Sitting on a stone bench, she sighed and looked down at the funnel-shaped yellow Lent Lily near her feet. She gently touched the plant. The bright yellow petals felt so fragile, yet the plant was one of the first to bloom while spring was still an infant. How deceptive appearance can be, she thought.
Because she was a tiny woman of delicate form, many assumed that she was a weak creature. But her aunt, who had reared her at Amesbury, understood her strength of will and passion for justice in all things. As a loving jest, Sister Beatrice often said her young niece was God’s pillar of iron.
When Eleanor was old enough to comprehend, her aunt told her to be prepared lest God choose her to bear the burden of dealing with the world so that other nuns would have all they needed to remain strong and pray for souls in Purgatory. Now that Eleanor was even older, she had learned a truth her aunt felt no need to explain: it was the obligation of a baron’s daughter to govern priories, not to be ruled within them.
A rustling nearby interrupted her thoughts, and she gasped in surprise.
“Forgive me, my lady! I did not intend to intrude.”
Eleanor instantly regretted her expression of displeasure. The young nun who stood in front of her was gaunt, and her eyes were red from weeping.
“My child, what troubles you?” Eleanor put out her hand. “Sit next to me and, if I am able, let me ease your sorrow.” And she is almost a child, the prioress thought. Although older than Gracia, she looked younger than her former maid at Tyndal, Gytha, who had just married.
Collapsing on the bench beside the prioress, the nun buried her face in her hands and began to sob.
Eleanor slid closer and held her until the weeping slowed.
The nun sat up and rubbed angrily at her eyes as if they had cruelly offended her.
“Do not treat them so,” the prioress said. “They have done you no ill.”
“I did not mean to disturb you, my lady.” The words came between gulps for air.
“Grief demands comfort, and the need for consolation is never a disruption.”
The nun stared at her. “But Prioress Ursell says…” She put a hand to her mouth, realizing she should not finish that sentence.
Words you need not utter, Eleanor thought. From what she had observed, she suspected Prioress Ursell would have no patience with the weakness of sorrow. Looking more closely at the young woman’s face, she recognized her. “Are you not the one who summoned me to meet with your prioress after the death of Sister Roysia?”
The woman nodded and turned pale. “I came here thinking I would be alone, my lady. Please do not tell Prioress Ursell we met or that I burdened you with my woes. She would rightly say that my faith in God’s power to heal is lacking, and I confess my failure, but I do beg this singular charity of you.”
Eleanor patted her hand. “Without asking, you would have that, but tell me your grief. God often heals our hearts faster when heartache is given tongue.”
“In truth?”
“I have found it to be so.”
The nun quickly looked around before bending closer to the prioress. “I miss Sister Roysia so much!” she murmured. “We loved each other as if we had been born from the same womb. When she died, she took my heart with her to the grave.”
“Tell me about her.”
A trace of happiness flickered in the young woman’s eyes. “She brightened all our lives when she first came here, my lady. She was gentle to everyone, even though she often favored me with her company.” She blushed and waved the last words aside as if they were of little importance. “Prioress Ursell soon noticed her sweet modesty and quiet manner and honored Sister Roysia by choosing her as her attendant when our prioress met those from the secular world in her chambers.”
“A privilege indeed.” Eleanor understood how valuable such a trusted companion was. Now that Gytha was married to the Crowner, she missed her deeply. “It was a considerable responsibility for one so young.”
“Not once did Sister Roysia speak of anything she learned during those meetings. She treated what she heard like a priest does a man’s confession.”
How interesting, the prioress thought. Here was a nun chosen by her prioress for goodness and discretion, but, after her tragic death, was discussed as if her only virtue was caring about the timely arrival of a bell ringer. And, as Eleanor had since learned, there were rumors that Sister Roysia had a lover, maybe two. The street child, on the other hand, had said…
“She has been much maligned, my lady!” The nun bent close to the prioress’ ear. “I weep not only for her death but for the unjust accusations against her.”
“Surely Prioress Ursell will put a stop to those.”
“Our prioress and Father Vincent believe the lies and do not argue for her honor. Instead, they try to cover up a sin that never occurred.”
This was a different perspective. The ragamuffin had also claimed that nothing lewd occurred between nun and man, but surely Gracia would not have been in the bell tower every time they met. “You believe they are in error?”
Again, the nun put a hand to her mouth, but loyalty to her friend would not be silenced. Her words flowed out in a rush. “In this one matter Prioress Ursell is wrong. Please do not misunderstand me! I have no wish to speak ill of our lady. We respect and obey her. She is consistent in her punishments, has no favorites amongst us, and, despite our poverty, has always provided for our needs above her own.”
Eleanor nodded. Remembering the poor quality of the prioress’ attire, she believed this much was true. Prioress Ursell might be disagreeable, inflexible, and even cruel, but she did not enjoy luxury at the expense of her priory. “You know that Sister Roysia was accused of meeting a man in the bell tower?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Are you claiming nothing untoward happened between them? Or are you saying such meetings never occurred?” She still found it unreasonable to assume the meetings were innocent and felt a flash of outrage. Had Sister Roysia been one of her nuns, she would have punished her severely, either for mocking her vows, if the meetings were chaste, or for the actual betrayal of them.
She frowned, but her face quickly grew hot with embarrassment as she remembered her decision involving Sister Anne and Brother John. She had no right to be so self-righteous about this equally questionable situation. Appearance, she reminded herself, is not always the same as truth.
“Sister Roysia was never unchaste. She never broke her vows!”
“It is true that they actually met?”
The nun nodded and looked away.
Gracia had shown Eleanor how the craftsman had entered the tower, not by the front door but by climbing a rope. Although the prioress believed her, she preferred confirmation of the tale. She also wanted to establish whether this nun had cause for her assertion of virtue or was imagining Sister Roysia’s remarkable chastity out of the blind loyalty of friendship.
The prioress gestured toward the cloister walls. “Are these not high? How could any man climb the walls of Ryehill Priory?”
“We have had our scandals, my lady. A nun did slip away many years ago and later returned heavy with child, but Prioress Ursell has done much to reclaim our honor and reputation since she came to lead us. Although our entrance door is not always watched as it should be, we are still vigilant despite being few in number. Never once has a man slipped into our halls unaccompanied. Although Sister Roysia did meet a man in the bell tower, she swore she did not let him in the front door, lest he be observed. She did not want to endanger the reputation of our sisters, but she never told me how he got into the tower.”