Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

For Abbess Madelina, surprise quite evident in her face, was slowly shaking her head. ‘Abbess Helewise, we must be speaking of two different women after all. Our Alba had no sisters; she was an only child.’

It took a moment for the two Abbesses to reach the clear conclusion that Alba had lied to Abbess Madelina about being an only child, as well as about so much else.

But why ?

‘If the parents were living when Alba came here to Sedgebeck,’ Helewise ventured, ‘then, in truth, the little sisters were not her responsibility. But, once the parents were dead — and I should say, Abbess Madelina, that there are doubts about whether they died together, as Alba says, or whether in fact the mother died some time ago and the father but recently — then she could no longer ignore the girls.’

‘Hmmm. I think,’ Abbess Madelina said, ‘that your next step must be to seek out the former family home. Assuming that you have been told where it was. I am afraid we were not.’

‘I have been informed,’ Helewise reassured her. ‘Berthe told me.’

‘Good. Much as I should like you to stay here with us and rest for a few days after your long journey, I do feel that we have told you all that we are able to. And every day you remain here is another day for the trail, if indeed there is one, to go cold.’

‘Indeed,’ Helewise agreed. ‘And another day that Meriel is missing and possibly in danger.’

‘Missing?’

Helewise realised that she had not yet told Abbess Madelina about that. Nor, indeed, about the slain pilgrim found on the path in the Vale. Trying to minimise her distress — and with the distinct feeling that she was not succeeding very well — she explained.

Shaking her head in dismay, Abbess Madelina said as Helewise finished speaking, ‘I shall pray for you, Abbess. I shall keep you with me in my thoughts, and, if you will permit, I shall ask Sister Celestine to ask the Lord to aid you.’

Helewise and the two lay brothers set out from Sedgebeck after joining the sisters for their noon meal. Helewise was quite sure that the kindly nuns had shared more of their precious stores with their guests than was prudent, for the meal was very good, and the portions were generous.

She had told the brothers where they were bound for next. ‘We only have the single name, Medely, to guide us,’ she had said as they set out, ‘and, for all I know, it may be but a tiny hamlet. None of the Sedgebeck sisters knew of it when we asked them over dinner.’

Brother Saul suggested enquiring at Ely. But Augustine said, ‘I once went to a place called Medely Birdbeck. There was a fair there, and we put on a show for them.’

Wondering whether Abbess Madelina’s prayers were already having an effect, Helewise said, ‘Let’s begin there, then.’

It was not a long ride to Medely Birdbeck. But, far from being the substantial and thriving place that Helewise had been expecting — fairs, after all, were not held in the middle of nowhere — it proved to be all but deserted.

There were more than twenty dwellings, set around a pond fringed with willows, and a crossroads met in the middle of the village. But most of the dwellings were quite obviously uninhabited. Smoke was coming out of only two or three chimneys.

‘What has happened here?’ Helewise whispered. The sense of dread before the unknown — never far away, all the time that she had been in the Fens — came rushing back.

‘They suffer greatly from the ague hereabouts,’ Augustine said, his face falling into lines of sorrow as he stared out towards the empty stretch of ground leading down to the pond. ‘They do say it’s spread by the biting flies, which bring the sweating, feverish sickness. It’s accompanied by a trembling so violent that it fair shakes a man to pieces. The strong can survive, but the young and the elderly. .’ He did not finish his sentence.

‘And they have all died here?’ Helewise said.

Augustine shrugged. ‘I cannot say for sure, Abbess, but it seems likely. I’ve seen places like this before. We never used to stay around to ask, though. Better not to linger, where the sickness has already claimed so many.’

Helewise had a sudden sharp awareness of what she was asking of these two loyal men. ‘You are quite right, Augustine,’ she said. ‘You and Brother Saul must retreat to — well, to whatever you feel is a safe distance while I go on and-’

Both the brothers spoke together. Brother Saul said, ‘You must not go on alone, Abbess, there may be desperate ruffians lurking,’ and Brother Augustine said, ‘The biting flies are worst in the warm dampness of summer, there is nothing to fear from them now.’

Despite herself, Helewise laughed. ‘How convincing you both are,’ she murmured. ‘Very well. Let’s see if one of those smoking chimneys belongs to the house of somebody who can help us.’

The first occupied house was temporarily empty, although there was a pot of something simmering over the fire, and a small child lay asleep under a patched blanket.

The door of the next house opened a crack as they approached, and an old man stuck his head out. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘We seek news of a family that once lived hereabouts,’ Helewise said.

‘Eh?’ He stuck his head out further. ‘A nun! You’re a nun!’ The sight of her seemed to reassure him, and he opened the door a little wider. ‘What family? You’ll be lucky if they’re still alive, we had the sickness bad, lost many of our number. Some that didn’t fall ill have fled. Couldn’t say where.’

‘I believe that the husband and possibly the wife of this family have died of the sickness,’ Helewise replied. ‘They were smallholders who rented their farm, and they had three daughters, one of whom became a nun, and-’

But the old man was already nodding enthusiastically. ‘That’ll be Alba,’ he said. ‘Aye, we all gave a cheer when that one ceased her meddling and took herself off to take the veil, even though most folks reckoned it were no more than fear of the ague as drove her to it.’

‘We know about Alba,’ Helewise said. ‘But can you help us over the rest of the family?’ She was aware that she was holding her breath; the prospect of possibly getting some answers at last was making her tremble with anticipation.

‘Well,’ the old man said, drawing out the word and eyeing his eager audience, ‘you’ve got it right about the lassies’ father dying. Wilfrid took sick and, for once, his enemy wasn’t someone he could bully into submission or cheat out of what was rightly his.’

‘I see,’ Helewise muttered.

‘Do you?’ The old man looked at her, a twinkle in his eye. ‘Yes, Sister, I see that you do. Anyway, like I says, Wilfrid got the ague, and shook himself apart within the sen’night. Not that many mourned him.’

‘What of the girls’ mother?’ Helewise prompted. ‘We heard she died then, too, but-’

‘No, no, no, no ,’ the old man interrupted. ‘Whoever told you that got it quite wrong. Adela — now, she was a saint and no mistake, loving, gentle woman she was, God rest her. But the Almighty took her to her rest many a year ago. Ten years, was it?’ He frowned at them in perplexity, as if they could answer his question.

‘What happened to the younger sisters when their father died?’ Helewise asked.

The old man put a gnarled finger alongside his nose. ‘That’d be telling,’ he said. ‘We knows what we knows, but as to if we ought to tell . . ’

Brother Saul spoke. ‘This lady is the Abbess of Hawkenlye,’ he said stiffly. ‘She has come all the way from Kent for the sake of Alba and her sisters, who have sought shelter there in the Abbey. If you have any information that can help her, then, in God’s holy name, I ask you to give it!’