Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

Berthe’s eyes were fixed on hers. Was there a hint of fear? Did the girl know why Helewise was saying all this about being so alone?

Slowly Berthe nodded. ‘Yes, Abbess. It was isolated. The village, as you saw for yourself, was some distance away. And there were no other inhabited dwellings nearby.’

Very neat, Helewise thought. No other inhabited dwellings. Which tells me nothing for sure, but which suggests that Berthe knew there was a cottage in the woods, but also knew it to be empty.

Should I press her further? Helewise wondered. Why not? At the least, Berthe’s reaction might reveal whether or not she was aware that her empty dwelling had become a dead man’s pyre.

‘You were aware, of course,’ she said, trying to keep her tone casual, ‘of the old cottage deep in the woods? I dare say that it was uninhabited when you lived at the farm.’

Berthe was nodding. ‘Yes, I know it. A very old couple used to live there — I can just remember them from when I was small. Sometimes Mother and I used to call on them. Mother would take them something — some eggs, or something from the vegetable plot — and once the old man made a garland of wild flowers and crowned me with it.’ A soft smile of reminiscence briefly lit her face. ‘But they died,’ she finished. ‘A long time ago.’

‘And nobody took over the cottage?’

‘No. It was tumbling down around them even when the old folks were there. When they died, it was too far gone for anyone to bother. We used to use it as a camp, when we could escape from Alba’s vigilance, and, later on, Meriel-’

But she must have realised that she was about to say something she shouldn’t. She shut her mouth abruptly, turning away from Helewise and staring out towards the lake that filled the bottom of the Vale.

‘Meriel?’ Helewise prompted. ‘What about her?’

Berthe spun round to face her. ‘Abbess Helewise, I can’t !’ she cried. ‘You mustn’t ask me, because if you really press me for an answer, I’ll have to lie to you, and I don’t want to do that. But I can’t break my promise!’

She was sobbing now, violent, convulsive sobs that made her whole body shake. Helewise put her arms round the thin shoulders, and for a few moments Berthe leant against her. ‘I know, Berthe, I know,’ she murmured soothingly. ‘You must understand that I do not pry from mere curiosity — I am trying to help you.’

‘I know you are!’ Berthe cried. ‘But I-’

‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ Helewise interrupted. ‘You can’t break a promise, even though you may well feel it would be better if you did. Yes? Am I right?’

Berthe broke away from her and looked up into her eyes. She did not speak, but slowly she nodded.

‘Poor child,’ Helewise said gently. And, although she did not further dismay Berthe by saying so aloud, she feared that things would have to get quite a lot worse before they got better.

Especially if she could convince herself that she would be justified in implementing a certain course of action she had just thought of. .

‘Come along, let’s get you back to work,’ she said bracingly, giving Berthe a little shake and brushing the tears from her cheeks. ‘There, that’s better. You hardly look as if you’ve been crying — I don’t expect anyone will notice. Not those happy little children, anyway!’

Berthe managed a watery smile. ‘No, they won’t,’ she agreed. ‘But Gussie will.’

Gussie? Ah, yes, Brother Augustine’s nickname was Gus, Helewise recalled. And that had been softened by this sweet-natured girl to Gussie. ‘Will he?’ She was hardly surprised; Augustine, she had perceived, missed very little. ‘Well, I’m sure he won’t tease you about it.’

‘No, he won’t. He’s very considerate, actually.’ Berthe was looking a lot more cheerful, probably, Helewise thought, at the prospect of imminently being with ‘Gussie’ again. ‘He doesn’t tease me at all. He’s very kind to me.’

Was that, Helewise wondered, because the lad had seen what was in that cottage in the woods? And, having seen, was concerned and sorry for this young girl, who must surely be somehow caught up in the wretched business?

Good for Augustine, if so, she thought. To have realised Berthe’s need, and to turn himself into a kind and supportive friend, was Christian indeed.

Was it likely Augustine had spoken to Berthe about the journey to East Anglia? More particularly, about the visit to her old home? Instinct told Helewise that it wasn’t; the boy was responsible and obedient, and surely would have held his peace unless specifically told that he might break it. Nevertheless. .

‘Berthe, has Augustine told you anything of our trip?’ she asked casually.

Immediately Berthe gave a brief tsk! of irritation. ‘No, Abbess Helewise, not a word! I’ve pressed him and pressed him, tried to wheedle out a few remarks, but he just shuts his mouth up tight and says it was Abbey business and he’s not allowed to gossip. Gossip! Really! And it was my own village he went to! Well, amongst other places.’

‘Now, now, don’t be cross with Augustine,’ Helewise soothed. ‘He is right to be cautious. And anyway, Berthe,’ — she crossed her fingers and hoped God would understand the lie — ‘there wasn’t much to see.’

Only slightly mollified, Berthe said, ‘Huh!’

Helewise took the girl’s hand as they went back to the shrine, hurrying now for the rain was coming down harder.

She watched her go back inside the rest house — and the laughter from within suggested that the same game was still in progress — then, accepting Brother Saul’s offer of a piece of sacking to cover her head and shoulders, she walked quickly through the rain back to the Abbey.

As she ran in through the rear gate, a clap of thunder detonated right overhead. Hoping that it was not an omen of dire happenings ahead, she headed for the shelter of the cloister and made her way to her room.

Josse had expected to feel very tired after his first whole day spent outside. But, when he woke the next morning, he was delighted to find that he was full of energy.

Sister Euphemia was sceptical when he told her. ‘Are you sure you’re not just telling yourself that because you want to go racing off to help the Abbess sort out these wretched sisters?’ she asked. ‘Mind, I’m not suggesting she couldn’t do with a bit of help; they do say trouble comes in threes, and it certainly has done with Alba, Meriel and poor little Berthe.’

‘Aye, that it has,’ he agreed. ‘But I promise you, I really do feel well, Sister Euphemia. After all,’ he added craftily, ‘I would be of little help to the Abbess if I were to collapse at her feet from exhaustion, now, would I?’

Sister Euphemia gave a snort of laughter and dug him in the ribs. ‘Go on with you!’ she chuckled. ‘You’ve always got a plausible answer, haven’t you?’

Agreeing that he had, he shooed her away while he put on his tunic and his boots.

He was sitting on a bench outside the infirmary when, some time later, Helewise came to look for him. The side of the long building which faced into the courtyard was lined with a deep cloister and, tucked in against the infirmary wall, he was sheltered from the rain. Sister Beata had thoughtfully brought out a sheepskin fleece, which she had draped over his legs, and he was adequately warm.

He knew from the Abbess’s face that she was troubled. He shifted along to make room for her to sit down beside him, then said, ‘What is it?’

Without preamble she said, ‘I have thought of a plan. I intend to tell Berthe that I must release Alba — indeed, that Alba will have to leave the Abbey — and then I shall have Berthe followed. She will, I am quite sure, go straight to find Meriel, to tell her that Alba is once more to be on the loose.’ Before he had time for even the briefest comment, she rushed on. ‘Oh, there’s no need to tell me I’m being cruelly devious, and taking advantage of a suffering girl’s confusion and concern! I know I am, and I just hope it will prove worth it. But I must speak to Meriel, and I cannot think of another way.’