The Tutor: A Novel by Andrea Chapin

Author:Andrea Chapin [Chapin, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical, Amazon, Retail, Paid-For
Goodreads: 22571611
Publisher: Riverhead Hardcover
Published: 2015-02-05T08:00:00+00:00

17

ou are raw-nerved,” said Isabel.

Katharine had not realized that her left hand was tapping the table. “I am sad, as you are, gentle Isabel.”

Isabel nodded and sighed. “I have wept. I have wept an ocean.”

Katharine pulled Isabel to her and gave her a motherly hug. “You were well loved by your father, and part of him will live on in you.”

“But my dear father will never know my children. He will never lay eyes on them.”

“Oh, he will see them,” said Katharine. “He sees you now, from his perch up high.” She gently wiped the tears from Isabel’s cheeks with her table napkin. “Come, eat. Yesterday was all famine for grief. Today you need fuel.”

In truth, Katharine was having a difficult time sitting at the table. She waved to the servant girl to bring more wine. Will had sent more stanzas. The folded sheets of paper Molly brought were inches thick. Had he slept?

In Sir Edward’s time, the dinner hour on Sunday was lively, always a banquet after mass with whomever was in residence or nearby—guests, family, neighbors. Even at Advent, when Edward observed the ancient abstinences, he still opened his hearth and home with whatever simple meals were allowed. But this Sunday, though Edward’s russet-limned chair still presided at the head of the grand table, Matilda was not present, nor was Ursula, Richard, or Matilda’s mother, Priscilla, who was gravely ill and could not rise from her bed.

Richard, who was making his way back from the witches’ trial at the Lancaster Assize, would be shocked by the news of his father and by the change in his wife, for Richard had departed for Lancaster soon after Ursula had taken to her bed in grief over Guinny’s demise. Katharine guessed Harold had caused Ursula’s unmending and prayed that time would heal her broken spirit.

“You have lectured Isabel to eat, Cousin Kate, but you have not touched a morsel,” said Joan.

Poor Joan was not yet fifteen but looked today as if she were past thirty, her mother Ursula’s age. Joan had gained a stone since the summer and thickened around her middle, neck and chin. Her eyes bespoke an anxiety beyond her years. Katharine pictured Ursula’s gaunt and bony form and imagined how Joan—nurse but never daughter—must have, these past few weeks, tried to convince her mother to eat.

“True, my dear.” Katharine dipped a corner of bread into her goblet of wine. “Tell me news of Ned,” she said to Isabel.

“Since my dear brother was soon leaving to return to us, when he received word Father’s condition had worsened he made haste from Italy to France. Ned rode through the night but failed to reach Father in time. If only God had willed it, Kate. I so wish someone from our family had been by his side when the angels did take him.” Isabel started to weep again.

“My dear,” said Katharine, “your noble father was surrounded by those who loved him. He was and is at peace.”

“Ned prayed at the priory

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