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The questions could wait. For now, I relished her friendship and closeness. All I needed to know was what I saw: Emma paying for her poor sister, who hadn’t gotten fostered or bought yet.
My handmaid was a much better person than I’d even realized. It made my heart soar to know there were selfless people like her in this world, even when it was infested by untrustworthy, dangerous people like Father, Rosco, the nobleman, and the hunter in the woods.
“How did it go with those boys, mistress?” she asked as we walked out of the southern gate and left Nottingham.
I hung my head. “I think I angered Rosco and his friends, sadly.”
“That’s not hard to do with those rapscallions. Tell me.”
I fidgeted, embarrassed. “I took all their money . . .”
“Robin!”
With a sad chuckle, I added, “It wasn’t intentional! I just got lucky.”
She trailed a soft finger down my cheek, and I winced. There was pain in her eyes when I looked into them. “After a night like tonight, I’d say you were due some luck.”
“Perhaps. When I left, I was going to give it all back to them, plus the shilling I’d wagered. They didn’t like that much at all.”
Emma’s softness hardened, lines forming near her mouth. “Oh. I see now.”
“What did I do that was so worthy of their anger, Emma? I feel like a fool.”
“No, not a fool, mistress. Just too generous and naïve.”
“I thought we were having fun, playing a game.”
She stopped me on the trail, facing me. “You have to understand, mistress, it’s not a game to them. It’s their lives. Boys like Rosco have nothing but their pride and dignity. That’s all they can cling onto, so when they believe it’s been wounded, they get defensive. They’re so used to the gentry trampling them, that when honest goodness shows itself, they see underhanded mischief. Once you reach out a hand to help, all they’ve ever known is the hand biting them like a viper.”
She squeezed my arms for encouragement, to emphasize her point.
I blinked with wide eyes, my lips forming a small circle. With a nod, I muttered, “I think I understand, Emma. Thank you for showing me.” We continued walking, and I gave her a sardonic grin. “I suppose it’s as Chancellor Map wrote: No good deed goes unpunished.”
Emma’s brow threaded. “Chancellor Map, ma’am?”
I blinked. “Walter Map? Writer of Courtiers’ Trifles? It’s quite popular among—” I cut myself off, gulping loudly. Then I gave her a nervous smile. “Never mind.”
“Very well. Either way, the chancellor puts it well. Much more succinct than me, I daresay.”
We both chuckled. She didn’t sound offended, thankfully.
For a moment, I’d forgotten our relative stations in life. Of course Emma wouldn’t know of Walter Map, or his satirical writings on courtly gossip and anecdotes that circulated the townships these days. She didn’t have time for such trivial, leisurely pursuits as reading or history.
It was getting late by the time we reached Wilford. The moon was at its zenith in the sky, bright and full as it peered through wispy clouds. My nerves began to unsettle as we drew closer, knowing I might be walking into another beating.
I desperately wished Mama would get better soon. She could wrangle Father better than I could, and usually prevented him from pummeling me.
Usually.
Being bedridden, she was helpless and useless. The textile business she inherited from her father would undoubtedly go into dissolution under my father’s watch.
Father was a retired soldier, not a businessman or master of commerce. Mother, however, had been raised as a noblewoman. She was skilled in the arts of negotiation, bookkeeping, accounting, and business. There was a reason people endearingly called her Queen of the Lace Market. Her garments were known and sold as far north as Glasgow, as far south as Cornwall.
Therein lied the crux of my father’s rage, jealousy, and animosity, I imagined. Despite his years-long service to King Richard, and giving up his son and lineage to the same efforts, and despite his unwavering loyalty in battle, Sir Thomas of Loxley would never rise to the fame and fortune of his esteemed wife.
Because Sir Thomas of Loxley married into wealth. Robert and I had taken Wilford as our titles, rather than Loxley, because it was more respected. Thus erasing my father’s heritage.
Since coming into womanhood, with my curiosity burgeoning, I had secretly studied the ledgers and documents in St. Mary’s Church. I’d learned there were stipulations surrounding Father’s inheritance.
