Many would tell him that his soul was the richer for the defeat, Sister Roysia thought, but the worldly profit from the volume of sold badges was quite satisfactory. He forfeited little except pride when Prioress Ursell bested him, yet his expression seemed unusually glum today. That troubled Sister Roysia. Something besides this deal must have soured for him.
“I shall deliver the requested badges in the number, time, and quality requested,” the merchant said, properly confirming what had been agreed upon.
“The design will include a clear image of the Virgin, separated from the Archangel Gabriel by a potted lily, and all this shall be set within the top story of the Holy House.” The prioress’ voice was strong despite the hours of discussion.
“I have sworn it earlier and shall promise it again,” Larcher replied, weariness evident in his voice.
“And also vow not to forget the smaller badges showing a lock of hair, depicting the strands from the Virgin’s head which we keep in our own chapel.” Father Vincent’s voice rasped, but he always suffered from catarrh between autumn and spring.
These badges were a new addition to the usual order. Sister Roysia suspected the priest had begged for them, hoping that the sales would bring more income to the struggling convent at Ryehill.
Larcher shot him an annoyed look and grunted.
Prioress Ursell’s face cracked into an unaccustomed smile. “We have settled on the price as well.”
Master Larcher nodded with a restrained sigh.
Prioress Ursell beckoned to Father Vincent, who bent down so she might speak more privately with him.
The craftsman looked at Sister Roysia and quickly raised a questioning eyebrow.
Catching his signal, she raised her head, abruptly nodded, and lowered her gaze before either prioress or priest noticed the interchange.
Larcher’s face had now grown pale, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. Shivering with unease over the cause, the nun wondered if he guessed what she must tell him and feared it. Courage was a virtue she had long suspected he lacked. Against her better judgment, she chanced another glance at him, praying she conveyed reassurance.
Prioress Ursell caught her look and rose, her eyes sparkling with fury.
Ashen-faced, Master Larcher now faced the leader of Ryehill Priory. His lips were visibly trembling.
“We have finished here, but I shall expect prompt delivery,” Prioress Ursell snapped. “Timeliness is essential with the anticipated arrival of the king. Many more will visit Walsingham, longing to cheer him on in his endeavors against the barbarous Welsh and hoping to emulate his admirable piety. Purchase of a badge from us will have even greater worth to our eager pilgrims. They may wish more than one. You must return to your workshop immediately, Master Larcher.”
Master Larcher mumbled something inaudible.
Father Vincent eyed him, and then bent to whisper something to the prioress.
Ursell nodded and again focused on the craftsman. “It is also crucial that you speed completion of that pewter medal of your best quality for the prioress of Tyndal.” Ursell’s mouth pursed as if she had just tasted something foul. “I promised her a gift. Without it, she might delay the completion of her pilgrimage vow.”
The craftsman nodded and wiped his glistening forehead.
Perhaps his reaction has nothing to do with me, Sister Roysia thought. She had not listened to the discussion over badges. Prioress Ursell might have said something that troubled him.
“King Edward counts her brother as one of his favored men. Were the king to enter the town while Prioress Eleanor was still here,” the prioress continued, “her presence would surely distract him, leaving him less time to appreciate the glory of our own shrine and new relic.” Her mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. “Your share of the sales profits was increased on the assumption that our earthly king would favor us with gifts as well as Walsingham Priory. Let that inspire you to swiftly craft the piece for the prioress from Tyndal.”
Father Vincent nodded with enthusiasm.
Although this discussion of ridding Ryehill of a bothersome guest had seemed to calm Prioress Ursell’s anger, Sister Roysia grew more anxious for the priest and Master Larcher to depart. The merchant was so pale she did fear he was ill.
Prioress Ursell shattered the nun’s musing with a brusque command.
Rushing to the chamber door as ordered, Sister Roysia opened it and stepped modestly to one side.
Father Vincent was the first to depart. As was his habit, he drew his robes closer around him to avoid any contact with the nun as he passed by.
When the merchant approached, he stopped and gave her a feeble smile. “The bells did not ring for Compline last night,” he said, chewing his lower lip.
Sister Roysia took in a deep breath, then replied with the planned response. “I thought they had, Master Larcher, but I will most certainly make sure they are rung tonight.”
“Perhaps I slept through them.” He bowed again to the prioress and strode out. “I shall carefully listen for them,” he murmured, passing by the nun. The words faintly echoed as he sped down the long hall.
Trembling with relief that she had conveyed her message, Sister Roysia dutifully shut the door and turned to ask her prioress what further tasks she might have for her.
Prioress Ursell glared at her with white-hot rage.
Staggering back as if slapped, Sister Roysia put a hand to her throat and suppressed a cry of fear.
“I noted what passed between you and the merchant.” Prioress Ursell’s sharp gaze stung like a dagger point. “Had he been troubled by the bells not ringing, he ought to have addressed his concern to Father Vincent or to me. He had no reason to speak to you at all.”
Instinctively, the nun wrapped her arms around herself.
“Or did his words convey a special meaning, significant only to you both?”
“Absolutely not, my lady!”
“It is not the first time he has had some communication with you. I am not a fool, Sister.”
“I do not grasp your meaning.” The nun shook her head, hoping to suggest complete innocence. “I remember nothing improper said or done in the past by Master Larcher. As for today, I was surprised by his pallor. Did you not see how ill he looked? If I responded inappropriately to what he said, my reply came from relief that he seemed well and not possessed of a fever.” She was babbling and tried to calm herself. “His humors must have been…” Seeing the naked contempt in her prioress’ face, she knew she had failed to deceive.
“Do not speak further, Sister, for your mouth only spews Satan’s lies. You are as shameless as the whore of Babylon.” Prioress Ursell’s eyes narrowed like those of a cat about to pounce on a rodent. “Leave my chambers, and take the stench of evil with you, but do not think this incident will be forgotten.” An executioner facing a traitor on the scaffold could not have looked grimmer. “The punishment for the sin you have committed shall be a harsh one.”
Sister Roysia fled from the room.
Chapter Three
Spring in East Anglia was a troubling time, in particular for the poor who had barely survived the dark season. Daylight hours held the promise of a warming earth, but long nights retained winter’s icy cold. For a girl on the threshold of womanhood, with neither parents nor kin, survival thus far would be thought a miracle. To believe she had any hope of living much longer went beyond all reason.
Gracia huddled into a small space between two houses to escape the wind. Like a wary animal, she peered down the dark road leading to the major shrines. Her eyes half shut against the biting wind, she took her time before concluding she was safe.