Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

‘No, Meriel,’ Jerome said warningly. ‘Not that. Not until we know .’

She nodded. ‘Very well. But, Abbess’ — she turned back to face Helewise and Josse — ‘she was ruthless . Berthe and I were about to leave when she arrived at the farm, and she locked us both in the cellar overnight to prevent us going! We were there for the rest of that day and all of the night, and Berthe is afraid of the dark.’ She shuddered. ‘Then, the next morning, she let us out and told us Jerome was dead. She even showed me-’ Another, more violent shudder shook her, and she left the sentence unfinished. ‘As she had no doubt predicted, I went to pieces. Then it was quite easy for her to bundle us both up — Berthe and me — and take us away. I don’t think there was as much as a squeak out of either of us, the entire way from Medely to Hawkenlye.’

‘And you managed to pick up their trail?’ Josse asked Jerome.

‘Yes. It was not difficult. And I had-’ He broke off. ‘People seemed readily to remember a wild-looking nun and two girls with tears in their eyes,’ he said instead. There was a great deal of bitterness in his tone.

Josse felt a stab of sympathy. ‘So, once you realised they were here at Hawkenlye to stay, you set about making a camp, then you sought out Meriel?’

‘Yes.’ He glanced at Meriel, his face full of joy. ‘Our reunion was — well, it was a relief to find her.’

‘I imagine it was.’ Josse swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘And you, Meriel, informed Berthe of Jerome’s miraculous reappearance, swore her to secrecy, then slipped away to join him?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I know it wasn’t very fair on Berthe, making her live a lie and pretend she didn’t know where I was. If I was safe, even. But, honestly, I don’t think she really minded. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d thought it would make her suffer.’

‘No,’ Josse agreed. ‘I don’t imagine you would. And we can assure you, the Abbess and I, that Berthe has not been suffering. On the contrary.’

‘I agree,’ the Abbess said.

Josse was just thinking thankfully that her attitude to the young couple seemed to be softening, when suddenly she stood up. Folding her hands away in the opposite sleeves, she had, he observed, adopted her disciplinarian stance.

‘Abbess, don’t-’ he began.

But she took absolutely no notice.

‘I understand, Jerome,’ she said severely, ‘that there are particular circumstances governing your actions, and I also understand that, probably, you felt you had no choice. But, nevertheless, it remains the case that, for whatever reason, you have taken a young girl away from her family and her home, brought her out into the wildwood to make camp with you where, as Sir Josse and I could not help but witness, you have — you are-’

‘I have been making love to her,’ Jerome supplied. ‘Abbess, I cannot deny it.’ He glanced at Meriel, who appeared to be suppressing laughter. ‘We have been making love, as often as we have been able.’

‘Jerome,’ Josse said warningly. ‘Please remember to whom you speak. She is Abbess of Hawkenlye, and you must show her respect.’

‘I am sorry, Abbess.’ He bowed to her. Josse thought he saw a swift look of surprise cross her face as he did so but before she could speak, he went on, ‘I meant no disrespect. You are, of course, quite right. It would be most immoral — and it would in all likelihood also indicate a taking of advantage — for a man to spirit a girl away into the wildwood, as you so poetically call it, and seduce her.’

The Abbess was looking increasingly disapproving. ‘But that is what you have just done!’ she said, exasperation sharpening her tone. ‘Can you not perceive the sin in your actions?’

Jerome smiled at her. Then he took hold of Meriel’s hand, raising it for the Abbess and Josse to see. ‘No sin has taken place, Abbess.’ His face was ecstatic. Pointing to the brand-new, shiny gold band on her finger, he looked at the tousled young woman beside him and said, ‘Meriel is my wife.’

Helewise and Josse had stayed longer than they had planned out in the forest; Jerome’s revelation had been so startling — and, Helewise reflected, so moving — that it had given rise to a great deal of talk.

By the time she and Josse were back at the Abbey, dusk was well advanced. She was worried about Josse; he had been walking more and more slowly for the past half mile, and she was very afraid that the excursion had exhausted him. Not that he complained. She was very relieved when, back inside the calm, restful atmosphere of the infirmary, she was able to thank him, wish him good night, and hand him over to Sister Euphemia’s care.

Even had she been ready to discuss with him the implications of what they had just discovered, she reflected as she crossed over to the Abbey church, he was far too weary.

And I, she thought as she knelt to pray in the empty church, need first to talk to God.

Which, for the spell of peaceful silence that endured until the nuns entered the church for Compline, was exactly what she did.

In the morning, Helewise rose with her day’s tasks clearly outlined in her mind. There was much for her to do and, she had always found, setting about a busy day with a well-defined plan of campaign was of great benefit in terms of efficiency.

Between Prime and breakfast she remained in the Abbey church, in private prayer. There were many matters over which she needed God’s help, but uppermost of her concerns was what to do about Alba.

What should I do, dear Lord? she asked, eyes fixed on the simple wooden cross on the altar. She begs to stay here, in this community, but for the sake of everyone else here, how can I let her?

But if I send her away, where is she to go? I cannot simply turn her loose, for, if Meriel and that passionate young husband of hers are to be believed, she will seek them out. Even if I cannot make myself accept what Meriel said about Alba doing them actual harm, I do see that her interference could be very unwelcome. New marriages need privacy, while the couple become accustomed to one another. To the state of wedlock itself. It would not aid the progress of either adaptation to have a bossy and quick-tempered elder sister hanging around.

Helewise closed her eyes, trying to empty her mind, trying to listen to whatever guidance might be sent to her.

Trying, if she were honest with herself, to face up to the insistent little voice in her head that said, you should believe Meriel.

She pictured Meriel’s face, transformed by her happiness from the haggard pallor of misery into radiant loveliness. And Jerome’s words, as he interrupted something Meriel was about to say, kept echoing in her ears: No, Meriel. Not until we know .

What had the girl been about to say? Whatever it had been, it was to do with Alba, clearly; for just afterwards Meriel had said of her, she was ruthless .

Oh, dear Lord, did it mean what Helewise was so dreadfully afraid it meant?

I must not start suspecting that, she told herself firmly. I have no proof and, in Christian charity, I must prevent myself believing the worst purely for the excitement of the sensation, like some superstitious peasant listening to an ancient legend of ghouls and monsters for love of the fear-induced thrill down the spine.

She prayed aloud for some moments, repeating the familiar words until she felt calmer.

By the time she rose from her knees to leave the church and go over to the refectory, she had convinced herself that she was right to ignore Meriel’s warning, and that the best thing she could do for Alba was to send out word that the Abbess of Hawkenlye needed a place in some good household — the further away, the better — for a young woman who had lately been living in the Abbey. It was something she had done many times before, usually with success; Hawkenlye had an excellent reputation, and when its Abbess asked for a situation for somebody, her request rarely went unanswered.