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“Don’t you, my lady?” Nell Tyler asked giving Judith an appraising look.
“I’m not with child, so there’s naught you can help me with,” Judith found herself muttering.
If the midwife had been any other woman than Nell Tyler, Judith would have brought herself to ask for her advice. But then she had resolved it had been a mistake to think her father’s former mistress could ever help her in any way.
“Perchance,” Nell Tyler ventured, perusing Judith with her keen eyes, “if we took a walk up the hill and talked. Your father loved that hill. I knew it always soothed him to go and think there whenever there was something he worried over.”
Judith cast Nell Tyler an uneasy glance, but Nell didn’t seem discomfited to talk about Judith’s father.
“I–” Judith tried to think upon a way to send the woman away that would not seem harsh.
“Your mother needn’t know,” Nell Tyler said quite calmly. “I reckon it would upset her ladyship if she knew I came to the castle, so it’s best to walk away from it.”
Unwittingly, Judith found herself following Nell Tyler. There was something uncanny and soothing in her voice, which was compelling. What had Tristram’s cousin said at one time? That the village midwife had the look of a witch? And Tristram had rebuked him sharply.
“You are acquainted with my husband?” she asked, recalling what Tristram had said, as she and Nell were walking out of the outer bailey.
“I spoke to him only twice, but he seems a worthy lord. Your father liked him, and Edward was always a good judge of character.”
Judith stopped on her tracks.
“My-my father spoke to you of Tristram?”
“Aye, during those brief weeks he came back here from London after you’d wed. He soon went back to the city, and as you know, we never saw him again.”
Judith stared uneasily at the woman in front of her. Although she was a commoner, Nell had spoken her father’s name, instead of calling him her lord. And she also noted she’d spoken of his passing like a woman who’d lost a beloved husband. Yet this woman had been a leman, and she and her father had broken her mother’s heart.
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Nell. I cannot sit and talk to you. I feel pain thinking upon such things.”
Nell cast her a steady glance.
“It’s often painful to speak of the dead, but it comforts me to speak of Edward, and to remember the good about him while he was alive. Of course, like all men, he had his flaws, but he was a good man, and perchance there is a thing he left unsaid. He was not a man of many words, you see, yet he always spoke of you with great pride. I thought you should know that. Perhaps I should have come upon you to tell you this a while ago, but I did not want to cause the lady Fenice even more pain.”
Nell paused, as if trying to find her words, then spoke at last, “There are certain things women seek from me when they come. They seek advice and help regarding an unborn child. I help them in any way I can. And I help both those who wish for children and those who don’t, although the Church will tell you my words are blasphemous. You say you’re not with child. Then do you wish for a child, my lady? Or do you seek for something which would prevent conceiving a child?”
They’d resumed their walking, and soon they crossed the moat bridge and headed to the hill that Judith loved. She had not known her father had shared her love for it. She had known so little of her father, and now this woman was telling her all these things and asking her these bold questions.
“How long were you my father’s woman?” she decided to ask Nell bluntly, avoiding the question the midwife had so boldly asked.
Nell laughed, apparently unconcerned by Judith’s words.
“I did not count the years… Ever! Besides, there was no need of it. Edward and I had always known each other. We grew up together. And if we’d not been of different stations, we would have wed. But he was a lord, and I a midwife’s daughter. His parents made him wed your mother, and I made my own match. I suppose I was luckier in mine than he was in his. I grew to care for my husband, although we had but a few short years together before death took him away from me. They were good years though – and we kept faith with each other. Your father – he and your mother could not grow to care for one another. It’s sometimes thus. And your father was not to blame for it!”
“How can you say that? My father broke his wedding vows. And he broke my mother’s heart. She’s been heartbroken and this has built a sickness within her! She now is a prisoner in her chamber, unable to leave it for fear of being hurt by the world outside!”
Nell shook her head.
“She is a prisoner of her own making. Your father did not imprison her. For years he tried to make her care for him, and he tried to care for her in return, yet she spurned him, and he came to understand he could never get her to change towards him…”
“Had he been less harsh to her, she wouldn’t have spurned him!” Judith retorted, recalling the way her mother always spoke of her father’s harsh treatment of her and of his ungentle, discourteous ways.
Conjuring in her mind how her father had been, she couldn’t recall ever having seen him lay a harsh hand on her mother. She recalled arguments between her parents, and sad, bitter tones, and she also recalled her father’s grim, set face whenever he spoke to the lady Fenice. Her father often spoke loud and impatiently, yet she couldn’t remember any truly unkind words he’d ever uttered.
Nell must have become aware of Judith’s dismay, because she touched her shoulder gently.
“He was not a harsh man! And your mother might think him blunt and uncouth, but he was not one who would ever mistreat a woman. Beneath his rough appearance, he was warm and caring. He didn’t have a way with words, yet when he spoke, he spoke from his heart. He only broke his wedding vows when it was plain your mother would no longer have him in her bed. For long years he tried to be a good and faithful husband, but he could not be one to a wife who would have none of him!”
