Alys Clare - The Tavern in the Morning

‘And then,’ she resumed, calmer now, ‘Thorald died. Went out hunting, put his horse at a brook, and shot off head-first when his horse stumbled.’ She looked at Josse, looked away again. ‘They do say the horse was lame. A sore foot, where a stone had lodged beneath the shoe.’

‘And then you fled to England,’ Josse finished for her.

‘Before any of my horrible in-laws could arrive and conjure up any other sort of imprisonment for me. Yes. I fled, all right.’

‘Why here?’

‘You know why,’ Joanna said, exasperated. ‘Because Mag Hobson lived here.’

‘Why not return to your mother?’

‘My mother died, for one thing. And for another, if she had been still alive, wouldn’t that be a sure way of allowing Denys to find me again? It’d be the first place he’d have looked. And surely you can see that I’d hardly have welcomed that. ’

‘He is your relative, though,’ Josse persisted. ‘Family duty would ordain that he offer you help, and-’

‘NO!’ Joanna shouted. ‘Josse, he was the one who got me into such a mess! He-’ She stopped short. After a brief pause, she said more calmly, ‘He was the last person I wanted to see.’

Josse had the distinct feeling she had been going to say something else but had changed her mind. He waited in case she spoke again, but she didn’t.

‘You came to Mag Hobson,’ he said slowly, ‘and she brought you here, to this house.’

‘Yes. It belonged to my mother’s great-uncle and his wife. They were nice — I used to be brought to stay with them when I was a child.’

‘When you met Mag, who worked for them?’

‘Yes. I spent hours with her — she used to let me help her, and she taught me a great deal. My great-uncle and aunt thought the world of her and, when they died, she went on looking after their house. She always thought that, one day, someone would come along and claim it, and she said it was her duty to the old couple to keep things neat and tidy.’ She paused. ‘I truly loved her, you know. She was a wonderful woman. And I believe she loved me, too.’

‘I think she must have done,’ Josse agreed. ‘Hiding you here was a good solution. Nobody knew about this house, and the chances of anybody — of Denys finding it by pure accident were slim.’

‘He must have been waiting for her when she went back to her shack after coming here to see Ninian and me,’ Joanna said slowly. ‘Any number of people could have told him where to find Mag Hobson — he’d only have had to ask. I wanted her to stay here, with us, where it was safe, but she said no, she didn’t like to leave her place unattended. Unloved, was what she said.’ Joanna smiled faintly. ‘I wish she had stayed, though. We knew Denys was in the vicinity — we’d … Never mind. But, even then, she wouldn’t stay with us.’ Joanna’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘So she went home,’ she whispered through them, ‘and he found her. Found her, beat her, broke her fingers, and still she didn’t tell him where we were.’ She swallowed. ‘Then he pushed her in the water and drowned her.’

She stood shaking, crying as if her heart had broken. Josse, unable to stand the pitiful sight, stood up and took her in his arms.

This time, there was no passionate reaction from her, and he hadn’t expected there would be. She leaned agaist him like a weary child, her pride and her courage spent, her defences finally breached.

With one hand he smoothed her hair, as he had done before. He held her, murmuring quietly, but she couldn’t have heard. Not that it mattered, since he was talking nonsense. He went on holding her, giving her the warmth and support of his physical presence, while she cried out all her pain, her guilt and her sorrow.

And, eventually, she stopped.

‘That was quite a tale,’ Josse said, gently disentangling himself from Joanna.

She was busy wiping her eyes and her face with the end of her sleeve. ‘Yes.’ She managed a rainbow smile. ‘I’m sorry to have been such a child, crying like that. Only it’s really the first time I’ve spoken of it.’

‘Is it? You didn’t confide in Mag?’

The smile was more confident now. ‘There was no need. Mag knew.’

‘I hadn’t realised she had gone on being involved in your life. While you were married, I mean.’

‘She wasn’t.’

‘Then how did she know?’

The smile was positively mischievous now, as if Joanna were enjoying the teasing. ‘Had you known her, you wouldn’t need to ask. She just knew. She had a way of studying you, perhaps holding your hand, and she’d ask one or two apparently irrelevant questions, then she’d say, Ah, yes. I know what you need, my girl. And she did. Whether it was one of her infusions for some small ill when I was young, or whether it was the need for a safe, loving refuge when I was all but defeated by my own problems, she provided it. And she always made you feel whole again.’

There was a silence, as if they were both honouring Mag Hobson’s memory. Then Josse said, ‘I wish I had known her.’

Joanna looked at him. ‘You’d have liked her. She’d have liked you, too, what’s more, and that would have been quite an honour. She didn’t hold with men as a rule.’

‘She didn’t?’

‘No. Can you blame her? She wanted to be an independent woman, living honestly on the small amounts she made from her cures and her comforts. Not that she ever charged much, only what people could afford. If they couldn’t afford anything, she treated them for nothing. You saw how she lived, you can see she wasn’t wealthy!’

‘Aye, I can.’

‘But that wasn’t good enough for God’s Holy Church. Oh, no. All her life, Mag had to cope with meddlesome priests and clerics, poking their long noses in, demanding to know what she was up to, how she brought about her cures, what she thought she was doing making her potions, and all but accusing her of consorting with devils.’ Joanna was rapidly working herself up again. ‘Just because she was different, just because she saw God in terms other than those laid down by those blasted priests, they shunned her, cast her out, turned her into someone who had to hide herself away, so that people who genuinely needed her help had to sneak out to see her in the middle of the night!’ She paused for breath, turning blazing eyes on Josse. ‘Surely you can understand why she disliked male company!’

‘Not all men are priests,’ Josse said reasonably.

‘Oh, I know, but sheriffs and lordlings and puffed-up knights were almost as bad. It’s the way of the world, Josse. Men take against women who demonstrate that they can do well enough on their own. Without some husband telling them what they may or may not do. It hurts their pride, I suppose.’

Josse was thinking. ‘I believe you may be right,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘I know I am. Did you ever marry, Josse?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Perhaps because I reckoned I’d do well enough without some wife ordering my days for me.’

Her brows went down in a scowl as her mouth opened to make some retort, but then her face cleared and she began to laugh. ‘Sir knight, I believe you are making fun of me.’

‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘It’s good to hear you laugh.’

‘It’s good to want to,’ she murmured.

They stood facing one another, an arm’s length apart. He thought, I could embrace her now, kiss her sweet face and, in all likelihood, awake that passion in her again. Which would be joyous, for both of us, and would perhaps give her comfort of a sort she has never before received.

Or I could do as my conscience tells me I should and, for all that it is late, set out for Hawkenlye. The gates will be barred for the night, but I can beg a bed from the monks in the vale. I’ve done it often enough before.