Page 53 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Tension seethed inside her, but she turned and walked to Mildred. Murmurs and the scrape of chairs rose behind her. She glanced back to see de Lanceau and Dominic hunched over the parchment, weighted down at each corner with goblets. Seated beside Geoffrey, Veronique picked at a fresh trencher of stew and looked vexed.

Mildred came to Elizabeth side. The matron smiled before linking her fleshy arm through Elizabeth’s. “Do not worry,” she said in a low voice. “We shall find a way to thwart de Lanceau.”

“Escape,” Elizabeth murmured.

Mildred winked. “When the opportunity arises. For now, we will watch, listen, and wait.”

While they walked toward the massive blackened arch of the hearth, Elizabeth listened to Mildred chatter. Elizabeth was relieved to hear that despite the days spent in solitude, the matron had not been mistreated in any way. Elena also had brought her meals and helped her dress and wash.

“And you, milady? Have you been treated well?”

Elizabeth nodded. The temptation to blurt out all that had transpired between her and de Lanceau was overwhelming, but she thought better of giving the older woman cause for concern.

They neared the fire. Flames roared over the huge mound of logs and cast an orange glow over the glazed hearth tiles. Several chairs and a side table were lined up before the fire’s warmth. Elena sat in one of the chairs, her head bowed over a task in her lap. She cursed and shook her head.

Elizabeth withdrew her arm from Mildred’s. “Elena?”

The maid did not look up as Elizabeth rounded the chair. A silk tunic lay across Elena’s lap. In her hand she held part of the embroidered hem, damaged by a jagged tear. She jabbed the bone needle into the fabric.

“Ouch!” Elena groaned, dropped the cloth, and sucked the spot of blood on her thumb.

“Elena?” Elizabeth repeated.

The maid glanced up, her eyes round with worry. “Milady. Mildred.”

“What is the matter?” the matron asked.

“How will I finish mending this tunic?” Her hands shook, and her face looked ashen. Dropping down on her knees, Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on the maid’s arm.

“Milord asked me to fix the rip,” Elena said with a sniffle. “I have not yet rinsed all the laundry. Mistress Peg asked me to scrub the kitchen floor and chop cabbage and leeks for chicken pies, and I need to see the children fed.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I should not complain, but I have much to do and I am tired.”

“Let me have a look.” Elizabeth took the garment.

“Milady?” Elena whispered.

With gentle fingers, Elizabeth inspected the tear and frayed silver embroidery threads, and mulled the best way to fix them. Her mother had taught her the most difficult embroidery stitches. With care and patience, even the worst rips could be mended.

Her fingers stilled. The tunic must be de Lanceau’s. For that reason alone, she should not help repair it. Yet, when she glanced up and saw Elena’s tear-streaked face, Elizabeth’s reluctance melted. She must help the poor woman.

“The material must be held tighter,” Elizabeth said. “Otherwise the silk will sag and be hard to sew. Try to make your stitches smaller. Like this.”

Elizabeth pressed the needle into the fabric and took three quick stitches. Her swift, neat work won her a smile from Elena.

Taking the tunic back, the maid tried again. Elizabeth struggled not to frown. Elena’s second attempt was better, but her care made her slow. ’Twould take her the entire afternoon to finish the task.

It had been days since Elizabeth had embroidered, and she missed working on the orphans’ clothes. Focusing on the stitches, pulling the thread just so, and seeing the pattern form on the cloth would be a pleasant diversion.

When Elena’s slow progress continued, Elizabeth squeezed the maid’s arm. “Go to your tasks. I will finish this for you.”

“You? Nay, milady. ’Twould not do.”

Mildred’s chest puffed out like a proud mother hen’s. “Why not? She is a fine embroiderer.”

Before the maid could utter another protest, Elizabeth curled up in one of the chairs and pulled the tunic onto her lap. Her fingers flew over the silk, each stitch light and deft, and within moments she had mended part of the tear.

Elena stood and glanced at the lord’s table. Elizabeth peered around the chair, and saw the men were still bent over the parchment. Dominic looked to be illustrating a point with his finger while de Lanceau nodded, his brow creased into a frown.

The maid shook her head. “If milord finds out⁠—”