Alys Clare - Girl In A Red Tunic

Rohaise seemed to be responding to Sister Euphemia’s dedicated attempts to help her, although whether it was the herbal remedies or the infirmarer’s store of wisdom and loving-kindness that was making her better it was impossible to say. But, away from one, at least, of the dark spectres that she had believed were stalking her back home at the Old Manor, her spirits lifted considerably and, as her terrors receded, her intelligence and practical good sense were able to come to the fore. Like Josse, she did not need prompting to realise that there were no beds now in the infirmary for the undeserving; she vacated her little recess, moved her few belongings to the guest room where Leofgar and Timus had been put up and announced to Sister Euphemia that she would really like to help and what could she do for her? Sister Euphemia was not one to refuse such an offer and soon Rohaise could be seen, her russet gown covered by a white apron, busy on the many basic nursing tasks within her admittedly limited ability. But someone had to do them, Rohaise reasoned, and if she was that someone, then it left the skilled nurses free to get on with more exacting tasks.

Sister Euphemia watched and took note. As Rohaise’s colour and mood improved with the more she had to occupy her mind and her hands, the infirmarer observed to the Abbess that possibly a part of the young woman’s problem all along had been too much time in which to think up fanciful notions. Had Helewise not recently had a certain conversation with her son, she might have agreed; as it was, she took Sister Euph emia aside and quietly told her what had happened back at the Old Manor.

‘The priest did what ?’ the infirmarer hissed, scarlet with indignation.

‘He suggested to Rohaise that poor little Timus is a change ling and that her real son has been spirited away.’

Sister Euphemia was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘And we’re told to obey these priests and any nonsense they cook up without question,’ she muttered, not quite far enough under her breath for her superior not to hear.

Helewise, however, decided to let it pass. It would have been difficult, she realised, to criticise dear Euphemia for expressing a sentiment which she herself was fighting so hard not to let take root in her mind.

‘You really think that Rohaise improves?’ she asked instead.

Distracted from her muttering, Sister Euphemia stared along the infirmary to where Rohaise was crouching down beside a very old woman and, with infinite patience, encouraging her to take sips of broth from a small wooden spoon. The sips were so tiny, and the woman’s rate of drinking so slow, that it looked as if Rohaise would be there for some time, but that did not dim the encouraging smile on her face.

‘Aye,’ Sister Euphemia said, ‘she’s improving all right. Next test’ll be to see how she is with that lovely little grandson of yours, my lady.’

The little grandson was having a wonderful time.

Fourteen months was too young for him to have any understanding of the things that had happened back at home; all he knew was that his mother had cried a lot and his father had looked angry. Or worried. Or very upset. Or all three at once. Nobody had had much time for Timus and he had been sad and lonely even before-

He did not think of that. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, because something in his mind had blocked it off. He remembered that there was something that had been very, very frightening but he did not know what it was. He had been afraid to utter the chattering sounds that he used to make in case … In case what? He couldn’t remember that, either. And he had really been afraid to laugh because not only was there nothing to laugh at, but also someone might hear him. He could not quite think why, but he knew that must not be allowed to happen. His mother and his father had been so strange that he hadn’t wanted to be with them and no funny things had happened like they usually did, such as his father making silly faces and pretending to be a horse. Then they had come here, to this big place with all the women dressed alike in black and white, and the big man in the bed had done that funny thing with his thumb and Timus had giggled. Nobody had been cross with him; in fact the big man had done another trick and Timus had been so entranced that he’d said the one word he could say: More ! That had been all right, too, and the big man was now just about Timus’s favourite person and he sought him out whenever he could so that the big man would pick him up — Timus wasn’t very good at walking yet and could only manage a few tottering paces at a time — and the man would cuddle him in those strong arms. Timus felt really, really safe with the big man. The big man was nice .

Today it was very cold and Timus’s father had wrapped him up in lots of bulky clothes before letting him leave the room where they were staying. Then they had gone out into a long alley with pillars along one side and his father and the big man had helped him with his walking. His father put Timus on the ground and told him to walk to the big man, which he did. The big man picked him up and said ‘Well done, Timus!’, then put him down again and told him to walk back to his father. Timus did this several times and realised that he was taking a few more steps each time. Then he missed his footing and sat down quite hard on his bottom, which didn’t hurt at all because of all the clothes he was wearing, but his father said it was enough for now and he and the big man took Timus off to the place where they served the food and he had a hot drink and a sweet cake with currants in it. The cake was so delicious that he would have liked another and so he tried out his word again: ‘More?’ But the fat lady with the black veil and the white cloth round her red-cheeked face looked very sad and she shook her head and said sorry but one was all she could spare. Timus felt sad that she was sorry and he gave her a big smile and reached up to take her hand, at which two big tears welled up in the fat lady’s eyes and she said, ‘Oh, the little love! And to think that anyone could say he-’ But the big man gave her a nudge and she stopped what she was saying.

And Timus still didn’t get another cake.

The Abbess might believe that what her son had confided in her remained a secret known, apart from Leofgar and Rohaise, only to Josse, the infirmarer and herself. But the very air of Hawkenlye seemed to have the ability to pass on whispered confidences and within a day, almost everybody knew that some well-meaning (most nuns were tolerant people when it came to the clergy) but misguided priest had told the Abbess’s poor daughter-in-law that her little boy had been snatched by evil spirits who had left one of their own in his place. Virtually all the nuns — and several of the monks, who soon heard the tale too — found some excuse to have a peep at the child and not one of them saw anything but a normal, smiling, healthy little human boy. Their sympathy would have been engaged even had the child not been their Abbess’s grandson; since he was, the emanations of love that surrounded the little boy wherever he went served only to increase the incomprehensible but very lovely feeling that life, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, was all right again.

If only he could have a little more to eat …

Food was uppermost in Timus’s grandmother’s mind as she sat in her room wrestling with herself as she tried hopelessly to make one bag of flour do the work of four. She had just returned from yet another round of the Abbey and seen for herself what she could no longer ignore: the underlying cause of Hawkenlye’s sudden popularity was that the people outside its walls were slowly starving and had come for help to the only place they could think of.