Alys Clare - Fortune Like the Moon

Helewise said something, her voice soft, soothing. Josse saw Olivar nod briefly.

‘I said, “I’m back, Gunnora,” then I bent over her, unfastened the chain and put the cross round her neck,’ he went on quietly. ‘It looked so pretty, against the black of her habit. I was kneeling by her side, and I stayed there for a long time, just looking down at her. Then I ran away.’

Helewise was rocking him gently, crooning as if she were soothing a child waking from a nightmare. ‘There, there,’ the soft voice intoned, ‘all done, you’ve got it out of you now. There, there.’

There was a silence. An extended silence.

Olivar said presently, ‘Is she buried?’

‘She is,’ Helewise said. ‘Tucked up snug and safe in her coffin, where no more harm can come to her.’

‘Is she with God?’

Josse noticed Helewise’s hesitation; he wondered if Olivar did. ‘I expect she soon will be,’ Helewise said. ‘We have prayed for her soul, and we will continue to have Masses said for her. We will do all we can to shorten her time in purgatory.’

‘She was good!’ Olivar protested. ‘She will not have many sins staining her soul, Abbess. Soon she’ll be in heaven.’

Helewise murmured, ‘Amen.’

Then, dropping her head down on top of the dark head resting against her shoulder, she began to pray out loud for the late sister of the Abbey, Gunnora of Winnowlands.

They put Olivar in the infirmary.

When Helewise had finished her prayer for Gunnora, he had straightened up, looked around him with an expression that suggested he didn’t quite recall where he was, then, remembering, had slowly slumped to the ground. His face in his hands, he said, in a tone which had torn into the souls of both those who heard, ‘She is gone. What is there left for me now?’

He had suffered some sort of collapse. Josse and Helewise, at a loss to know what to do, had half led, half dragged him up the hill to Sister Euphemia. Observing his extreme distress, she had prescribed a draught of her poppy mixture, strengthened with a little precious mandrake root. ‘It is best that he sleeps, for now,’ she said. ‘To give him some of the blessed oblivion is, I fear, really all that I can do.’ Her round face creased in concern. ‘It’s only a temporary solution, mind,’ she added practically, ‘the poor soul will find nothing changed for the better when he wakes.’

She found a corner of the infirmary for him, where he could lie screened by thin hangings, a little apart from the sights, sounds, and smells of the other patients. One of the nursing sisters placed a shallow bowl of full-blown roses by his head, and their powerful scent soon wove itself through the air. ‘Roses are good for grief,’ Sister Euphemia remarked, nodding her approval. As Olivar gradually relaxed into sleep, she stood over him for some minutes. Then, with a tender touch of her hand on his shoulder, left him.

Brother Firmin had presented himself and announced, although Sister Euphemia had given no indication of either wanting or needing assistance, that he had come to help her. He had brought a cup of the healing spring water for the patient. He waited patiently while Olivar was settled down, then, observing that Olivar had in fact gone to sleep, sent one of the sisters to fetch him a stool, which he placed at the foot of Olivar’s bed.

‘I will remain here,’ he announced to Sister Euphemia. ‘Yes, sister, I know full well that the young man sleeps. But it may be of help to him, in some way, that somebody is with him.’

Then, putting the cup of spring water carefully beside the roses, he closed his eyes, and, lips moving in silent prayer, he settled himself down to his vigil.

* * *

Josse had sought out Brother Saul and asked if he would make the journey to Rotherbridge. Brice had to be notified, and, this time, Josse felt that it was acceptable to ask another to set out on the errand. Josse had a suspicion that Abbess Helewise might prefer it if he were to stay at the abbey. He was trying, haltingly, to explain this to Brother Saul, when the brother put out a hand to touch Josse’s arm and said, ‘There is no need. I understand.’

Abbess Helewise, Sister Euphemia, Brother Firmin, Brother Saul, the unknown sister who had brought the roses, all of them, Josse reflected, so eager to help, so full of compassion, with willing hands, willing legs, hurrying to do what was asked of them, often before it had even been asked …

For the first time, it dawned on him what a good place Hawkenlye Abbey was.

* * *

Josse asked Abbess Helewise, ‘How did you know?’

They were back in Helewise’s room. She was sitting straight-backed in her usual place, but he had the impression that the effort of appearing normal was costing her dear.

She turned to look at him. She raised her bandaged right hand, waved it at him, then, with a wince, lowered it into her lap.

He shook his head incredulously. ‘You ran your finger round the edge of the plinth? To see, I imagine, if it had enough of an edge to cut someone’s throat?’

‘I did.’

‘Abbess Helewise, how reckless!’

‘Don’t you start,’ she flashed back, ‘I’ve already been reprimanded for my irresponsibility by Sister Euphemia, thank you very much.’

She managed to look both indignant and pathetic at the same time. Knowing her as he was beginning to, he knew the latter was not intentional; it was, he decided, the combination of her pale but resolute face and that damned great wad of wrapping on her hand.

‘Does it hurt?’ he enquired kindly.

‘It does.’

I’ll wager, he thought. It would have hurt badly enough before we staggered up here with a semi-conscious man. The dear Lord knows how that little adventure must have affected her.

He remembered his original question. ‘Actually, that wasn’t what I meant.’ It was better to change the subject, he thought, to talk about Olivar and Gunnora, than to risk undermining her courage by his sympathy. Not that it was easy to ignore her state; her face was very pale, and the wide brow beneath the starched white linen headdress was beaded with sweat. ‘I really wanted to know what made you suspect what happened,’ he ploughed on, ‘when I’d been doing my utmost to convince you that Milon was lying through his teeth and had killed Gunnora after all.’

‘I went down to speak to Brother Firmin about the resumption of our services for pilgrims,’ she began. ‘The devotions, and the distribution of the healing waters. Life has to go on, you know, and we’ve had so few visitors since the murders. There will be unnecessary suffering, all the time we do not throw open our doors to those in need. While I was down in the valley, I thought it was about time I made a visit to the shrine. I have been guilty of allowing my worldly preoccupations to interfere with my devotions,’ she said sternly.

Josse was about to say that he was quite sure the Lord would understand, but something about her expression made him change his mind. ‘Quite so,’ he muttered.

She shot him a glance, as if not entirely convinced by his bland reply. ‘I went into the shrine’ — fortunately, it didn’t seem that she was going to pursue it — ‘and I knelt to pray, right in front of the Blessed Mother’s statue. I noticed that the plinth seemed to be very shiny, as if someone had recently been polishing it.’ She bowed her head. ‘I know that I should have been concentrating on my prayers to Our Lady,’ she said, ‘but, as I said, I am easily distracted at present.’

‘Understandable,’ he remarked. ‘Wouldn’t any abbess be, with two suspicious deaths among her nuns?’

‘The very time an abbess needs to pray hardest for help!’