The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(23)

And thereby, Muriel would be taken care of. But perhaps Evangeline was being unkind to her loyal friend.

“I don’t mind working.” Evangeline stared down at her hands. Some of the blisters were oozing a mixture of blood and clear liquid. The pain would not bother her if she could talk to Westley again tonight and get to read the holy book that he obviously wanted to share with her.

What she did mind was her own incompetence. She cringed inwardly at the thought of there being more incidences such as the ones with the scythe, the water, and the pigs.

Muriel stared hard at her. “What do you think I’m supposed to do? Forget about my life before? I’m thirty-two years old. I have no wish to begin a new life as a servant.”

“Are they treating you badly? Is Lady le Wyse cruel to you?”

“No, she is better to me than I ever was to the servants at Berkhamsted Castle, but that does not mean I want to stay here.”

“I’m very sorry, Muriel.” A fist seemed to pound her chest. “I have been thoughtless. Please forgive me. Perhaps you can return to Berkhamsted Castle without me.”

Muriel grunted, then leaned toward Evangeline, her face only inches from hers. “What do you think they will say to me? They know that I left with you. The king’s men will force me to tell them where you went. I am trapped here. Trapped.” Muriel held out her hands in frustration. “Unless you come back to Berkhamsted Castle with me.”

Evangeline’s heart twisted inside her. Did Muriel think she was very selfish to want to stay here when Muriel obviously wished to go back to her old life? But if they both went back, Evangeline would be forced to marry Lord Shiveley.

“Lord Shiveley will not give up so easily, Evangeline. His men and King Richard’s will find you eventually. You are not far enough away, and your unusual height and red hair will give you away.”

If they thought Evangeline was dead, they would stop looking for her. Perhaps Muriel could say she had died, lying to them the same way she was lying to the people of Glynval.

“Please, Muriel. Give me some time to figure out what to do.” She clasped her friend’s hand. “Please.” Evangeline begged with her eyes.

“What choice do I have?”

She squeezed Muriel’s hand, but Muriel did not squeeze back. She turned away and began walking back to the undercroft in the bottom floor of the manor house.

Did she think Evangeline was selfish, too selfish to deserve her friendship? The old familiar terror—that she was too selfish to be worthy of love—filled her chest like a full bucket of water.

Evangeline couldn’t let Muriel think she was selfish. She needed to think of a plan to get Muriel back to Berkhamsted Castle so she would not lose the one friend she had long depended upon.



Westley was on his way home on a small footpath through the woods when John Underhill rounded the bend just ahead.

“John! I haven’t seen you in half a year.” A feeling of joy filled his chest at seeing his old friend. But John stepped aside and stood still. Something about the look on his friend’s face chased away the joyful feeling and made the hair prickle on the back of Westley’s neck. “Come, and you can walk with me.”

“You are on your way home, then?” John glanced at Westley out of narrowed eyes. His hand rested on a bundle he carried under his arm.

“Yes. Mother asked me to take some bone broth to a sick family.”

“Such benevolence.” John’s voice was quiet but contained a sneer.

Westley shifted his feet. “You know Mother. She’s always wanting to help someone who’s sick or hurt.”

“Your family always did care too much.” John’s lip curled. “If it hadn’t been for your father making the villeins think they should get such easy treatment, they never would have been bold enough to kill Father.”

“John, that’s not true.”

“Your father gave in to their demands. He—and men like him—are the reason the villeins rose up and killed their lords and masters.”

“John, you are not remembering the facts. The two men who killed your father had been beaten the week before, by your father’s orders. You said yourself that you would never treat people the way your father did, working them until they passed out and beating them for little or no reason. I’m sorry to say these things to you, John, but it’s the truth. Surely you remember—”

“How dare you speak evil of my father! He was a good man. If he beat those men, it was because they deserved it.”

“John, I’m sorry, but—”

“You’re not sorry.” John took a menacing step toward him.

“What’s going on here?” Reeve Folsham rounded the bend in the path behind John. “Is there trouble here? Westley?”

John took a step back. “Of course there’s no trouble. There’s never any trouble in Glynval.”

Westley didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice, especially when he said Glynval.

Westley’s heart was heavy as John turned and stalked away, back toward Caversdown.

John’s father, Hugh Underhill, had always been a harsh man. He’d even given John a black eye once when John and Westley were just boys of fourteen. It hurt to see his friend have such an unkind father when Westley’s own father was so good and wise. Westley had even offered to let John come and live with him, but he had refused.