There being no particular point, beyond mere manners’ sake, in asking how he did since he seemed to be doing as well as might be-and there being nothing she could change even if he were not-Frevisse told him directly all that Perryn had told her concerning Matthew Woderove’s death and the two bids already made to have his holding. Master Naylor listened without sign or comment and sat silent for a while when she had finished, apparently absorbed in watching a bean tendril, before finally looking at her to say, “I agree about the court. It should be as soon as might be. Friday, if it can be managed. Else on Saturday. About the Woderove holding, it’s Perryn’s final say, the holding being Lord Lovell’s.”
‘He wants your thought on it, Hulcote being the priory’s villein.“
Master Naylor held silent again, not so much as if considering his answer as not wanting to give it, before he finally said, “I’d favor Tom Hulcote’s bid.”
His hesitation over it made Frevisse ask, “Why?”
‘Because I’ve found him a good worker when he works for himself. He deserves the chance if that’s what he wants.“
That was not all. Something hung unsaid. “And?” Frevisse pressed.
Distaste twinged at Master Naylor’s mouth and he breathed down heavily through his nose before he brought himself to say, “It would also serve to settle what’s between him and Mary Woderove.”
‘And that is?“ Frevisse asked although fairly certain, from his disapproval, what he meant.
Curtly, not liking to say it, Master Naylor answered, “He’s been giving her a green gown and everyone in the village knows it.”
Meaning that Tom Hulcote and Mary Woderove had been together in ways they should not have been.
‘Did her husband know?“ Frevisse asked.
‘There’s no saying. Since he wasn’t the sort who could have stopped her even if he did, my thought is he didn’t let himself know.“
‘But from something someone said in the village,“ Frevisse said, slowly and not for the sake of tale-telling but because there could be trouble coming another way if it were true, ”this Tom Hulcote is suspected with Gilbey Dunn’s wife.“
‘Gilbey’s wife is forever being suspected with one man or another, ever since she came to the village,“ Master Naylor said, ”but so far as I know it’s never been more than other people’s talk. It only happens to be Tom Hulcote this time. Next week it will be someone else.“
It would not be the first time Frevisse knew of someone’s reputation being made for them out of what other people thought they might do rather than what they actually did. She could likewise see how Elena, simply being as she was and Gilbey Dunn’s wife, would draw suspicion.
‘Nor is Gilbey Dunn so pure of soul,“ Master Naylor added, ”as not to watch out for his wife better than to be made cuckold.“
‘But this between Hulcote and Mary Woderove is sure?“
‘There’s nothing ’suspected‘ there,“ Master Naylor said baldly. ”It’s sure, and now Matthew isn’t there for folk to be sorry for, Simon will probably have leyrwite from her.“ The fine put on a woman for unlawful coupling. ”It’s to the best that Hulcote have the holding and marry her and make an end of it.“
‘But?“ Frevisse asked, again to something unsaid behind the words.
‘The other side has to be looked at. That Gilbey will do well by the holding if he’s given it. He does well by everything that’s his. With Tom, I think he will but can’t be certain, and what I have to ask is whether I’m favoring him because I think he ought to have the chance at it or because I don’t like Gilbey Dunn.“
Unhappily Frevisse did not like Gilbey Dunn either. But then neither had she heard much to Tom Hulcote’s good, so that hardly helped, except Master Naylor knew more of him than she did and, carefully thinking her way to it while she spoke, she said, “Leaving liking and un-liking out of it, and granting you think Tom Hulcote would do well by the holding, maybe it comes down to asking why should Gilbey Dunn have more of what he already has in plenty, when Tom Hulcote has so next to nothing. Would that make the answering easier?”
‘Put that way, it somewhat does.“ Master Naylor made the small twist of his mouth that served him for a smile. ”Tell Perryn, if you like, that on my side there’s no objection to Tom having the holding at the price he’s offered. Perryn will have to decide from there, and that’s probably to the good, since he knows the village and his sister best.“
Chapter 6
Two days later there was a soft rain falling from a low gray sky as Frevisse came with Sister Thomasine and Father Henry, the nunnery’s priest, by the road from the priory into the village. Simon Perryn had sent word the manor court would be held in the church, rather than on the green, but they would have been able to tell it anyway by the scattered drift of villagers into the churchyard.
‘Too wet to work in the fields,“ Father Henry said; and therefore most of the village would be free to come to the court and probably would, since Perryn’s hope to forestall trouble by having it soon had been vain. He had likewise sent word there had been a shouting match between Gilbey Dunn and Tom Hulcote at the alehouse last night that had not come to blows only because various neighbors had stopped them, but then others, including Perryn, had had to stop the fight that had threatened to flare up then and there between the few who backed Gilbey- more out of dislike for Tom Hulcote than liking for Gilbey, Frevisse gathered-and those who favored Tom, probably for the reverse reason. Therefore Frevisse had asked Father Henry’s company, because when the village had sometimes been without a priest in the past years, Father Henry had seen to the villagers’ needs as well as to the nunnery’s and knew the folk maybe better than Father Edmund yet could, being there less than a year. Her hope was that between them the two priests would force order if tempers flared but, all else failing, Father Henry’s size would be of use because except for his tonsure, almost hidden by unruly yellow curls, and his plain dark priest’s gown, he had more the burly look of someone ready to swing a scythe to good purpose than use chalice and paten in the Mass, especially set beside Father Edmund who, with his dark hair smoothly combed to his well-shaped head around a neatly kept tonsure and his priest’s gown of finer cloth than any Father Henry had ever worn, ever looked better suited to a bishop’s household than a village church.
But he reportedly did his duties well and just now he was waiting under the pentice that roofed the churchyard gateway, greeting everyone with a smile and quiet words, doing what he could to forestall trouble, Frevisse judged. He welcomed the three of them with open relief, and when Frevisse thanked him for having agreed court could be held in the church, he smilingly said, “With the rain, the choice lay between here and the alehouse, and here seemed better.”
‘You think it’s likely, then, that there’ll be trouble?“ Father Henry asked.
‘If there is, it will be more Tom Hulcote’s fault than Gilbey Dunn’s, I fear,“ Father Edmund said. ”Tom has been talking too big at the alehouse and around the green about how if he doesn’t have Mary Woderove and the holding, it’s because Gilbey Dunn is willing to beggar everyone else to make himself more wealthy than he already is.“
‘And those who like trouble for trouble’s sake are listening to him?“ Father Henry said.
‘Even so.“
Four women were approaching in haste and probably fear of having missed their chance at a good place in the church. Frevisse left Father Edmund to them, leaving the gateway’s shelter with Father Henry and Sister Thomasine to cross the churchyard through the warm rain to the church porch and into the church where, as she had expected, there was a full crowding of folk, even given that St. Chad’s was small, its nave hardly larger than a good-sized byre, its chancel even less. It was a plain space, unaisled, with a simple timber roof and everything open to the wooden shingles, but over the years its people and priests had done well by it. Father Clement in his day had paid for the chancel window to be glassed, and though the glass was unpainted, greened and slightly bubbled, it was the only glass in the village and so the light that fell through it onto the altar was strange, adding to the mysteries made there by the priest at Mass. It also meant that with the nave’s few, small windows kept closed except when there were services, there was no longer a constant fight with the sparrows to keep them from nesting in the rafters and atop the rood screen.