Chapter 16

Soon after he started walking, Wolfram began eating his midday meals in the great hall again. He was still staying at the cottage while his leg mended, but he wanted to start getting back into the swing of things. The other squires were pleased to see him. A lot had happened in his absence, and they had plenty of stories to share. The company lifted Wolfram's spirits, though a glumness lingered in his heart every time he remembered that Robin's voice would never again be part of their conversations. The high table looked noticeably different as well. Now Ingrid sat in Julia's chair, tending a Baron Erik who seemed to have little appetite for food and even less for conversation.

Wolfram tried to avoid making eye contact with Ingrid. He felt uncomfortable just being in the same room as her. Thankfully, she paid him little attention, though he doubted that would last forever. She would ask him to run an errand or invite him to play their board game sooner or later, and he was certain she would behave as if everything was normal.

"Where's Lord Erik's son?" he asked Ben as they ate.

"He sent him away with his nurse last week. They're to stay with one of his nieces on the other side of Tannersfield. He said the boy needs to be raised by a proper mother."

"Poor Lord Erik," Grace the kitchen girl said as she refilled a pitcher of water on their table. "I think he just couldn't bear being reminded of Lady Julia. Sent the little mite away without giving him a name or anything."

Wolfram said nothing, but internally he was relieved. He'd been afraid of what Ingrid might do to her half-brother if he remained in the castle. At least now he could set that worry aside. He listened more than he spoke, eager to catch up on as much news as possible. Whenever Ingrid's voice sounded behind him, his back tightened up uncomfortably. All the other noise in the room seemed to filter away until she was the only person he could hear. He didn't mean to fixate on her, but he couldn't help himself. It was a dread compulsion, equal parts anger, suspicion, and a kind of apprehensive fear.

"We must resume correspondence with Lord Ricaud," she said to her father. "We haven't heard from him in so long. I'm beginning to think he may have soured on our engagement."

"Of course he has," Lord Erik said disconsolately. "He'll have heard about your brother. He won't want to marry you now that you don't stand to inherit."

"Really, Father, must you take such a mercantile view of romance?"

Erik said nothing. Did he realise how strangely Ingrid was behaving? She'd never expressed any enthusiasm about her engagement before. Lord Ricaud's waning interest should have thrilled her. But then again, Wolfram was forced to remind himself, he'd misunderstood a great many things about the baron's daughter. Why did she want to get married again? Could it be that she'd given up on inheriting Elkinshire and wanted a husband with his own estate? That would make sense if she was unable or unwilling to dispose of her half-brother the way she'd disposed of Julia. Thinking about her motivations made Wolfram uneasy. He wasn't good at puzzles like this, yet he feared for the future of Elkinshire if he stood by and did nothing.

"Surely there must be some way of enticing Ricaud back?" Ingrid continued.

"If there is, I can't think of one," her father replied. "We've nothing to entice him with."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something."

The sweetness in her voice made Wolfram shudder. He remembered the way she'd touched and kissed him, and his appetite fled. He picked up his crutch and hobbled out of the hall. If only he could find a moment to speak with Lord Erik alone, then maybe he could warn him about Ingrid without making it obvious. He wished Robin was there. He would've been able to think of something. Ingrid always seemed to be hovering around her father these days, and Wolfram didn't know how he could get him on his own without making her suspicious. The only thing he could think of was to try and talk to Erik privately when the men were out hunting, but the squires said Erik had lost his appetite for the hunt since Julia's death, and Father Everwin had warned Wolfram against any rough activity while his bones mended. He would just have to wait for now, though it irked him to sit idle when he knew Ingrid was plotting something.

"I want to go back to the castle soon," he told Lavender that evening. "I've been away too long."

"No," she signed. "You need rest."

"My cast will be off in a week or two. Don't worry, I'm not going to start training right away. I just want to sleep in the parlour and talk with the others. You'll be able to get back to the kitchen, too. I'm sure you've had enough of me."

Lavender stirred the pot over the hearth, avoiding his gaze.

Wolfram continued: "Besides, it's getting colder. This old place must be freezing in winter."

"Yes," Lavender signed.

"That's settled, then." Wolfram allowed himself a smile. It felt good to be making decisions again after weeks of helplessness. His slow recovery was finally coming to an end.

Lavender didn't feel like reading that night. They'd been working their way through most of the books in Father Everwin's library and were currently enjoying an epic poem that didn't make much sense to Wolfram, but was full of clever phrases that made Lavender laugh. Not wanting to read on without her, he closed his eyes and went to sleep early.

When he woke the next day, the cottage was empty. It was barely past dawn, and the fire had burned down to embers. Lavender usually made sure it was built up before she went out to fetch their morning bread from the kitchen. Wolfram swung his left leg out of bed and struggled upright with the aid of his crutch. Once he'd pushed some wood into the hearth, he tugged on his cloak and went outside. The air was sharp and chilly. In a month or two, the grass would be crisp with frost on mornings like this. Wolfram limped his way down the path. He liked the view of the old forest early in the morning. The light made it look different at this time of day; not better or worse, just different. There was something satisfying about things that were different.

He was surprised to find Lavender sitting on the hillside. She was perched on a mossy rock amongst the thistles, her cloak wrapped around her body with the hood up. When Wolfram called her name, she jumped and turned away from him, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. He stopped in his tracks. Had she been crying? His first instinct was to turn away in embarrassment. He usually wanted to be left alone when he was upset. But he remembered the way Lavender had put her arms around him when he needed to weep, and how much better it had felt to share his misery with a kind friend. It would be awkward for him to leave now, so he hobbled over. His crutch struggled to find purchase in the lumpy grass as he shuffled down the hillside. When he reached Lavender, she was still facing away from him.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he eased himself down on the rock. She just shook her head. With a stiffness in his voice, he said: "You can tell me."

"You don't know," she signed.

"That's why I'm asking. I want to help."

She shook her head in frustration as fresh tears spilt down her cheeks. Wolfram could feel her anguish even if he didn't understand it. It seemed like there was something she desperately wanted to say, something that might have come out in a flood if she could speak.

"I'll wait and listen," he said, putting his crutch down deliberately. Lavender shook her head again and pressed a clenched hand to her lips. She shook with silent sobs.

At long last, she signed: "We're going back to the castle."

"Is that why you're upset?"

She nodded.

"Why? Don't you like it there?"

She shook her head again in frustration. It was difficult for Wolfram to read her signs. Her hands were trembling, her motions erratic.

"I prefer it here."

"Oh." Wolfram wanted to say something comforting, but he wasn't sure what. "It's nice, having your own cottage."

Lavender nodded, then it all began to come out. Wolfram struggled to keep up, but the sentiment of her message was clear even if he couldn't follow every sign.

"I'm just a kitchen girl. I'm an invalid. No one would have me anywhere else. They wouldn't be kind to me. Even here, I'm like a pet. I'm the kitchen cat. I try not to mind, even when it makes me sad, but it's been different here at the cottage. I've been happy. It's like I have a house and a husband to take care of. I'll never have those things."

Wolfram's heart went out to her. He'd grown sensitive to the challenges of Lavender's life over the past month, and he couldn't bear seeing her upset. He wished there was something he could do. She was a wonderfully kind, strong-willed, talented young woman, and she didn't deserve to feel this way.

Then say it, he thought, mentally kicking himself for being so slow.

"You're wonderful, Lavender. I've never had a friend as kind as you. And you're tough, and you cook so well, and you read better than I do. You and Meg made up a whole language with your hands. I wish I was that clever."

Lavender stared at him with a look of longing, then gripped his elbow, leaned forward, and kissed him on the lips. It was a short kiss, and in his surprise, Wolfram didn't react. Lavender pulled away, her eyes downcast as if she'd anticipated his lack of enthusiasm.

"I love you," she signed.

"We've spent a lot of time together lately," Wolfram said falteringly.

She shook her head. "Not lately. Always."

"Really?"

She looked up at him with a glare, her teary eyes full of frustration. "I look after you every time you're sick. I let you into the cellar whenever you want. You're the one I always come to for help."

"I never realised."

Lavender jabbed a finger in the direction of the castle. "Because you're always looking at her. She's pretty and noble and rich. You never looked at me."

Wolfram's heart twisted as he felt the sting of Ingrid's betrayal anew. "I'll never look at her that way again."

His admission seemed to take the edge off Lavender's anguish. "Why not?" she signed.

If he was going to tell anyone the truth, now was the time. He'd kept it bottled up for weeks, trying not to think about it, hoping it would go away of its own accord. Lavender had bared her heart to him. He didn't know how to feel about what she'd said, but it had been said honestly, openly, and to the one person she felt capable of sharing something so personal with. If she could share that with him, perhaps he could share something with her.

"That night," Wolfram said, fighting through a sudden pressure constricting his throat. "It was her. She made Petra poison Julia with her father's sleeping root. Robin and I went to confront her about it, and then–" He had to stop and swallow as a sickly feeling rose in his gut. "She's like two different people. She can act so kindly, and then be so horrible. I thought she was being kind that night. I didn't want to believe she really did it. She kissed me and took me to bed, and I thought I wanted it, but then she was cruel and selfish and she made it awful. She told me I'd raped her–I mean, she told me as if she really believed it–and said she'd tell her father if I spoke a word of the truth. I tried to leave with Robin, but then Aldrich and his friends came in. It wasn't just Dominic Ward. There were a dozen of them."

Lavender had taken his hand as he spoke. Wolfram immediately missed her touch when she let go to sign: "She's a liar. You'd never hurt someone like that."

"I'm glad you believe me. I feel such a fool."

"Me too."

Wolfram snorted a sad laugh and squeezed her hand. They said nothing for a while, but Lavender wiped her eyes and stopped crying. They had both bared their souls, and the world hadn't ended. Even if they didn't know where that left them, it was still an important moment.

"I'm not sure how I feel," Wolfram said eventually.

"It's alright," Lavender signed. "You don't love me. I understand."

Wolfram wasn't sure what to say without getting her hopes up. It was true; he didn't love her, not the way he'd loved Ingrid, at least. Lavender was more like a sister to him. They'd been friends for years, and he'd seldom thought about her the way he thought about other girls. But his love for Ingrid had been misguided. He'd fallen in love with a woman who only existed in his mind. He'd never really understood her. Was what he'd felt even love at all?

He tried to think about what it would be like being married to Lavender, but he couldn't picture it. She wasn't unattractive, but Ingrid's beauty made other women seem dull by comparison. He thought about Lavender's kiss, and then, sheepishly, wondered what it would be like to sleep with her.

His thoughts immediately returned to the night with Ingrid. He remembered her calling him a stupid dog, the scrape of her fingernails on his scalp, the way she'd shuddered and moaned like a devil. He looked away from Lavender, not wanting to taint his feelings for her by associating them with that vile memory.

"You're my dearest friend," he said in a pained voice. "Dearer still after today."

She squeezed his hand and leaned on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

They didn't leave the cottage as Wolfram had planned. He decided to stay until his cast was off, during which time he and Lavender spent their days discussing the future. Now that he'd revealed the truth about Ingrid, Lavender was worried about what might happen. Ingrid had a hold over him now, and she could twist the knife whenever she wanted.

"It's no worse than the hold she had over me before," Wolfram said. "And I don't think she sees it that way. She's got her own world in her head. I don't know if she's pretending or if she really believes it, but I don't think she sees me as her enemy." He grimaced. "I'm like her stupid dog. One she's very fond of. As long as I don't cause any trouble for her, I think she'll keep thinking of me that way."

"But what will we do?" Lavender signed. "Can we tell Lord Erik the truth?"

"I want to, but I don't see how. It'll be my word against Ingrid's. Robin was the only other person who knew what happened. If he was still alive, we could've gone to Erik together."

"Petra knows."

"She'd never betray her mistress. God knows what Ingrid has her believing after all these years. Even if she told the truth, she'd be confessing to murder. The same goes for Aldrich and his men."

Lavender paused, tapping her fingers against her palm the way she always did when she lacked a sign for something. She went to the plaster wall at the foot of Wolfram's bed, picked up a piece of charcoal, and wrote: "Midwife."

A tingle ran down Wolfram's spine. Of course. Ellen Good was the one who'd stoked his suspicions about Petra in the first place. If they told her about Lord Erik's sleeping root, would she be willing to testify that Julia had been poisoned? The testimony of a wise woman was sometimes held in high regard when there was a lingering question over a person's death, but they could just as easily be dismissed as lunatics.

"Do people trust Ellen Good's word?" he asked.

Lavender nodded. "Why do you think they call her Good?"

"But Lord Erik threw her out of the castle that night. I don't know if he'll listen."

"We should talk to her. It can't hurt."

"I suppose not. If she's as wise as people say, maybe she'll have some ideas of her own."

"You'll have to go. I can't make people in the village understand me. And I can't ask Meg. She'll want to know why, then she'll let it slip to someone."

Wolfram gave her a half-smile. "She does like to gossip. I'll go as soon as my cast's off."

"When you're better," Lavender signed, her hands faltering in the process, "will you still walk with me?"

"Yes. Every evening after we finish our chores. We can have supper in the cottage, too."

"Won't you miss your friends?"

"I always used to spend my evenings with Robin. It'll be nice having something else to look forward to."

Lavender smiled. She was still sad that their time at the cottage was coming to an end, but now she would have something to look forward to as well. Neither of them would have to spend too much time dwelling on the happiness they'd lost.

And perhaps, with the help of Ellen Good, their absent friends might yet see justice.