Kate Sedley: The Wicked Winter

The younger man said, 'Our mistress. She as is wife to Sir Hugh Cederwell. She wants to see the friar most urgent.

We've instructions to ask him to come to my lady as soon as he can.'

The miller shrugged. 'Well, 'e ain't here, as I told you. Said he was bound fer Woodspring Priory, so I'd seek in that direction if I was you.'

The two men grunted their thanks and remounted, declining the goodwife's offer of a cup of ale.

'We'd best get on while the daylight lasts. It may take us some time to catch up with him if we've to ride all the way to the Priory.'

They again forded the stream, the horses' hoofs sending up a spray of iridescent drops which hung for a moment on the bright, clear air. I went back into the millhouse to collect my things.

'Who's Lady Cederwell?' I asked.

'Like they told you,' said Mistress Miller, helping me to gather up the rest of my wares and restore them to my pack, 'she's the wife of Sir Hugh Cederwell of Cederwell Manor. That lies some five, six miles west of here and within sight of the River Severn, or so I understand. I've never been that far myself, but,' she added proudly, 'I know people who have.'

'Ay, more fools they,' grunted the miller as he disappeared once more through the door leading into the mill.

'I don't know about that,' his wife sighed regretfully. 'Mark you, I'm not saying as I'd want to go as far as Cederwell Manor, for it's nought but a small place from what I gather. But Lynom Hall, now, I wouldn't mind seeing that. For it's the biggest house in these parts and closer to us than the other. And the Widow Lynom's a fine, handsome woman by all accounts. Red hair and not a trace of grey they say, even though she's past her prime.'

'Maybe she uses alkanet plant to colour it,' suggested her daughter. 'After all, when the roots are boiled the water's used to redden cheese. Why shouldn't it do the same for hair?'

But the miller's wife was unwilling to allow that here, in Somerset, a lady of birth and quality could be capable of practising such deception. In London or Bristol — well! The shrug of her shoulders implied that in those dens of vice and iniquity anything was possible; and while the foibles of city dwellers made excellent hearing over a plate of fish stew, they were not seriously to be considered as general practice among the more godly denizens of the countryside.

I wrapped myself in my cloak, hoisted my pack on to my shoulders and grasped my stout cudgel — my 'Plymouth cloak' as Devonshire people call it — firmly in my right hand.

'If you can give me some general direction towards Lynom Hall,' I said, 'I should be grateful. Mistress Lynom sounds as if she might be a lady interested in buying my wares. Lady Cederwell, also.'

The miller's wife pursed her lips. 'The Widow Lynom would probably welcome your arrival, for she sounds to be an open-handed lady when it comes to her personal adornment. I've heard her described as vain. But as for Lady Cederwell, you mayn't be so lucky there. Common report says she's a very pious young woman, a devout daughter of the Church, more often to be found at her prie-dieu than staring at her reflection in a mirror.'

'Well,' I answered philosophically, 'the female members of her household may be in need of needles and thread or twine or laces. And as you saw, I have some very good pewter knives and spoons.'

'True.' The goodwife considered for a moment, then turned to her daughter. 'Joanna, I've no need of you here for a while. Put on your cloak and pattens and accompany the chapman back to the main track. Show him which way to take at the crossroads; the path to Lynom.'

'There's no call to send the child out on such a day,' I protested, but was overruled by both mother and daughter.

'I shall be glad of the air,' Joanna Miller said, slipping her feet into wooden clogs. She flung a serviceable woollen cloak about her slender figure and pulled up the hood.

It was by now bitterly cold, too cold in fact for snow but promising an extremely sharp frost by the following morning.

Joanna trod composedly by my side as we ascended the slope out of the valley, not needing my proffered arm and unhampered by her heavy-soled shoes. Away from the mill she seemed less of a girl and more of a woman; and when she told me that she was but fifteen years of age and the only child, I realised that the miller and his wife must have come late to the blessings of parenthood. I also realised that while they struggled against the temptation to be too doting a mother and father, Joanna possibly found it rewarding to play the little girl for their benefit.

We talked desultorily of this and that until we reached the summit of the hill and had walked a short distance along the pack-horse track to the crossroads. Here Joanna pointed out the path to Lynom Hall and prepared to leave me. Just before she did so, however, she gave a knowing little smile and said, 'You may meet Sir Hugh Cederwell there.' 'At Lynom Hall?' I queried, puzzled.

She nodded and smiled her cat-like smile. 'Gossip has it that the widow is his mistress, although my mother would be angry to hear me admit it.'

'Indeed,' was all that I could think of to say. I stood there looking at her, feeling as I so often did in the presence of women, bewildered and rather stupid. For it has been my experience throughout life that whereas a man is always himself whoever he may be with, a woman is capable of changing her character to suit her mood or the person she is confronting at that present.

'Indeed, indeed,' she mocked with a little laugh, sending me an enigmatic glance from beneath the close-drawn hood which framed her delicate features. Then she turned and vanished around a bend in the track beyond which was the narrow, barely discernible path which led down into the valley. I looked after her for a moment before swinging on my heel and starting along the road in front of me.

I walked for the next hour without meeting anyone or hearing any human voice other than my own, as I whistled in my usual tuneless fashion to keep up my spirits. It became increasingly colder as the afternoon wore on and the shadows lengthened, and with the absence of habitation I became anxious as to where I should spend the night. It was necessary to get under cover before darkness fell, and for the first time since leaving the shelter of my mother-in-law's roof I questioned the wisdom of this winter expedition. Had I for once confused my desire for freedom, my dislike of being confined within four walls, with that sense of being used by God for His Divine Purpose? Had there, I wondered, shivering and drawing my cloak tighter about me, ever really been any purpose other than my own desire to escape from the restrictions and rules imposed by living in close proximity to other people? Was I, as my mother had often accused me of being, selfish? Did I search for excuses to ignore the claims which those nearest to me had upon my time and person? I could find no answer.

Against an overcast sky the leafless branches of the trees raised knotted arms in a silent, defiant gesture, and overall was that peculiar soundlessness which I could remember from winter days in my youth, around Wells. To the north of the track the distant vista of hills hung like a dirty grey shroud and were devoid of any signs of life. All the animals had been driven indoors to share the warmth of smoking turf fires with their owners.

The track broadened out a little and another opened up on my left. I paused, staring along it as far as I could see, wondering where it led and whether I was meant to go that way or no. But Joanna Miller had made no mention of deviating from my present path, and as this second track plainly ran southwards through thick wood and scrubland, I decided to proceed straight ahead, but I wished that I could meet with some other foolhardy traveller, out and about his business on such an unpleasant afternoon.