The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(36)

“And who were these two murderous men?”

“I have never seen them before or since.”

Another twist of his lips. He did not believe her.

“I shall go now. I only wanted to ask your forgiveness and to warn you about those men so you will be careful.”

She turned and hurried away as tears blurred her vision.





Chapter Thirteen


The next day Westley stood by the well talking with Reeve Folsham. Several men had come from the field to get a drink at the well.

Eva and Nicola approached with their buckets. The men respectfully stood back and let them draw water, even helping them haul it up.

Just then a familiar voice called out, “Westley!”

“John.” Normally Westley would greet his friend with a jovial clap on the back. But the last time he’d seen John flooded his mind, the tension and accusations.

But today John was smiling. “Good morning, Westley. A pleasant day, is it not?”

“How are you?” Westley took a step toward him, then someone yelled.

“Stop! These are the men!” Eva pointed at John and his servant, Roger Cox.

“What?”

Everyone was staring at Eva as if she had lost her mind.

“These are the two men who tried to kill you!”

John’s face paled and he took a step back. Westley’s own face grew hot. “You are mistaken, Eva. These men would never—”

“I am not mistaken! I saw this man strike you and push you into the river.” She pointed at John again.

“That is enough. Go back to the house.” How dare she accuse his best friend of trying to kill him? Would the girl never stop lying?

She stared back at him. Her cheeks were red and she pressed her lips together, her eyes sparking with green fire. She picked up her buckets and glared at John.

“What is this about?” John chuckled nervously.

“She is addled,” one of the men said.

“She’s been pretending to be mute when she first came here.”

“Full of stories.”

The men laughed, including John and Roger Cox.

Eva lifted her chin and stalked off, carrying her buckets of water.

Westley stared after her, his stomach churning. Surely she was wrong about John.

Westley and John made small talk. “We are on our way to meet with the men of Ox Creek about . . .”

Westley’s mind wandered while John talked. Soon John and Roger took their leave from him and continued on their way down the road. The reeve’s eyes narrowed as he stared after John and Roger. Did he suspect Eva was telling the truth?

Westley hated that Eva’s words had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. His friend had changed quite a bit in the last two years since the Peasants’ Uprising, but surely John would not have tried to kill him. Surely this was just another one of Eva’s deceptions.

Either way, he felt sick in his stomach as he made his way back to the house with Reeve Folsham.



Nicola caught up with Evangeline on their way back to the castle. “You can speak?”

Evangeline cringed. “I’m sorry I pretended to be mute. Westley knows. And now he thinks I’m lying, but, Nicola, I’m not lying. Those men struck Westley in the head and pushed him into the river.”

“But, Eva, do you know who those men are?”

“No.”

“John Underhill and one of his servants. John owns all the land on the other side of the river and the entire village of Caversdown. He is Westley’s best friend.”

No wonder Westley had been angry.

After a few moments of silence, Nicola expelled a breath of air. “Why did you do it? Why did you pretend to be mute?”

“I was trying to make sure the man who wanted to marry me would not find me. It actually worked, for they came after me the first day after I escaped, but they thought I was mute.”

“I’m glad it worked. And I’m glad you can speak.”

“Thank you, Nicola. You have been kinder to me than anyone, and I hope I can repay your kindness someday.”



The next morning it was still dark as they walked toward the barn to milk the cows. Evangeline and Nicola entered the barn, found two short stools, and started milking. Or Nicola started milking.

“I’m squeezing but nothing’s coming out.” Evangeline spoke softly so as not to frighten the cow. She kept a wary eye on the heavy back hoof of the enormous animal.

“You have to squeeze and pull down,” Nicola said from the cow beside hers, “but gently, like you’re working your hands down the teat.”

Evangeline tried again. A tiny squirt of milk hit the bucket below. She closed her eyes and concentrated, resting her cheek against the soft, warm coat of the cow’s side, squeezing and running her hands in a downward motion again and again. More milk started to flow until she finally managed a mighty spurt of white liquid with each squeeze-pull. She was much slower than Nicola, but at least she was doing it. And the soft, fleshy teats did not hurt her open blisters the way the carding brush handles did.

Nicola milked two and a half cows before Evangeline’s cow ran out of milk.

“I’m sorry I’m making you do more work since I’m so slow.”

“You caught on fast, and you’ll be as fast as me in a few days.”