The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(28)

“Don’t you remember what happened?”

“No. That’s the strange thing. All I remember is getting my fishing gear and walking to my favorite fishing spot. And I’m not even sure I’m remembering that from this morning or from another day, since I go fishing so often. All the memories seem jumbled. I don’t remember falling in the river at all. I think the head injury has addled my thoughts.”

She should tell him the truth, even though Sabina would tell everyone she lied about being mute. But the dangerous man who tried to murder Westley would surely hear that he was not dead after all and would try again to kill him.

But if Westley discovered her lie, he wouldn’t trust her. Besides, she did not know who the men were who attacked him and couldn’t even describe them very well.

“Perhaps someone pushed you. It seems unlikely that you would fall.”

Westley raised his brows. “It does seem strange. I should probably question Sabina a bit more closely.”

But before he did, Evangeline needed to tell her what had actually happened. She had to convince Sabina that Westley was in danger so she could warn him. If only Sabina had seen who hit him, she might have recognized his attackers. They were strangers to Evangeline.

“Is there someone who might be angry enough to want to kill you?”

“There was a man attacking his wife in the woods just after I helped you get the pigs back in their pen. I heard her scream and helped pull the man away from her. He was very angry. He is the only person I can think of who might have done such a thing.”

“Yes, perhaps it was that man. Or a worker who is still dwelling on the Peasants’ Uprising?”

“That is possible, I suppose.” He looked so troubled. “I told you a little about the uprising.”

She nodded.

“My father had experienced something similar years ago, when his villeins had risen up against him and even threatened to kill him, before he and Mother married. Everything quickly settled down and nothing bad happened. But three years ago, some villeins from my friend John Underhill’s lands murdered John’s father, then came and stirred up our people. My father’s villeins started stealing the livestock and tried to set fire to the castle. My father went out and calmed them down, but there was a lot of fear and tension for a while. My father saw the importance of raising the people’s wages—as many other landowners around England were doing—and trying to be more fair and generous about how many days’ work they owed. In fact, my father was more lenient and generous than any of the other landowners around, including John Underhill, who was the oldest son and had to take over after his father was killed.”

Westley gave a slight shake of his head. “John was furious with us.”

Her heart clenched to see the pain in his expression and hear it in his voice. No one had ever expressed such feelings so openly with her before. Her heart beat faster. How she wanted this man to think well of her, to see her heart as she was seeing his. But would he see how selfish she was and be disgusted by her? How could he love her if he knew what was in her heart—deception and selfishness?

“But all seems better now.” His brows lifted, as did the corners of his mouth. “The anger and bitterness seem to have mostly gone from the people, and I am thankful for that—although I am not so sure about John.”

He was almost too good to be real, and yet, here he was, very real and close and with the most beautiful blue eyes.

“What happened to you during that time? Were there any riots where you lived?”

“No, not where I lived,” she wrote, which was true. She had thought of the Peasants’ Uprising as something that happened a long way away.

“You probably don’t want to talk about all those things that happened in the past. It is time for us to read. My mother has ordered me to stay in bed for the rest of the day, so you can keep me company.”

“I came because I wanted to know if you were well.”

“And I am. Just a small headache.” He smiled and her stomach fluttered. “How are your hands? Let me see.”

She held them out, palms up. The blisters were still raw but no blood or oozing. She’d cleaned and dried them after her jump into the river.

She picked up the wax tablet again. “Much better now, as you see.”

“That is very good.” He pointed behind her. “I had them bring the Bible in here for you.”

Evangeline took the book from the shelf behind her.

She allowed herself to stare at him, at how good it was to see him alive and looking well. Truly, she thanked God she had been able to save him from the river. If she had not followed those two men . . . if she had not been able to pull his head out of the water in time . . . if his body had been carried away by the current . . . A world without a kind young man who wished to help a servant girl read the Bible, who smiled often, and who bandaged a servant’s blistered hands would have been a sadder world.

But she put the heavy book down and wrote on the wax tablet, “I will be back. I must do something first.”

He looked surprised as Evangeline hurried out of the room, out of the house, and into the grassy area behind it. The other servants were folding linens in the bright sunshine, and Evangeline spotted Sabina standing among them, talking and laughing. Evangeline walked past the other servants to Sabina.

“I need to talk to you.” Evangeline kept her voice low, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one else was listening.