Evangeline stared, trying not to let Muriel know how panicked her words made her.
“I’m not a servant, not the kind I have to be here. I want to go home.” Tears streamed down Muriel’s cheeks. “And I want you to come with me. Evangeline, think what you are giving up, what you sacrifice every day. Look at your hands. Are you not in pain? Why are you putting yourself through that? You could go home with me and live in luxury and at ease as Lord Shiveley’s wife.”
Tears formed in Evangeline’s eyes at her friend’s distress. “I cannot.” They were both crying now.
“Are you so in love with Westley? Do you think you might be able to get him to marry you?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“If you think he will marry you, I could tell the king and Lord Shiveley that you died, and they would stop searching for you.”
“Are you that miserable, Muriel? Is it truly so bad? I will ask Lady le Wyse to let you work with me in the castle. I think she would agree.”
She shook her head, staring down at the road instead of at Evangeline. “I’m leaving. I have made up my mind.”
“What if they don’t believe you when you say I am dead? What if they force you to tell them the truth? Or ask you where my grave is so they can make sure?”
“I don’t think they would.”
“But what will you do when you go back to Berkhamsted? What if there is no place for you there?” Since Evangeline would be gone, she would have no one for whom to be a companion.
“I shall ask the king to take me into his household and give me a place there.”
Evangeline could think of no other objections. “Are you sure you are willing to lie to the king?” Her insides trembled at the thought that Muriel might decide not to lie. After all, she thought Evangeline should return to Berkhamsted Castle and marry Lord Shiveley. Perhaps she’d tell them where Evangeline was, to ensure she had no real choice in the matter.
They were nearing the church. Evangeline caught hold of Muriel’s arm. “Please don’t leave.”
“You only want me to stay so you will not be found out. But I hate it here.”
“Why? Is someone mistreating you? I will do something to stop them.”
“No, it isn’t that. I just . . . I am homesick. I . . . I miss someone.”
“Who?” Who could she mean?
“Frederick, the stable master.”
Evangeline stopped and stared. “The one whose wife died a year ago?”
Muriel nodded.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“You are young. And I suppose . . . I was a bit ashamed of myself.”
Evangeline waited for her to continue.
“He is below my station. And I . . . I knew you would not approve.”
“Why would I not approve? Look at me. I am working as a servant, cleaning hearths, making food, and emptying slop buckets in the pigsty.”
Muriel wiped the tears with the backs of her hands. “You know how I always said falling in love before marriage was something only peasants did, that falling in love was low and common. It was prideful of me. My foolish pride . . . Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t asked me to marry him. But when I go back, I vow I will not care. I will ask his forgiveness for thinking he was not good enough to marry, and I will marry him—if he will have me.”
Evangeline had never thought about Muriel getting married, or even imagined her falling in love before. But she loved Muriel and wanted her to enjoy her life, not to be miserable. Evangeline threw her arms around her. “I am so pleased for you, Muriel.”
“But I am afraid. What if King Richard disapproves? Is it selfish for me to get married?”
“No, not at all. After your service to King Richard all these years, you deserve to marry whomever you want.” Evangeline squeezed her arm. “Come, let us go into church before someone comes looking for us.”
They went inside and stood near the back of the nave, listening to the plainsong hymn. Evangeline’s mind wandered. What was to happen to her? Could Muriel persuade Lord Shiveley and King Richard that she was dead and to call off their search for her? Surely the earl did not want to marry her that much. He could find someone else, another relative of the king’s, though perhaps more distantly related, to marry.
Muriel had asked her if she thought Westley would marry her. She was afraid to even hope for such a thing. Westley was free and wealthy. He could marry anyone he wanted, or no one at all. Why would he marry her? He’d caught her in a blatant lie, pretending she couldn’t speak. She’d also accused his best friend of trying to kill him. Why would he ever want to marry her?
She had saved his life. But she could offer no proof that she was telling the truth.
She tried to force her mind to concentrate on the priest’s words, but her thoughts were scattered. Muriel was to leave her.