“I was here when they met.”
Eleanor looked around in amazement. “How did you get up here?”
“Ryehill Priory has few nuns and no servants. I had sometimes seen the front door open and crept in without being caught, then hidden in this tower. But Sister Roysia once saw me outside and, having heard the story of the merchant’s rape, suggested I might henceforth find the priory entry unsecured and unattended while the nuns prayed at night before their rest. It is easy for me to swiftly climb the stairwell, and I could sleep in safety. I hid in a dark corner when the nun ascended the stairs to ring the bell. She never tarried when the wind was pitiless.”
“But Sister Roysia and the craftsman must have remained longer, and surely they saw you.” The prioress gestured around the tower. “There is no place so dark that a sharp eye could not penetrate.”
“For someone of my size there is, my lady. As you discovered, it is easy to remain just below the tower entrance and remain unseen. I know of other places for concealment as well.”
“And did you observe them often?”
“They met only a few times, my lady, but I was here when they did with but one exception.”
This is quite extraordinary, Eleanor thought. Although she once allowed a nun to meet with a monk, who had been the woman’s husband in the world, and was confident that their encounters were chaste, she remained doubtful about Master Larcher and Sister Roysia. Yet this girl was not ignorant of sexual matters, being both poor and abused. “What did they talk about, child?” The answer to this question should give her a better idea of the circumstances.
Gracia shrugged. “Stories that Sister Roysia overheard from those who visited Prioress Ursell. I could not always hear details but understood the intent. The first time they…”
Suddenly they heard a sound like a door slamming.
Eleanor froze, but no one emerged from the entrance. She walked over and looked down the stairwell. It was empty. Perhaps she had not shut the entrance door firmly enough, and she prayed this happened often enough with such an ill-fitting door that a passing nun would think nothing of it if the wind sucked it shut.
Then she looked over her shoulder, intending to continue her conversation with Gracia.
The child had disappeared.
She called softly to her but got no response. Where could the girl have gone?
A quick glance confirmed the rope remained coiled in the place she had last seen it. Other than the wind, there was no sound in the bell tower, a place that had suddenly grown ominous and lonely.
From deep in the bell tower, a raven screamed a warning from a hidden roost, then swooped down at the prioress. She fell to her knees. The bird swerved and flew away.
Eleanor shuddered and decided she would look no further for the vanished girl. It was time she left herself. Backing down into the stairwell, she carefully replaced the wooden slat over the bell tower entrance. The descent seemed to take forever, but at last she returned to the door.
It was firmly shut.
I am sure I left it that way, she thought, then carefully listened for any noise on the other side. Praying it was safe, she slowly pushed the door open.
No one was in the hall when she emerged.
As Eleanor returned to the room she shared with others, she grew increasingly curious. How had Gracia escaped?
Chapter Eighteen
Larcher laid the pewter badge on the table and admired his intricate work. It glittered like old silver in the pale beam of light flowing from the window above. Impatient, he began to pace around the empty audience chamber at Ryehill Priory. He had made a great effort to finish the badge for the prioress of Tyndal as requested. Where was Prioress Ursell?
Twitching with annoyance, he looked around as if the woman must be hiding somewhere just to infuriate him. He had no time to wait for her to grace him with her presence. Kicking at the rushes, he muttered a curse unsuited to a religious setting.
The chamber door swung open. Outside, two women held a brief conversation before the prioress of Ryehill entered with a small nun in tow.
He glanced at the attendant, half expecting to see Sister Roysia. A chill shook him as if a ghost had touched his arm, and he began to sweat with rank fear.
“It is about time you finished that badge, Master Larcher,” the prioress said as she seated herself with a muted thud onto her dark wooden chair. “Let me see it.” She pointed to the item.
He bowed, then reached for the requested object and passed it to the prioress, taking care not to touch her.
No longer brightened by the outside light, the badge looked dull.
Ursell felt the weight of the badge in her hand, scowled, and hefted it again. Then she stretched the object out at arm’s length to study each nuance of design.
The silence in the room felt far heavier to the craftsman than this intended gift for the prioress of Tyndal. Master Larcher’s temper was growing short, and he longed to go back to his shop. The apprentices were surely growing slack in their labor without the threat of his arrival and the whip he always held in his hand. As he nervously watched the prioress, her glare suggested displeasure. He fingered the details of the Virgin in the badge, and decided he would first stop at the inn for a soothing cup of wine.
“I saw the look you gave my current attendant,” Ursell said, lowering the badge and bestowing her disapproving look on the craftsman instead.
Her voice made Larcher think of the Archangel Gabriel’s horn announcing Judgment Day. He swallowed, but his throat remained too dry to speak.
“She will not succumb to sin like Sister Roysia did.” The prioress waved her hand toward the shadowy figure by the door. “I have made sure she understands the horrors of hellfire for any bride of Christ who breaks her vows.”
Although he could not be sure, the craftsman thought he heard a muted cry of pain from the unnamed nun. “I do not understand, my lady,” he whispered.
“You both thought I was a fool, Master Larcher. I knew of your meetings in the bell tower.” She waited, then hissed, “I pray that Sister Roysia’s death has opened your eyes to how a wrathful God punishes vile sinners.”
“What meetings? What sins?” As if expecting a dagger blow, he crossed his arms across his chest.
Ursell sneered. “I smell your lie. Your sweat reeks like a sow in heat. That is the reek of unholy lust.”
“Lust?” He straightened, and his pallor began to fade. “I felt nothing of the kind for your nun, nor did she for me.”
“How dare you insult me and add that to your many sins!” Clutching her staff, she rose from her seat and approached the merchant. “Lest you think me an innocent, know that I left the world understanding all too well what wickedness is common in it. You met Sister Roysia in the bell tower and coupled with her like a dog.” She stood so close, her spittle sprayed his face. “There is no other reason for a man and a woman to meet covertly.”
He wiped his cheeks and stared at her, unable to speak.
The prioress raised a fist in front of his nose. “Deny it as the Evil One demands, but God knows what you did there.”
He bent to one side and reached over to touch her staff of office. “On this I swear. God may strike me now if my hand ever touched your nun with lust.”
Pulling the staff away from him, Prioress Ursell stepped back. “I hear the Devil’s voice coming from your mouth.”
“We did nothing of which you accuse us.”
“Do you deny you met each other in the tower?”
“Bring me the witness!”
“That accusation you dare not deny. I am not so easily fooled by your weak attempt to divert me, Master Larcher.” She carefully placed her staff between them. “You met, you coupled, and you killed Sister Roysia for the sin you forced upon her in her woman’s frailty.”
“If someone has told you this, they lie! We were chaste, and I most certainly did not kill her.” He cursed himself for his phrasing. He had as good as admitted to one of her accusations.