The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(56)
Chapter Twenty-One
Evangeline ate quickly. At every meal, she remained quiet around the other servants, ever since they thought she was trying to poison them and dragged her to the pillory. Though now she ate in a smaller room, with the few house servants who worked only in the castle.
As soon as Evangeline had finished, she left the table and went to see if Westley and his family were ready for her. But when she peeked through the doorway to their family table in the Great Hall, her stomach fluttered. She pressed her back against the wall and closed her eyes to pray.
“Eva?”
Westley stood staring at her. “What are you doing? Are you coming in to sing?” He touched her elbow and tugged gently.
“But I don’t know what to sing.”
“Sing that song you were singing to Mildred.”
She nodded and let him lead her inside.
As she walked across the room with Westley, the others turned their heads.
Several children were seated at the table—six, since Westley had six brothers and sisters—and Lord and Lady le Wyse.
Lady le Wyse bestowed her with a welcoming smile. “We are so pleased you are willing to sing at the festival, my dear.”
“Thank you.” After feeling so incompetent at everything since she’d arrived in Glynval, she felt rather pleased at the thought of singing for the people who had welcomed her and allowed her to feel free for the first time in her life.
The children sat quietly watching her, as did Lord le Wyse. Westley sat on the bench, too, facing toward her.
“Do you need a stool? Would you like to sit?” Lady le Wyse asked.
“No, I thank you.” Evangeline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Preparing to sing, she let herself dwell on joyful and pleasant thoughts. The moment she realized Westley was still alive after drawing him out of the river . . . the moment she first hit the target with her arrow . . . being held in Westley’s arms . . .
As Evangeline began to sing, pleasant memories of Glynval mingled with the pictures conjured up by the words of the song, a story about a shepherd boy and a goose girl falling in love and getting married in the springtime. Halfway through the song, she opened her eyes. The family was completely focused on Evangeline’s face, including Westley, his mouth slack.
As soon as she finished, they all began to exclaim and talk at once. Westley smiled broadly and clapped his hands together. Lady le Wyse embraced her. The children were calling out, “Sing another! Sing another!”
When they all quieted, Lady le Wyse said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard more beautiful singing.”
“I’ve never heard better,” Lord le Wyse said. “If you do not win the contest at the festival, it will be an injustice.”
“Thank you,” Evangeline said, unable to stop smiling. It felt good to hear their praise, but seeing Westley’s genuine smile was the best of all.
“Will you sing one more for us?” Lady le Wyse prompted.
Evangeline nodded, then closed her eyes to choose another song. She finally thought of one, a lullaby she and Muriel sometimes sang together.
As she sang, even the youngest two, who could not have been more than eight or nine, gave her their rapt attention.
When she finished, they all reacted as before. Singing in front of an audience of Glynval’s people would be much more rewarding than singing for a wealthy, privileged king and his equally wealthy, privileged retinue.
Evangeline was gradually getting to know the other house servants, but she missed Muriel and Nicola, whom she rarely saw now, as they did most of their work at the dairy and the kitchen.
When Sunday came again, Evangeline searched through the crowd of servants walking toward the Glynval Church until she spotted Muriel. She hurried toward her and the two women embraced, then continued on behind the others.
“Evangeline.” Muriel’s eyes were swimming in tears.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
Muriel’s chin trembled. “You will have to forgive me, Evangeline, but I cannot stay here any longer. I am traveling back to Berkhamsted Castle with a group of men who are taking a load of cheeses to the castle.”
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?”