“She did know,” said Adelais. “And sorry the day I refused her when she begged me to tell the truth earlier, and sorrier still this day when she cannot stand here and bear me witness. But here is one who can. Brother Cadfael is come from the abbey of Farewell, where Helisende now is, and her mother is there with her. And by strange chance,” she said, “so is her father. There is nowhere now to hide from the truth, I declare it in my own despite.”
“You have hidden from it long enough, madam, it seems,” said Audemar grimly.
“So I have, and make no virtue of revealing it now, when it is already out of its grave.”
There was a brief, profound silence before Cenred asked slowly, “You say he is there now?her father? There at Farewell with them both?”
“From me,” she said, “it can only be hearsay. Brother Cadfael will answer you.”
“I have seen them there, all three,” said Cadfael. “It is truth.”
“Then who is he?” demanded Audemar. “Who is her father?”
Adelais took up her story, never lowering her eyes. “He was once a young clerk in my household, of good birth, only a year older than my daughter. He desired to be accepted as a suitor for her hand. I refused him. They took measures to force my hand. No, perhaps I do them both wrong. What they did may not have been calculated, but done in desperation, for she was as lost in love as he. I dismissed him from my service, and brought her away here in haste, to a match the lord Edric had mooted a year or more earlier. And I lied, telling the lover that she was dead. Very blackly I lied to him, saying both Bertrade and her child had died, when we tried to rid her of her burden. He never knew until now that he had a daughter.”
“Then how comes it,” demanded Cenred, “that he has found her out now, and in so unlikely a place? This whole wild story comes so strangely, thus out of nowhere, I cannot believe in it.”
“You had better come to terms with it,” she said, “for neither you nor I can escape the truth or amend it. He has found her by the merciful dispensation of God. What more do you need?”
Cenred swung upon Cadfael in irritated appeal. “Brother, as you have been my guest in this house, tell what you know of this matter. After so many years, is this indeed a true tale? And how came these three to meet again now, at the end of all?”
“It is a true tale,” said Cadfael. “And truly they have met, by now they will have talked together. He has found them both because, believing his love dead, and having touched hands with his own death a few months ago, and been spared, he turned his thoughts to mortality, and determined at least, since he could never see her again in this world, to make a pilgrimage to her grave and pray for her peace in the next. And not finding her at Hales, where he supposed she must be, he came here, my lord, to your manor of Elford, where those of your line are buried. Now, on the way home again, by the grace of God we asked lodging last night at the abbey of Farewell. There the lady who was your sister is presently serving as instructress to the novices of the bishop’s new foundation. And there Helisende fled for sanctuary from too painful stresses. So they are all under one roof at last.”
After a moment of silence Audemar said softly, ” ‘We asked lodging last night at the abbey of Farewell’?you have said almost enough, yet add one thing more?name him!”
“He entered the cloister long ago. He is a brother with me in the abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, at Shrewsbury. You have seen him, my lord, that same brother who came to Elford with me, on crutches every step of the way. Monk and priest, the same, my lord Cenred, whom you asked to marry Helisende to the man you had chosen for her. His name is Haluin.”
Now they had all begun dazedly to believe what they could not yet fully grasp in all its implications. With glazed glances they stared within at the slow realization of what this must mean to them. To Roscelin, quivering and glowing like a newly lighted torch, the sudden dizzy lightness and liberty of guilt and grief lifted from him, the very air of the day intoxicating as wine, the world expanded into a vast brightness of hope and joy that dazzled his eyes and muted his tongue. To de Perronet, the stinging challenge of finding himself faced with a formidable rival where he had looked for no conflict, and the instinctive stiffening of his pride and determination to fight for the threatened prize with all his might. To Cenred the overturning of all his family memories, a father made to seem belittled, even senile, by his fond acceptance of such a deception, a sister abruptly withdrawn into a stranger, an interloper without rights in his house. To Emma, silent and fearful in her corner, the grief of an offense against her lord, and the loss of one she had looked upon almost as her own daughter.
“So she is no sister of mine,” said Cenred heavily, rather to himself than to any other, and as quickly repeated it with sudden anger to them all: “She is no sister of mine!”
“None,” said Adelais. “But until now she believed herself so. It is not her fault, never cast blame on her.”
“She is no kin to me. I owe her nothing, neither dowry nor lands. She has no claim on me.” He said it bitterly rather than vengefully, lamenting the abrupt severance of a strong affection.
“None. But she is kin to me,” said Adelais. “Her mother’s dower lands went to Polesworth when she took the veil, but Helisende is my granddaughter and my heiress. The lands I hold in my own right will go to her. She will not be penniless.” She looked at de Perronet as she spoke, and smiled, but wryly. No need to make the lovers’ path too smooth by rendering the girl less profitable, and therefore less attractive in the rival’s eyes.
“Madam, you mistake me.” said Cenred with muted fury. “This house has been her home, she will still think of it as home. Where else is there for her? It is we here who are suddenly cut off, like topped limbs. Her father and mother, both, are in the cloister, and what guidance, what care has she ever had from you? Kin to us or not, she belongs here at Vivers.”
“But nothing prevents now,” cried Roscelin triumphantly. “I may approach her, I may lawfully ask for her, there is no barrier now. We’ve done no wrong, there’s no shadow over us, no ban between us. I’ll go and bring her home. She’ll come, blithely she’ll come! I knew,” he exulted, his blue eyes brilliant with vindicated joy, “I knew we did no wrong in loving, never, never! It was you persuaded me I sinned. Sir, let me go and fetch her home!”
At that de Perronet took fire in his turn, with a hiss like a sulphur match flaring, and took two rapid strides forward to confront the boy. “You leap too soon and too far, my friend! Your rights are no better than mine. I do not withdraw my suit, I urge it, I will pursue it with my might.”
“And so you may,” exulted Roscelin, too drunk with relief and delight to be ungenerous or take easy offense. “I don’t grudge any man his say, but on fair terms now, you and I and any who come, and we shall see what Helisende replies.” But he knew what her reply would be, his very certainty was offense, though it meant none, and de Perronet had his hand on his dagger and hotter words mounting in his throat when Audemar smote the table and bellowed them both into silence.
“Hush your noise! Am I overlord here, or no? The girl is not without kin, for she is niece to me. If there is
