The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(29)

Sabina walked a few feet away from the others, then turned and pointed her finger in Evangeline’s face. “And I told you to stay away from Westley.”

“If you care about Westley, you need to tell him that you think two men were trying to kill him.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I saw a man strike Westley with a block of wood and push him into the river. You have to warn him, so his men can keep him safe.”

Sabina stared at her for a moment. “Who? Who struck Westley?”

“I don’t know. A man with blond hair. I only saw his face from the side, but I did not know him.”

Sabina gave a slow nod. “Very well. I shall tell him.” She narrowed her eyes at Evangeline. “Why do you pretend to be mute? Why did you and Mildred lie to everyone?”

“It was a foolish thing to do. But I thank you for not telling anyone.” Sensing Sabina was about to say something more, Evangeline fled back to the castle, and back to Westley and the Bible.



That night Evangeline and Muriel kept to the edge of the trees as they made their way to the small glade in the forest to talk.

“I think I will have to tell everyone soon that I am not mute.”

“What do you mean?” Muriel’s voice was sharp.

“Sabina is likely to tell someone. I don’t trust her at all. And for another thing, I don’t like pretending.” Especially with Westley.

“You listen to me.” Muriel shook her finger in Evangeline’s face. “I am the one who lied. It is more my secret than yours, so if you decide to unburden your conscience, you’ll get us both punished. They might throw us out, and then we’ll be at the mercy of bandits and wild animals.”

“Be calm, Muriel. Nothing like that will happen.” Although she was not so sure of that herself. “I was thinking of pretending that my voice was coming back gradually.”

Muriel crossed her arms and grunted. “If your conscience is bothering you so much, perhaps it is because you disobeyed your king and ran away from your betrothed.”

“We were not betrothed.” She stared at her friend. Trying to think of a retort, trying to push down the pain that seemed to boil up in her stomach, Evangeline blinked away the tears. “Perhaps my feelings about who I marry do not matter. They certainly do not matter to the king, nor to you, the best and only friend I’ve ever had. But they matter to me. I am the one who would have to live as Lord Shiveley’s wife—not you and not King Richard.”

Muriel pursed her lips and looked away. After an ensuing silence, she finally said, “Do what you think is best. That is all any of us can do.”

Muriel’s words gave Evangeline an uneasy feeling. Muriel was the only person Evangeline had trusted for a long time. As a lonely girl with no parents and no real friends, she and Muriel had been together since Evangeline was seven years old. But ever since they arrived in Glynval, Muriel had been angry with her. It would have been better if she had not come with her. Perhaps if Evangeline had not been so selfish, thinking solely of herself . . .

But was it wrong of her to run away from Richard and Lord Shiveley? It must be wrong. After all, one did not disobey the king of one’s country for one’s own comfort or pleasure. And yet she could not bear the thought of going back, of obeying the king and marrying Lord Shiveley, especially now that she knew there was a young man in the world named Westley le Wyse.

If it was a sin, she must somehow find atonement. But how? Should she confess to the priest? How else could she be absolved? She would be risking someone hearing her, but it would be worth it to rid herself of this guilt.





Chapter Eleven


Evangeline reported to the kitchen the next morning. Mistress Alice was there, and she took Evangeline’s hands in hers and examined them.

“I think you are well enough. Those hands will toughen up soon. Today I need you to help card and spin. Go to the castle and find the other maidens. Since it’s such a nice day, they’ll probably be working outside in the shady place behind the castle.”

Evangeline went out and down the long set of steps outside the door and past the undercroft where she and the other maidservants slept. The grassy courtyard lay on one side where a shepherd boy watched over a small flock of grazing sheep.

She had no idea what it meant to “card and spin,” but she hoped at least it wouldn’t be dangerous. They should know by now not to give her any life-endangering tasks.

She found two servants, Cecily and Nicola, sitting on stools in the shade of a large oak tree. Cecily was holding a long wooden stick with a wad of white thread or yarn around the top like a fat cattail. She held the other end of the thread in her other hand and was spinning it around the top end of the stick. That must be spinning.

Nicola was holding a big, wide brush in each hand. She placed a large ball of something white and fluffy, probably wool, in between the two brushes, then pulled the wool in opposite directions with the brushes. That must be carding.

Cecily saw her first. “If it isn’t our mute friend, Eva.”

Nicola frowned at Cecily.

Evangeline sat by Nicola and picked up the extra brushes, watching how Nicola was doing it. She took a handful of wool out of the large sack between them and placed it in the hard bristles of one of the brushes. With the other brush she pulled at the coarse wad of wool. Copying Nicola, she pulled and worked it between the two brushes. She was not exactly sure what the purpose of this task was, but when Nicola picked the fluffier, finer wool out of her brushes, she put it in another sack that stood between her and Cecily, who was apparently taking it and spinning it into thread. Evangeline had never seen the process before.