And what is more, you only keep to one lover at a time! Is the man a eunuch?’ Huffing, Hélène leaned back against the wall. ‘I don’t understand it. There must have been something…There were no angry words between you?’
‘No, madame.’
‘You didn’t mention Raymond, did you?’
Frida lowered her gaze.
‘You did! Oh, you foolish, foolish girl, I told you, not a word about Raymond. Most men wouldn’t care about such things, but some are more choosy. Some men like to pretend their belle amie has only known them. Such a man would not want to hear his lover is pining for another, even if he is paying for her services.’
Frida’s eyes glittered, a tear sparkled on one of her lashes. ‘I only asked him if he knew how Raymond had died.’
Hélène made a sound of disapproval, but her eyes were kind. ‘I suppose you had to. Did he know?’
Shoulders slumped, Frida shook her head. ‘I do not think so. Sir Richard said something about the fighting in the north being hard and…and bloody. I don’t think he saw Raymond fall. I know it was stupid of me—how can a commander be expected to watch every one of his men at every moment? It was just, I hoped…’ Her voice trailed off and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
‘Frida, you allowed yourself to get too fond of Raymond, I did counsel you against it.’
‘I remember. I know I should not have mentioned him to Sir Richard and am sorry for it.’ Frida lifted her eyes. ‘It was not easy making myself understood, and not easy understanding him, either. That is why he turned me away.’
‘Because of his poor English?’
‘Because I have no French. That, he said, was why we would not suit. I…I do not think it was because I asked about Raymond.’
It was Emma’s turn to direct a look of incredulity at Frida. ‘Sir Richard didn’t want you because you don’t speak Norman French?’
Frida began pleating the veil on her lap. ‘He can barely speak a word of English, and my French is just as bad. Apart from one or two…’ her lips edged up and she shot a glance at Henri who had returned and was single-mindedly cramming the last of his bread into his mouth ‘…choice words. But I did manage to gather that Sir Richard’s English deserts him completely at times.’
‘He wants conversation?’ Hélène’s expression was all confusion. ‘With a woman? Lord, the man has changed. I know he took an arrow to the shoulder near York, but perhaps another part of his anatomy was affected.’
Frida made a negative gesture and a flash of humour lifted the edges of her mouth. ‘I did not see that part of him, but the rest looked perfectly hale. Oh, yes.’ Rising, she turned for the stairs to the loft room where the girls kept their belongings. At the foot of the stair she looked back. ‘I can’t say I am sorry, though, he seemed detached to me, very detached. It chilled me. Despite all those muscles, I am not sure I would want him as my…admirer.’ Slowly, she continued up the stairs.
The fire crackled. A dog ambled in from the street and flopped down by the hearth.
‘Frida, turned down by Sir Richard.’ Hélène shook her head. ‘I would never have believed it.’
There was more here, Emma sensed. ‘Oh?’
‘The man has something of a reputation, which is odd when you consider he himself has never actually visited the Staple.’
‘Really?’
Seeing Emma’s look of disbelief, Hélène laughed. ‘No, never. This is the best place for miles. My girls are clean, they are well fed and they know better than to steal—a man likes to know that his silver is safe while he—’
Emma cleared her throat and jerked her head pointedly at Henri, whose round blue eyes were taking in Hélène’s every word.
‘As I was saying, dear, my girls are honest. And knowing Sir Richard’s reputation, I was surprised that he never patronised us. Then this morning his man appeared—’
‘His squire, Geoffrey?’
‘I think that was the name. You would think Sir Richard would like to pick his own girl, wouldn’t you? I would if I were a man. Not him.’ She paused, brow puckered. ‘Perhaps that is what Frida meant when she said he was cold. No matter. He refused her, my best girl—I don’t understand it. What can he want?’
Emma’s heart began to thud. ‘Send me.’
‘Eh?’
‘Send me.’ She gave a smile and knew it was twisted. ‘I can wear the pink gown.’
‘Are you mad? You’re not one of us, you can’t…’
‘Think I don’t know what to do?’ Emma ruffled her son’s hair. ‘Here’s proof.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! Your reputation…’
‘What reputation? I am nithing, Hélène, I have fallen from grace, and this child, this bas—’
Gasping, Hélène clapped her hands over Henri’s ears. ‘Emma, have a care!’
Rising abruptly, Emma began pacing up and down in front of the wine barrel. ‘Let him hear, Hélène, let him hear, he will hear soon enough, so why not from me? Like most of the girls here, I am a—’ conscious of listening ears, Emma lowered her voice ‘—a fallen woman. Exactly as you are.’
‘But your birth! Your father was—’
‘I am like you, my friend.’
Hélène’s lips curved, but she shook her head. ‘You are not like us, indeed, Emma, you are not.’
‘How so?’
Hélène leaned forwards. ‘You are not truly fallen, not in the way me and my girls are.’ Emma made an impatient movement, but Hélène rushed on. ‘Oh, to be sure you have an illegitimate child, you committed the sin of fornication, but you did it for love.’
‘I don’t love Ju…him. I don’t!’
‘You don’t today, but you did at the time. Whereas we—apart from the occasional aberration like Frida with her Raymond—we do it purely for coin. There’s a difference. You, my dear, are not truly fallen. Neither are you nithing.’
Emma’s eyes prickled. ‘Only you, my friend, would see it that way.’
One of Hélène’s brows arched upwards. ‘Don’t forget Gytha, she is your friend, too. There’sAediva too, and Frida, and Marie…’
Emma had to laugh. ‘Point conceded, I have many good friends. But most of the townsfolk see me as fallen.’
‘Leofwine doesn’t. Nor does your sister, for that matter.’
‘No. But seriously, Hélène, I need your help.’
‘There
