The Bishop’s Tale Read Online Free PDF Page A

complexion, she was still pale-fair. It was not difficult to see how she had married twice into the high nobility, even putting her father’s wealth aside.
     
    Alice’s husband, William, the earl of Suffolk, had also risen to be introduced. He was taller than Alice, his brown hair attractively graying at the temples, his demeanor suitably grave. But he had a merry mouth, given to laughter at other times, Frevisse supposed. He was handsome in the expected ways—his strong features even, his jaw firm, his brow broad, his nose well-shaped. He made a striking mate to Alice; their children should be good to look on. But he patted Frevisse’s hand with condescending comfort after he had bowed to kiss it, and as he spoke a few sentences perfectly suited to the occasion, he was more aware of how well he said them than whether they were a comfort to her. Frevisse decided she would avoid him as much as possible.
     
    The arrival of servants with supper freed Frevisse from receiving other condolences. Alice and Suffolk and most of the others were going down to dine in the hall with the household, but Aunt Matilda was to dine in the parlor with Bishop Beaufort. “And I’d have you dine here, too, my dear. With your—Dame Perpetua? You’re both exhausted, I’m sure, and this will be so much easier than the hall.”
     
    Frevisse readily agreed. As the small table was set up, she went aside to where Dame Perpetua had fallen into quiet conversation with the priest who had brought Frevisse from the chapel. He was apparently staying to dine, too, and acknowledged her approach with a slight inclination of his head.
     
    Dame Perpetua made the introductions. “This is Sir Philip. He’s been priest here—” She looked at him questioningly. “Three years now?”
     
    “Come Advent,” he agreed.
     
    Frevisse bowed her head slightly in return. “Sir Philip.”
     
    “Dame Frevisse.”
     
    His voice was pleasant, even and well-modulated, matching the good bones of a face that would have been handsome except for the deep pitting and white webbing of smallpox scars from chin to cheeks to temples. His black hair was a smooth cap clipped fashionably short above the ears, and his black priest’s gown, like the bishop’s, was of rich wool despite its conservative cut. Unlike the bishop, he wore no jewels except a single, deeply etched gold ring, but it was plain he was no poor priest eking out a living on the margins of the Church; his manners were as smooth as any courtier’s. The three of them made polite talk concerning the weather and the discomforts of travel until they were called to the table.
     
    Conversation at the meal was strange in its normalcy, as if they had come together for the pleasure of each other’s company. It began predictably with Aunt Matilda’s comments on the bad weather. She was kind to include Dame Perpetua in her questions and comments, and Dame Perpetua was careful never to presume too much familiarity in her answers. She had been brought up in a home much like this, had learned to be both gentle and detailed in her manners. That was one of the reasons Domina Edith had chosen her for Dame Frevisse’s companion. “She will not add to your troubles, nor disgrace the nunnery with forward ways,” the prioress had said.
     
    Indeed, Dame Perpetua replied quietly and gracefully to anything said to her, and when the conversation went away from her, she let it go. She might have been totally unaware of the importance of Bishop Beaufort seated imposingly to her right at one end of the table, so perfect was her demeanor.
     
    For Frevisse it was less easy to be so gracious. Her aunt’s bright, familiar chatter was strained over a real and lacerating grief. And beyond that, Frevisse was uncomfortably aware that Bishop Beaufort was still watching her beyond the social needs of the moment. Frevisse did not want his interest. She wanted the evening to be over and to be alone in bed with her thoughts and