The other men were still there, some of them still mounted, but the man called Symond was at the well at the near end of the yard. He had drawn up a bucket, was drinking from the cup that came with it, but seeing Master Rowcliffe, he set down the cup and called, “We heard the shouting. How went it?”
Closing the church’s door, Master Rowcliffe answered, “She’s denying everything about the deeds. We’re staying here until it’s settled.”
“What of Edward?” asked young Jack from where he stood beside his horse, still with one of the cups of guesthall ale in his hand.
“I didn’t see him,” his father said and looked at Frevisse to ask with what sounded like true concern, “How is he? He was still hurting badly with his father’s death when I last saw him.”
“He’s surely still grieving,” Frevisse said with careful mildness. “But he’s well and being kept in the care of someone other than his mother.”
“Good!” Master Rowcliffe was fierce about that. “No one should be in her care. She’s a dire fool.”
“We were feared for him and for how badly she might try to taint him against us,” said Symond, leaving the well.
Both seemed reasonable worries, but Frevisse had no answer to either and merely said, starting toward the guesthall, “If your men will take your horses to the outer yard and stable, I’ll see you settled here.”
Master Rowcliffe gave order for that to his men, adding, “Bring our saddlebags when you come back,” while his son swung from his saddle and handed his reins to one of the men. As their servants rode off, Master Rowcliffe and his son and Symond-whoever he was in this mess of things-followed Frevisse the rest of the way across the yard, up the short stairs, and into the open-raftered guesthall where Ela was overseeing Tom and Luce setting up the long trestle tables for supper. Later, with the tables taken down and set against the wall, there would be bedding laid out on the floor for such of the guests as did not have their own bedchamber. Those chambers were few and mostly small, giving privacy but not much else. Only the one the widows had shared was larger and with some comforts, and Frevisse might have offered it to the Rowcliffes if it had not already been given to Master Breredon. As it was, she was starting to say something about which small chambers they might share but broke off as a whole new anger darkened Master Rowcliffe’s face. Not at her, because he was looking past her. In the next moment he burst out, “Breredon! What are you doing here, damn you?” and Frevisse whipped her gaze to where Master Breredon was standing in the doorway to his room, his manservant not far behind him.
To Frevisse they looked to have been purposefully waiting to be seen, and that was possible because surely the Rowcliffes’ arrival had been no secret and there were windows enough in the guesthall for Master Breredon to have seen them in the yard. Nor did Master Rowcliffe’s instant anger at him seem any surprise to him. Instead, he held where he was as Master Rowcliffe started toward him. Neither man had drawn their actual daggers, but in every other sense it was daggers-out between them, and Symond said quellingly, “John,” while Frevisse made a sharp gesture at both him and young Jack to stay where they were as she went after Master Rowcliffe.
Ela, Tom, and Luce were standing frozen in surprise and probably alarm at the sudden angers in their midst. On the far side of the hall so were Mistress Lawsell and Elianor. Frevisse, with anger for that added to her other angers, said at Rowcliffe and Breredon both, “Gentlemen!” as sharply as if calling dogs to heel, sufficiently startling them that their heed broke from each other to her long enough she was able to come between them the way Domina Elisabeth had come between Master Rowcliffe and Sister Cecely in the church. Keeping more curb on her anger than she wanted to, she demanded, “What is this you’re at? And stop it, whatever it is!”
Master Breredon bowed his head as if in obedience to that demand, a little smiling, but Master Rowcliffe said with unabated anger, pointing at him, “Our first thought was that she might have run to him, but all his folk swore they’d none of them seen her.”
“Nor had they,” Master Breredon said.
“And when you didn’t leave your place until days after she’d run, we had to think there was nothing in it. But there was, wasn’t there?” Master Rowcliffe demanded. “Because here she is and here you are!”
Master Breredon shrugged easily, said lightly, “She swore no one would think to look for her here.”
“She’s a fool,” Master Rowcliffe snapped.
That was plainly his refrain where Sister Cecely was concerned, but despite how much Frevisse agreed with it, it solved nothing, and she said impatiently, “You’re frighting the other guests in a place that’s supposed to be at peace. What is this all about?”
“Your damned nun,” Master Rowcliffe snarled.
Symond and young Jack had come forward to join him, one on either side. They were neither of them so rawly angry as he was, and it was Symond who answered her evenly and without heat, “She’s run off with some deeds to lands that aren’t hers. We want them back rather than waiting to find out what trouble she means to make with them.”
Missing deeds had been some of Master Rowcliffe’s theme in the church but, “What’s Master Breredon’s part in it?” Frevisse asked, trying for calm despite her angers.
“He wants the lands those deeds give,” Rowcliffe snapped. “By foul means, since fair haven’t served him.”
“I know nothing about stolen deeds,” Breredon said calmly. “I’m here for Edward and nothing else. She’s offered me him and his manor in ward and the right to his marriage.”
“In return for helping her escape,” Frevisse said.
Breredon favored her with an approving smile. “You have it. I was to pay her well for Edward and help her away from here. With money in hand, she could do whatever she chose to do next.”
“Leaving you with control of his manor until he comes of age!” Rowcliffe accused, “And likely marry him to one of your daughters.”
“You know how well that manor of his suits with my other property there,” Breredon answered. “I’d have bought it outright three years ago except Guy was ahead of me.”
“So having failed to have it by fair means, you meant to have it by foul,” Rowcliffe snarled.
“Someone will have it until Edward comes of age. Why not me?” Breredon asked.
“Because Edward is ours!” Rowcliffe exclaimed.
Still keeping in check her own anger at both of them, Frevisse said, “Didn’t Edward’s father give keeping of him and this manor to someone in his will?”
“To his ‘dear wife’ the will says,” Rowcliffe said sullenly. “Since they weren’t truly married, that means nothing. Guy could be an idiot sometimes.”
“And the land isn’t held of some lord or else of the king?” Frevisse persisted. “Someone with some say over it?”
“Guy bought it from some guild in Norwich that didn’t want the bother of out-lying land anymore,” Symond said. “It’s clear of any overlord. There’s no one.”
That was a pity, because Frevise would have been more than glad to tell them to ease back their angers until someone with better authority could rule on the matter. If there was not anyone, then it would come to lawyers, she supposed. In the meantime, though, the quarrel was here, where it had no business being, and she said, “Then there’s nothing to be done but clear yourselves back to your homes and sort it out as best you may there.”