appear unconcerned, yet Judith did not fail to catch the note of deep worry in it.
“Aye, the very same. And now I’m off to see how my mother fares,” Judith said calmly.
Edith was however still lingering and barring her way through the cloister.
“So this is how it is? You seek to abandon your family and to sell us to our foes. You have betrayed our cause!” Edith cried.
“Nay,” Judith countered calmly. “The cause was already lost and I accepted our defeat. The treachery is all your own. I doubt Queen Eleanor or your late husband ever knew of your plots. Whatever befalls you, you’ve brought upon your own head.”
Judith strode away, without sparing Edith another glance. When she at last came to look upon her mother, she found Lady Fenice in her cell, which appeared to be more like a lady’s chamber than like convent quarters. Her mother was busily embroidering upon an altar cloth, and as soon as Judith entered, she beckoned her to show her the fineness of her work, as if she and Judith had not been parted at all during the last days.
“You’ve always been the most skilful of embroiderers,” Judith said, kissing her mother’s cheek.
She then attempted to tell her mother of her journey, and ask her how she fared, yet for a long while Lady Fenice refused to speak of such matters, as if she’d been residing in the convent already for long years. Judith at first began to fear her mother’s mind had become even more troubled by the recent events that had passed. At last Lady Fenice spoke to her of the way things truly lay, “I have not taken the veil yet and perchance I will never do so. The Prioress told me there is no need to if I do not wish it. Of course, she has not openly required it, yet it is custom that a gift of money is made to the Priory so I may remain here. I trust your lord husband will make a generous contribution befitting of our rank, now that King Henry has made us destitute.”
“We are not destitute! Redmore is still our home, and Tristram will never keep from us what used to be ours. He has wealth of his own and has never in truth craved more.”
Lady Fenice waved her hand and made a snort of derision.
“However you may wish to deceive yourself, daughter! Yet I will have him pay a princely sum for me to spend my remaining years here, whether I take the veil or not!”
“Don’t you wish to come back to Redmore?” Judith pleaded, still anguished that her sick mother would choose to spend her life away from the home she’d known for so many years.
Her mother shook her head in a determined gesture.
“My sister is here, and several other like-minded women. There is nothing I have to go back to at Redmore!”
Nothing… Judith bit back a sigh, knowing her mother was now angry with her for what she perceived as a betrayal.
“You’ll always have a home at Redmore, if you but wish to come back,” she said in a gentle voice, hoping her mother would hear the caring in it.
Lady Fenice gave a short, hollow laugh.
“It will not be I who comes back, but you who joins this place sooner than you may think. I am certain the fiend will soon get tired of toying with you and will show his true colours.”
“Why do you hate Tristram so? He’s never been but gracious to you!”
Lady Fenice didn’t choose to answer, but stared away from her daughter, at the cross on the wall.
“Oh,” Judith said softly after a while, full of chagrin. “I see. Perchance I was mistaken, perhaps it is not even that you believe me unworthy of his love. Perchance you were always afraid I have found someone I care for more than I do for you. But, Mother, it’s a very different kind of love, as you must know!”
“Oh, such brash, uncouth words! You’re getting to be more like your father every day! You’re… common!” Lady Fenice spat, and Judith’s heart clenched in pain at her mother’s scorn, but she hid it as she took her leave.
Tristram glanced at Judith searchingly when at last they mounted their horses to leave the priory behind.
“You seem distressed. Do you still fear this is not a good place for your mother?”
Judith shook her head. She had promised herself never to hide things from her husband ever again, and she would eventually reveal to him how her mother had fuelled her own fears and doubts regarding their marriage, yet she would do so in her own time. By then, she hoped her mother would have already found at least a measure of peace and even happiness in the place she’d chosen. And she fervently hoped one day Lady Fenice would get healthy and wise enough to learn to rejoice her only daughter had already found her own happiness.
“No. I’m at peace. Let us go home!” Judith said, casting her husband a warm smile.
