Alys Clare - Fortune Like the Moon

Then Helewise knew exactly what was ailing Elvera. She was terrified.

But, terrified or not, a postulant did not speak to her Abbess in that way.

‘Elvera, you forget yourself,’ Helewise said coldly. ‘It is not for you to question my actions. You have undertaken to be obedient.’

‘I-’ Some inner battle was going on inside Elvera. It was apparent that she longed to hurl back some pert denial, but something stopped her. Lowering her eyes, she straightened her expression and said demurely, ‘Yes, Abbess.’

Her whole demeanour was so clearly false that it was almost amusing.

Getting up from his seat, Josse moved round to stand beside Helewise, facing Elvera across the table. ‘Friend or not,’ he said mildly, ‘it was noticed by several people that you and Gunnora got on quite well. That you laughed together. That sometimes she sought you out, and-’

‘She didn’t!’

‘Elvera, we know she did,’ Helewise put in gently. ‘You sought each other out. That is a fact. It’s quite senseless to go on denying things which more than one other person noticed and remarked on.’

‘Well, it wasn’t my fault if she came to look for me,’ Elvera said triumphantly. ‘Was it?’

‘No,’ Josse acknowledged. ‘I suppose not.’

‘She hadn’t made any friends all the time she’d been here,’ Elvera went on, with the air of one who has seen a way out and is making all speed to set off down it. ‘Lonely, she was. She latched on to me because … because…’ A sudden fierce frown disturbed the young face, then, as quickly, cleared. ‘Because I was new!’ she finished.

‘You were new,’ Helewise echoed.

‘Yes! New and not set against her like everyone else!’

‘You must not malign your sisters in this way,’ Helewise said. ‘Nobody was set against Gunnora. Her self-absorption was her own choice.’ Dear God but I’m judging her, she thought. And, what’s worse, expressing my judgement in front of this disturbed child.

As if understanding why she had suddenly stopped speaking, Josse said, ‘Elvera, look on it this way. Gunnora believed you to be her friend, enjoyed your company, your light-heartedness. Perhaps it would comfort you to think that you might have made her last days happy, and-’

‘ No! ’

The single word seemed to emerge from Elvera as if its expression gave her agony. As Helewise and Josse watched, she shut her eyes again. This time, two tears appeared from under the lids and slid down the pale cheeks.

Josse seemed to be at a loss as to how to continue. Helewise didn’t feel any more confident, but, in her own room and in her own abbey, it was up to her to do something.

‘Elvera, I understand your pain but you must tell us anything that might help,’ she said gently. ‘Take a moment to think back over that last day. You and Gunnora were heard laughing together outside the infirmary, and Sister Euphemia-’

‘She came thundering out of her hospital and gave us a right telling-off,’ Elvera said sulkily. ‘Especially Gunnora, since she was senior to me. But she had a go at me, too. Sister Euphemia, I mean. She told me I was a child, that I had to grow up.’

‘Never mind that now,’ Helewise put in. ‘Did you see any more of Gunnora that day?’

‘Of course. In the refectory, during the Holy Offices, here and there around the Abbey.’

‘I meant did you see her alone?’ Surely the girl realised that!

‘No.’ Elvera raised her head and looked Helewise straight in the eye. Her face looked strangely smug. ‘You told her we mustn’t. Didn’t you?’

‘Not that day!’ Helewise exclaimed. Elvera must know that, too. Oh, the interview seemed to be going round in circles! ‘We respect your feelings, Elvera, and we know what you’re going through, but-’

‘You don’t.’ Elvera spoke so softly that Helewise hardly heard. ‘You can’t.’

‘We want to help,’ Josse put in. ‘We must find her killer, Elvera, and he must be tried and punished for his crime.’

Josse, Helewise was well aware, was trying to reassure the girl. Encourage her to unite her efforts with his and find the murderer.

But, when once again Elvera raised her head, she looked neither reassured nor encouraged. She looked suddenly ten years older.

She said dully, ‘I know.’

Then, without waiting for permission, she turned and quietly let herself out of the room.

* * *

Helewise sat staring at the closed door. Beside her she sensed Josse start to move; returning to his chair, he said, ‘What did you make of that?’

‘She’s afraid.’

‘Indeed she is.’

‘She knows a great deal more than she has told us.’

‘She hasn’t told us anything!’

Helewise felt his frustration. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse. She was, as you imply, singularly unhelpful.’

‘She’s bright, that one,’ he said musingly. ‘Not as bright as she believes she is, but not the sort to be pushed into revealing her secrets just because someone in authority orders her to.’

Helewise said mildly, ‘I did my best.’

He smiled. ‘Aye. And I thank you, Abbess.’ The heavy brows came down again. ‘Why does she deny the friendship? Do you believe this convenient explanation, that all the overtures were made by Gunnora, and Elvera just went along with it?’

‘Not for a moment. For one thing, it didn’t happen like that — I saw with my own eyes that, if anything, Elvera was the instigator. For another, Gunnora wasn’t the sort of woman to woo others for their favours.’

‘Hm. Why lie, then?’

‘She was horrified when she saw you hiding behind the door,’ Helewise remarked.

‘Many people react that way.’ He grinned. ‘I was comely when I was young, they used to say.’

Absurdly — and most inappropriately — she had to quell a desire to laugh. Pulling herself together, she said, ‘Did you observe her reaction when you suggested she had provided some happiness for Gunnora in her last days? And, later, how she looked when you spoke of Gunnora’s killer?’

He nodded. ‘Aye. Go on.’

She had the feeling he already knew what she was about to say, but went ahead anyway. ‘I think, Sir Josse, that our little Elvera is carrying a burden of guilt.’

Still nodding, he said, ‘A singularly heavy one.’

* * *

Between Compline and Matins, when most of the sisters were deep in the first dreamless sleep that comes from a busy day and a clear conscience, somebody was abroad.

As Gunnora had done the night she died, somebody crept along the dormitory and descended the steps, careful to avoid the third stair. Made her way in the shadows to the rear gate, slid back the bolts, emerged on to the track.

The slim figure pushed back her short, ugly veil, and the springy hair, not yet confined by wimple and barbette, caught the soft moonlight. The girl breathed in deeply, striding over the short grass as if glad to be free, to be outside the confines of the convent wall and, for a short time, out of sight of the watching, gossiping nuns.

There was nothing tentative about the way she walked; an observer would have gained the impression she had done this before, and, indeed, would have been right. For anyone within the Abbey who wanted a private meeting with an outsider, going out secretly by night was the only way to achieve it. And she wanted such meetings. Oh, she did! Wanted them, needed them, for more than one reason.

Nearing the meeting place, well hidden in the undergrowth beside the path, she broke into a run. Let him be there! He must be, it is the day of the week that he always waits!

She left the path and made her way into the bushes. Called his name softly, waited for an answer.

Nothing.