Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

‘Long before that.’

Simon nodded. ‘Then ’tis a good thing. Come close to her time, the captain will be a help to Mistress Wilton, but before that he’d be fussing over her and she’d be pushing him away.’ Simon, the father of five, spoke from experience.

‘Odd that Archer said nothing,’ Thoresby muttered. He looked up at the angle of the sun. ‘I must take my leave of you now, Simon. I have some unpleasant business to attend to.’

‘God go with you, Your Grace.’

‘And with you, Simon.’

Thoresby had already spoken with his nephew and Nicholas de Louth, knew of the horsemen and Dame Joanna’s odd behaviour. He knew too that Dame Isobel had declared the nun to be Joanna.

Nicholas de Louth had certainly proved a bungling fool. How could he have left Longford’s maid in such a vulnerable position? The man had not the wits for his post.

Louth had hung his head. ‘You are right to blame me, Your Grace.’

‘You are not my concern, Sir Nicholas. Whether Dame Joanna Calverley should be accepted back into the convent of St Clement’s and whether her disappearance and return are indicative of an incompetent prioress — those are my concerns. Why should a nun steal a relic, run away, arrange a false burial, then return a year later, seeking to restore herself to the convent? And how are the deaths of Longford’s cook and maid related to Dame Joanna’s misadventure?’ Thoresby had turned away from Louth’s pouty penitence in disgust. He had expected more from someone favoured by the Black Prince. Perhaps it explained Louth’s being here instead of in Gascony with his lord.

Ravenser had entered the conversation with an uneasy clearing of his throat. ‘There is more, Uncle.’

‘What else?’

‘Someone gave Joanna a blue mantle which she believes is the mantle of the Blessed Virgin Mary.’

Sweet Heaven. ‘I suppose the sisters of St Clement’s are kneeling to her?’

Ravenser winced. ‘There was a stir. And the cook believes she has been cured of a rash.’

‘Deus juva me.’

‘But the Reverend Mother has everything under control.’

‘I dare say. Just as she has a tight rein on all of her charges.’

Now Thoresby must speak with the annoying woman herself.

Dame Isobel entered his chambers much subdued. Shadows underlined her pale eyes. ‘Benedicte, Your Grace.’ She handed Thoresby a letter bearing the anchor seal of St Clement’s. ‘Joanna has signed this, Your Grace. She recants her sins and submits to her penance.’

Thoresby made the sign of the cross over Isobel and motioned her to be seated. ‘I understand you have identified the woman as Joanna Calverley of Leeds.’ He tapped the letter against his left palm.

‘I have, Your Grace.’ Isobel did not meet Thoresby’s eyes, but focused on his hands and the letter.

Thoresby noticed, and put down the document. No need to look discomfited. ‘And you are satisfied that she returned and signed this willingly?’

‘Joanna was most anxious to return, Your Grace.’

‘And when she signed it, was she Our Lady risen from the dead or Joanna Calverley?’

Isobel’s pale eyebrows dipped in a puzzled frown. ‘She has not claimed to be the Blessed Virgin, Your Grace, just a virgin.’

‘And is that true?’

Dame Isobel blushed. ‘I think not, Your Grace. She has said things to Dame Prudentia that suggest. . a loss of innocence.’

‘And God chose to bring this lying Magdalene back from the dead?’

‘Your Grace, there is no logic to her delusion.’

‘Ah. So you agree she is deluded?’

Isobel looked surprised. ‘Of course.’

‘But she was lucid enough to write this letter and understand what it contained?’

Isobel blinked rapidly. ‘I wrote the letter, Your Grace. But she was fully aware of its contents and signed it of her own accord, as God is my witness.’

‘Indeed.’ Thoresby opened the letter, skimmed it. ‘Fully aware, you say?’

Isobel took a kerchief from her sleeve and blotted her upper lip. ‘I think she has moments of clarity.’

Thoresby tossed the letter aside and folded his hands. ‘Can she explain her behaviour?’

Isobel tucked her hands under her scapular. ‘So far she has said little that might be of use, but I shall ask again.’

‘Indeed you shall. And I trust you will not disappoint me.’

The prioress blushed, but she did not drop her head meekly. ‘I shall not, Your Grace.’

Thoresby liked the way her jaw stuck out with determination. ‘How has Joanna been received at St Clement’s?’

Isobel sighed. ‘She has disturbed the peace of our house.’

No doubt. Gossip was ever the bane of a closed community. ‘Her behaviour is disturbing?’

‘Only those caring for her witness her confusion, Your Grace.’

‘She plays the tragic heroine. She will tire of it.’

‘But the mantle, Your Grace — ’ Isobel stretched a hand toward him, imploring. ‘The rumour of it has spread through St Clement’s. And Dame Margaret’s rash. .’

‘Sir Richard said you had put a stop to that.’

Isobel withdrew her hand. ‘He was kind to say so. I have done my best, but once a rumour such as that begins — ’ she looked pained. ‘It is plain that something happened to Joanna, else why would she return after making such an effort to disappear for ever? So the sisters take Our Lady’s intervention as an explanation. The only one that has been offered.’

But not the only explanation the sisters had considered among themselves, Thoresby was sure. ‘Sir Richard de Ravenser has a theory that she went off to have a child. Is there any sign of that?’

Isobel’s pale face coloured slightly. ‘Not that we can tell, Your Grace.’

‘Has she spoken of a lover?’

‘Except for the comments to Dame Prudentia, no. At least — not a living one.’

‘What do you mean?’

The prioress looked uncomfortable. Her eyes met Thoresby’s, then moved away, focusing on the floor. ‘Joanna speaks of dreams in which her one love comes to her. She said it was these dreams that led her to run away, but now she knows they were sent by the Devil.’

‘One love?’

‘I believe Joanna had a vision and did not understand.’ Isobel held up her hand to stop the archbishop’s impatient interruption. ‘Have you read any of the mystics, Your Grace? They write of their love of God in terms of human love. It can confuse an inexperienced child like Joanna.’

‘Inexperienced?’

Isobel’s stubborn chin jutted out even farther. ‘I stand firm in my belief that she left St Clement’s an innocent, Your Grace. And there is yet something else — something that frightens her. She was given the last rites in Beverley. She fears that in God’s eyes she is dead. She wishes to profess her vows once more.’

‘You believe these ideas are connected?’

‘I believe they reveal a soul in turmoil and confusion, Your Grace. I think that Joanna went out to seek the lover in her dreams and found an ordinary man.’

‘So you do believe a man was involved?’

Isobel shrugged. ‘It seems likely. In fact, a man has lurked about St Clement’s since she arrived.’

A fact. Thoresby was pleased to hear a fact at last. ‘Horsemen followed Dame Joanna’s company from Beverley, as you have no doubt heard. Do you feel threatened by this watcher?’

Isobel spread her hands. ‘How can I know?’

‘Do you recognise him? Might he have visited Dame Joanna at St Clement’s?’

‘She had no visitors, Your Grace.’

Thoresby raised an eyebrow. ‘None? In six years? At least her family, surely.’

The prioress looked down at her hands, dropped them at her sides. ‘No one, not even her family.’ A new note had crept into Isobel’s voice. She chose her words with uneasy care.