It could be a long wait.
Beatrice finished wringing out Lord le Wyse’s shirt and laid it in the basket. Annabel concentrated on her own scrubbing, though her thoughts wandered again to Beatrice’s infatuation. Why did Lord le Wyse appeal to Beatrice? She’d probably discovered, as Annabel had, how quickly one grew accustomed to the lord’s mangled hand and the patch over his eye and ceased to take note of them. The confident way he held himself, as well as his impeccable clothing and cleanliness, gave him such a presence that, now that she thought about it, she could indeed imagine how Beatrice would consider him superior to every other man living at the manor or in Glynval.
Ah well, it was none of her business, after all. She wasn’t in love with him, and people’s love affairs could hardly concern her. Though if Lord le Wyse married, his wife might not allow her to read his Bible. The thought gave her a sickening pang. But, she soothed herself, he isn’t courting anyone — there isn’t anyone here in Glynval for him to court — and he isn’t likely to marry Beatrice. Besides the obvious ways they seemed unsuited for each other, Lord le Wyse was powerful and quite wealthy, and he’d certainly never marry a servant. He’d probably marry only a noblewoman.
Beatrice’s plight reminded Annabel of her brother Edward hoping to use his family’s tenuous claims to nobility to help him make his fortune. And she wondered for the hundredth time how her family was getting along without her. Who was doing the cooking? Did they get enough to eat? Were they milking Dilly every day? Now that the barley harvest was over, they’d have more time on their hands. Perhaps Edward was no longer in Glynval and had gone to London, as he had planned. In her mind’s eye she saw Durand lying abed all day, fancying himself sickly, while their mother coddled him. Was Mother able to cope with Durand and all the chores Annabel had once taken charge of?
With a start, Annabel realized she had been scrubbing a shirt more vigorously than intended. Eyebrows raised, Beatrice announced that she was going to get the rest of the dirty laundry then got up and walked to the undercroft.
Someone was walking toward her, but Annabel didn’t pay attention, thinking it was a servant. When she looked up, Bailiff Tom was striding toward her with an ugly leer.
“Have you had enough of all this hard work?” He leaned over her, blowing his breath in her face. “Not used to working from sunup to sundown, are you?”
“I rather enjoy it,” Annabel said, going back to washing the clothes before her and pretending to ignore him. Surely Beatrice would come back soon. Hurry, Beatrice.
He snorted. “If you change your mind, I believe the lord will let you out of your forced servitude and allow you to marry me. Three years is a long time for such hard labor, especially for a delicate maiden like you.”
He began to run his hand down her arm. She jerked away from him and leapt to her feet. “Don’t touch me.” Her hand went into her pocket and closed around the handle of her knife. “I told you, I will not marry you.”
“What were you doing with the master last night, eh? The two of you alone for so long.”
“We weren’t alone. Mistress Eustacia was with us, and it’s none of your business.”
“Mistress Eustacia.” With a hand on her shoulder, he shoved her back down on her stool. He leaned down, and stroking her arm again. “Come with me to the woods tonight, and I’ll show you what a real man is like.”
“Get away from me!” Annabel raised her voice, desperately hoping someone would come and help her. Surely someone was in hearing distance.
“Bailiff.” Lord le Wyse’s voice cracked like a whip behind her.
The bailiff let go. Annabel stood and stepped away from him, her knees suddenly weak.
“What are you doing?”
“Merely speaking with the girl about her work. She’s a known slacker, shiftless and slow and — I wouldn’t trust her, my lord. Don’t allow yourself to be alone with this one, as you never know what she might do. Her family, the lot of them — “
“Come with me.” Lord le Wyse took a few steps toward the manor house, then stopped and waited for Tom to march ahead of him. The two walked away.
Annabel bit her lip against the anger, relief, and shame waging war inside. She shuddered at the way the bailiff had held her down. And what about the things he said about her? The lord already had a low opinion of her. Would he let her continue to read to him after the bailiff said she was not to be trusted? Please, God, don’t let the bailiff turn him against me.
“Bailiff Tom, I don’t like the way you are harassing my servant.” Ranulf gave Tom his most serious glare. “You are never to touch her again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord. But her family —”