The merchant’s widow knelt and wrapped the wounded foot in a white cloth before easing on the shoes.
Eleanor looked around. The only other person in the room was another pilgrim who lay snoring in the far corner, her child clutched in her arms. Other straw beds were empty. No one stood waiting, and the chamber door was shut. “Did Prioress Ursell send a messenger, Mistress Emelyne?”
“She sent one of her nuns, but I told her to wait outside while I awakened you. I feared a strange voice would alarm you, and mine is familiar from our travels together.”
“You were kind to think of that.” The prioress struggled to rise, then reluctantly accepted the widow’s proffered hand until she was able to stand without support.
She was not unappreciative of the woman’s thoughtfulness, nor had she taken for granted the compassion the widow had shown by helping her on with the shoes. But Eleanor had had more than she wished of the woman’s companionship on the road from Tyndal. As ungrateful as it seemed to her now, she still found the widow’s company annoying.
I am just out of sorts, Eleanor decided on swift reflection, and taking my ill humor out on a good woman. Wincing with the pain from her abused feet, the prioress forced a grimace into a stiff smile. “Now, Mistress Emelyne, if you will call the nun to me?”
Nodding, the widow walked to the door. As she swung it open, the ill-fitting wooden slats creaked ominously on rusting hinges. Peering around the corner, Mistress Emelyne waved at a hidden figure in the hall.
The hollow cheeks of the young woman who entered were paler than the weak light would explain. When she saw the prioress of Tyndal, she bowed with courtesy. “Prioress Ursell requests your presence in her chambers, my lady,” she stammered. “Your monk waits there as well.”
“Brother Thomas?” Eleanor willed herself to walk with stiff-legged dignity toward the nun. “Has disturbing news come from Tyndal?”
The nun’s eyes glistened with restrained tears. “Nay, my lady, but he has discovered a corpse lying beneath our bell tower. We fear it is one of our sisters.”
Eleanor glanced upward with dismay. She had come on this pilgrimage as penance for her sins, to seek answers for troubling questions, and find peace in the worship of the holy relics. Why, she now asked God, could He not send that grim reaper of souls to accompany another for a change? Death’s fondness for involving her in his more violent acts was always wearisome, but she had long tolerated it as part of her service to God. On this one journey, however, she begged for a respite from the vile creature.
Her silent protest ceased when she saw tears flowing from the nun’s deep-set eyes. “I grieve to hear this news,” she said, “and pray that God sends comfort to the hearts of all in this community.”
Murmuring gratitude, the messenger swiftly brushed her hands over her face.
With no further hesitation, Eleanor followed the mournful sister to meet with Prioress Ursell and hear what Brother Thomas had discovered. Whatever dismay she felt over this interruption in her pilgrimage, she was still God’s servant and would follow Him no matter where He led her. And, she reminded herself, I owe Him joy in the performance of my duty, not resentment.
As she carefully walked along the narrow hall, she concluded that the dead nun must have been well-loved to cause such grief in this sister. Shamed by her pettiness, Eleanor acknowledged that this sorrow was of far greater import than any minor complaint she might have about enjoying an undisturbed pilgrimage.
Chapter Six
Thomas disliked Prioress Ursell almost as much as he did Father Vincent. Although he tried to hide the evidence of his disdain, he had gotten no sleep, his temper was short, and his willingness to remain polite was growing feeble.
The woman was tall for her gender, he noted, and as long in the face as a horse. Had she chosen marriage as her duty, men would have called her plain as a kindness and ill-cast if they had no cause for courtesy. But she had entered the religious life, and thus such criticism was muted. This prioress should be granted all respect appropriate to her rank, he thought, but horses owned more grace.
Thomas knew he was being petty but could not quite repent this failing. When some claimed that God could only create beauty, and thus it was the Devil who crafted unsightly things, Thomas reminded them that Satan himself had been a splendid creature. Like all men, he responded to beauty, but even in the days before he took vows, he thought it cruel to mock uncomely women. Today he had lost the battle to remain charitable. Prioress Ursell had deeply offended him.
A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts. He was grateful.
A nun escorted Prioress Eleanor into the chambers, bowed to the leader of Ryehill Priory, and left without a sound.
Prioress Eleanor, hands folded and eyes lowered, stood quite still in front of the seated Prioress Ursell.
Nearby, a hearth fire snapped, then bravely flared, but gave forth only a little warmth.
The silence grew oppressive, and Brother Thomas became impatient. The leader of Ryehill Priory had yet to offer his prioress a chair, a rank discourtesy. There was no reason why Prioress Ursell should treat a woman, her equal in worldly rank and surely her superior in God’s service, like a wayward nun called to confront her sins and be rebuked. He knew it was not his place to express outrage, but his self-control was rapidly weakening.
“Please sit,” the prioress of Ryehill said at last, her tone as icy as the air. She pointed to a stool in a corner.
Thomas looked around.
The maid servant had been dismissed, and the nun by the door did not move. Father Vincent stared at the crucifix on the wall as if in deep conversation with God.
Furious at the insult, the monk started to walk to the stool, intending to bring it to his prioress.
“I prefer to stand,” Tyndal’s leader replied.
Thomas stepped back. The firmness in her voice delighted him for the quiet rebuke it suggested, but he grew concerned when he saw her tensed jaw and narrowed eyes. Some might conclude she was angry, but he knew better. His prioress was in pain, and he knew the cause.
On the day of their arrival, and against his counsel, she had dismounted from her donkey, removed her shoes, and walked the last sacred mile into Walsingham. Seeing a prioress of high birth humble herself so, several of her fellow travelers emulated her, a gesture that proved quite agonizing to some. His prioress had suffered most.
Her choice of penance was admirable, but he feared the results. Sister Anne had not accompanied them, and, by the time they reached Ryehill’s entrance, he had seen blood on one of her feet. He hoped this priory had healers more skilled in their arts than Prioress Ursell was in courtesy.
“Your monk has disrupted the peace of this priory by bringing us very disagreeable news,” the prioress of Ryehill said, glancing at him with open disapproval.
Thomas bit his tongue at the implied rebuke. Surely that dead nun would have chosen not to suffer a cruel death, and he knew he would have preferred not to have found her broken body. Neither of them had wanted this tragedy to happen. Of the three, he concluded that this priory had suffered the least.
Ursell cleared her throat. “He has said-”
“I would hear Brother Thomas speak for himself.”
Ursell’s eyes narrowed.
Eleanor’s gray eyes took on the hue of storm clouds.
“As you will, but all speculation is unwarranted. I insist he keep to the facts of what he found. Those are grievous enough.”
Prioress Eleanor raised an eyebrow, then gave her monk permission to speak.
“As Father Vincent’s guest, I sleep in his chambers attached to the chapel next door to this priory.”
The priest turned away from his contemplation of the wall and scowled at the monk. “The Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock. Call it by its proper name, Brother.”