Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

Feeling only a little ashamed of himself, Josse resolved to do some gentle probing the next time Berthe came to see him.

He did not have long to wait. Towards the end of the morning, he heard her light step coming down the long ward of the infirmary and, leaning forward, he saw her approaching his bed.

‘I’ve brought you some bluebells,’ she said, proffering a small bunch. ‘Alba used to forbid us to pick them, because they would always droop so quickly and then she had to throw them away and wash out the jar. But Meriel says — Meriel used to say the smell was so perfect.’

A pink blush was creeping up the girl’s face. Dear child, Josse thought, lying doesn’t really suit you. ‘Thank you,’ he said, pretending he hadn’t noticed either the slip or the blush. ‘Have you been into the forest?’

‘Yes! But only a little way, the nuns told me it’s easy to become lost.’

‘The nuns were quite right.’ He pretended to be preoccupied with the bluebells while he thought how to proceed. Berthe was on her guard, he realised, so questions pertaining directly to Meriel were probably not the best way. After a moment, he said, ‘There were woods near where I grew up. One of my earliest memories is of picking flowers with my mother.’

‘We used to do that, too, Mother and Meriel and me!’ Berthe responded, with such innocent pleasure that Josse cringed at his own duplicity. ‘Sometimes when Father wasn’t there, Mother used to pack up food, and we’d be out all day. Once we made a pretend house out of dead branches and stuff, and Mother even let us have a fire. We had to make a proper hearth — she showed us how, using stones from the stream as a surround so that the fire didn’t burn out of control. After Mother died, sometimes Meriel and I-’

Too late, she heard her own words.

Josse began to say, ‘It’s all right, Berthe, we’d already-’ But, observing with alarm the girl’s face, he stopped.

Berthe had gone deadly white, and had thrust her knuckle so hard into her mouth that she had drawn blood. She was rocking to and fro in a compulsive, persistent rhythm that was dreadful to watch, emitting all the time a soft, high-pitched keening.

Josse opened his arms to her. After an instant’s indecision, she threw herself against him and began to sob.

She even sobs quietly, he thought, compassion for her drenching his heart. As if crying out loud were likely to earn her a punishment. Poor lass, what can her life have been like?

When the crying subsided, he said very softly, ‘Berthe my love, we had guessed that some of what you have told us wasn’t quite true. We also understand that sometimes people have to tell a lie. It may be to protect somebody else, or it may be because someone is threatening to hurt them if they tell the truth. Which means, sweeting, that a lie isn’t always a bad thing.’

She said, her voice muffled, ‘Father beat us if we lied. He beat us with a belt, and the buckle used to cut our shoulders.’

He stroked the thin back with his left hand. ‘Your father can no longer hurt you, Berthe. You don’t have to tell lies for him any more.’

‘Alba can hurt me,’ Berthe whispered.

‘Not all the time she’s imprisoned.’

Berthe raised her face and stared at him. ‘How long will that be?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘She certainly won’t be released until Abbess Helewise comes back.’

‘I like Abbess Helewise,’ Berthe remarked.

‘She likes you, too.’

‘Does she? How do you know?’

‘She told me.’

‘You’re friends, aren’t you? You and the Abbess?’

‘We are.’

She frowned. ‘I didn’t like it when she asked me about Alba. Before she went away, I mean. She asked if I knew the name of the place where Alba went to be a nun, and I couldn’t tell her because I don’t know.’

‘If you didn’t know, then you couldn’t possibly tell her,’ Josse said reasonably.

‘Yes, but you see, there were other things I could have told her but I didn’t,’ Berthe persisted. ‘And it’s not fair, when she’s been so kind to me.’ The girl was still half-lying on Josse’s bed; now she drew up her legs and settled against him, like a puppy curling up to its dam. ‘I wish she were here.’

Josse sensed the thought forming in her. He held his peace; if he were to suggest it, she might clam up. .

She said presently, ‘I suppose I could tell you . You’re her friend, you just said so, and so telling you would be almost as good. Wouldn’t it?’

This child is suffering from a heavy conscience, Josse thought. The urge to unburden herself is strong.

Hoping he was doing the right thing, he said, ‘Yes, Berthe. And whatever you tell me, I promise to pass on to Abbess Helewise, as soon as she gets back.’

Berthe gave a soft little sigh. Then: ‘My mother died a long time ago. I don’t know why Alba said we had to say she died when Father did, and I didn’t like saying it. Mother was loving and kind. Father wasn’t kind at all, and it didn’t seem right to pretend that they’d died together, because if Mother had died just recently, when Father did, then we’d really be grieving for her. I didn’t like people seeing I wasn’t sad, and thinking it meant I hadn’t loved my mother. Do you see what I mean?’

‘Very clearly.’ Josse gave her a hug. Then he asked, ‘Berthe, you just said you didn’t know why you had to pretend your mother had only just died. But, if you’re really clever, and puzzle at it terribly hard, do you think you could have a guess?’

Berthe though for a while. Then she said tentatively, ‘Perhaps it was because Alba knew we weren’t really unhappy over Father dying. So if people knew the truth — that it was really only Father who’d just died — they’d think there wasn’t any real excuse for her taking us away from our old home.’

Josse thought he understood. ‘She needed a convincing story to cover her action in getting you all away from the area,’ he said slowly. ‘And so she said it was the shock and the grief of losing both your father and your greatly-beloved mother.’

‘Mm,’ Berthe said. She was humming gently to herself, and he sensed that the confession had done her good. With a gentle push, he said, ‘Berthe, will you go and find a jar? The bluebells need to be put in water.’

‘All right,’ she said.

He watched idly as she went off towards the bench where jugs of water were kept. She approached Sister Beata, who bent down to listen, then pointed towards a shelf under the bench.

He was thinking hard. Yes. It was beginning to make sense. The father’s death would have made the girls homeless, but, without the false grief, there was no reason for the sisters to go so far away. The logical thing would surely have been for Alba to find some place locally for her sisters, then return to her Ely convent.

Josse was coming to the conclusion that arranging a new home for Meriel and Berthe had not been the reason behind Alba’s actions at all. What she had been desperate to do was to get herself or her sisters, or possibly all three of them, away from their old home.

A very long way away.

And why ?

Suddenly he understood why Alba had been so agitated when Berthe was sent down to work with the pilgrims visiting the Holy Shrine in the Vale. She was terrified that somebody from their old home would arrive and recognise the girl.

Something else was tapping at the edge of his mind. . something that had worried him before, the day Helewise had told him about the murdered pilgrim. .

It would not come into focus. Deliberately he thought about something else. Look at Berthe down there, stopping to let that old woman with the crippled foot smell the bluebells — enchanting, sweet-natured child she is. .