“Then you did meet. How did you get into the bell tower?” She bent forward, her voice shaking with fury. “Tell me that, confess your sins to Father Vincent, and you might escape Hell. Sister Roysia burns there now, screaming in agony, for what she did. Do you wish to join her? Lust never burns as hot as those flames.”
“I deny these accusations, my lady. I am innocent. If the dead nun burns, she does so for reasons I know nothing about.” A brief smile teased at his lips. “I have naught to confess to Father Vincent that he does not already know.”
She slammed her staff on the floor. “I must know how you got into the tower!”
He glared at her for a moment, then pointed to the badge she had dropped on the table while she raged at him. “That badge I now give to you as a gift, my lady. Such generosity should prove my innocence. I have been maligned by some enemy. I asked for a witness, you did not reply, and you refuse to name the person. I can only imagine the reason and none speak well for the truth of your accusation.”
She stepped back and stumbled against the table edge.
He grew confident and smiled. “Perhaps you wish to find another craftsman to make your badges, although no one else in Walsingham has the skills to provide the volume at the speed you require.” He waved his hand at the door. “I shall leave you now to consider the implications of your allegations. When you realize your error, I may forgive you for your attempt to throw excrement on my character, but in the future I shall expect you to give me a far better price for my work than you have heretofore.”
With a gesture filled with mockery and confidence, he bowed and marched out of the chamber.
The door thudded shut.
Prioress Ursell glanced down at the pewter badge cast aside on the table. “This gift has cost me much,” she muttered. “May it at least buy my flock peace from meddling, unwelcome eyes and speed Prioress Eleanor and her monk on their journey home.”
Then she spun around to face the little nun near the door. “You will say nothing to anyone about this meeting, Sister. Should I hear any rumor suggesting you have ignored my command, you shall be stripped at the next Chapter and I shall personally whip you.”
The nun nodded, bowed her head, and silently wept.
***
The merchant was more angry and frightened than he dared let the prioress see. When he slammed the chamber door, he closed his eyes. Rage almost blinded him. His head spun, and he stumbled with dizziness. As if he had just eaten rotten meat, his stomach roiled.
“I humbly beg pardon, Master Larcher!”
With horror at the sound of the woman’s voice, he flattened himself against the wall. After the charges flung at him by Prioress Ursell over his relationship with Sister Roysia, had he now added to his crimes by bumping into a nun?
“Are you unwell?”
He stared at her, then sighed with relief. This was no member of Ryehill’s thin-cheeked religious flock. Although her dress was simple and gathered around her waist by a narrow rope, the merchant noted the fine quality of cloth. Not even Prioress Ursell could afford such attire. In fact, he reminded himself with contempt, the prioress wore a robe that was almost as patched as those of her nuns.
“I suffered only a brief moment of fatigue, Mistress,” he said, his smile growing warm.
“I am most relieved!” The woman’s hands fluttered with delight before settling into a demure rest. “I believe we are well met, Master Larcher.”
“How so? Are we acquainted? If we are, I beg you to…”
“We are not, but I know your craftsmanship. The fame of your work has spread far beyond Walsingham.” She lowered her head. “I am Mistress Emelyne of Norwich. My late husband was a prominent merchant of that place.” When she looked back at him, her cheeks became a delightful shade of modest pink.
Glancing with approval at her well-rounded bosom, high forehead, and unblemished skin of fashionable pallor, Larcher found himself inclined to please this woman. And, as he admired her further, he noted that she seemed appreciative of his evident regard.
Mistress Emelyne is a pilgrim here and will soon leave, he thought. His leman need never know if he spent a few hours in bed sport with this woman. That the widow was equally inclined to find pleasure with him was unquestioned. Her fluttering eyelashes gave him all the permission he needed.
“Your praise honors me.” He bowed.
“I have seen so many examples of your work in pilgrimage badges,” she said softly. “Have you not also crafted a fine pewter badge for the prioress of Tyndal?”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “But you could not have seen it. I just now brought it to Prioress Ursell.”
“In the local shops, I heard much talk of your unique skill. All say that any discerning customer would find your personal crafting of fine objects remarkable.” Again her cheeks flushed an alluring shade as she dared to glance briefly into his eyes. “Rumors abound that you have recently favored Prioress Eleanor.”
He puffed out his chest. “I confess the tales are true.”
“Then I would like to order something to remember my visit here as well. In your finest pewter, of course, and I am well able to pay the price for such a fine object.”
“A special order would require consultation.” He lowered his voice and stepped slightly closer to her.
“I would expect no less,” she murmured.
“Will you come to my shop,” he asked, “and grace my house by dining with me? My cook is well regarded, and I offer good wine.” He mentioned an hour when the apprentices were not in the shop and nothing could interrupt an enjoyable courting. “Discussions of this nature are best done in comfort. Do you not agree?”
“Of course, Master Larcher. We must speak at some length about the order. You are most kind to offer refreshment and hospitality.”
After he gave her directions to his shop and home, he left the priory well satisfied with himself.
For the moment, he set aside his worry over Sister Roysia’s unfortunate death, his need to hide where he had been that night, and the displeasure of Master Durant. As for Prioress Ursell’s curses on him, he was now free of the priest’s threats. Someone had told her about his visits with the nun. Had it been Father Vincent despite their agreement?
In any case, he was now convinced that God did not condemn him for the sins he committed by meeting the nun in the bell tower, no matter what their purpose in doing so. After all, why else would his wife have chosen this time to spend a few days with her sister outside Walsingham, a visit that allowed him to share his own comfortable bed with Mistress Emelyne?
Hurrying along the road back to his shop, he chuckled. His servants were paid well enough for discretion, and he was quite pleased by the prospect of such a lush woman to delight his manhood.
He rubbed his hands. He would also make a nice profit on the badge for the widow, enough to make up for the one he had gifted that avaricious prioress.
Without question, God was smiling on him.
Chapter Nineteen
Prioress Eleanor had experienced such joy in the chapel, when her voice became one with the communal prayers of all the priory nuns, that she was reluctant to return to the strident world of mortal concerns. Even a visit to the shrines with other pilgrims would shatter this mood. Instead, she sought the quiet garden of Ryehill’s small cloister and avoided all company except that of God.
On occasion, Eleanor longed for hours when she heard no conversation, saw no people, and could kneel at her prie-dieu in the silence of her chambers, waiting for God’s peace to fill her and His wisdom to instruct her. In those moments, she envied her anchoress who had chosen to entomb herself.
But, she reminded herself, even the Anchoress Juliana had an obligation to the world of men and those who knelt outside her window, begging advice. Perhaps she should not complain that God had inspired King Henry III to appoint her the prioress of Tyndal instead of allowing her to remain a simple nun at Amesbury. What was inspired by God was still a service to Him. That she had done this assigned duty well, bringing her religious house to a more affluent and respected state, was deemed a pious act. Nor was the success an opinion formed by her own pride. It was the conclusion of others, some of whom had no cause to love her.