Let them think whatever they wanted.
Lord of mercy, she hated it here.
Still, the night finally ended, Prime and Tierce were endured, her time with Neddie came, and with it came reward for all her “humility” since coming here. This was the hour when the nuns were either nodding over their Lenten reading in the cloister walk or else kneeling at the altar, intent on being as pious as possible these last hours before Easter. Yesterday Dame Claire had felt no need to keep absolute watch on her while she was with Neddie, had instead been satisfied to join the nuns kneeling in yet more prayer at the altar. Today, Dame Frevisse saw fit to do the same, leaving her and Neddie to go alone into the nave.
Or as alone as they could hope to be.
Yesterday, to the sorrowful chanting of the nuns, Father Henry had carefully removed the Host in its silver and crystal pyx from the altar and put it in the Easter sepulchre, set into the church’s wall and closed with a pair of wooden doors carved with the crown of thorns and whip and nails of Christ’s suffering. There the Host would stay until Easter, shut away as Christ had been shut away in the tomb. In token of mourning, all lights in the church were out, the altar cloth was black, the church altogether gloom-laden, making it a place Cecely would have avoided if she’d had any choice, but besides the nuns kneeling at the altar beyond the rood screen, there were common people kneeling here and there about the nave. Not many but some. Here to share in the holiness of the day, Cecely supposed. And God bless you all, she thought, so long as you stay away from me. For one thing, since they were gathered closer to the rood screen than not, they gave her reason to take Neddie farther down the nave, closer to the west door, and aside to the stone bench that ran along the nave’s wall for such folk as were too aged or ill to stand through an Office or the Mass.
The nuns, of course, sat in their stalls beyond the rood screen, where “lesser folk” were not allowed. As if nuns, by being nuns, had made themselves better than other folk, Cecely thought. She knew for a truth they were just women without the courage to be women, and she sat herself and Neddie down on the cold stone and pulled him tightly against her with an arm around his shoulders. He was her proof that she had dared not to waste her life away inside nunnery walls, and she lightly kissed his smooth hair and said, “Talk to me, Neddie. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”
He was clinging to her free hand with both his own, his head burrowed against her, his face hidden and his answer muffled so that she had to bend closer over him and ask, “What, dearling? I didn’t hear you. You’ve been doing what?”
With his face still hidden against her, he said, a little louder, “Nothing.”
“You’ve been doing nothing? Surely you’ve been doing something.”
He held quiet a moment, then said, still muffled, “Reading.”
“Reading?” She freed her hand from his, slipped a finger under his chin, and pried his head up so she could see his face. “What have you been reading, dearling?”
“A book. To Mistress Petham.”
“You’ve been reading to Mistress Petham?” Jealousy stabbed at Cecely. She had never thought of having Neddie read to her. How dare the woman make such use of her son?
But, no, it was maybe just as well. It meant the nuns weren’t watching him, were leaving him to Mistress Petham, who had yet to leave her chamber. And very comfortable that must be-to come to a nunnery and never have to go to prayers, just lie about and be waited on.
Cecely kept that sharp thought tucked under her tongue, instead kissed Neddie on the forehead and said, “That’s lovely. What a good boy you are.”
But thank the saints for Alson. Cecely had supposed she would have to use Neddie, but with Alson here there was no need yet for that. With a servant’s usual sharp ways, she had slipped away from whatever duty she should have had last evening and been waiting in the necessarium when Cecely came. Not to waste any of the little time they probably had, Cecely had caught tight hold on her hands and said, “I may need your help. Will you help me?”
Alson’s eyes had widened. “To do what?”
“I can’t stay here.”
“But you came back.”
“Not to stay.”
Alson’s eyes had widened farther and her mouth opened in silent “Oh.” Much about Cecely’s age, she seemed never to have married: she had no ring, still wore only a plain headkerchief of the sort suited to a servant but not to a wife. With what pale prettiness she had once all faded from her, she was unlikely ever to marry now, poor thing, Cecely thought. But the merriment that Cecely remembered was still in her and with her surprise turning to mischievousness, she had asked, “What are you going to do?”
Cecely had squeezed her hands in thanks. “Can you take a message to someone in the guesthall without anyone suspicious of you?”
“To who?”
“Can you?” Cecely insisted.
“My brother is still there. I go to see him sometimes.”
Cecely had forgotten Alson had a brother, he had not figured in anything she had needed all those years ago. He would be useful now, though, and she had thrown her arms around Alson in a quick hug, then told her what she needed, making Alson’s eyes go wide again.
“Can you do that?” Cecely had demanded.
Stifling a laugh with a hand over her mouth, Alson had nodded that she could. Cecely had given her another quick embrace and said, “I can’t linger. That dragon Dame Frevisse is waiting for me.”
“Oh, her.” Alson had shrugged. “Stiff as a stick, that one.”
Cecely entirely agreed, but this morning she would forgive Dame Frevisse that and much else, just so long as she stayed there at the altar with her back to the nave.
The nave’s west door, used by anyone not of the cloister, opened, letting in a slant of sunlight across the nave’s stone floor and then a man. The sunlight slid away as he closed the door behind him, before Cecely had seen his face, but she had never lost her keen eye regarding men. She had met Master Breredon only a few times, but with the urgency of waiting she was certain of him and stood up, pulling Neddie with her. The next moment she thought better of that and sat again, pulling Neddie down and drawing him firmly to her side with an arm around his shoulders. Both she and Master Breredon should make this seem an unexpected meeting, and she bent her head over Neddie, murmuring to him about nothing in particular while watching Master Breredon come up the nave.
In the “holy gloom” she still did not clearly see his face, but this had to be him. The stocky body, not particularly tall but carried well. The steady, centered tread. It was him. Except he did not come to her. No. He went past her, to the rood screen where he bowed toward the altar in the shadows beyond it, then knelt and bowed his head.
After her first flare of disappointment, Cecely realized that was good. The less there was for anyone to note about him, the better.
Even so, she could not help her impatience as she waited for him to finish the show he was putting on. Neddie moved his head restlessly away from her hand. She realized she was stroking his hair back from his forehead somewhat too hard and stopped, bent to quickly kiss the top of his head, and said, still watching Master Breredon, “There’s a good boy. Just be quiet.” Then, “Here’s someone I want you to meet,” as Master Breredon stood up with the ease of a man with no aches in his bones, bowed again toward the altar, backed away several paces and bowed once more before turning away, looking as if he would leave the church now. After a few steps, though, he turned aside as if on a chance-come thought and came toward her.