Alys Clare - Dark Night Hidden

‘Indeed? Do you know which woman?’

‘No, Sir Josse.’ She gave a very faint smile, quickly gone. ‘And even if I did, I am not sure that I would tell you. The idea that a heavily pregnant woman or a recently delivered mother would creep out of the Abbey, locate Father Micah out on the road and break his neck is, as I am sure you will agree, unlikely.’

‘Aye,’ he said softly. ‘But women have men friends, do they not?’

‘If they bear a baby then yes, they must have had on one occasion at least,’ she replied tartly. ‘So now we have an outraged expectant or new father murdering a priest because he insulted the man’s woman? Really, Sir Josse! I think not.’

‘Nevertheless, my lady, I must have your permission to ask the women in the hostel a few questions.’ She did not answer. ‘I will be gentle with them, you have my word.’

Her anger seemed to vanish as quickly as it had arisen. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I know, too, that you understand the ways of the world a little better than poor Father Micah did. That you are well aware of the lives those women lead and you realise that to spend them in vice and sin is not necessarily their choice.’

He bowed his head. ‘Aye, I do. And thank you.’

Somehow, he thought, the interview had become emotional again. Casting around for a simple question with no dangerous undercurrents whatsoever, he said, ‘Do you know what Father Micah did after leaving you?’

‘He went to see the brethren in the Vale,’ she answered. ‘I know that because later Brother Firmin came to see me in some distress. He, too, had been the recipient of a tongue whipping.’ With a sudden flash of her usual smile, she said, ‘But I don’t suppose dear old Firmin broke Father Micah’s neck any more than I did.’

‘No.’ He grinned back. ‘Even less likely a candidate, I should imagine.’ He thought — but managed not to say — that the old monk’s hands were nowhere near as strong as hers.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Sir Josse, I’ve just remembered something! You’ll have to seek out Brother Firmin for the full story, but he — Firmin — told me where Father Micah was going next. I don’t in fact know if he meant straight away or some time in the next few days, but Brother Firmin said that the Father spoke of calls he had to make, one to a nobleman or something, one to-’ She frowned as she tried to recall. ‘No, it’s gone. It was something rather horrible, I seem to remember. . Something that made me recoil and think, oh, yes, that sounds like Father Micah.’ There was silence for a moment as she tried to bring the details to mind. ‘No. I’m sorry, Sir Josse, you’ll have to ask Brother Firmin.’

He was already opening the door. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘As soon as I’ve called in on the women in the hostel. Thank you, my lady,’ he added belatedly. ‘You have been very helpful.’

Then he closed the door and, breaking into a sprint, headed off along the cloister.

He was not sure what he had expected to find, but Hawkenlye’s home for fallen women quite surprised him. For one thing, it was tidy and spotlessly clean; I am prejudiced, he told himself sternly, I believe squalor and filth to be the natural state of prostitutes rather than conditions brought about by abject poverty. For another thing, there was a decided air of happiness, of joy, about the hostel. He could hear soft female voices talking quietly and then someone laughed. He caught the gentle strains of a lullaby; one of the new mothers must be rocking her baby to sleep.

Standing just inside the door, he attracted the eye of a young, plump nun and raised his eyebrows in enquiry. She came gliding up to him across the polished flagstones. ‘Yes?’

‘I am Josse d’Acquin,’ he said. ‘May I speak to your — er, the women?’

‘It’ll be about that priest that’s upped and died,’ the young nun said sagely. ‘Because we wear the habit of obedience and love of God, I cannot but pray for him. But in truth, Sir Josse, I-’

She managed to swallow the remark she was about to make. Studying her flushed face and the way in which she had tightened her generous lips, as if to hold the words in by force, Josse guessed that it took quite an effort.

‘Father Micah visited the women yesterday, I am told,’ he said. ‘I would like to ask them what happened.’

‘Of course. Follow me.’

He did as he was bid. The nun took him through an area of the room where there were six beds, only three of which showed evidence of present occupancy. They then went through an archway into a second area where there were more beds and more space around them. ‘This,’ the nun said, ‘is where the mothers and babies are cared for.’

‘How many are here at present, Sister — er, I do not know your name.’

‘I am Sister Clare. We’ve three pregnant women, although one I believe to be in labour. It is her first confinement and she is very nervous’ — Sister Clare’s voice had dropped to a whisper — ‘so it may be merely anxiety that is making her think she feels her pains.’

‘Ah.’ He really could think of no fuller response.

‘And we have two newly delivered mothers,’ Sister Clare went on. ‘Come and meet them.’

There followed an extraordinary spell. Josse was introduced to Gemma, Bertha and Belle, all round and slow in advanced pregnancy, to Jehane, cradling a sleeping baby, and to Alisoun, calmly feeding a robust-looking infant as she talked. They were all eager to tell their visitor about Father Micah and to repeat the dreadful things he had said. Repeating them brought tears to the eyes of young Belle and she had to be led away and comforted by Sister Clare.

‘It’s her time,’ Alisoun confided to Josse. ‘She’s scared, see, and that foul-mouthed bastard of a priest didn’t help her.’

‘The man is dead,’ Josse reminded her quietly.

‘Good riddance,’ Alisoun flashed back. Her baby, apparently picking up her mother’s anger and disliking it, detached her perfect, pink mouth from the milky nipple and let out a wail of protest. Alisoun, love in her face and tenderness in her large, rough hands, replaced her nipple with infinite gentleness and the child resumed her suckling.

What am I doing here? Josse wondered. It is surely impossible that any of these women was abroad last night intent on waylaying Father Micah and breaking his neck. But, having made the effort to come to talk to them, it made sense to see it through.

‘Er — you were all here in the hostel last night?’ He felt a fool even as he asked.

Alisoun laughed. Jehane said, ‘Aye, that we were. We did wonder if Gemma here might chase after the priest and attempt to carry out what she suggested he do to himself, but she decided after all to stay here in the warm.’

He knew he shouldn’t, but he asked anyway. ‘And what was that suggestion?’

There was quite a lot more laughter and, as Gemma told him, he joined in. Turning to her, he said, still chuckling, ‘I believe that lets you out, Gemma. He certainly wasn’t killed like that .’

There was one thing he still had to ask. It was, he thought, trying to find the right words, even more tricky than asking if any of them had left the hostel last night.

‘You have — er, that is, do you receive visits from your — er, the babies’ fathers? Or other men?’

More laughter. Then Alisoun said, her expression deceptively innocent, ‘We wouldn’t mind, sir knight, only the nuns don’t take kindly to us keeping company in here.’ Dropping to a whisper, she added, ‘They’re trying to cure us of earning our bread on our backs, see, not encourage it.’

Again, he joined in the merriment. Then, as the laughter subsided, he said, ‘I am afraid, though, that I have to pursue this. Did any of you tell anyone on the outside about Father Micah’s visit? He was unforgivably rude, I know, and I just wondered if. .’