February 1347

Dunwich, Suffolk

 

Petra nearly dropped the bowl of buttered peas when she heard the sound of the iron knocker. She took a deep breath, set the bowl on the table, and nodded to Nan to go and open the door. She thought she could do this, but suddenly, her knees turned to jelly, and she felt as if she were breathing, but the air wasn’t quite reaching her lungs.

Get a hold of yourself, Petra thought savagely as she smoothed down her skirts and checked that her headdress was on straight. She walked out of the kitchen, looking as serene as she could manage while her heart hammered painfully in her chest. She tried to focus on trivial domestic tasks to distract herself from her impending meeting with Avery. The vile smell had been aired out, the meal was nearly ready, and Lady Blythe was asleep, having somewhat recovered from her bilious attack. Petra had swept away the old rushes and replaced them with new, sweet-smelling ones at the last minute. She hoped that her employer would not reprimand her for being wasteful, since the old rushes might have lasted another fortnight or so, but the scent of sweet flag mixed with herbs was pleasant and comforting.

Father Avery was in the parlor, his back to her as he warmed his hands by the fire. His shoulders were slightly stooped, and he looked thinner than the last time Petra had seen him. Her heart contracted with affection for him, and she felt a tell-tale blush creeping up her cheeks despite all her efforts at remaining aloof.

“Good day to you, Father,” Petra said. Her voice shook, but Father Avery didn’t seem to notice. He whirled about at the sound of her voice and stared, open-mouthed, for just a moment before composing himself. He seemed to recognize her, but Petra couldn’t be sure.

“Good day. I was invited by Lady Blythe. Are you her companion?” he asked as he drew closer. Petra was about to reply when she heard Nan coming up behind her and reconsidered her answer. Nan was a good girl, but fond of idle gossip and lurid tales. It was best to pretend that Petra and Avery had never met, at least until later.

“Yes, Father. Mistress Ordell is the name,” Petra replied, bowing respectfully to the priest. “I’m afraid Lady Blythe has been taken ill, but she bid me to welcome you and join you for dinner.”

“I do hope it’s nothing serious,” Father Avery said, looking concerned.

“A bilious attack. She’s on the mend, but still weak. Won’t you join me in the dining hall?” Petra asked, giving Nan a stern look. The girl was too nosy for her own good. She should have been in the kitchen, instead she was standing behind Petra, gawking at Father Avery like a love-stricken tavern wench.

Father Avery followed Petra into the room, which was dominated by a long, wooden table made of dark wood. Twenty hardback chairs stood at attention, waiting to receive guests, but only two places were set. There was a time when Lady Blythe’s husband held lavish dinners for his friends and associates, but it’d been a long while since the dining hall had been used for its original purpose. Petra and Father Avery took their seats and made polite small-talk while Nan set food on the table and departed with a modest curtsy.

Petra kept her head bowed while Father Avery said grace, but her thoughts were not on God’s bounty. Thankfully, Avery was brief and to the point. Petra waited until he finished, then poured him a cup of ale. Avery nodded thanks and took a sip, his long fingers holding the cup gracefully. She’d forgotten what beautiful hands he had. Avery opened his mouth to say something, but Nan bustled in again, bringing the pie and setting it on the table. The heavenly aroma filled the air, and Petra suddenly realized that despite her nervousness she was hungry.

“That looks wonderful,” Avery said as she helped himself to a slice. “The monks at Greyfriars don’t dine on such fine fare. It’s all boiled mutton and stewed fish. I must admit that I crave a bit of variety from time to time. One gets spoiled in Oxford,” he added with a small smile. Avery glanced at the door, and satisfied that Nan seemed to be nowhere in sight, turned his gaze to Petra.

“Petra, how wonderful it is to see you,” he said, his voice low and silky. “I heard you’ve been widowed. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. My husband was a brute, who’d sooner hit than talk,” Petra replied honestly. Looking at Avery’s beloved face, she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him as she would to a priest. The years melted away, erasing Avery’s clerical robes and filling in the tonsure, the young man she’d known sitting across from her.

“Why did you marry him?” Avery asked gently.

“Because I didn’t have much choice. Time was of the essence,” Petra replied meaningfully, watching as Avery’s eyes widened in understanding. She hadn’t meant to tell him so abruptly, but she couldn’t keep this from him. She might never get another chance to speak to him privately, and he needed to know that he had a son. It was a sin for a man of God to have a child, but Avery had fathered Edwin before he went off to the seminary, so perhaps it wasn’t quite as bad.

“Tell me,” he begged, his composure shattered.

“We have a son. His name is Edwin. He’s nearly twelve.”

“A son,” Avery whispered, his eyes misting over. “Please, tell me about him.”

“He is a lovely boy, Avery; good and kind. He’s been a great help to me since Cyril died.”

“Did your husband know?” Avery asked. “Is that why he abused you?”

“No, he believed Edwin was his, but he was never kind or loving to him. He berated him cruelly and beat him often.”

Avery shook his head in disgust. “I’m so sorry that you both had to endure that. I would have never left you had I known,” he breathed. “I loved you so much, Petra. Not a day went by at the seminary that I didn’t think of you and prayed that you were well. I had no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “My father wrote to me and told me that you married. I was pleased for you, but heartbroken that you had forgotten me so quickly.”

“Forgotten you?” Petra echoed. “You thought I loved my husband?” she asked. She hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but she couldn’t keep the derision out of her voice. How naïve men were sometimes, how blind. She’d suffered for twelve years because she’d given herself to a young man she loved, and all this time he thought that she’d been enjoying a marriage where she was cared for and treated kindly. She supposed he had no reason to believe otherwise, but how could he think that she’d cut him from her heart so completely? Hadn’t he known how she adored him?

“Can I offer you another slice of pie?” Petra asked, needing the momentary diversion to compose herself. What was the use of talking about the past? What was done, was done. Cyril was safely in his grave and couldn’t hurt her or Edwin anymore, but there were other pressing concerns which needed to be addressed, and this was as good a time as any.

“Avery, I need to ask something of you, and this might be my only chance,” Petra whispered, glancing at the door. Nan could come back at any moment. They had no need of her, but she was too nosey to stay away for long.

“Please ask,” Avery invited. “I will do anything I can to help you.”

“Edwin is a fine boy. He’s smart and capable, but he has an affliction. He’s had fits since he was hardly more than a babe. I think they’re brought on by fear and anxiety, but sometimes they happen for no reason.”

Avery stilled and looked at Petra with concern. “Does anyone know? Has anyone outside the family witnessed these fits?”

“I’ve managed to keep it a secret thus far, but Edwin is getting older. He needs a way to support himself, Avery. He needs to learn a trade.”

Avery nodded, acknowledging the truth of this. “Do you require funds for an apprenticeship?”

“I haven’t had him apprenticed for fear that he will hurt himself or others and bring the wrath of his master upon him, or worse, the attention of the Church. You of all people know what that could mean. I had something else in mind.”

“Such as?” Avery asked. He’d stopped eating, the food getting cold on his plate as he grappled with his feelings.

“Edwin can read and write. My mother taught him,” Petra confided. Avery nodded, appreciating what this meant. The vast majority of folk were illiterate. Few men were educated, and even fewer women. Petra’s mother had come from a family that had been noble once and had taught her letters, but Cyril Ordell had been illiterate, as were most craftsmen and tradesmen. Only those with noble titles were taught to read and write, and the clergy, of course.

“You wish to send him to the seminary?” Avery asked, his voice laced with doubt. “How would that keep him safe? He’d be more exposed than ever.”

“I wasn’t thinking of sending him to the seminary. I’d like him to become a scribe. I heard it said that there are monks who copy texts at Greyfriars Priory. Edwin can do that, surely. The priory is a quiet, peaceful place. Perhaps Edwin would be cured of his affliction in a place where he felt safe,” Petra explained.

“And how would Edwin feel about becoming a monk?” Avery asked. “As a priest, I should encourage a young man to devote his life to God, but as a man, and as his father, albeit an absent one, I would not recommend a life in Holy Orders for someone who doesn’t wish for it. I remember how hopeless and bitter I felt when my father announced to me that I had been pledged to the Church. I wouldn’t force that on anyone.”

“I haven’t mentioned it to him, but I think he would welcome it. Edwin is frightened by his condition. At times, the fits are so severe that he breaks bones. He suffers terribly, Avery. I must help him in any way I can.”

Avery shook his head in consternation. “He breaks bones?”

“He is your son. You must help him. You have influence,” Petra hissed.

Avery sighed. “Petra, there’s something I must tell you.”

Avery was about to say something when Nan entered, carrying the stewed fruit. She set about clearing away the empty crockery while stealing quick glances at the priest. She was nervous around him, as if he would condemn her for eternity if the pie hadn’t been to his liking. Petra suspected that Nan couldn’t reconcile Avery’s good looks with his calling. She was torn between her growing attraction to him and her fear of repercussions for her impure thoughts.

“The meal was superb,” Avery said kindly, noting Nan’s nervousness. “I ate more than I should have.”

“I’m glad you liked it, Father Avery,” Nan said, blushing.

“Your cooking can lead a man to gluttony,” Avery said. He meant it as a joke, but Nan paled visibly, nearly dropping the carafe she was holding.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I meant no harm.”

“I was joking, my child,” Avery said, smiling at her. “I only meant to compliment your skill.”

“I have no wish to lead anyone into temptation,” Nan whispered and fled.

Avery looked after her with consternation. He’d meant to put her at ease, but instead made her flustered and confused.

“Is it safe to have some fruit, or will she think she’s paved my way to Hell?” Avery asked as he reached for the steaming bowl.

“Pay her no mind,” Petra replied. She’d have a word with Nan later assure her that Avery hadn’t meant anything sinister by his comment.

Avery finished the fruit and pushed away the bowl. “I haven’t had fruit in weeks. It’s such a welcome change from the gruel the monks normally eat. I must return to the priory though, no matter how much I wish I could stay. It’s been such a joy to see you, Petra.”

 Avery got to his feet and began to walk toward the door with Petra hot on his heels. She could hear the sound of crashing crockery coming from the kitchen, and hoped Nan wouldn’t overhear over the din.

“What about Edwin?” she demanded. She couldn’t let Avery leave without some sort of reassurance, but Avery seemed reluctant to commit to any sort of action.

“We’ll speak again soon. I must think on it. Give my regards to Lady Blythe. I will call on her tomorrow,” Avery said as he walked out of the house, leaving Petra feeling more unsettled than before he arrived.