The Shattered Rose (34 page)

Late in the afternoon Sister Martha came for Donate, and Aline sat, fidgeting, to wait.

The trouble with her plan was that it depended upon so many uncertainties. The other trouble was that it terrified her.

When the nun returned with the babe, Aline clutched her belly. "I don't feel very well," she moaned. "I think I might be ill. I don't know what it is, but I'm worried about the baby. She might catch something. . . ."

"Oh, my. Oh, no!" exclaimed the nun, looking around for help. But the bell was ringing for vespers and through the open door, Aline could see the community filing toward the chapel. At least the timing was working right.

"Perhaps the infirmary . . ." Aline gasped, covering her mouth as if about to vomit.

"Yes!" exclaimed the sister. "We can't endanger the baby." She grasped Aline and dragged her out of the small room before locking the door.

Aline leaned against a wall and sent up a prayer of thanks. She sent up another prayer that the infirmarian be at vespers.

Having done her best for the safety of the baby, Sister Martha became her usual friendly self, and put an arm around Aline. "You poor thing. Come along to the infirmary. There's a privy there, and as soon as vespers are over, Sister Fredeswide will find you something to help."

Thank you, oh. Blessed Mother,
Aline said silently. There was a chance she would be left alone.

The small, whitewashed room held six beds, all empty. Another cause for thanks. Perhaps God and His mother smiled on this enterprise. Aline collapsed onto one bed with  a moan. Sister Martha, unfortunately, sat on another.

 "Do you have a pain in your belly, Lady Aline?"

 "Yes. A bad one."

 "I'll get you a bowl."

 But that only took the nun to a cupboard at the end of  the room.

 Aline took the bowl and mumbled her thanks, thinking  hard. "Perhaps I can sleep," she said after awhile. "Please  don't feel you need to miss vespers."

 "I am excused for now to see to our guests."

 Guard us, in other words. Aline thought frantically.  "Don't you think you should go to where you can hear  Winifred if she calls? What if Donata turns sick too?"

 Sister Martha leaped to her feet. "Oh, dear! Indeed! The  poor precious mite. Perhaps I should get Sister Fredeswide . . ."

Before Aline could think of an objection to that, the nun muttered, "But she has such a tongue on her, and hates to be bothered unnecessarily. . . ."

Aline waited, praying.

"I'll sit in the cloister," said Sister Martha with a nod. "I'll be able to hear you or the baby's nurse if you call." She hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Yes. I'm sorry to be a trouble."

The nun patted her hand. "Don't you worry, dear. You'll soon be healthy again."

Once she was sure Sister Martha was out of sight, Aline slipped out of bed to reconnoiter. This room had three doors. One led out into the cloister. From behind the other she heard chanting. It must lead into the chapel, which was common enough. It meant that the door could stand open during services to allow the sick to worship.

The third door, when she gingerly opened it, proved to open into the infirmarian's still room. It was rich with the smells of herbs and potions, and its other door—
thank you again, Blessed Mother
—stood open into the herb garden.

The herb garden, however, was no escape. It had only one other exit—an archway back into the cloister, where Sister Martha presumably sat.

With a
humph
of frustration, Aline studied the wooden wall that sheltered two sides of the garden. It was the outside wall of the convent, but was at least twice her height. Though it had some cross-bracing on her side, she really didn't think she could climb it. She'd never been the sort of girl attracted to climbing and or other rough activities.

On the other hand, she had to get out of here.

She turned to consider the infirmary building itself. The peak of the thatched roof was a little higher than the wooden wall. Perhaps from up there she could let herself down.

Her heart started to thump with nervousness at the mere thought, but if she were going to try, it had to be now. As soon as vespers were over, the infirmarian would come to physick her, probably followed by a suspicious mother superior.

She remembered Raoul calling her a green cadet. He hadn't been talking of this kind of challenge, but the memory challenged her. She could do it. She could do anything if she put her mind to it.

Aline ran back into the infirmary and brought out a sturdy stool. Standing on that, she found she could almost reach the first ropes of the low-hanging thatch. With a jump and a pull, she was spread-eagled on the thatch, praying to whatever saint guarded foolish climbers.

As her heart steadied, she realized the roof was quite shallow, and with the thatch ties at regular intervals, it was easy enough to creep up to the crown—as long as she didn't look down.

When she reached the top, however, she had to peep over to see what Sister Martha was doing. She was sitting in the cloister garden, praying.

It was a long way down.

"God bless you and keep you, Sister, and may you not get into too much trouble over this."

Aline began to edge sideways along the peak of the roof toward the wooden wall, muttering with irritation as the layers of her clothing kept snagging on straw.

At the wall, Aline found she was still blessed, for on the other side was a quiet, narrow street. People passed along occasionally, but it was often deserted.

The drop, however, was still twice her height.

Jumping was completely out of the question.

She wished Raoul were here to train her. She was sure he knew any number of ways of getting down a wall. In fact, he'd think the task trivial, and laugh at her fears.

"Hah!" muttered Aline. "I'll show you, Raoul de Jouray."

Heart pounding with fear, she unknotted her woven girdle and tied one end securely to one of the thatch ropes. The girdle was more than her height in length. If it held, it should make the drop quite small.

If it held.

Praying that the bell for the end of vespers wouldn't start yet, Aline waited for a time when no one was in sight. Then, whispering a continuous litany to her favorite saints, she wriggled her legs and hips over the wall, holding on to the cloth for dear life.

"Mary, Mother of God, aid me."

"Saint Anne, pray for me. And give me stronger arms and hands!"

Muscles screaming, feet braced against the wall, she worked hand over hand down the stretching, straining strip of woven cloth.

"Saint George, mighty warrior, come to my support!"

Her hands ached and weakened, and she was sure she would lose her grip.

"Saint Thomas, let me not doubt that this cloth will hold me____"

The girdle snapped.

Aline let out a squeak of terror, but in fact she was so close to the end that she just dropped with a thump on her behind.

After a shaken moment, she leaped up, dusted herself off, and grabbed the torn strip of material off the ground.

She was just in time. As she hurried down the lane on shaky legs, a man carrying a heavy sack on his back trundled in. He passed her without a glance, and her heart began to steady.

Stopping for a moment to catch some deep breaths, she heard the convent bell signal the end of prayer. She hastily wrapped the remains of her girdle around her waist and threaded her way into a busier street to put distance between herself and pursuit.

She couldn't help smiling. She'd
done
it! Wait until Raoul heard about this! After a little while, however, in the anonymity of a crowded, clamorous market, Aline had to admit she was lost.

Never imagining a city as huge and crowded as London, she'd thought that if she wandered a little, she would soon come across Hugo's house. She had walked up and down a score of streets, however, and seen nothing she recognized at all. She wasn't sure what kind of search would be made for her, but she had been confined at St. Hilda's by order of the king. Perhaps the whole city was even now being put on the alert.

She could imagine criers appearing in the street, bellowing, "Seek out a maid of eighteen years, one with blue eyes and fair hair under a plain white veil. Her plump body is covered in a cream-colored kirtle and a red and brown over-tunic, finely worked. She is a fugitive of the king's. Detain her with all necessary force!"

She looked around, but no one was staring at her yet. In fact, it being close to the end of the day, everyone seemed intent on their own business, and in a hurry to be home.

Customers were making last-minute purchases, and vendors were beginning to pack away their wares. She doubted they'd notice her if she were stark naked.

That gave her an idea. Stepping into a quiet corner, she pulled off her richly woven tunic and bundled it up in her plain veil. Then she tied her girdle around her simple kirtle. With uncovered head and simple gown she wouldn't look so out of place. Nor would she so obviously fit any description.

What next, though? It was ridiculous, but she couldn't remember the name of the street on which Hugo had his home and business. In smaller northern towns, even in York, to ask for the house of Hugo and Mary, the vintners, would surely gain her directions, but in London? She doubted it.

Moreover, there were so many sly-seeming people here, so many rogues and ruffians, she hesitated to announce to the world that she was a lost stranger.

She let the press of the crowd move her past the stalls, remembering Waltham and the tinsmith's cart. If only Raoul would appear out of nowhere to help her.

Appear out of nowhere to kiss her?

That kiss, those feelings, and her rejection of his offer of marriage all troubled her mightily, but now was not the time to dwell on them. Instead, she sent a short, fierce petition for help up to Christ's mother.

Like an answer, the words popped into her brain. Corser Street.

Her knees almost gave way in relief. Sending a fervent prayer of thanks, Aline worked her way over to a pleasant-seeming women loading jars of honey and baskets of honey cakes into a little wagon.

"If you would be so kind, mistress, could you tell me the way to Corser Street?"

"Lost, love?" asked the woman. "Not surprising, the crazy way everything is these days. I'll be glad when it all settles back down again, even though it'll be bad for business. Corser Street?" She turned and called to the black-pudding seller next to her. "Dawy! Corser Street. Where is it?"

The man never stopped packing away his remaining sausages. "Over near Fetters Lane. Down near the river."

The honey woman turned back. "Well, love, you're aways from home, and that's the truth. But you follow this road to Cooper's Lane. Turn left there and it'll take you to the river. Corser Street’s in that direction. You'll find it." She picked up a small honey cake and pressed it into Aline’s hand. "Here, love. It'll keep up your strength."

Aline could willingly have hugged the woman for caring, but she just thanked her and hurried on. Or, rather, she would have hurried if the crowd had permitted it. As it was, she had to go with the flow of people, squeezed and buffeted by those trying to hurry anyway.

There were doubtless quieter streets nearby, but she was afraid of losing her way, and anyway, she was well hidden in such a crowd. To be even less conspicuous, she made herself stroll along and nibbled on the honey cake, trying to understand exactly what was going on.

She wondered why Jehanne felt she must be at the hearing, but knew that if her cousin was convinced she had something of import to tell the king, she was probably right. Jehanne was formidably clever.

Jehanne was probably also right in thinking that Galeran would stop her from appearing before the king if he could. This gave Aline some problems. Galeran was also formidably clever. If he thought it best that Jehanne not appear, he might be right.

So, should she go to Galeran and explain the situation, and leave it in his hands? Or should she go to Raoul and hope he'd help get Jehanne out of the convent tomorrow morning?

And how was that to be done?

Aline saw the words
Cooper Lane
on a wall ahead, illustrated by a stack of barrels. She brushed the cake crumbs off her hands and worked through the crowd so she was ready to turn off when the street appeared.

The change was so abrupt that it felt as if Cooper's Lane were deserted, whereas in fact it was reasonably busy. It was clear, however, that few used it as a thoroughfare, perhaps because of the stacks of barrels standing outside each house. The people here were either the coopers and their apprentices and families, or purposeful businessmen inspecting products and placing orders.

Casks.

Wine.

The coopers surely knew all the vintners.

When one middle-aged man came out to roll a barrel back into his workshop, Aline spoke to him. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know the vintner Hugo who lives on Corser Street?"

The man straightened and looked her up and down. But then he winked and smiled. "And if I do, pretty maid?"

Aline's instinct was to shrink away, but she knew he was just teasing, so she made herself smile back. "I'm a new maid there, sir, and I've lost my way. Can you tell me how to get back?"

"From the country, I reckon," he said, eyes bright with curiosity. "From the north, I'd say."

She could have screamed with impatience, but he was clearly proud of his deduction. "How did you guess that?" she asked admiringly. "Yes, sir, I come from near Durham."

"A long way from home, and not surprising you're a mite lost. Right then." He touched her arm, but only to turn her to look down the street. "Go on down here until you come to that house that hangs out over the street. The one with the red trimming. See it?"

"Yes."

"There's a ginnel running between the houses there. Follow it through and you'll be in Ironmonger's Lane. There's another cut-through almost opposite. Take that and you'll be in St. Marie's Road. Turn left there a bit and you'll find Corser Street. You got that?"