Chapter Sixteen #2
I’d never been given a nickname until Ophelia casually shortened my name to Evie a few days ago. I secretly loved it, especially after Godric said “Evie?” like a question, and when I nodded, “Suits you.”
I had never thought much of my name. Genevieve was staid, but a nickname coming from his lips, rolling off his tongue, was beautiful . . . and felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Now they all call me Evie, and even Tess had picked it up.
Later that night I sat up abruptly, my hand tightening on my poker. I held my breath, but no sound came from the cloister. “Godric?”
“Yes, Evie,” he answered instantly.
“Did you hear something?” I threw my braid over my shoulder and clambered from my bed.
The tapestry was swept aside, and Godric stepped into the room, keeping his eyes fixed on my face. All the same, I put on my wrapper.
“I heard something, perhaps from outside,” I said.
“There’s nothing there but miles of forest and gossiping wolves,” Godric said, bending to throw another log on my fire.
As if to disprove him, a confusion of voices sounded from the garden.
“What the devil?” He wheeled about, and we both moved to the window.
I yanked back the curtains. The baleful moon was surrounded by a corona of silver light, but far from seeming romantic, it appeared to be glaring down pitilessly at the abbey.
Wind had shaken the snow from tangled black tree branches, leaving a wild solitude that stretched as far as the eye could see.
A scuffle of sound, closer than the trees, caught my attention, and I leaned forward, putting my nose close to the cold glass. A group of men holding burning torches were clustered by the thick outer wall of the abbey.
“Wolves have attacked!” I gasped, my mind reeling with an image of a swift, silent army rushing over the walls, their teeth bared. Didn’t I read somewhere that wolves are strongest under a full moon?
Torches reflected against the icy stone wall and darted through the crevices of the iron grates guarding an open sepulcher.
Open?
“No wolves.” Godric wrapped his arm around me. “There’s been a death in the abbey.”
His calm tone deflated my terror. I squinted, making out a cluster of cloaked men.
“The abbey has over fifty people living inside or in the stables. If this were a country estate close by a village, they would return regularly to see their family, whereas those who work here can be isolated for years at a time. Some spend their entire adulthood within the walls, remaining here until they pass away of old age.”
“Burnsby continues to support them?” I said, thinking of the elderly footman whom my husband had turned off without a farthing after he dropped a tureen of soup (not to worry: I followed the man out the door and ensured he had an appropriate pension).
“Without express knowledge, yes.”
I registered his amused tone. “Because the household is so large?”
Godric nodded. “The coachman, Trundle, puts aged or injured people on the payroll as grooms. Being wary of large animals, Burnsby never ventures into the stables. He doesn’t know that Trundle turned many of the horse stalls into snug little bedrooms—women on one side, men on the other.”
“Burnsby is stingy about small things but careless about large ones,” I agreed. “He never reviews his accounts. I pensioned off some of our servants after he dismissed them, but he’s never noticed. Are the rooms comfortable?”
“Yes. The stable is on one level. Cows and horses keep the building warm, and, most importantly, the pensioners are all together. Lance and I spent days there as boys, listening to stories and playing jacks. The population has changed, but the warmth and cheer haven’t.”
As we watched, a man with a torch emerged from the open tomb, and the men put their shoulders to the heavy stone door, shoving it closed.
I gasped and pulled Godric backward. “We’re standing before a lighted window!”
“They’re already gone. It doesn’t take long to add a body to a sepulcher.”
“Why didn’t Crumpsall wait for morning?”
“Perhaps due to rats. There’s no controlling them, not in a building this age, with ancient sewers and passages behind the walls.”
I shuddered.
“Lance used to keep a trained rat named Peter in the stables,” Godric added, his eyes alive with mischief. “He would curl his tail around our wrists.”
“Hush,” I told him, just as I might a silly boy.
“We tried to catch a rat for me by leaving out cheese in the nursery. They would steal in during the night, take cheese from our traps, and leave. They were too intelligent to be caught.”
“They entered the nursery,” I said, dumbfounded. “Rats, more than one, came into the nursery and ate cheese.” I stiffened. “What about Peony? What if she’s attacked by rats?”
“Archie, the kitchen boy, sleeps on the hearth next to Peony’s box,” he reminded me. “Rats won’t go near either of them.”
“I can’t wait to leave the abbey,” I admitted, feeling my stomach pressing on my throat.
“Unfortunately, Crumpsall says there’s another storm coming up the mountain.”
“But what about a funeral for the person who just died? Will they be laid to rest without a blessing?”
“There is no priest for miles,” Godric reminded me, closing the thick curtains before he drew me away.
“When the roads are passable, Crumpsall will send a message down the mountain. In time, a priest will make his way here and bless all the souls who passed away. Would you like me to go to the kitchens and inquire about the death?”
I nodded. He returned ten minutes later. An elderly man had passed away peacefully during an afternoon nap.
“They buried him at night to avoid explaining his death to Burnsby,” Godric told me.
“I won’t say anything,” I promised.
After Godric had returned to his room, I snuggled under the bedcovers, thinking drowsily about how safe I felt when he was nearby.
Though I had protected myself from Burnsby’s loathsome attentions. I didn’t need a knight in shining armor, a man who would leap from his bed when I called for him.
All the same . . .
I was happy.