“You did well to come to me with this,” the prioress said.
As she looked at the nun standing meekly in front of her, she was reminded of herself at that more youthful age. How could she have been bewitched with Sister Roysia when it was this nun she should have chosen for her attendant? There was no adoring crowd around her, and the woman prayed with quiet fervor. Neither disliked nor liked, she walked about the priory with head down and eyes alert. No one noticed her. Yet she had just proven how deeply she cared about the priory’s reputation. Indeed, Prioress Ursell thought, she understands the importance as much as I.
Gesturing for the nun to kneel, the prioress gave her a blessing and graced her with a rare smile. The woman’s face betrayed no smugness over the new favor she had found with her prioress, but Ursell was certain she understood that the news had pleased.
“For now, I shall not reprove our untrustworthy sister until I learn how much of her heart Satan has possessed. Be my eyes and ears in this. If she seeks out the prioress of Tyndal again to continue her scandalous talk, come to me at once. Should any discussions of Sister Roysia’s virtue be held by any of our religious with anyone, I want the names, places, and details of their conversations.”
The nun swore to obey, bowed humbly to her leader, and left in silence.
Prioress Ursell was filled with anger and a longing for retribution. She knew that some in Walsingham had heard gossip of Sister Roysia’s sins, but a rumor with no proof may fade away or be countered. Unlike that nun who had returned from the arms of her chapman great with child, Sister Roysia had died before there was similar evidence of wickedness. As for her religious, she feared from the beginning that the story could not be kept from them, but she would forbid discussion of it.
But this chattering sister, this treasonous prattler, had spoken of the scandal to a stranger and presented the tale as truth. The punishment meted out to this creature would be long and harsh. As for Prioress Eleanor, she must find some way of silencing her.
Looking up at the stark cross on the wall near her carved chair, Prioress Ursell swore an oath that this matter of Sister Roysia and Master Larcher would be ended now before the scandal grew like a virulent cancer. When the nun died, she thought the rumors would as well, but she was troubled by the new arrogance shown by the craftsman.
“We are poor enough,” she muttered. “We cannot suffer greater loss because of what has happened here.”
Walking to the chamber door, she threw it open and ordered a messenger sent to Father Vincent. Master Larcher must be dealt with, finally, harshly, and now. As for this obnoxious prioress from Tyndal, Ursell would make sure the woman learned there was a penalty for insulting the leader of Ryehill.
Chapter Twenty-one
Eleanor knelt beside her monk in front of the altar holding the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock.
The woman who had accompanied her to the chapel finished her prayers and rose to find a quiet corner where she might breast-feed her querulous baby.
After her footsteps faded, the prioress whispered, “I must speak with you, Brother.”
“And I with you, my lady. The matter is urgent.”
“Give me your tidings first.” She looked around. “I see no one too near.”
“Gracia is outside,” he whispered, “but we must hurry if we are to speak with her. She is afraid Father Vincent will catch her.”
“By what miracle have you found the girl?”
“I saw her coming from the stable near the inn and called out. She motioned for me to follow her to a quiet street, and there I asked her to meet with us. She seems frightened, apart from her desire to avoid the priest, but would not explain why. I promised we would not endanger her.”
With an apology to God for failing to offer all the prayers she had intended, Eleanor rose to her feet and told Thomas to take her to the girl. “Did she tell you that I discovered her in the bell tower, Brother? I pray I have gained her trust, but fear otherwise. She disappeared before I could ask her everything I needed to know.”
“She is clever at hiding, my lady, but she trusts you. She insisted that you be with me if she were to tell her tale.”
When they reached the chapel door, Brother Thomas cried out in dismay. The child had vanished.
“I do not see Father Vincent,” Eleanor said, gazing down the road toward the priory, “but something must have frightened her away. I doubt she will risk her safety and meet us again.”
Thomas looked in the opposite direction. “There! She beckons,” he said and rushed away.
Eleanor glanced nervously behind her where the young woman was crooning to her baby while she nursed him in the chapel shadows.
She knew she should not follow her monk alone down the backstreets of Walsingham without proper attendance, but she dared not take a stranger with her lest Gracia flee. If she did not go to the child now, the girl might never help them resolve vital problems, and another murder might be committed. Brother Thomas could not pose all the questions needed because she had not had the time to tell him what she had learned.
Afraid to disobey the rules of her calling, but equally dreading the consequences if she did not, Eleanor hesitated, took one step toward the young mother, then made up her mind not to summon the woman. “May God forgive and protect me,” she murmured. If He was kind, the mother would be so occupied with her babe that she might not even notice the prioress’ absence.
Picking up her robe so she would not trip on the hem, the Prioress of Tyndal raced down the street after Brother Thomas.
Still ahead of the pair, Gracia veered off the main road and entered a dark street-one that was empty, narrow, and stinking of urine and garbage.
Please stop, Eleanor silently implored the girl. In this less than salubrious part of town, where residents did not pay for cleaner streets, she was grateful for the company of her tall monk.
Gracia waved the pair to a dark niche between two buildings.
Eleanor looked up and shivered. One of the buildings leaned ominously. Should her transgression in disobeying the restrictions of her vocation be deemed wicked enough, she would die with all her sins still upon her if that structure collapsed on her. Silently, she begged God not to punish Gracia and her monk for an offense that was hers alone.
“Why did you flee, child?” Thomas crouched by her side. “Speak quickly,” he whispered. “My prioress should not be on these streets, but she comes out of love for you.”
Gracia’s face was pale. “I thought I saw the merchant in the street, Brother, the one who hurt me.” She pulled on his sleeve until he bent his ear to her mouth. “If you need to find me again, the stableman for the inn has now taken mercy on me and lets me sleep in the straw of the loft when there are few horses and only he is there.”
Eleanor felt her face grow hot with anger. “Has this vile creature done you any further harm?”
The child shook her head, but her gaze never left the ground.
Eleanor was not convinced that Gracia was telling the truth, but she sensed the girl did not fully trust anyone enough to confide her vulnerability. Kneeling on the other side of the child, the prioress took her hand. “What more have you to tell us? You told me in the bell tower that Father Vincent knew Master Larcher met Sister Roysia there and abetted their encounters.”
Thomas stiffened in shock.
“According to one of the women who shares my quarters,” Eleanor said to him, “there are rumors that Master Larcher was the nun’s lover. Some also say that Father Vincent was as well. With all that has been happening, this is the first opportunity I have had to tell you.”