Lilies for Love (20 page)

'Gone missing? Or has the mouse been stolen, just like the sheets of her manuscript?'

Agnes's eyes widened. 'I don't know. I never thought of that.'

'There are quite a few dogs kept here in the abbey. Do you think one of them might have eaten Chester?'

'Oh, I hope not!' Agnes put a hand to her heart. 'A mouse is an odd pet to have, but I do believe Ursel is very fond of him. Actually, she keeps him so close always, I'm surprised he managed to escape. But you're right; he wouldn't last long if any of the dogs found him.'

'Or cats. You don't see so much of them, they're quite private creatures. But there are some about. In fact . . .' Janna paused, searching her memory. 'There was a great commotion here in the cloister not so long ago, I remember. One of the dogs cornered a cat and was going to savage it, but Sister Ursel got hold of the animal and managed to drag it off its prey.'

'Sister Martha told me that the abbess reprimanded the owners of both the cat and the dog. She's become very fierce about pet-keeping since the bishop's visit.'

'The incident wasn't mentioned in chapter,' Janna said slowly, wondering how the gnat had come to hear about it.

'The abbess is afraid the bishop will hear of it, and will know that his edict has been disobeyed,' Agnes said promptly. 'Nor will she insist that his orders be carried out, for she knows there will be outright defiance if she tries. No, better to keep this quiet. But Sister Martha says that the abbess has put Sister Catherine on notice: if anything like this happens again, both she and the dog will be thrown out of the abbey.'

'Sister Catherine?' Janna's ears pricked up.

'It was her dog. He's the worst of them.'

'But all dogs hate cats,' Janna said, trying to be fair.

'True, but Sister Catherine doesn't do the right thing with her dog. I've seen her out in the cloister. When it makes a mess, she'll leave it if she thinks no-one has noticed. She's been here for so long, she thinks the rules don't apply to her any more.'

Janna remembered the scene she had witnessed, the shrieking nun who had stepped into the dog's mundungus. Had Sister Catherine been there with her pet? She couldn't remember.

'I stepped in some once,' Agnes said. 'It's disgusting. The smell seemed to stay on my sandals forever.'

'You've been here longer than I have, Agnes,' Janna said, anxious to get the lay sister back to the subject that most interested her. 'How do Ursel and Philippa get on together?'

'I don't know.' Agnes pulled a face. 'We lay sisters live on the outside of the convent. You'd be the one to find that out, Janna.' There was a slight edge to her voice that Janna couldn't miss. 'Why do you want to know?'

'I wondered . . .' Janna stopped. She had only suspicion regarding Sister Philippa's resentment of Ursel's skill, and where it might have led her. She could be wrong. The last thing she wanted to do was start a rumour that might have no basis in the truth.

'No reason, really,' she said. With a sigh, she said goodbye to Agnes and walked on towards the gate, where Sister Anne awaited her.

'And will you be having any more tête-à-têtes with Master Will today?' Sister Anne asked Janna as they left the abbey and entered the marketplace.

Janna looked at the nun, not quite sure how to answer. Finally, she shook her head. 'I don't know,' she answered.

'He is fond of Agnes, is he not?'

Janna hesitated. In the months of working with Sister Anne, she'd come to like and respect the nun. She was sure Sister Anne was not easily shocked; in fact, she wondered if the nun had lived much of her early life outside the abbey, for she seemed to have more of an understanding of the world and its ways than many of the other sisters, judging by some of the complaints they raised in chapter. She decided to trust the nun with the truth, for the truth could not hurt Agnes, who had done nothing wrong, while the infirmarian might well be in more of a position than Janna to help ease the situation, if help was possible.

'He wishes to wed Agnes, but Agnes will not hear of it.' Janna bent closer to Sister Anne. The marketplace was more crowded than she'd expected, and she didn't want anyone to overhear what she was about to confide. 'It is my belief that fear keeps Agnes in the abbey, for I recall she once confided in me that she would like to marry, to bear children. But that was before Master Will made his intentions plain, before she had any real choice in the matter, and before she came out to the fair with us and saw for herself what life is like outside the abbey.' She looked at Sister Anne. 'And I do blame myself for that,' she said.

'The timing was ill-judged, perhaps, but the decision to retreat was Agnes's, not yours, Johanna. You had no way of knowing her fear. Indeed, I suspect Agnes didn't know it either until she put herself to the test.'

'It's such a shame. Such a waste!'

'Serving our Lord Jesus Christ can never be said to be a waste.'

Janna smarted under Sister Anne's reproof, yet memory of her mother bid her go on, even at the risk of making matters worse. 'But surely it is possible to serve the Lord in other ways too? Other people can live good lives as well as nuns. Sometimes they may do even better!' she added, thinking of her mother, how hard their life had been, and how her mother had always helped whenever her skills were called upon.

'Watch your tongue lest it get you into trouble, Johanna.' Sister Anne strode on, making her displeasure plain by the set of her back and the tilt of her chin.

Janna was about to follow when she noticed Will in the distance. She was sure he'd seen her, but he made no sign, nor did he come towards her. Even as she debated forsaking Sister Anne to go to him, he turned and hurried away.

Had he given up on Agnes so soon then? Dismayed, Janna hurried after Sister Anne. The nun's disapproval abated somewhat in the face of Janna's excitement when they reached the stalls of the spice merchants. They were expected to pinch and prod, to sniff and taste before selecting their purchases, and Janna took full advantage of the opportunity. Her head swam with giddy delight as she sampled cinnamon, liquorice and sweet white powder, sneezed over freshly ground pepper, and danced about in agony while spitting out a burning mouthful of ginger.

'Sister Anne? Sister Johanna?' Janna felt great relief at the sound of Will's voice. He carried a small parcel wrapped in a damp, muddy scrap of woven hemp. He held it out as if it was the most precious object he owned.

'By your leave, Sister,' he said in a low voice, as Janna took the object from him. 'I have here a gift for – for the abbey.'

Sister Anne inclined her head. 'What is in the parcel?' she asked.

'The bulbs of white lilies. I beg you to plant them in the garden of the abbey, for I have heard it said that the flowers honour the Virgin Mother Mary, being so pure, chaste and beautiful. For that reason, I believe they are sometimes called the lilies of the Madonna.'

Sister Anne pursed her lips in thoughtful contemplation. Just as Janna began to fear she'd be forced to give Will's gift back to him, the infirmarian nodded. 'I thank you for your gift, Master Will,' she said briskly. 'We shall plant the lilies and pick the flowers to decorate the church and the shrine of St Edith on feast days.'

'Thank you, Sister.' Will folded his hands and stepped back. Sister Anne walked on, but Janna lingered just long enough to hear his whisper. 'I know Agnes loves to work in the garden. Please tell her to remember my pledge whenever she sees these flowers, for they remind me of her and they are a living token of my love.'

'I will.' Janna felt her heart flood as she recalled Agnes's delight in the wild flowers growing in the fields, and her wistful comment about their perfection. Will could not have chosen a more apposite gift for Agnes – for, in spite of what he'd told the infirmarian, Janna knew quite well that this gift was for Agnes rather than the abbey.

As the bailiff strode off, she took a long look around the marketplace. This was her last taste of freedom for a while. She smiled as she spied a happy family group in the distance, the father swinging a young boy around and around in circles, while the boy squealed his delight and his laughing mother clapped and cheered the performance. Giddy with the movement, the father set down his son and staggered a few steps. The mother rushed to take his arm to steady him. She looked up into his eyes. They exchanged fond smiles, and. . .

Janna's heart stopped. It was Godric and Cecily, along with Hamo. They had not seen her. For a few long seconds, she stared at them while the world stood still.

At last the silence ended, and the market came back into focus. Once more Janna could hear the cries of the traders, sense the bustle going on around her, smell the mundungus of the animals mixed with the earthy scent of market produce. Life was going on all around her, but inside she felt as cold as death, and as dead as stone.

Janna turned her face from her friends, and from the marketplace, and hurried after Sister Anne into the shelter of the abbey.

T
O TAKE HER
mind off the shock of seeing Godric and Cecily looking so happy together, Janna immediately sought out Agnes on her return. Sister Anne had told her to plant out the lily bulbs, but Janna would not do it unless Agnes was there to witness both their burial in the earth, and to hear who had given the bulbs, and why.

She found Agnes busy directing a group of weary travellers to the guest house, and waited until they had gone and Agnes was free. Then she showed her the wrapped parcel and told of their meeting with Will. Agnes heard Janna out in silence. Janna thought she could detect the glint of tears in her eyes as she said, 'Master Will has given a lovely gift to the abbey.'

'To you.' Janna wasn't about to let Agnes lie to herself, even if it was at the cost of their friendship. 'Let's plant them in the cloister garth, so all the sisters can enjoy their beauty. You choose a spot and I'll go and fetch a pick to break the ground.'

'Do you really think Master Will meant it when he said these flowers remind him of me?' Agnes asked, when Janna returned.

'Beyond a doubt,' Janna assured her, and handed over the package of small bulbs. 'He gave these to
you
. You must plant them yourself.' She smacked the pick down into the iron hard ground, digging deep to loosen the earth.

Agnes took the bulbs and knelt down. As Janna continued to dig, Agnes scooped out little nests in the loose earth and, following Janna's instructions, carefully set each bulb upright inside the hollows. With enough ground prepared, Janna threw down the pick and helped Agnes sprinkle soil over the bulbs.

'There'll be lilies gracing the altar of St Edith by summer,' Janna assured her, as she patted earth over the last of the bulbs.

'And what shall I do then?' Agnes turned to Janna, her distress plainly written across her face. 'I like Master Will, but I hardly know him. I can't even begin to think of him as a husband!'

'You could get to know him better, if you would only give him a chance.' Janna kept her head bent and her hands busy. This was more of an admission from Agnes than she'd ever dared to hope. She didn't want to take any risks, or spoil such a promising train of thought.

'How can I come to know him when I cannot leave the abbey?' Agnes's voice was bleak with despair. 'I have taken my vows. I cannot break them.'

'But they are not your final vows, surely? Is it not possible to get dispensation? Can you not ask Sister Grace about it? After all, you were only a child when you came here!'

'You've heard the story of Wulfrid and the Saxon king and the founding of our abbey, Janna. You know that she was a nun, but the king forced his attentions on her and our dear saint was the result of their union. If Wulfrid was not free to marry a king, how could I ever be free to marry the bailiff? And then there's Sister Angelica. Do you remember, she told us that she'd made a mistake coming here, and how much she'd come to regret it. But she would not break her vow – and neither will I, Janna. No.' Agnes looked fiercely determined as she shook her head. 'I won't even think about it.'

In spite of Agnes's passionate avowal, Janna remained sceptical. 'Are you sure your vow is all that stops you from considering Master Will's offer of marriage?' she ventured.

Agnes averted her head. She stood up, and tried to brush her hands free of dirt.

'You said you cannot leave the abbey. Is that cannot – or will not?' Janna persisted.

'Cannot! Will not! All right, I'm afraid to leave the abbey again. There, I've said it!' Agnes's voice rose. 'I hate people staring at me, staring at my scars,' she cried. 'I hate it!'

'Shh.' Janna was about to put her hand on Agnes's arm to comfort her, but saw just in time that her fingers were filthy and stained with mud. So she tried to comfort her with words instead. 'People might stare at first, but only until they're used to you. But they would stare at you no matter what you looked like, for they would be curious to see Master Will's new wife, particularly one newly come from life in a convent. But think on this. Once their curiosity is satisfied, they will accept you as one of their own and take you for granted.'

'With this to remind them always that I am grotesque?' Agnes's fingers traced down the scar on her face, leaving a muddy trail down her cheek.

'Master Will called the lilies "pure, chaste and beautiful". He said they remind him of you. He doesn't think you are grotesque, and neither does anyone else. For certes, no-one here does. They're so used to you, they no longer even notice you!'

'Are you accusing me of the Sin of Pride?' Agnes's lips twitched upwards into a half-smile.

Janna felt a profound relief that her friend could find some humour in the situation. It meant there was still hope for her cause. 'Perhaps, rather, you should ask yourself what harm it does if they do stare at you?'

Agnes was silent as she contemplated Janna's question. Then she shrugged. 'I have made my vows. I cannot unmake them.'

'Master Will seemed to think there might be a way around the problem – if problem it is.'

'And what would a bailiff know of abbey life, and he a man at that?'

Janna had no answer, but still she wondered if Agnes was using her vows as a convenient excuse not to face her fear. She resolved to question Sister Anne about the matter.

'And what about you?' Agnes's voice broke into her thoughts.

'Me?'

'Yes, you. When you came into the courtyard with Sister Anne you looked as if you'd seen the devil! Did something happen in the marketplace – apart from meeting Will there?'

Agnes's face and tone reflected her concern, and Janna was touched. She wasn't used to having a close friend, someone who cared what happened to her. Although she hadn't hesitated to interfere in Agnes's life when she thought the cause was just, it was odd to have the tables turned on her in this way. Hard, too, to break a lifetime's habit of keeping her own counsel in order to confide in someone.

Yet the image of Godric and Cecily together was burned on her brain, etched there with acid. She knew they both lived now at Hugh's manor and that their care of Hamo must keep them in each other's company. She'd known that in her head, but now she knew it in her heart. The knowledge brought stinging tears to her eyes. She began to describe what she'd seen to Agnes, wanting to share her burden, wanting relief.

'But why are you so upset? I thought the lord Hugh was the one you cared for?' Agnes looked confused.

'He . . . No! I . . . yes, I suppose I do. Care for him, that is. I admire him. But Godric is my
friend
.'

'Your friend? Why, then, should you mind if your friend woos Mistress Cecily?'

Why indeed? Janna had no answer for Agnes, or even for herself.

Darkness had fallen, and the bell was summoning the convent to Vespers by the time Janna left the physic garden, where she'd taken refuge after she and Agnes had finished planting out the lilies. She decided not to attend the office, for her hands were thoroughly muddy and needed a good scrub. On her way past the scriptorium, Janna noticed Sister Ursel. The nun sat hunched over her manuscript in the faint light cast by the candle on her desk. There was a pen in her hand, and a pot of ink at the ready, but she didn't seem to be writing anything. In view of what had happened, Janna couldn't blame her for losing heart. She walked past, stamping her boots noisily in the hope that the nun might turn around so that she could whisper something sympathetic. But Sister Ursel stayed bowed over her manuscript. Janna thought she might be crying.

Sister Ursel and her distress haunted Janna's thoughts as she walked to the lavatorium where the sisters washed their hands before and after every meal. She wished there was some way of finding out who was taking the pages and hiding them. Where could they be? As she plunged her hands into the basin of water, an idea came to her. She stopped to ponder it. After giving her hands a hasty scrub, she snatched up a tallow candle set in a holder, and hastened to the dorter where the nuns slept. If asked, she would say she needed to visit the reredorter before going in to supper.

She hadn't been in the nuns' dorter before, for she was not entitled to go there, but she was sure this was the best place to start her search. It seemed the only possible hiding place. She was greatly relieved to find the dorter deserted. Sleeping pallets were stacked in a neat pile in the long communal room, which was shared by novices, oblates and some of the nuns. Beyond the communal room was a short corridor, with doors leading off it. The faint sound of chanting reassured Janna that the nuns were now busy at Vespers. Wasting no more time, she began to rifle through the wooden chests lined up on one side of the room. But they contained nothing more interesting than the spare clothing and shoes of the occupants of the dorter. The nuns themselves had no private property to store, for it was against the Rule to own anything at all, and Janna hadn't really expected to find anything secreted there.

Carrying the candle, she hurried on to search the small cells on either side of a corridor leading off from the dorter. The cells were closed off by curtains, and Janna pulled aside the first one she came to. A small room was revealed, containing only a truckle bed and a squat chest, with a wooden crucifix on top. There was a hook for the nun's cloak, empty now for the nun would need its warmth in church. These cells must be occupied by the obedientiaries, and perhaps those nuns who had lived in the abbey for many years or who, for one reason or another, had earned the privilege of solitude. Janna resolved to search them all, for this was the most likely place for the missing pages to be hidden.

With her ears strained to catch the smallest sound, she began a quick search of each cell, feeling under straw mattresses and examining the small chests beside each bed. Which cell belonged to Sister Philippa? Had she been here long enough, was she important enough to have her own cell?

She searched carefully, but to no avail. The favoured hiding place appeared to be under the hard straw mattresses, and she'd uncovered several secrets: a blue ribbon, a folded letter, a child's embroidered cap, an enamelled brooch, but nothing that resembled the missing sheet of parchment. Janna was on her knees, with her hand under yet another mattress, when the sound of voices jerked her upright. The voices seemed still some distance away. She was tempted to make a run for it, but there was only one cell left at the end of the corridor to search.

With her heart hammering, she ran into the cell, placed the candle on the chest beside the bed, and swiftly searched through its contents. Nothing. She felt under the mattress. Her fingers touched something flat and hard. She pulled out a wooden box and studied it. It bore an inscription chased onto a silver band. She shook it, and heard the faint rustle of something inside. Her conscience stirred, but she reassured herself it was all in a good cause as she snicked open the catch.

Tucked safely inside the box was a folded sheet of parchment. She hurriedly opened it, identifying it instantly as coming from the hand of Sister Ursel. Whose cell was this? Conscious of the voices coming closer, she cast about for any signs that might identify the occupant. There were none. A pair of sandals stood beneath the empty peg, discarded now for the stouter boots of winter wear. Did they belong to Sister Philippa? It was impossible to tell. Janna peered into the box in the hope of finding some means of identifying its owner.

As well as the parchment, there was a crucifix inside and, strangely, a couple of teeth. Not human, surely? Janna peered more closely at them, feeling almost sure they came from some animal. She closed the box and tried to decipher the writing on it. It meant nothing to her, even when she turned the box and studied the writing upside down. Exasperated, she slammed the box down onto the mattress. A thought came to her. She couldn't read the writing, but she knew who could! She opened the box, took out the contents, all except for the parchment, and left them lying on the chest. She tucked the box into the folds of her sleeve and, feeling like a thief, hastily skipped out of the cell just as several sisters entered the dorter with cloaks folded over their arms.

'Pardon me. I needed to visit the reredorter,' she said, moving quickly away before any of them could comment or question her further. She ran downstairs and went straight to the scriptorium, hoping that Sister Ursel was still there.

The manuscript was there, but the nun wasn't. Janna paused a moment to admire the beautiful lettering, and the delicate lines of a drawing depicting a robin perched on the hand of St Edith. Janna knew it was a robin for its breast was shaded red. She wasn't quite so sure it was St Edith she was looking at, for she could not read the writing beside the illustration. She sighed with frustration and wondered again why, when her mother was teaching her how to write her own name, she had not at the same time taught her how to read and write anything else.

Holding the candle close to the page to see more clearly, she noticed that some of the colour had smudged beyond the line of the robin's breast. In fact, the work gave all the appearance of being abandoned in a hurry, for only part of the breast was coloured. Janna studied the smudge. It looked as if it might have been caused by a splash of water. A fallen tear, perhaps? She had never seen a smudge on Sister Ursel's work before, and knew that something extraordinary must have happened to cause it.

She wondered whether she should make some effort to protect the work, but a moment's reflection reassured her that it was probably safe enough for the present. Whoever was behind the damage to the manuscript thought she already had a sheet to destroy; she would not risk taking another quite so soon, particularly after Abbess Hawise's stern warning.

Conscious of time passing, Janna hurried off in search of Sister Ursel. Had she gone to Vespers after all? Was she now awaiting supper in the refectory? Janna was all too aware of the box concealed within her sleeve. She was horribly afraid that someone would stop her, and that she would be searched. Anyone finding the stolen articles could easily misconstrue the reason for finding them in her possession. Even the thief could point her finger at Janna, for was not Janna carrying a box stolen from her own cell?