she seems,” he continued, almost plaintively, “to ignore my concern. It is for her benefit. She must find a husband who has lands, for she will inherit none. Where will she go, I ask, if she does not marry well? To an abbey? I would not see my sister a pauper; would you?”
I agreed that such would be a sorry future.
“She thinks not of these practical things,” he continued. “But fortunately for her, I am a man of practical notions, else she would, were not someone wiser to guide her, marry some penniless scholar from Oxford or some such foolishness. That would bring her a life of misery and lost rank. She would ever rue her choice. Do you not agree, Master Hugh?”
I agreed, for I received his message clearly. He knew what he had observed, and was not pleased.
I saw Lady Joan twice each day in that week. Our conversations centered on the mending of her fractured wrist, for when I perceived the subject shifting I brought it back to the reason for my visits to her chamber, or devised some appointment which called me away.
Did I think her dull, that she would not remark the change in me and wonder at it? No; I hoped she might rather think me frightened of my quest, or too timid to pursue her.
Wednesday was Ember Day, which made little difference in dinner. Like many in the kingdom, Lord Gilbert and his household always kept Wednesday as a day of abstinence, serving but one dish of meat at midday, and one of fish at supper. This day, fish was offered at both meals, with bread and ale, but no wine.
I peered about cautiously as I entered the hall that noon, searching for the favored Sir Charles, or an extra place at the high table. I saw neither at noon, but in mid-afternoon, as I was about to call again on Lady Joan, I heard a commotion in the barbican and guessed what it might portend.
The noise was due in part to hounds, for Sir Charles arrived with four, a handler, and a brace of squires. Lord Gilbert, I learned later, had praised the hunting in the Forest of Dean, and Sir Charles was keen for hawking and hunting wherever he might travel.
I saw no reason to greet this new guest, so made my way to Lady Joan’s chamber. The visit was becoming ritual, as for the past two days there was nothing new to learn of either her wrist or her opinions. I concentrated my attention on the first and avoided as best I could the other.
The window of Lady Joan’s chamber looked out over the rock-cut moat. By pressing one’s face to the glazing and looking to the left one could just see the barbican gate to the castle and the tumult created by the new guest and his retinue.
Sir Charles de Burgh was a tall man. I could see from even that distance that he was a head taller than his host. When greetings were done Lord Gilbert led him across the moat and out of sight of the narrow window.
“Has my future husband arrived?” Lady Joan asked with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Uh…Sir Charles de Burgh, your brother named him.”
“And that is all he told you, Master Hugh?”
I could not look her in the eye, so dropped my gaze to the floor at her feet. “No,” I replied, and was silent.
“What did Lord Gilbert say of Sir Charles?”
“Did he not tell you of him, and his visit?” I replied.
“I knew he was coming, and could guess why. He has invited so many men to table that I become acquainted with his purpose.”
“Sir Charles has estates in two shires, I am told, and is said to be valorous…and fond of hunting and hawking, as you are, m’lady.” I said this with a glance at her sling-supported right arm.
“Ah, estates. Well, then, he must be a suitable husband. Little else matters to my brother.”
“He has your interest at heart, m’lady.”
“Truly?” She turned on me with flashing eyes. “Does my brother know my interests?”
“He believes so.”
“Aye. I suppose he does, in the way powerful men know what is best for others.”
“And powerful ladies?” I asked.
“Them, also,” she agreed.
“Them?”
“All right…we,” she admitted. “But even the weak can know that which others should do before they know themselves.”
“They can,” I agreed. “But they have not the authority to command others to their will. There is the difference.”
“So you,” she asked, suddenly very quiet, “know what I should do? But unlike my brother, you will not… cannot…command me.”
“Lord Gilbert will not command you to marry.”
“I know. But he will make strong suggestion,” she smiled.
“There are times when the suggestions of others may help us to see our course more clearly,” I observed.
“Perhaps. So I will ask you again, do you know what I should do?”
“I would never direct a lady. Especially when I have made so many mistakes in my own course.”
“But you have chosen well,” she objected. “You are a surgeon…you give relief and aid to all, as I can attest.” She held her right arm before me.
“You forget Thomas Shilton,” I replied.
Lady Joan turned from me to peer out the narrow window to the fields and forest beyond. “My brother suggests that if I do not soon choose a husband, I will lose the bait with which I may attract a worthy one.”
“You need not worry of that for many years,” I assured her. “You think not? Why, Master Hugh, I believe that was a compliment.”
I felt my cheeks go red, and redder yet as she approached me.
“I have heard it said that men fall in love with their eyes. Is this so, Master Hugh?”
“I believe so, m’lady.”
“So, then, have you ever been in love?”
“Several times, m’lady. My vision is acute.”
“It should be so easy for a woman,” Lady Joan remarked pensively. “My brother has sent many comely men for me to consider.”
“But you chose none…as yet.”
“Nor am I likely to choose among those he has presented.”
“How, then, does a lady fall in love?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” she replied. “To love, I mean.”
“If not love, what, then?” I wondered aloud.
“Why…lands, of course,” she shuddered involuntarily.
“So then a lady falls in love with her purse?”
“You mistake me, Master Hugh, though some ladies do, I think.”
“What else, then?”
“Ears, Master Hugh. I think the man I love will be he who speaks the truth to me…and others. He must win my ears.”
“Some ladies might prefer not to hear truth on all occasions. Will you find such a man?”
She turned back to the gray view from her window. “I think so,” she said. “What good may it do me I know not.”
There followed an awkward moment, as Lady Joan made no more comment and I could think of no suitable reply.
“Your wrist does well, m’lady, so I will take my leave. I will call again tomorrow at the third hour.”
“You are very kind, Master Hugh.” She spoke without turning from the window. Over her shoulder, in the twilight of late afternoon, I saw snow begin to drift across the meadow from a pewter sky.
Lady Joan was, of course, seated next to Sir Charles de Burgh at that Ember Day supper. As it was a fast day, the meal was simple: bread, fish, glazed eggs, and a tart of currants. I peeked at Lady Joan and her companion frequently during the meal and was annoyed to see them apparently enjoying each other’s company.
