Alys Clare - Fortune Like the Moon

‘Thank God,’ Helewise murmured fervently. Her mind already turning to the details of the service and where Gunnora might be laid to rest, she was distracted by an awareness that Josse had more to tell her.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, giving him a swift smile. ‘What other news do you bring?’

He told her.

‘Her sister dead, too, and by such ill chance!’ she exclaimed. She couldn’t recall if she had been aware that Gunnora had had a sister. The business of her admission to the convent had been conducted by her father and her aunt. The father, she remembered, had, although weak with exhaustion after the long ride, still managed to summon the energy to give both his sister and his daughter severe and almost brutal reprimands during the course of the brief visit. She said, ‘How is Sir Alard?’

‘Dying,’ Josse said starkly. ‘He is wasting away with the lung rot. He cannot, I fear, have long.’

‘And, with both daughters dead, there is no one to whom he may leave his wealth.’ She should not, she admonished herself, have gone straight to the practical matters; she should have said a few words about the poor sick man, whose sufferings were now so greatly increased by bereavement. Should have made a moment for a brief, compassionate prayer.

But Josse didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I was going to ask you,’ he was saying, ‘was there any question of Sir Alard bequeathing money to the Abbey? There was a dowry, I presume, but I wondered if possibly he intended to ensure favour in Heaven by a gift?’

‘He provided Gunnora’s dowry, yes, although one had the sense he did so grudgingly.’ She recalled the scene, enacted right here in her room. Sir Alard had looked seriously ill a year ago, so much so that Helewise had thought him unwise to have undertaken the journey. Not that he was the sort of man to whom you could say such a thing, even had she been given the chance; Sir Alard had made his laborious way into the room, supported by Gunnora’s aunt and by a heavy stick, flung a small bag of coin on the table, wished Helewise and her nuns well of Gunnora, and stumped out again. ‘But there has never been any mention of a bequest.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I would consider it highly unlikely. Especially since his daughter’s death has removed her from our community.’

‘Not the man for a magnanimous gesture?’ Josse suggested.

She hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of a dying man. But Josse was after the truth. And, besides, she did not think he would think the less of her for her plain speaking. ‘That was my impression.’

‘Hm.’ Josse was frowning. Aware that, sooner or later, he would tell her what he was thinking, she waited. Presently he said, ‘It looks as if the estate and the money will go to a niece. She’s got a new husband, a fashionable young fellow who seems all too eager to get his hands on his uncle-by-marriage’s fortune.’

‘You met them?’

‘No. The niece, I was told, is staying with her husband’s family somewhere near Hastings. I saw him, though. The husband.’ He laughed briefly. ‘Can’t say I was impressed.’

‘A little uncaring, wouldn’t you consider,’ Helewise said thoughtfully, ‘for a niece who stands to inherit her uncle’s estates not to be present when he is dying?’

‘I do indeed,’ Josse replied, with some heat. ‘The least she could do, I’d have thought, is to show some respect, even if she couldn’t manage genuine tears of regret.’

Helewise was about to go on to ask Josse what overall impression he had formed of Gunnora’s family and circumstances, when she recalled the present, more pressing, matter. ‘I don’t wish to interrupt, but I have summoned Elvera here to meet you.’

Momentarily he looked blank, then said, ‘Aye! The young postulant, friend of Gunnora’s.’

‘You expressed a wish to speak to her.’

‘Aye, I did.’ He flashed her a grin. ‘Thank you, Abbess.’

‘I must tell you, before she arrives, that she has been behaving oddly.’

‘Oddly?’

‘Distracted, pale, eyes heavy as if she does not sleep well.’

‘Aye, I remarked myself on her reddened eyes.’ Did you, indeed, Helewise thought. I must never, for an instant, forget how observant you are, Josse d’Acquin. ‘Grief for her friend, do you think?’ he was asking.

‘Perhaps. I have told myself that is most likely.’

‘But you have not convinced yourself.’ Again, the smile. ‘Why not, Abbess?’

‘Because her distress only started when you arrived, Sir Josse.’

He met her eyes, and she saw that he was thinking along the same lines. ‘So, not the murder that grieves her, but its investigation,’ he said softly.

‘Indeed.’

Before either of them could comment, there came the sound of approaching footsteps, quickly followed by a tap on the door.

‘Come in,’ Helewise said.

Sister Anne put her head round the door. ‘Here’s Elvera,’ she said, standing aside and ushering in her charge. ‘Go on, girl, she won’t eat you!’

Josse, Helewise noticed, had pushed his chair back so that he was hidden by the opened door. It would appear, to Sister Anne and, more crucially, to Elvera, that Helewise was alone.

Elvera took a step into the room, and Sister Anne followed.

‘Thank you, Sister Anne,’ Helewise said.

‘Oh! But…’

While she was thinking up an excuse for staying, Helewise added, ‘I’m sure you have duties requiring your attention.’

Sister Anne gave Elvera a last glance, then turned and left, closing the door behind her with exaggerated care.

Elvera stood facing Helewise, who studied the white face and the tense body for a few moments. Yes, there was definitely something amiss with the girl. Could it be that she was ill? In pain? Then wouldn’t she have said so?

There was only one way to find out.

Still holding Elvera’s eyes, Helewise said, ‘Here is someone who wishes to meet you, Elvera. I present Josse d’Acquin, who comes from our new king’s presence with his grace’s express orders to investigate the murder of Gunnora.’

Elvera’s first reaction was to shut her eyes tight and shake her head, as if, perhaps, she hoped that by denying Josse’s presence she could make it not so. As Helewise watched, slowly her eyes opened again and she turned to face him.

She does not lack courage, Helewise thought. Then she said, ‘Elvera, as Gunnora’s friend, you may be able to help Sir Josse by telling him anything that occurs to you about how she was during the last days of her life. If, for example, she seemed worried about anything. If she confided in you any secret anxieties.’

‘Any secret hopes,’ Josse put in. He was, Helewise observed, looking kindly at the girl. ‘Don’t be alarmed, Elvera. I realise you must be very upset to lose a good friend in this way, but-’

‘She wasn’t my friend!’ Elvera burst out. She was clutching at the cloth of her black robe, where it hung loosely over the rounded breasts. The drab black headdress, which would have made almost any other girl or woman look plain, was not enough to remove the lively appeal of Elvera’s face, even in her present state. ‘I hardly knew her! I’d only been here a week when she died! We weren’t close at all !’

‘No, all right, Elvera.’ It wasn’t all right, but Helewise didn’t think they’d get anything useful out of the girl if she were not swiftly brought back from the brink of panic. ‘Just as a fellow member of the community, then, can you help in any way?’

‘Why are you asking me ?’ the girl flashed back. ‘They’re already gossiping about me, all those old nuns, saying isn’t it strange, Gunnora and me being so close, anyone’d think we already knew each other before! Goodness, their eyes were out on stalks when Sister Anne came galumphing over her cabbage patch to fetch me just now!’ She paused for breath, then added, her voice unsteady and beads of sweat on her white face, ‘None of them gets sent for to be asked horrible questions by the king’s investigator!’