Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

Joanna opened her eyes, grabbed Isobel’s arm. ‘They opened my grave?’

‘You knew Jaro was buried in your grave. How?’

Joanna squeezed Isobel’s arm so hard the prioress cried out and pulled away. The green eyes were wild. ‘Jaro? Jaro was buried alive?’

Isobel rubbed her arm. ‘His neck was surely broken before he went in, Joanna.’

The green eyes stared as the head snapped back and forth, back and forth. ‘No no no no no no no no no!’

Both Isobel and Mary worked up a sweat binding Joanna’s hands to her sides, so she might not injure herself more. At last Isobel sent Mary for Dame Prudentia. While she awaited the infirmaress, Isobel sat as far from Joanna and her violent emotion as the room permitted.

Michaelo met the archbishop with a note. ‘From the prioress of St Clement’s, Your Grace.’

Thoresby took the note. ‘Follow me.’ The archbishop went into his parlour, poured two fingers of brandywine and drank it down. He opened the note, read it to himself and threw it on the table with a curse.

‘Your Grace?’

‘Our intriguing Dame Joanna is now frightening the Reverend Mother with her terror of the grave.’

‘An experience one would remember keenly.’

‘She is a melodramatic woman, and speaks either nonsense or riddles. Dame Isobel is frightened. The nun ripped her own throat with her nails and keeps saying’ — Thoresby picked up the letter — ‘ “No one should suffer the grave before Death’s sleep.” A pronouncement, no more. According to both Brother Wulfstan and the Reverend Mother, only one person has managed to make sense of Joanna or somehow inspire her to speak sense: Mistress Wilton.’

Michaelo’s nostrils flared. ‘Captain Archer will not like us drawing her in.’

Thoresby glowered at Michaelo. ‘ “Us?” You forget yourself, Michaelo. Go find out how long it will take them to warm my bath water.’ When he was alone, Thoresby picked up the letter and reread it. Dame Isobel begged him to use his influence to enlist Lucie Wilton’s assistance, mentioning her interview with Lucie that afternoon. Thoresby poured himself another brandywine, sat down by the window, and sipped the delicate liquid while he pondered how to speak with the apothecary away from her protective husband.

*

At supper, Tildy mentioned seeing the prioress of St Clement’s leaving the shop as she returned from market. ‘Was it not enough that you saw her this morning, Mistress Lucie?’

Lucie frowned and shook her head, a tiny motion, obviously meaning only Tildy to see it. But Owen caught the exchange.

Tildy blushed and dropped her head, suddenly intent upon her soup.

Owen was intrigued. ‘What business have you with Dame Isobel de Percy? Is it Joanna Calverley? Have you met her?’

Lucie stirred her soup. ‘Briefly.’ She did not meet Owen’s eyes. ‘Archbishop Thoresby has ordered Dame Isobel to learn what she can about the young woman’s year away. Joanna has not been forthcoming. So Isobel thought I might suggest how to approach her.’

Thoresby. Owen began to smell a rat. ‘Why you?’

Lucie shrugged. ‘Wulfstan sent for me. He wished a woman to examine Joanna. St Clement’s infirmaress had done so, but when she was moved to the abbey Wulfstan wanted to be doubly certain of her condition.’ Lucie pushed her soup aside and rose. ‘Shall we have the meat now?’

‘Tildy can serve, Lucie. Go on.’

Lucie sat back down with a sigh. ‘Isobel heard my discourse with Joanna, felt I had managed to get more sense out of her than she does. So she came to the shop this afternoon to ask my advice.’

That sounded innocent enough. ‘You must tell me about her.’

Lucie glanced up, saw that Owen had relaxed, grinned. ‘Poor Joanna. I of all people understand why she fled St Clement’s. And it must be all the worse now with God’s ferret in charge.’

‘Is that what you called her when you lived there?’

‘And worse! She was a sanctimonious informer.’

Owen wished to hear more. Lucie seldom talked about her days at the convent. ‘And in what sinful acts did she catch you, my love?’

Tildy placed a trencher between Owen and Lucie and slipped back into her seat, leaning her chin on her hand, awaiting a good tale.

Lucie looked from Tildy to Owen and burst out laughing. ‘It was nothing so devilish, believe me. Snatching apples from the cellar, dancing in the orchard, climbing trees. .’

‘Her post was looking after the little ones?’

Lucie rolled her eyes. ‘Isobel is not that much older than I am. She simply took it on herself to torment me.’ The playful look darkened. ‘I have always believed it was Isobel who spread the word that my mother was a French whore.’

Tildy gasped. ‘Oh Mistress Lucie, that was never true!’

‘Of course it was not true.’

Owen did not like the colour rising in Lucie’s cheeks. ‘What was wrong with climbing trees?’

Lucie shrugged. ‘There were rules about everything. It seemed everything but prayer and work was a sin.’ Lucie suddenly laughed. ‘But Isobel now wears a silk gorget and carries delicately embroidered linen. I wish I knew to whom I might report her!’

‘I hope you sent her away with bad advice.’

‘There was little I could tell her. But I shall tell you all you wish to know when you tell me why you are home betimes. Has Thoresby called you back to help him discover Joanna’s story?’

Owen had known she would guess. He had purposefully not said, watching how long it would take. ‘You have found me out, wife. But while I was on the road, the circumstances became even more disturbing. I do not want you involved with this any more.’ He told her about Alfred and Colin.

When Tildy had gone off to bed, Lucie told Owen about Joanna’s condition and what she had learned from Isobel.

‘I want to speak with her tomorrow,’ he said as they climbed up to bed.

‘Shall I come?’

Owen did not like the eagerness with which Lucie asked the question. ‘No. I have told you. People have been murdered round that woman. I want you to stay away from her.’ He stopped as they entered their bedchamber and turned to Lucie, tipping her chin up so she looked him in the eye. ‘Promise me you will stay away from Joanna Calverley?’

Lucie smiled, reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him. ‘Let us speak no more of nuns this night, Owen. I want my husband’s full attention.’

Much later, when Owen woke in the night with a full bladder, he shook his head at how neatly Lucie had side-stepped the promise. But, in faith, he loved her for that very wilfulness.

Thoresby sent for Michaelo on rising. Usually he gave his secretary his orders for the day while breakfasting, but with guests there was no privacy. While the servants dressed him, Thoresby listed Michaelo’s tasks, including summoning Owen Archer to the palace for a meeting. ‘Mid-morning should suffice.’ He had an elegantly simple solution to the problem of getting Archer out of the way while he engaged Lucie Wilton in the task of communicating with Joanna Calverley.

By the time Thoresby descended to break his fast, Ravenser and Louth were already before the fire in the great hall, dipping bread in honey and discussing their plans for the day.

‘I shall spend the morning at St Leonard’s doing battle,’ Ravenser was saying. He was master of St Leonard’s Hospital. ‘The monks oppose me in the sale of two corodies, but they admit that there will be shortfalls by Michaelmas.’

Louth sniffed. ‘Hospitals. I cannot abide such places. You were a saint to accept the post.’

Ravenser laughed. ‘Hardly a saint, Nicholas. I rarely go in the infirmary. My business is with the brothers.’