Mistress Eustacia stepped back, and Annabel entered the dim room. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed a few people engaged in various tasks around the large hall, a single room encompassing the entire upper floor of the manor house. A dairy was set up at one end of the room, where two young women were churning butter. Some people she recognized, including the bailiff’s daughter, Maud, who was stirring up the fire in the fireplace and adding more wood. Another maiden was sweeping cobwebs from the walls, as the building hadn’t been occupied for as long as Annabel could remember, except for occasional visits by the old lord’s steward.
By the confident way she handed her broom to a passing maid, Eustacia must have been the head servant. She shuffled to the back of the chamber, where a large tapestry screen hid a portion of the room. “My lord? Someone is here to see you.”
“Who is it?” The voice on the other side of the screen boomed louder than necessary, probably cross at being disturbed so early in the morning. Help me, God.
The stranger who almost ran her over with his horse the day before appeared around the side of the partition, fully dressed. Just as Margery had reported, and as he had done when he addressed the villagers in the street, he held his left arm crooked at the elbow and resting against his midsection. If she read his stance and the tilt of his head correctly, he was vexed.
Mistress Eustacia continued. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but a maiden is here saying you were expecting her. Annabel Chapman.”
“A maiden?” He sounded even angrier. “Chapman? Come here.” He beckoned Annabel with his good hand.
Annabel’s knees turned to mush as she stepped forward.
Recognition flickered across his brow. “So you’re Roberta Chapman’s eldest?”
“Nay, my lord. Her youngest.”
“I’d expected her to send her eldest.” He stared hard at her with his one brown eye.
Annabel didn’t know what to say.
“So you have brothers and sisters?”
“Two brothers, my lord.”
“Are your brothers married, then?”
“Nay, my lord, they are not.” He no doubt would have preferred Edward or Durand and wondered why she had come instead of one of them. She fervently prayed he wouldn’t question her as to why she offered herself, why one of her older brothers had not come in her place.
Several moments went by while he frowned at her. “So you are prepared to serve here, to stay at the manor house, for three years in payment for the three years of work your family shirked?”
“Yes, my lord, I am.” She looked him in the eye, highly aware that the other workers in the room had grown quiet.
“Very well, then. Eustacia has much need of you in the kitchen, with all the extra workers here. But today we begin the harvest. You will join the rest of the villagers in the barley fields.”
“My lord, begging your pardon.” Eustacia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Perhaps she should stay with me today and work in the kitchen instead of the fields. She doesn’t look strong. Too skinny.”
“Doesn’t look strong?” The question was a shout that echoed through the hall.
All activity ceased. Annabel felt everyone’s eyes on her, but the most intimidating one was Lord le Wyse’s. She could feel the contempt in his stare. As the silence lengthened, the others in the room began whispering, probably reminding each other who she was. A Chapman, synonymous with lazy. She felt her cheeks begin to burn, but she continued to stare him in the eye.
Lord le Wyse growled, “Are you strong?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good.” He strode past her, thus ending the conversation.
“My lord.”
The voice echoed through the room. Annabel turned to see Bailiff Tom with his hands on his hips, facing Lord le Wyse.
“This maiden is intended to be my bride. Her brother has arranged for her to marry me in exchange for paying her censum.”
She’d been right: he might pay her censum and her fine, but he wouldn’t help the rest of her family, and either Edward or Durand would end up indentured to Lord le Wyse.
Lord le Wyse turned on her, his lips a dangerous, thin line. “Is this true? Did you promise yourself to this man?”
“Nay, my lord, I never did.” Her face heated again as she realized all the people who were listening to this exchange. But at least she would have witnesses to her refusal.
The bailiff stared at her with murder in his eyes.
“Are you willing to marry him?” Lord le Wyse’s voice was hard, and he squinted his eye at her, as if she was suddenly even more distasteful to him.
“I am not, my lord. I want to be your servant, to pay for my family’s neglect.” She made sure everyone could hear her, even as her hands shook.
He turned back to Bailiff Tom. “She will not have you, apparently.”
A low titter of amusement erupted around the room. As Lord le Wyse resumed walking toward the door, he muttered gruffly to the bailiff, “Count yourself fortunate.”
His words felt like a slap. A couple of gasps went around the room at the insult as Lord le Wyse exited and Bailiff Tom followed him out.