Parthena's Promise (3 page)

Chapter 4

Jerome’s mood was as bleak as the weather as he rode into Gorebeck. No one was on the streets as the rain lashed down. “God in Heaven!” he swore as he stared at the steeple of the Norman church by the stone bridge that crossed the narrow river, as he struggled against the strong north-easterly wind. “I thought rain fell from the sky, not drove across the country horizontally!” he muttered the last few yards. Holding onto his hat with one hand, he steered the horse towards the shelter of the stabling at the back of an inn. It was too bleak to read the sign as it swung in the gusts of wind, but as he approached the buildings a lad came out and offered to take the reins. He released his bag and ferreted inside for his other coin purse and passed the lad one. “Tend him well!” Jerome shouted over the sound of a crack of thunder. The lad nodded as he led the horse away.

Jerome burst into the inn with a greater sense of purpose than he had intended to. The weather was foul, so was his mood. Heads turned as he ducked below a beam. He stopped momentarily, removing his dripping hat, giving his eyes time to acclimatise to the gloom. Faces stared at him from their cosy dry seats of stools or settles. Ignoring them, he walked straight over to the serving hatch adding more water to the already soiled threshing that covered the flagstone floor.

“Best of the day, sir! What can I get for you?” the serving wench asked. Her smile was only spoiled by her browning teeth and strong breath.

“I think the best of the day is yet to come – I hope.” He smiled back at her, trying to lift his mood. “A room, a tub would be fine, but first I need a good brandy.”

She winked at him and pulled a bottle of French brandy out from under the counter and poured him a decent measure. Jerome knew fine well it was illicit contraband, but he was not going to complain; he wanted to feel the mellow taste glide down his throat and warm his innards.

“Sally, make a room ready for the gentleman and have young Jeb fill up a tub for him by a warm fire,” she shouted without looking around, her eyes fixed instead on his wet, cold figure.

There was a scurry of activity behind the woman as the lass and lad appeared from the back store room and went about their chores.

“Anything else?” the woman asked, obviously happy to have some new custom on this miserable, gloomy day.

Jerome glanced around the poky room and saw the locals take up their drinks and continue conversations. Apparently he was not interesting enough to hold their attention – good, he thought! He downed his drink in one and was grateful for it. “Yes, you can help me further,” he looked at her and leaned nearer, wanting to keep his quest his own concern, “I’m looking for a woman.”

The wench raised her brows. “We run a respectable house here,” she said and blinked coyly, or as best she could at him, at least as coyly as her life-hardened eyes were able to. She then leaned forward to meet his gaze; her bosom seemed to swell as she rested it on her arms exposing more of her cleavage than he wished to see. “However, for the right price we can arrange… most things…”

He half smiled, realising that in his intention not to have his faerie warned of his presence and take flight, he must have sounded like he was wanting a wench for the night. Looking at the hopeful eyes of the “mature” woman who flirted with him now, it was all he could do not to swallow back his words and run. “Sorry, I misled you… unintentionally of course. I meant that I am looking for a specific woman.”

“Another drink, sir,” she asked, standing straight again and holding the bottle up, waving it slightly.

“Yes, and a hot meal would be welcome after my tub, but I am looking for a young woman by the name of Miss Munro. She came ahead on her own as I was delayed and I was rather hoping that she may have already taken a room here?” He smiled and held his glass out for another drink, knowing that she would have some more coin from him one way or the other before she was willing to help him. If she could, that is. It was unlikely that his faerie had turned up in such a place that she would have been unnoticed. She poured another brandy and he drank it, realising how much he also needed food in his stomach; it was empty.

“Sorry, sir, no woman is staying here by that name or any other. We have a couple of officers, a mill owner and a priest. They’re all waiting for the coach to York, but none have a single woman with them.”

“When will that leave?” he asked.

“Tomorrow, mid-day. But it’s fully booked so there will be no space for her on that. If she’s in town, she’ll be easily spotted.” His face must have showed his disappointment. “Mind, she may well have gone to the abbey for a bed. Depending on what sort of lady she is.” She winked. “The more virtuous kind don’t tend to stay on their ownsome in an inn. Is she virtuous?” she asked cheekily.

Jerome thought of the thieving little minx that had caught his attention and also his coin, and decided the word may fit her demeanour, but not her actions. Still, desperate people did desperate things. Right now he desperately wanted warm food, a bath and to get his hands on the virtuous woman he was chasing.

“Could you make enquiries for me?” he asked.

“Don’t think I’d go near a place like that! I’d be struck down!” She laughed a raucous, coarse noise that made him smile to hide the cringe he felt grow inside his cold, and hungry gut.

“I may well be a bit obvious myself.”

“Well…” The woman glanced at the ceiling and sucked her browning teeth as she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.

He placed a further coin on the counter and kept a finger upon it before she could pick it up.

“Are there any other inns in the town?” he asked.

“Aye, one at the other end in the old part. I doubt she would go there, though. I mean, it’s positively ancient. Wooden floors warping, and the damn place falling apart around the guests’ ears, not like our establishment here. This one’s built to last.” She smiled at him.

Jerome realised that her competitor must still do quite well or it would not have survived if it was of the old timbered buildings from Shakespeare’s time or before. She’s cunning, he thought.

“You make a good point.” He released the coin. “Have someone make enquiries discreetly and let me know where she is if she has arrived in town and I will double it – if you locate her,” he said.

“Good as done, mister.” She winked at him again.

Jerome nodded and then took his weary body up the rickety stairs to his room.

He would take his rest, warm up, eat, and, when the rain ceased, he would see if they had found where she was. If not, then before he left the place he would take a walk through the town, look out for her and ask if she had been seen anywhere – including in the old inn. His horse needed to rest and dry out as much as he did, but his determination to capture the wench had grown with every uncomfortable hour he had passed in the saddle, in driving rain. He was used to harsh conditions, but never had he been so easily duped in his life before. Jerome had been foolish, but he was no man’s or woman’s fool. She would pay dearly. Would she have the gall to go to an abbey for something? Would she go and repent of her sins? Would they take his money and lock the fool away until she was old, bent over and her life gone along with the beautiful looks? Why should he care what happened to her? He wanted his coin and that would be the end of it… but for those memorable eyes.

*

Thena awoke in a cold stone cell, huddled under two thick woollen blankets. The mattress she was lying on felt lumpy but warm, no doubt stuffed with remnants of wool, cotton and whatever other fabrics they could spare to shred. At least it was not stuffed with hay like the Abbey School ones had been in her time there. Girls slept two to a bed with one blanket between them in a dormitory for twenty. There was much she enjoyed about her time there, but not the nights in winter. She saw the chamber pot sticking out from under her bed as she sat up and was careful how she used it. Once satisfied, she cringed, remembering the communal buckets of the dormitory. Deciding she had had enough of nostalgia, she combed out her hair, swept it into a bun and placed her bonnet atop it, then made sure her possessions had not been tampered with. Her boots had been cleaned and left on the floor for her by a stool, atop which was her coat. She smiled even wider at the gesture of care. How lovely it was to see the sign of another person’s effort on her behalf. There was a time when she had a maid to come to her when called, who Thena realised she had viewed as one of her possessions, no life or will of her own, just paid to serve. What a price was paid for her comfort. Now Thena was a different person, she saw the value in every small aspect of life. In fact, Thena now saw the value of life itself. Never would she ever complain of being bored again. The poor, apparently, had no right to be bored, tired, ill or ambitious. She was not used to being poor and had no intention of being so again. Dismissing the source of her money, she pulled on her coat and boots and collected her bag. It was only when she tried to open the door that she found it to be locked. Thena felt the overwhelming sense of fear and panic fill her. Had she been found out already? Had the man come looking for his coin? In that moment she never valued anything more in her whole life, than that which had just been removed from her – her freedom. She hammered on the door. She knew how thick the walls were and how long the corridor was. Soon she heard feet running toward her cell and grabbed her bag. Knowing she had stolen guineas, she had every reason to doubt why she was locked in. If they knew! She swallowed and tried to think quickly of a plausible way to explain her actions. If the man Fender had found her, her life could be forfeit for her crime. She now wished upon wish she had just run to the sisters and begged their help, but how to undo an act of desperation? They may make her join the order. If she told them now she had no doubt they would put the money to good use and have her there repenting from now until her dotage. Thena was not prepared for that. She would have to find Mr Fender in time and repay it, but could not face the long trek back across the moor. Her head swam, she had not eaten, and her thirst was great also. She clung to her bag as the door opened; her mouth felt dry and the room moved around her. She was fortunate, that as two sisters entered the room they realised she was about to fall again and grabbed her quickly stopping her from crashing her head on the stone floor.

“My dear!” one exclaimed as she was steadied. “Come with us, you have rested, but now need to eat.”

Thena agreed; she felt light in head and heavy of heart. She was led to where the sisters were having their broth and bread in a neat row at a table in the centre of an old stone arched room. The vaulted ceiling seemed high and the air around her cold. No one spoke, but she was escorted to an empty space and a sister gestured that she should be seated. Still with her bag close by her feet, Thena climbed in as smoothly as she could. She took little persuasion to consume the warm food and, as it slipped down her throat, she felt her energy return as if it was the nectar of life that she had imbibed. Gratefully, without looking around or need of word, she finished her meal and, using the bread, left the bowl clean.

“You must come with me now,” a nun said to her and stepped back ready for Thena to stand. No one else spoke. They silently stacked their plates as she left. Eyes watched her, but no one gestured or smiled. It was as if she was a foreigner who had invaded their space and they were wary of her. They did not know what to make of her. Perhaps that was what she seemed to them – a threat – someone who did not follow their rules – an outsider.

Thena followed her escort around the stone corridor to the corner of a quadrangle, the middle of which was being used to grow small crops of herbs within the sheltered walls. An older nun hoed it lovingly, focused on her task. The place had a strange feeling of peace about it that stilled Thena’s anxious heart. They stopped where stairs spiralled up out of sight behind the ancient wall. Here the nun stepped aside again and allowed her to climb them first. She thought of refusing, feeling as if it could be a trap, but then she wanted to see if it was the same Mother Ursula, the mother superior from her childhood, who sat in the office above. How old would she now be? Thena wondered. She followed the curve of the stone wall, carefully placing her feet on the small worn steps that had many a foot fall upon them over the centuries. When she came to a wooden door she knocked and waited momentarily until a strong voice ordered, “Come in!”

Thena placed her free hand on the large iron handle, as her other still clung to her bag with the stolen coin hidden inside it. She swallowed, almost feeling as if the sin of her crime could be read in her eyes as she entered. Peace had vanished again and guilt gnawed at her soul instead. The room was stark. A woman sat behind a desk on a simple chair. There was no fire in the hearth behind her and no hangings covered the bare stone walls. The wooden floor creaked as she crossed its uneven surface.

The woman watched her, but did not speak until Thena stood before her.

“Your name, girl,” she said.

“I am sorry to have inconvenienced you and would like to offer you a…”

“Do you have a problem hearing me or comprehending my questions? I asked you what your name is.”

“Yes, I heard well enough. I was going to offer you a donation before I left.” Thena looked at the hard face of the lady opposite her. This was not the gentle old lady she had seen as a child. She did not care for the woman’s tone, her confident dominant manner or her assertion that Thena had to obey her like one of her order.