heart?"
There was silence as Matilda struggled with Effie's words. Love brightens and purifies the heart? Never had she heard such a thing from Father Leufredus. She was beginning to think there was much she had never heard from Father Leufredus that she would like to hear now.
Into the silence Effie moaned, hand to her head, pale face grown paler still. Matilda, fearful of Effie's pain and anxious to relieve it, found her tongue and began to talk. "I myself was raised on Lord Randall's manor a day's ride from here, with servants and Father Leufredus for tutor. We wore dresses of crimson samite and Spanish leather boots and ate cheese from our own cows fragrant with the rich green grass the cows fed on. Never did I have to sweep or eat sausage, for I was used to better things."
"How then did you come to this poor place?" Effie asked. She had stopped moaning. Matilda could see that her talking was helping, so she hurried on.
"Father Leufredus brought me. I am here only to await his return. Or a summons to join him in London."
"Yet I am glad you are here now, to tend me and listen to me of a long night. To help me live." Effie reached out and patted Matilda's hand.
"It was fortunate for you Master Theobald was there to see to you," Matilda said.
Effie snorted. "The man talked like a fool, would not listen to anyone, and did not even look at me."
"But he is a great wonderworker. Everyone says so. And he did save your life."
"No. It were you and Peg and the bigfooted Doctor Margery."
"In that case it was
truly
a miracle you survived."
"No, I think the miracle was the skill of Margery and Peg and your kind heart. And the will of God." She crossed herself.
Matilda could see in her mind Effie, bright with health, riding her horse through purple heather and golden grass. As much as she wished to argue with her about the merits of Master Theobald and the faults of Doctor Margery, Matilda said only, "Amen."
There was silence again until Effie said, "Tell me more of Matilda."
Matilda was ready to speak further of bright dresses and warm fires but stopped. She found herself wanting to tell Effie things she had rarely thought about and certainly had never told anyone. Maybe because she was hidden there in the darkness. Matilda did not know. She sighed and began again, slowly. "My mother was a brewer's daughter who married Lord Randall's clerk, gave birth to me, and, tiring of marriage and motherhood, left us both soon after."
"No! Did she nivver come back?"
"Never. My father and I lived at Lord Randall's manor, where my father taught me Latin and reading and writing and then, when I was six, died at his desk. Of too much drink, I was told. Lord Randall did what he considered his Christian duty. I was given to be fed by the manor servants and tutored by the manor priest."
"And so ye lived well in a great house, eating fine food and wanting for nothing."
"Yes, I..." Matilda stopped and shook her head.
No. I wanted for much,
she thought. And once thought, it had to be said. "No. I wanted for much. The house was great, but no part of it was mine; the food fine, but given begrudgingly. I lived somewhere between servants and those they served." She shook her head again. She had been lonely there. Why had she not known that?
"And the priest?" Effie asked her.
"Father Leufredus found me willing and clever, so he raised me to be saintly, meek, and obedient, above the things of this world. When he left the manor, he brought me to Peg. I had nowhere else to go. But he has not come back or sent for me."
"And what will ye do now?"
Matilda was silent for a moment before replying, "I do not know. I cannot stay in this place. I know so little of what matters here. I cannot heal the sick like Master Theobald or mend bodies like Peg. I am useless."
"Pish. I have been watchin' ye these days," said Effie. "Ye're far from useless. Ye must just use the tools God gave you. Why, a farmer could till a field with a horn spoon if he had to.
There was silence as Matilda struggled with Effie's words. Love brightens and purifies the heart? Never had she heard such a thing from Father Leufredus. She was beginning to think there was much she had never heard from Father Leufredus that she would like to hear now.
Into the silence Effie moaned, hand to her head, pale face grown paler still. Matilda, fearful of Effie's pain and anxious to relieve it, found her tongue and began to talk. "I myself was raised on Lord Randall's manor a day's ride from here, with servants and Father Leufredus for tutor. We wore dresses of crimson samite and Spanish leather boots and ate cheese from our own cows fragrant with the rich green grass the cows fed on. Never did I have to sweep or eat sausage, for I was used to better things."
"How then did you come to this poor place?" Effie asked. She had stopped moaning. Matilda could see that her talking was helping, so she hurried on.
"Father Leufredus brought me. I am here only to await his return. Or a summons to join him in London."
"Yet I am glad you are here now, to tend me and listen to me of a long night. To help me live." Effie reached out and patted Matilda's hand.
"It was fortunate for you Master Theobald was there to see to you," Matilda said.
Effie snorted. "The man talked like a fool, would not listen to anyone, and did not even look at me."
"But he is a great wonderworker. Everyone says so. And he did save your life."
"No. It were you and Peg and the bigfooted Doctor Margery."
"In that case it was
truly
a miracle you survived."
"No, I think the miracle was the skill of Margery and Peg and your kind heart. And the will of God." She crossed herself.
Matilda could see in her mind Effie, bright with health, riding her horse through purple heather and golden grass. As much as she wished to argue with her about the merits of Master Theobald and the faults of Doctor Margery, Matilda said only, "Amen."
There was silence again until Effie said, "Tell me more of Matilda."
Matilda was ready to speak further of bright dresses and warm fires but stopped. She found herself wanting to tell Effie things she had rarely thought about and certainly had never told anyone. Maybe because she was hidden there in the darkness. Matilda did not know. She sighed and began again, slowly. "My mother was a brewer's daughter who married Lord Randall's clerk, gave birth to me, and, tiring of marriage and motherhood, left us both soon after."
"No! Did she nivver come back?"
"Never. My father and I lived at Lord Randall's manor, where my father taught me Latin and reading and writing and then, when I was six, died at his desk. Of too much drink, I was told. Lord Randall did what he considered his Christian duty. I was given to be fed by the manor servants and tutored by the manor priest."
"And so ye lived well in a great house, eating fine food and wanting for nothing."
"Yes, I..." Matilda stopped and shook her head.
No. I wanted for much,
she thought. And once thought, it had to be said. "No. I wanted for much. The house was great, but no part of it was mine; the food fine, but given begrudgingly. I lived somewhere between servants and those they served." She shook her head again. She had been lonely there. Why had she not known that?
"And the priest?" Effie asked her.
"Father Leufredus found me willing and clever, so he raised me to be saintly, meek, and obedient, above the things of this world. When he left the manor, he brought me to Peg. I had nowhere else to go. But he has not come back or sent for me."
"And what will ye do now?"
Matilda was silent for a moment before replying, "I do not know. I cannot stay in this place. I know so little of what matters here. I cannot heal the sick like Master Theobald or mend bodies like Peg. I am useless."
"Pish. I have been watchin' ye these days," said Effie. "Ye're far from useless. Ye must just use the tools God gave you. Why, a farmer could till a field with a horn spoon if he had to.
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