Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

Lucie woke. Melisende yawned in her face. ‘You confused my dream, you wretched cat,’ Lucie grumbled. Melisende lazily opened an eye, yawned again and drifted back to sleep.

Lucie closed her eyes and contemplated Owen’s imminent return. He had written that he was on his way home, might reach York by this evening. Lief and Gaspare would accompany him, staying at York Castle with the archers they were training. Owen did not explain the change in plans, but Lucie was delighted he would be home, however briefly. Nonetheless, she wondered what had happened.

She looked forward to meeting Lief and Gaspare. Owen wrote that Lief spoke of little else but his healthy son. It was good that Owen was seeing a happy father; he seemed to dread the prospect of being one himself, much as he protested to Lucie that he thanked God they were at last to be blessed with a child. Gaspare, a bachelor, teased Lief and Owen about their virtuous devotion to their wives; in writing of this, Owen was quick to add that Gaspare could not lead him astray. Lucie did not fear that Owen would stray. It was the dark moods that had come over him since she’d told him she was with child that worried her. Perhaps Lief’s enthusiasm would cheer him.

Idle thoughts. Lucie stretched. Melisende sat up, expectant. ‘Yes, we shall go down and stoke the fire. Let Tildy wake to warmth for a change.’ Lucie’s serving girl, Tildy, had been pampering Lucie while Owen was away. With Owen returning tonight and Lucie’s father, Sir Robert D’Arby, arriving by week’s end, Tildy was about to become quite busy. ‘She deserves a treat,’ Lucie said, scratching Melisende’s striped back. The cat blinked, as if in agreement.

Brother Wulfstan’s summons arrived as Lucie and Tildy finished the morning chores.

‘He is not unwell?’ Lucie asked the messenger with alarm.

‘Brother Wulfstan is well. He requires your assistance with an ailing guest.’

Knowing that the infirmarian would not make such a request idly, Lucie instructed Tildy to ask customers to return in the afternoon and accompanied the messenger to the abbey, tingling with curiosity about the unusual summons.

Her haste was rewarded. When Lucie saw the prioress of St Clement’s in attendance in the patient’s room at the guest house, she guessed the identity of the patient shrouded in the curtained bed. She had heard the rumours about Dame Joanna of Leeds.

Dame Isobel greeted her politely.

Brother Wulfstan came forward with open arms. ‘Bless you for coming so quickly, Lucie.’ He led her aside to explain the situation. His face darkened as he moved farther into the tale of Joanna’s disappearance, reappearance, the two deaths that seemed linked to her, the rumour of her miraculous mantle, and her possible danger. ‘Forgive me for drawing you into such unholy concerns, Lucie, but I need a woman’s help in this and I know you have the skill — and the discretion.’

Lucie smiled at Wulfstan’s dear, troubled face. ‘With such sweet words, how could I possibly be offended? Come.’ She took his arm. ‘Introduce me to this fascinating patient.’

With a grateful smile, Wulfstan led Lucie over to the curtained bed. A table had been drawn up beside it. The infirmarian had assembled a wine flagon, some apothecary jars, a cup, spoons and measures, and a spirit lamp on which a bowl of water steamed. ‘The Reverend Mother needs Dame Joanna calm enough to answer questions. She hopes to discover what happened — what drove Joanna away, what brought her back.’

Lucie could well imagine. She suspected that it was Archbishop Thoresby who motivated Dame Isobel.

‘I thought to begin with something simple: valerian and balm in wine, a strong dosage. But I must know whether Joanna is in any pain. The sisters believe she has discomfort from cuts, scratches, bruises, but is otherwise sound. I hoped you might examine her and reassure me.’ Wulfstan turned at a noise from Dame Isobel. ‘Forgive me, Reverend Mother. I do not mean to question you. I am taking my normal precautions. A medicine for one can be a poison for another. We pray God to guide our hands, but He expects us to take care.’

Dame Isobel tucked her hands beneath her scapular and bowed her acquiescence.

Wulfstan turned back to Lucie. ‘I shall be in the corridor while you examine Dame Joanna. I shall await your summons to return.’

When the door had closed behind Wulfstan, Dame Isobel joined Lucie. Lucie opened the curtain. Dame Joanna lay with her eyes closed, her mouth moving as if in prayer, her hands pressed together on her chest. She was wrapped in a clean but shabby blue mantle. Her face was pale. Deathly pale.

‘Dame Joanna,’ Lucie said, and waited for an answer.

The nun continued as she had been.

Lucie leaned over and touched Joanna’s arm.

The woman jerked her arm away, opened her eyes, and stared up at Lucie with alarm.

Could she have been unaware of Lucie’s presence until the touch and then respond so dramatically? Lucie was puzzled. ‘Please, do not be frightened. I am Mistress Wilton, an apothecary. I am to examine you so the infirmarian knows how to treat you.’

The green eyes flicked over to Dame Isobel, back to Lucie. ‘Treat me?’

‘Brother Wulfstan will prepare a remedy to calm you, help you sleep. But he must know as much as possible about you. Whether you are in any pain is important.’

‘Pain is unimportant.’

Lucie glanced back at Dame Isobel with raised eyebrows.

Dame Isobel shook her head, dismissing Joanna’s reply.

Lucie felt Joanna’s forehead with the back of her hand. ‘You are not feverish, yet they tell me you have been talking as if you were. Why is that, Dame Joanna?’

Joanna touched the hand Lucie still held to her forehead. ‘I do not mean to be trouble. I would not mind so much if you would examine me alone.’

‘Without your Reverend Mother?’

Joanna nodded.

Lucie turned to Isobel. ‘Will you permit this?’

Dame Isobel did not look pleased, but she nodded. ‘Of course, Mistress Wilton. Brother Wulfstan says I can trust you as I do him.’ Dame Isobel gave Joanna and Lucie a little bow, then moved away to the far side of the room. She sat down with her head bowed, hands pressed together in prayer.

Lucie looked at Joanna’s eyes, her mouth. Her teeth were in remarkably good condition except for a front tooth that was chipped. ‘Does the chipped tooth hurt?’

Joanna touched it with her tongue, nodded.

‘Brother Wulfstan can give you clove oil to dab on it for the pain.’

‘I offer it up as a penance.’

‘But why, if there is a remedy?’

Joanna said nothing.

Lucie shrugged. ‘As you wish. How did you chip it?’

The eyes turned inward. ‘I fell.’

Coupled with a fresh scar beside Joanna’s mouth and a red streak in the whites of her eyes, Lucie guessed she had been beaten, and not very long ago. But her business was to examine Joanna’s body, not her story. ‘You had a blackened eye recently?’

Joanna nodded.

‘And a cut beside your mouth?’

A shrug.

‘All from the fall?’

Another shrug.

Lucie patted Joanna’s hand. ‘You can help me, if you will. I am not a physician, so I may miss something. If my touch hurts you, makes you uncomfortable in any way, please tell me.’

‘Your touch is gentle, Mistress Wilton.’

Lucie wondered what all this talk of Joanna’s state of mind was about. So far only the woman’s inattention when Lucie first opened the curtain had been odd.

‘I must lift your shift. Will you help me?’ Lucie touched an end of the shawl.

Joanna grabbed it away from Lucie and unwound it, pulling it out from under her, carefully tucking it beside her. ‘You must not touch it.’