CHAPTER FIVE
The King’s Gout Tavern
London
Maxton had never seen anyone so hungry in his entire life.
He’d picked this tavern because it seemed to be relatively busy, and the smells of food coming forth were delicious, so he’d procured a table and a meal for the lady, and watered ale for himself. Now, he sat and watched her eat.
It was an experience.
Maxton had seen plenty of poverty whilst traveling to and from The Levant, and although he thought himself hardened to it, the truth was that he wasn’t. For years, he’d pretended not to care, and his actions had proven that, but ever since departing The Levant and his bout with The Lateran Palace that caused him to question everything, he was starting to feel emotion more than he wanted to. He was starting to question things more than he should, and perhaps the starving pledge before him was an excellent example of that.
He had come to see that the Church was nothing he’d been taught. Perhaps somewhere buried deep, there were still good men there, men who truly upheld the code of Christ. But the realities of the evil that infected it was evident at the highest levels. Was selfishness and wickedness really the base of the religion? Was that what he had been fighting for all of these years?
The woman before him only fed those questions and doubts.
“When was the last time you’ve eaten a decent meal?” he asked her quietly.
The woman’s mouth was so full she could barely speak. “I cannot recall, my lord,” she said. “Martinmas, mayhap?”
He watched her carefully. “That was some time ago.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“What did you have to eat?”
She swallowed the enormous bite in her mouth as she thought seriously on his question. “There was goose,” she said. “And we had bread that had been made sweet with honey. It was delicious.”
He nodded faintly, watching her spoon more peas into her mouth. His thoughts moved from her situation to her appearance once again; his initial observations of her were not incorrect, for she was quite lovely beneath all of that dirt, but she was as skinny as a child from what he could see. Her wrists and hands were gaunt, her fingers slender but elegant.
“I do not even know your name,” he said after a moment.
She swallowed the bite and took a very big gulp of watered ale. “Andressa du Bose, my lord,” she said. Then, she paused, a flicker of sorrow crossing her face. “At least, that is who I used to be. Lady Andressa du Bose. Now… I do not know who I am not. It is not who I thought I would be.”
His brow furrowed. “Explain.”
Andressa shrugged, scooping more peas into her mouth. “It is nothing, my lord,” she said, averting her gaze to focus on her food. “Pay no attention to me. I suppose all girls believe they will be a great lady when they grow up. That is all I meant.”
He eyed her; he didn’t believe her, that was clear. There was something quite wistful in the way she’d spoken. He took a thoughtful drink of his watered ale.
“Lady Andressa du Bose,” he repeated softly. “You were born into nobility.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Where are you from?”
“Culverhay,” she said. “I was also known, once, as Andressa of Culverhay. My family home is Chalford Hill Castle, south of Gloucester.”
“Does your father know what goes on at St. Blitha?”
She shook her head. “My father is dead, my lord, as is my mother,” she said quietly. “Four years ago, in fact, this past winter.”
“I see,” he said, sensing her sorrow. “Who assumed your guardianship, then? Surely the man has checked on your welfare.”
With the peas gone, she was starting in on the juicy boiled beef. “My father’s sister assumed my guardianship upon the death of my parents,” she said. “It is she who sent me to St. Blitha.”
“Does she know of the conditions at St. Blitha?”
Andressa looked at him, then, and he could see the tears pooling. That told him everything he needed to know, even before she said a word. But she quickly blinked her eyes, dashing them away, not stopping to wipe anything away because that would have taken time away from eating.
“In truth, I do not know,” she said, subdued. “Even if she did, I am sure that she would not care. Shall I be plain, my lord? I was my father’s heiress. When my aunt assumed my guardianship, she quickly sent me away, as far away as she could, and now she lives at Chalford Hill whilst I am confined to St. Blitha. If you think to write her for reimbursement for this meal, do not waste your time. If it pertains to me, she will not pay.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it has happened before.”
Maxton stared at her a moment before leaning back in his chair, frowning greatly. “You are her niece. If she assumed your guardianship, then she is responsible for you.”
Andressa swallowed the bite in her mouth, looking up at him with a dignity that wasn’t taught. It was inherent; one either had it or they did not. It was a steely strength, perhaps a steely strength that had kept the lady from losing all hope these past years. But he could see in her eyes that her hope in life was beginning to dim.
“I did not tell you of my situation to complain,” she said. “I told you because you asked, and because I wanted to impress upon you not to seek recompense for the money you have spent on this meal. If you wish for me to work this off, my lord, I am happy to do so. I am strong. I can sew and scrub. I can clean your clothes if you wish. I am more than willing to do almost any work you wish.”
Maxton believed her implicitly. This was not a wilting flower; he could see that. Strong, well-bred, well-spoken… his curiosity about her grew.
“That is not necessary,” he said. “It has been a long time since I have shared company with an intelligent woman. That is repayment enough.”
Now, it was Andressa’s turn to be curious. “But we’ve hardly spoken, my lord.”
“We’ve spoken enough.”
She returned to her food, hesitantly, but her attention drawn to him. For the first time, she permitted herself to be curious about him, this savior of starving pledges. He was very handsome; in fact, she’d never seen finer. He had dark eyes, a dark shade of hazel that flickered in the weak light of the inn, and thick dark hair, cropped short, that had bits of gray in it around the temples. But his face… that’s what mostly had her attention. His lips were shaped like a bow, and he had a square jaw with a big dimple in his chin.
All of that male beauty was wrapped up in a man who was easily twice her size, and more than twice her weight, with fists that were nearly the size of her head. He was as powerful as he was beautiful, but there was something unsettled behind those glittering eyes. Something that suggested that man’s soul was not at all at ease.
There was an air of mystery about him.
“May… may I ask your name, my lord?” she finally asked.
“Sir Maxton of Loxbeare,” he said without hesitation. “My family home is Loxbeare Cross in Devon.”
She smiled faintly, revealing surprisingly lovely teeth. “I fostered at Oakhampton Castle,” she said. “It is also in Devon. Do you know where it is?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Of course I do,” he said. Then, he peered at her as if genuinely surprised. “You fostered at Oakhampton?”
“Aye.”
“When did you foster?”
She shrugged, putting more food in her mouth. “I was there from the time I was eight years of age until I had seen sixteen years,” she said. “I was called home because of the death of my parents, of a fever. It was my aunt who greeted me at Chalford Hill to inform me of their passing and the very same day, I was sent to St. Blitha. I have been there ever since.”
He pondered that information. “Oakhampton is a fine castle,” he said. “It is commanded by de Courtney, or so it was the last I heard.”
“It is, still.”
“And being that it is a fine castle, there are many fine knights there. The wards would also be from fine families. Not just anyone would be accepted as a ward.”
“My father knew Hugh de Courtney,” she said simply. “They were friends and allies.”
For Maxton, that was a surprising bit of knowledge. The de Courtney family was extremely powerful, and they were also allies of Maxton’s father, Magnus. They would not be allied with anyone other than a powerful family, and Maxton was starting to sense something quite tragic about the young woman’s situation. An heiress who has been sent to live in poverty by her guardian. He sat forward, collecting his cup again, thinking on the circumstances as he saw them.
“So you fostered in a fine home and you were the heiress to your father’s fortune,” he said pensively. “Your father died and your aunt assumed your wardship, recalling you from Okehampton and sending you to a convent where you would never have a chance to find a good husband. She essentially threw you in the rubbish pile.”
Andressa looked up at him sharply. “My lord?”
He held up a hand, begging her patience while he clarified. “The woman assumed your guardianship, yet sent you to an order she knew you would never return from,” he said. “Women are not sent to convents to return from them unless there is an offer of marriage, but it seems to me your aunt knew you would never receive a marriage offer at St. Blitha. No marriage, no husband to inherit your father’s legacy. That way, it all belongs to her, and will forever. She has stolen your inheritance. Am I wrong?”
Andressa lowered her gaze. Her chewing slowed and when she finally swallowed the bite, she didn’t put more food in her mouth. She simply sat there, looking at her lap.
“I cannot know her motives, my lord,” she said. “But I do know I am of age now, yet she does not recall me home. I assume she wants me to become a nun. It is her right to do with me as she wishes, given she is my guardian.”
Oh, but he could sense such sorrow in her words. In the months or even years past, Maxton would have never given thought to such a tone, nor would have he even indulged in such a conversation, but at this moment, he was doing both. He was starting to feel things again, that newly awakened compassion wreaking havoc with his thought processes. He simply wasn’t any good at gauging it or controlling it.
He didn’t like what he was hearing.
It didn’t seem right, this woman who had clearly had her inheritance stolen by a greedy aunt. At least, that was her story. As a seasoned knight, perhaps he should have been more suspicious of her than he was. The truth was that his background with women was spotty; those who weren’t liars usually had some other issue – selfishness, perhaps greed. He’d never met one he fully trusted and as a rule, he stayed clear of them. But this pale, slender woman had him believing her story. All signs pointed to it being the truth.
He hoped he wasn’t being made a fool of.
“Finish your meal,” he said after a moment, scratching at his neck and looking around the room, wondering if this wasn’t the first time she’d coerced a meal out of someone with her sad story. “If this inheritance is rightly yours, why do you not stand up for yourself? Why starve away at St. Blitha?”
He seemed dubious and the least bit irritated. Andressa could sense a sudden change in his mood; he’d been very interested in speaking with her at first, but suddenly, he seemed oddly distracted. Perhaps he was even nervous. She was coming to think that he was sorry he’d bought her a meal if he knew now that her aunt wouldn’t pay for it. That seemed to be when things changed with him. With that in mind, she daintily wiped her mouth with the cloth that had come with the food.
“I fear I have taken too much of your time and money already, my lord,” she said, quickly standing up. “God bless you for what you have done for me. I shall not forget it. If you do not wish for me to work off the meal, then I shall pray for you every morning for the rest of my life. God appreciates those who are generous and compassionate, and you have been both.”
He looked at her, sharply. Compassionate. There was that word again. How could she know he’d brought her here hoping that the good deed of feeding the woman might take some of the sting out of his life of sin? It was his own fault for feeling sorry for her, for wanting to show God he wasn’t just a murder. A killer.
An assassin.
It wasn’t her fault that he’d forced her here.
“Sit down,” he said, reaching out and pulling her back into her chair. “Finish your food.”
His manner still seemed edgy. “Truly… it is not necessary,” she said. “I have eaten enough. I should return to St. Blitha soon.”
He shook his head at her firmly. “Eat,” he said. “If you leave now, then you will have wasted my money, and that will displease me. Do you wish to displease me?”
She shook her head quickly. “Nay, my lord.”
He gestured to her plate and she complied, plowing into the boiled beef. From the way she was pushing it into her mouth, he knew she was still very hungry. He was coming to think that his momentary suspicion at her had been misplaced. It was the natural doubt he carried with him, always, knowing that all men were not what they seemed. It was doubt that had kept him alive for many years, instincts that were better than most. As Andressa ate, he waved over one of the wenches who was working the common room, serving the tables.
“Something more, m’lord?” she asked.
It was a clearly suggestive question, but Maxton ignored it. “What more do you have in the kitchens to eat?”
The girl, round and pale with curly dark hair and rouged cheeks, was disappointed he didn’t respond to her leering smile and purring question. Still, she dutifully answered him.
“The beef and peas,” she said, gesturing to Andressa’s half-empty plate. “Bread and cheese, which I already brought you. But I think there is barley pudding, too.”
Maxton was interested. “What is in it?”
“Barley, eggs, milk, and honey. I think there are currants also.”
“Bring it,” he commanded quietly. “And listen closely; I want you to find a sack and stuff it full of all of the bread and cheese you can find. I wish to take it with me. Is that clear?”
“It is, m’lord.”
“Off with you, now.”
The girl scampered away to do his bidding and by the time he returned his attention to the table, he could see that Andressa was looking at him with some curiosity.
“If the barley pudding is for me, truly, I do not need such extravagance,” she said hesitantly. “I am very satisfied with what I have. It is more than enough, my lord.”
He knew that. He also knew she probably would have been happy with a simple crust of bread. But there was some satisfaction in giving the woman more food than she could eat.
“I know,” he said. “But you may as well try it since we are here. You mentioned your love of bread sweetened with honey, so sample their pudding. It could be very delicious.”
She nodded, a bit unsteadily, and returned to the beef, now pulling the remaining bits from the bone. Maxton’s gaze lingered on her.
“What great lady did you wish to become?” he asked.
Andressa stopped sucking the beef from her fingers. “My lord?” she asked, confused.
“You said that all young girls wish to grow up to be great ladies. What did you wish to become?”
She put her hand down, wiping it off on the cloth at her fingertips. It seemed to be a question she didn’t want to answer, but out of courtesy, she did.
“My family has raised beeves for generations,” she said. “Cattle with red and white hides. I had an older brother when I was born, but he died at a very young age, so my father used to take me with him as he went about managing his lands. I learned about the cattle and I learned how to take them to market and to sell them for a fair price. I always believed I would retire to Chalford Hill and administer my family’s legacy as I’d been taught. I hoped I would marry well and pass the empire to my children.”
Maxton nodded as he thought on red and white cattle, and the gentle hills of Gloucestershire. “You still can,” he said. “Send a missive to the king. Tell him that your aunt has stolen your lands. Ask for his good justice.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “It is not such a simple thing,” she said. “There is no way for me to send a missive. There is nothing to write with at St. Blitha; I do not have access to quill or parchment. I would have to see the king personally in order to deliver any message and I am quite certain he would not see me. I am no one of consequence. In fact, I would probably be in for a good deal of trouble if I did so. It would make me look ungrateful not only to St. Blitha, but also to my aunt. And do not forget that Essex is a confidant of the king. How would it make him look if a charge from St. Blitha told the king a tale of woe, of a Mother Abbess who sells our food to set her own fine table?”
He could see her point, but he wasn’t one to surrender so easily. “Then I shall tell him,” he said with firm quietness. “I have business with him, anyway. I will tell him your story and ask that he look into your aunt’s dealings. What is her name?”
“Hildeth du Bose,” she said hesitantly. “But…”
He cut her off. “Then it is settled,” he said. “I shall speak to the king of this… this travesty and insist he investigate Hildeth du Bose and the entire Culverhay situation.”
Andressa was shaking her head even as he spoke. “But you cannot,” she insisted softly. “My lord, it is very chivalrous for you to want to help me, but if you do this, the king will know that I have told you everything. That information will make it back to the Mother Abbess, and I do not wish to cross the woman. She can be quite… brutal.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Brutal? Explain.”
Andressa sighed heavily, clearly reluctant to say anymore but knowing he probably wouldn’t let the subject rest. She could just tell; he had that aggressive manner about him. “I will explain, but only on the condition that you not speak to the king,” she said with surprising firmness. “I must have your oath, my lord, or I will not tell you. I should not speak of such things. I could risk my own life in doing so.”
Now, he scowled. “Risk your own life? What in the hell goes on at St. Blitha that you should fear for your life if you speak the truth?”
She was starting to tremble; he could see it in her hands. “I will not tell you unless I have your oath not to repeat it.”
“You have it. Tell me.”
Andressa sat back in her chair, hanging her head. “I should not have said what I did,” she whispered tightly. “I should not have…”
“But you did,” he said, cutting her off. Sitting forward so he could hear her better, he could see how frightened she was. He was genuinely, and deeply, curious. “My lady, please tell me.”
She swallowed hard; he could see it. “When I first came to St. Blitha, I was warned by another pledge about the Mother Abbess,” she murmured, blinking away tears of pure fright. “I was told not to cross her. I was told that she could make women in her charge… disappear.”
Maxton was listening very carefully. “Disappear how?” he asked. “Send them away?”
Andressa shook her head. When she looked at him, it was with the greatest reluctance. “Nay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “There is a vault below the abbey, a place that the Mother Abbess calls The Chaos. When I first came to St. Blitha, there were eighteen pledges. One girl, named Lora, came just before me. She was vivacious and kind, and she truly wanted to serve God. But she also had a bold tongue, and she was warned of her behavior several times. Then, she was caught singing as she swept the floor of the church and the Mother Abbess ordered her into The Chaos. I never saw her again after that. Lora was the first of seven women who have been sent to The Chaos since I have been at St. Blitha. They go into The Chaos but they never return. Ever.”
Maxton had to admit that he was rather shocked to hear that. “They stay down there forever?” he said. “Or, it is equally possible that they are sent away, only you do not see it.”
“They are not sent away, my lord.”
“You know this for certain?”
“Aye.”
“Then what happens to them?”
Andressa closed her eyes as if to ward off the question, but she was too deep into her ghastly tale to refrain from answering. “I… I have seen the Mother Abbess take the stairs down to The Chaos,” she whispered. “When she goes, she always takes her staff with her. It is a big, heavy cross, taller than a man, and she calls it the Staff of Truth, but it is not as it seems. When she has come up from The Chaos, one of the nuns is always waiting for her with a piece of linen. The bottom of the staff, you see, is a dagger. A long dagger that is set within a wooden sheath made to look as if it is part of the staff. I have seen the nun remove that wooden sheath to reveal a bloodied blade. She uses the linen to wipe off the blade before replacing it into the wooden sheath. Do you not understand, my lord? The Mother Abbess kills those who go into The Chaos with her Staff of Truth and believes she is doing it with God’s blessing.”
Maxton sat back, hand to his mouth in astonishment as he pondered what he’d just been told. “Are you serious?” he gasped. “She kills them?”
Andressa nodded her head quickly, wiping at her eyes, at the tears of fright. “I swear upon our Holy Father that it is the truth,” she said. “And you swore upon your oath that you would not repeat it. If you do, I will end up in The Chaos, and I do not wish to go there.”
Maxton was horrified. “But why in God’s name should she kill those she sends to the vaults?”
She shook her head. “I do not know,” she said. “I have been asking myself the same question, except I heard the nuns over speak one day. They said that they had received the regular donation from Lora’s family because they were able to purchase fine meat for the Mother Abbess’ table.”
“Then her family does not know she is missing? Or dead?”
“If they did, they would no longer send the donation.”
That information hit Maxton like a punch to the chest; the family had not been informed so the Mother Abbess could continue collecting the family’s donations. That was greed on an entirely new level. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “The woman kills the charges who displease her, but doesn’t tell the families? She continues to take their money?”
“Aye, my lord.”
He threw up his hands, agitated and outraged. “Someday, the families are going to know that something is amiss.”
Andressa remained calm; she had lived with this terrible secret for years and it was something that no longer outraged her, only terrified her. “We are not allowed visitors at St. Blitha,” she said. “They would not know the truth, and if they did, I am sure they would be told that their daughters died of an illness or an accident. Anything but the truth.”
“But you have seen the bloodied staff.”
She appeared pale and sickened. “I have seen everything but the actual killing, my lord.”
“God help us,” he muttered in disbelief. Then, he pointed in the direction of the street outside. “And this is the same woman who lets her charges run loose in the streets of London, begging for food?”
She nodded again, swiftly. “As long as we do not speak against her and as long as our chores and prayers are completed on time, she has no conscience about it,” she said. “As long as we do not disrupt her life, she cares not what occurs. It has been like that since I have been there.”
It was a truly ghastly story. Maxton could hardly believe it, but in the same breath, he knew what the pope himself was capable of. He had experienced it first-hand. Therefore, it didn’t surprise him that this Mother Abbess was capable of the same, vipers in a church that was full of men and women hiding behind the veil of religion. Therefore, it took very little thought for him to be utterly convinced that Andressa was telling the truth, as dreadful as it was.
“I will not repeat this,” he assured her. “But you cannot go back there.”
Andressa looked at him with some surprise. “I must,” she said. “I have nowhere else to go.”
He was starting to think quickly, thinking of a place where he could take her. The poor woman couldn’t return to the hell of St. Blitha.
“I will think of something,” he said. “You said you had an older brother once? I will assume his role. I will not let you suffer any longer than necessary, my lady. Yours is a horrible story. I am sure I can find a place for you, somewhere. St. Blitha is not a fit place for you, or for anyone.”
She bolted to her feet. “Nay,” she said, moving away from the table so she was out of his arm’s length. “I must return, my lord. You do not understand. She would find me no matter where you take me because I have seen it happen before. Pledges have tried to leave her, but she always brings them back. I… I cannot leave!”
With that, she dashed away from the table, knocking into men and even knocking over a chair. Maxton stood up, rushing after her, but she was moving faster than he was. She raced from the entry and by the time he got out to the street, he saw her down the avenue, running as fast as her slender legs would carry her.
Very quickly, she was out of sight, but he didn’t go after her. To do so would surely cause a scene and she’d made her wishes known. Something in that God-forsaken abbey had her terrified, so terrified that she couldn’t leave it. But from the story she told, he didn’t blame her for her fear – a Mother Abbess who murdered her charges, and a woman who was apparently all-knowing and all-seeing.
It was the most appalling thing he’d ever heard.
As he turned back to the tavern to pay for the meal they’d so abruptly left, thoughts of Andressa du Bose were lingering in his mind. That lovely, pale-faced woman with the tragic life had his attention. He wasn’t sure why, but she did. He was interested in her, but no longer in an altruistic way. He’d mentioned assuming the role as her older brother, to protect her, but that wasn’t why he did it. He did it because if he simply announced he wanted to protect her, it would have been improper considering they were not betrothed or even courting. Moreover, she was meant for the church. A relationship with a man wouldn’t be part of that plan.
Still…
Maxton suspected that in the days to come, he would find her out on the streets again, looking for food.
And he would be waiting.