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Namely, that he got none. A legal agreement kept the property out of his hands until Mama Joan’s passing. Even then, it would pass to her children first. Unlike our neighboring noblemen and yeomen, where the barons lorded over their estates like sovereigns, my father didn’t control ours.
It was my mother’s side of the family that gave us this great, lavish manor. It was Baroness Joan who bought and paid for the laborers, the maids, the barns, the pastures, the walls. And it was Joan who paid our taxes and tithes.
After Mama’s father died, and her elder brother abdicated the responsibility of running the textile business, she took charge. Mama Joan exceeded in business and commerce where others doubted her. She earned her moniker as Queen of the Lace Market in Nottingham, and I couldn’t be more proud of her.
It made me smile thinking about her showing those curmudgeonly men that women had minds just as capable as men’s minds.
The king gave my father a suitable piece of land in Loxley for his service in the military, but it was nothing compared to the Wilford estate.
It must have irked my father so mightily. He had been outwitted by my mother from the onset, and the stipulations of the dowry must have pained him greatly.
What must the neighboring lords and ladies think?
I stared at the great manor sitting on our acreage of meadows and fields. Resting peacefully under the soft moonlight.
I could hear yelling coming from inside the house, even from a distance.
Emma and I shared worried looks as we approached. Then we hugged and parted ways, so we wouldn’t be seen together. She went in through the front, while I climbed the trellis into my room. Funny, that I’m the one who has to creep around like a rat in my own house.
In my room, I sat on the edge of the bed. It had been a long night, yet it wasn’t over. The voices downstairs were louder now. My father argued with Uncle Gregory, Mama’s brother.
Glancing at my hooded self in the mirror, I sighed then tore through my closet, deciding I would finally acquiesce to Father’s demands and dress in something more ladylike since my uncle was present.
I was in such a haste to change, I didn’t notice the figure outside spying on me through my open window, from the shadows of a faraway tree, watching me strip down naked to dress into my gown . . .
Chapter 7
Robin
The floorboards creaked under my feet as I traipsed toward the staircase, dressed in a simple green gown. I felt stiff and awkward in the dress, no longer wearing the boots I preferred. Instead, I had on thin slippers that made me feel naked and frail.
Father had told me to stay out of sight, which only made me want to reveal myself even more. Uncle Gregory was a kinder man than my father. He deserved to see what his brother-in-law was doing in his sister’s absence.
Call it the brat in me, but anytime a man ordered me to do something, I fought to do the opposite, on principle alone.
My uncle’s gravelly voice carried up to the top of the stairs, growing more insistent. “If the doctors can’t make her better, we have to seek alternatives, Thomas. It’s harebrained to think she’ll simply get better on her own!”
“Doctor Ashby is one of the most renowned physicians in the land, Gregory!” My father finished his emphatic shout with a slam of his fist on a table. It made me jump as I recalled that same fist waylaying into my stomach earlier.
“He’s a quack, just like the priests and nuns who surround him,” Gregory argued.
Father growled, “Don’t blaspheme in my house, sir. Your hypocrisy is astounding. You actually think your alternative is any better? A fucking madman in a straw hovel?”
“Wulfric is a healer of great repute. I’ve personally seen him clear up a case of the pox. Overnight. Skin so marred you’d think leprosy had gotten hold of them, only to be clear as a river in spring the next day.”
I tilted my head at Uncle Gregory’s admission, and crouched with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my palms. Might as well let them get it out in the open before I make my illustrious entrance. Who is this healer Uncle speaks of?
Father had never put any sort of stock in unorthodoxy. He was a follower of Christ, to a fault.
“Absolute nonsense . . .”
As he trailed off, Gregory changed his attack with a softer, more conciliatory tone. “What have we to lose, Tom? She’s your wife. My sister. I can’t let her wallow here in agony. It’s a death sentence. Surely you would do anything to save her?”
Father let out a heavy sigh. His voice sounded transactional again. A bad sign. It was how he sounded when Doctor Ashby gave him the grave news.
“Don’t be foolish. Of course I would. My fear is Joan would not make the trek so far north. She would die on the road.”
“My sister is heartier than you give her credit for, Tom. It’s only two days’ ride.”
