The Illuminator by Brenda Rickman Vantrease Read Free Book Online Page B

indulge your temper and swear like a rogue while in the company of villeins but you will not do so in the presence of your mother.”
    This time, he did hang his head. But in shame or merely to hide an insolent expression? Whichever, she resolved to soften her manner. A wise mother did not provoke her son to wrath.
    â€œI have hit upon a plan to rid us of the priest whose company you find so confining,” she said. “Though a few prayers would not hurt any of us.However, I don’t see why we should be forced to pay for them. I don’t recall that our Lord charged for his services.”
    â€œWho is our lodger, then, and how will he keep the priest away?”
    â€œ
They,
not
he.
There will be two of them. A man and his daughter. The abbot at Broomholm has asked us to lodge them as a favor to the abbey, and what’s more, he’s willing to pay. Between the king’s purveyances and the rising cost of prayers, you’ll have nothing left to inherit if the bleeding isn’t stopped.”
    â€œBut, I still don’t understand. How will—”
    â€œDon’t be such a dullard. If we befriend the abbot, he will befriend us. The lodger is an illuminator of some renown who is coming to illustrate a Gospel for the abbey. He could not stay with the brothers there because of his daughter.”
    Alfred’s face lit up like sunshine breaking through a cloud. “How old is the daughter? ”
    The light from the north-facing window poured over the boy as he hoisted himself up onto the desk and sat facing her, swinging his legs, curiosity chasing away any resentment at his mother’s tongue-lashing. No wonder the girls flitted after him like swallowtails to bluebells. It lightened her own heart just to look at his merry eyes and toothy grin, but she would not let it show.
    â€œIt can make no difference to you. You will have nothing to do with the illuminator’s daughter. Do you understand me, Alfred?”
    He held up both hands in a gesture designed to halt the rising pitch of her voice.
    â€œJust curious, that’s all. She’s probably ugly as a crow, anyway.” He laughed as he slid off his perch. The light behind him backlit his unruly mane of copper hair, making it into a fiery halo. He scowled petulantly. “Does that mean we have to go back to praying the hours, since we have a spy from the abbey?”
    â€œI don’t think so.” She absently fingered the jet beads of the rosary at her belt. “A small demonstration of our religious devotion is probably all that’s required. You can manage a daily visit to the chapel, can’t you? That should be enough. After all, the man’s an artist, not a monk.”
    â€œAnd nobody at Blackingham has need of a monk, right, Mother?”
    Ignoring her son’s impudence, Lady Kathryn turned her back on him and strode from the room.

    The illuminator and his daughter came on Friday. At midday on every other Friday, Lady Kathryn met with Simpson in the great hall on matters of the estate. She rarely looked forward to these meetings, and today was no exception. But she had two important matters to discuss with the overseer, and she hoped to cover both before the arrival of her lodgers.
    The first concerned a plea from one of her crofters. The woman, one of the weavers, had come to her, distraught and weeping. Simpson had taken her youngest daughter as a house servant. As steward, he was within his rights to do so, since both mother and child were serfs. The mother was not one of the free women who worked for rent and a pittance wage, so Lady Kathryn was her only recourse. Kathryn had promised the woman she would see that her daughter was returned. And so she would. The steward’s action was intolerable. Not only was the welfare of the child at stake, but the mother, as one of Blackingham’s best weavers, would pass the skill on to her daughter. Kathryn would have prevented it without the