Alys Clare - Ashes of the Elements

Helewise said quietly, ‘That is only natural, under the circumstances.’

Caliste threw her a grateful look. ‘I knew you would understand. But things have changed. She’s no longer calling me, she’s happy. She’s done what she wanted to do, and now she’s gone away from me.’ This was said totally without self-pity. ‘And it means, Abbess — oh! it’s so wonderful — it means I can be whole again. And that means I’m ready.’

Mentally, Helewise went through the hurried, breathless little speech again. Ready. Did she mean ready to take her vows? She looked up at the radiant, beautiful face, even lovelier now that the worry of uncertainty had gone.

You are ready, Helewise thought. Ready, with God’s help, to make a very good nun.

She rose, went round to stand in front of Caliste, who, fully appreciating the gravity of the moment, fell to her knees. Taking Helewise’s outstretched hands, she bent her head over them. Softly Helewise heard her say, ‘Thank you.’

‘It is I, or, rather, the community at Hawkenlye, who should thank you, Sister Caliste,’ Helewise replied. ‘Already we appreciate your talents with the sick. You are loved by your patients, and you are steadily earning the respect of your fellow nuns, especially those of them who are also nurses. As one of the fully professed, we will from now on be assured that you will continue to be with us.’ She helped Sister Caliste to her feet, and, on impulse, leaned forward and dropped a soft kiss on her cheek.

‘Oh!’ Caliste said. Then, a wide smile of pure joy spreading over her face, she said, ‘Abbess, may I go and tell Sister Euphemia the news?’

And Helewise said, ‘Of course.’ Realising as she spoke that she was echoing the Domina’s benediction, she added, ‘Go in peace.’

* * *

Josse, having eaten rather too well of Sister Basilia’s splendid meal, took himself off down to the monks’ quarters in the vale and begged a quiet corner and a bed roll from Brother Saul. With a sympathetic look, Brother Saul obliged.

As Josse settled himself down in the shade behind the pilgrims’ shelter, Saul said, ‘I will see that you are not disturbed, Sir Josse.’

‘Thank you, Saul.’

* * *

It was not Brother Saul who awakened him, but the sound of running feet.

Opening his eyes, Josse saw Brother Michael pounding down the track from the Abbey, habit flying, arms waving. Josse, instantly wide awake, leapt up and went to meet him.

‘How did you know,’ Brother Michael panted, ‘that I was coming for you?’

‘Intuition,’ Josse replied. ‘What is it, Brother Michael?’

‘I was up at the Abbey,’ Brother Michael said, ‘getting some liniment for one of the pilgrims taking the water — he’s been carrying a sick child for two days and he’s ricked his back, really painful, it is, makes him walk all sideways, and I thought I could-’

‘Brother Michael,’ Josse prompted.

‘Sorry, Sir Josse. While I was there, this rider came in, horse all lathered up, and he says he must see the Abbess, he has terrible news.’ Brother Michael’s eyes rounded with the drama of his tidings.

‘And?’

‘He was directed to Abbess Helewise, he disappeared into her room, then, before you could say a Hail Mary, the two of them came out again and she — the Abbess — sees me and says, Brother Michael, go and get Sir Josse!’

‘And here you are,’ Josse observed. ‘Well?’

Brother Michael’s simple face looked mystified. ‘Well what?’

‘What was the rider’s message? Why does the Abbess need me?’ Josse said patiently.

‘Oh! Didn’t I say?’ Michael smiled in relief, as if overjoyed that Josse’s question could be so easily answered.

‘No, Brother Michael, you didn’t.’

Brother Michael leaned towards him, face grave. ‘There’s been a death,’ he whispered. ‘Another death!’

* * *

Helewise had been hoping for the same little post-prandial rest that Josse had enjoyed. Having seen the radiant Sister Caliste on her way, she had submitted herself to Sister Euphemia’s tender hands, and now wore a fresh dressing over the cut on her forehead. Sister Euphemia had given her a cloth soaked in the infirmarer’s special marshmallow solution, her specific for bruising, and Helewise, when she remembered, was pressing it periodically to her head.

Sister Basilia had totally overridden Helewise’s protests that she really wasn’t very hungry, and stood over her while she ate her platter of hot meat and gravy.

Then, at last, with a whole hour until it was time for Nones, Helewise had slipped away to her room. But, just as, settled in her chair, she was gratefully closing her eyes, she remembered Sister Emanuel.

It is my own fault, she told herself sternly as she stood up again. Rushing off like that, spending a night out in the open, away from the safety of the Abbey walls, it is hardly my nuns’ fault if, when at last I return, there are matters about which they need to consult me.

Sister Euphemia’s pad of lotion pressed to her throbbing forehead, she set off for the retirement home.

* * *

Sister Emanuel was standing by the bed of one of the oldest residents, an ancient, sour-faced nun who, in her working life, had been superior of a convent up on the North Downs. Demanding, never satisfied, it was, Helewise reflected, a tribute to Sister Emanuel’s devotion that she never let the old woman get under her skin.

‘… leaving me here all morning with a soiled pillow,’ the thin, scratchy voice was saying, ‘why, in my day, things were different, let me tell you, young woman!’

Sister Emanuel’s murmured reply was inaudible. Catching sight of Helewise, she made an excuse to the old nun and approached the Abbess.

‘Good afternoon, Abbess.’ She made a deep reverence.

‘Good afternoon, Sister Emanuel.’ Helewise paused. Then, since it was her policy to leave her nuns in no doubt that she understood the various crosses they had to bear, she said softly, ‘The Abbess Mary is a great perfectionist, is she not? And, as such, not your easiest patient.’

‘She is quite right to complain,’ Sister Emanuel replied. ‘Her porridge was spilled, and the mess was not properly cleaned up until I returned from Tierce.’

‘That, I should have thought, scarcely constitutes all morning,’ Helewise observed.

Sister Emanuel shot her a brief look of gratitude, swiftly supplanted by her usual expression of lofty calm.

‘You wished to speak to me, Sister?’ Helewise said.

‘I did, Abbess.’ Sister Emanuel looked down the ward, and, spotting another of the nuns who worked in the home, made a small gesture and then pointed to the door. The nun nodded her comprehension. Sister Emanuel said, ‘The Sister will take charge. Shall we go and sit outside, Abbess?’

‘As you wish.’

Sister Emanuel led the way out to the bench where she and Helewise had sat before. Then, when they had settled themselves, she said, ‘The girl Esyllt has been absenting herself.’ She paused, as if still uncertain how much of Esyllt’s aberrant behaviour she must reveal to her Abbess. Then she went on, ‘I realise that I — we — do not have control over her comings and goings out of working hours, but…’ She trailed off.

‘But she has been absent when she should be working,’ Helewise finished for her. Yes. That probably explained the dirty pillow that wasn’t changed quickly enough.

Sister Emanuel gave a brief nod. ‘Yes.’

‘Is she here now?’ Helewise asked.

Sister Emanuel’s face showed her inner struggle. ‘Well … Abbess, I am quite certain she has been delayed somehow, and that very soon she will return. I’m sure that, once she is here, she will work twice as hard and make up for the lost time.’