Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

‘It ought to have made her happy.’ Berthe sounded puzzled. ‘But having nobody to fight with didn’t seem to suit her at all. I remember that, when she made up her mind to enter the cloister, she said something about having won her battle, so there was no need for her to stay at home.’ She shrugged. ‘I really have no idea what she meant.’

Berthe had sought him out in the cloister this morning. She came bearing a cushion and a warm woollen blanket; when he protested that he had no need of either, she ignored him as completely as Sister Euphemia would have done, and made him stand up while she placed the folded blanket beneath him and put the cushion between him and the rough stone wall. He had to admit he was far more comfortable like that.

He glanced at her face, trying to judge if she was up to a little gentle teasing. Her serene expression suggested that she was, so he said, ‘You know, Berthe, you really are picking up infirmary ways. If I hadn’t known it was you, I could have sworn that commanding voice and that refusal to listen to my protests was pure Sister Euphemia.’

To his delight, Berthe burst out laughing. ‘I’m delighted, Sir Josse!’ she said. He watched the dimples appearing and disappearing in her cheeks. ‘I have been modelling myself on her, but I had no idea I was doing so well!’

She had brought some needlework with her. Settling herself beside him, she took some garment in soft white cloth from an embroidered workbag and, threading her needle, began to repair a seam.

They made the occasional comment to one another but, in the main, sat in a happy, companionable silence.

She sat with him for much of the day. She was quite radiant, Josse noticed; he was now as sure as he could be that she knew perfectly well that Meriel was safe. And, probably, that the two were in contact. Berthe, he observed, never spoke to him of Meriel’s disappearance. He liked to think it was because she was now too fond of him to tell him lies.

For the fifth time, he made her put aside her sewing and hurry across to the gates, to look out along the road and see if there were any sign of three weary riders approaching the Abbey. The first four times, she had come hurrying back shaking her head.

This time was different.

He could tell by the way she stiffened as she looked down the road that she had spotted something. Watching, he saw her put up a hand to shade her eyes. Then, when she was certain, she started jumping up and down, waving her arms and shouting, ‘It’s her! It’s Abbess Helewise! She’s back !’

He did not push forward to greet the Abbess straight away. Others had precedence. From his seat in the cloister, he watched her go through what appeared to be a routine, as if, in this regimented life of devotion, there was even a prescribed way for an Abbess to return to her community.

He saw the senior nuns go in turn to see the Abbess in her room, and he assumed that they were reporting to her all that had happened in their particular departments during her absence. Some, it appeared, were more succinct than others; or perhaps less had happened in their areas of convent life.

Then there were the Offices; she would naturally be eager to attend those with her sisters.

All in all, it was dusk before she put her head out of her doorway and said, ‘Sir Josse? Will you come and speak with me?’

When the door was closed behind him, she came towards him with her arms open and said, ‘I am so happy to see you looking well! You have been in my heart all the time I have been away, and I have prayed for your recovery.’ She gave him a wide, beaming smile. ‘Sister Euphemia tells me you have been a model patient, listening to her advice, working with her, and with God, to bring about your healing. And now we see the result! Up and about all the long day, so I hear, and you look fine !’

He was responding to her delight, a smile spreading over his face. ‘I thank you for your concern, Abbess. Aye, I am well on the way to recovery.’ He studied her; she looked tired. ‘But what of you? Did you find Sister Alba’s convent? Were they able to answer your questions?’

She went to sit down in her chair, motioning him to be seated on the wooden stool that she kept for visitors. ‘We found the place, yes. And, although the good nuns did indeed provide some answers, those in turn posed more questions. Such as, why did Alba describe a totally different background to the Abbess of Sedgebeck from the one she revealed to me? According to that Alba, she was a spoiled, only child of an indulgent father.’ She sighed. ‘A very different woman from the one who tore herself from the place where she was so happy, in order to take her grieving, poverty-stricken, homeless younger sisters away to a new life.’

‘Which tale is the true one?’ he asked. ‘Have you any idea?’

She stared at him. ‘Yes. We managed to find the former family home. We spoke to a villager who confirmed that the girls’ mother died long since, and-’ Something in his expression must have alerted her. ‘But I think that you already know that, Sir Josse.’

He didn’t want to interrupt her story, so he just said, ‘Aye. Berthe told me. But I’ll explain when you’ve finished.’

She nodded. ‘Very well. The village has suffered recently from the sickness and many died, including the girls’ father. That part of Alba’s account is true. The farm was abandoned, the house empty. But, Sir Josse, our informant said that Meriel was already planning to take Berthe with her and leave the village, before Alba returned from Sedgebeck and brought them all here!’

‘Was she, now?’ Josse said slowly. That would fit, he thought, wouldn’t it? He wished his brain were not so sluggish; it seemed to work far less swiftly than before his illness. If Meriel’s plans had been torn apart by the bossy Alba, throwing her weight around and dragging her sisters far away into the depths of south-east England, would that not be grounds for Meriel’s subsequent misery?

A misery that, perhaps, was even now being relieved. .

He felt that he was on the very edge of understanding the mystery. If only, if only , he could think !

He gave the Abbess a rueful grin. ‘I wish I were more use to you than simply sitting here saying is that so? and was she really?’ he said. ‘I do believe that we have sufficient information between us to solve this puzzle. Indeed, I feel that I already have the answer, but my mind is so foggy that I can’t reach it.’

She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Don’t distress yourself, Sir Josse. It is the way with fevers, to leave the brain like a tangle of sheep’s wool. Do not push yourself so hard.’

‘I must!’ he exclaimed. ‘There are matters that cannot be resolved until we know .’

‘Yes, of course.’ A worried frown creased her brow. ‘Meriel is still missing, I am told.’

‘She is safe, Abbess,’ he said softly. ‘I cannot say where, or with whom, but I would stake my life on her being both safe and well.’

And he explained about Berthe.

She nodded slowly. ‘You make good sense, as always, Sir Josse. The child does not appear to be a habitual liar, I agree. And, now that your friendship had progressed so well, I am sure you are right when you say that she does not speak of Meriel because, in the face of your kind-hearted concern, she could not bear to uphold the fiction that she doesn’t know where her sister is.’ She paused. Then: ‘But there is still Alba.’

He had noticed that she no longer referred to Sister Alba; fearing that he might have guessed why, he asked her why not.

When she had told him, he let out a long breath. ‘What do you do with her now, Abbess? If she is no longer a nun, then surely you can’t go on imprisoning her here in the Abbey?’