“If I can take Edward with me,” Breredon said.
“Edward comes with us!” Rowcliffe snarled.
“Edward goes nowhere,” Frevisse said sharply. “His mother and he are both staying here until…”
“You’re welcome to her,” Rowcliffe said. “She’s yours. But the boy isn’t. He’s ours!”
Frevisse turned to fully face him, near to matching him in height and even nearer to matching him in anger. It was an anger coldly in her control, though, and coldly she said, each word distinct, “Edward is under this priory’s protection. Our protection and the protection of the Church. No one lays hand on him without our prioress’ leave or that of Abbot Gilberd of Northampton. Our abbot has been sent word of Sister Cecely’s return. Whoever he sends in answer to that can deal in your matter, too. But until he comes and as things are now, Edward is going nowhere.”
She put all the force of Domina Elisabeth’s authority behind that final word, everything about her daring Rowcliffe or anyone else to say otherwise.
No one did. She could see Rowcliffe struggling not to burst out at her and could guess what he was probably thinking: that she was a woman and therefore-to his mind, he being that sort of man, she suspected-to be overborne. But she had invoked both the power of the Church and of an abbot against him, and while the Church might be distant and sometimes slow in its workings, an abbot could be very near and his hand immediately very heavy. Still, abbots could be brought around if need be…
“Abbot Gilberd,” she said, “is our prioress’ brother.”
Like a final weight added to a scale, the shift that gave to Rowcliffe’s decision showed so plainly on his face that Frevisse almost could have laughed. She certainly hoped he did not hear Breredon’s muffled snort behind her, and she said, turning to include Breredon, “This leaves you both with the choice of leaving here, to have news sometime of how things are decided…”
“We’re staying right here,” Rowcliffe snapped.
The other men nodded sharp agreement with that, and Breredon, too. It was very probably the only willing agreement they would ever have, and Frevisse said, still coldly, “Then you’ll do it peaceably. You’re here as the guests of God and you’ll do well to remember it at every moment. Remember, too, that there are others here, come for better reasons than either of you. If they are troubled by your troubles for even one moment beyond this present one, the priory will no longer be bound to honor your guest-right. Do you understand that?”
The men all nodded again, grudgingly this time and eyeing each other as if to see who would break the peace first.
“Unfortunately,” Frevisse went grimly on, “we have but the one best guestroom and Master Breredon is already there. Therefore, Master Rowcliffe, you and your people will have to do with either the hall itself or one of our lesser chambers, as you choose.” She did not wait for his answer to that. She did not care what his response was. Instead she pointed at Ela and went on, “There is Ela who is my voice here in the guesthall in my absence, which must be now because Vespers will be soon. You might all do well to attend the Office. I shall see you again in the morning.”
Without waiting for any response from them and somewhat more vehemently than was maybe proper, she turned from them and crossed the hall, going first to the Lawsells, to reassure them that there would be no more trouble now, silently praying she was right. Leaving them, she went to Ela, Tom, and Luce to say for only them to hear, “The ale was well-thought, Ela. And thank you, Tom, thank you, Luce, for bringing it. It came timely.”
Ela sniffed. “Seemed a good thing. I’ll see to them having plenty tonight, too.”
“Not so much as makes them quarrelsome,” Frevisse cautioned.
“Enough to make them sleep both soon and late, the lot of them,” Ela said. “If they take it otherwise, there’s Tom to see to them.”
“And you’re welcome to,” Frevisse told him. Tom’s weak chest was one reason he was a guesthall servant, rather than at fieldwork, but he both looked and was strong-armed enough to give someone pause if he stepped forward and told them to stop whatever they were doing. Frevisse glanced back and saw that Breredon had withdrawn into his room and shut the door, while the three Rowcliffes-whoever Symond was, he was plainly some manner of family with them-were gathered head to head in talk.
“Serving Master Breredon and his people their supper in their room tonight might be best,” Frevisse said. “I doubt he’ll object, and the Rowcliffes will likely stay more quiet if he isn’t in sight.”
“They’ll stay quiet,” Ela promised.
Frevisse had a sudden vision of the little, bent-backed woman standing toe-to-toe with Rowcliffe, shaking a finger at his nose and telling him to behave himself.
“Invoke Abbot Gilberd if you have to,” Frevisse said and left. She was almost to the outer door when a question she wanted to ask Breredon came to her and she almost turned back, but the bell began to ring for Vespers, enjoining silence and obedience on her, and she went on, more than ready for the peace of her choir stall and prayers.
Chapter 13
Unhappily, there was little peace to be had either during Vespers or afterward. During the Office, questions beyond those already asked kept coming into Frevisse’s mind, pulling her away from where she wanted to be, and although at supper Domina Elisabeth’s stern eye from the table’s head kept them all in proper silence, those nuns who could barely wait for the recreation hour ate with unseemly haste, then had to sit restlessly while the others-Frevisse, Dame Claire, Dame Thomasine, and Domina Elisabeth-finished more deliberately, giving the blessing of food the honor it deserved. Only finally did Domina Elisabeth say grace and nod that they were free to go. “Slowly,” she added and more sternly, “Seemly,” at particularly Dame Amicia.
That got them from the refectory and into the cloister walk with no one tripping over anyone else, but from there, with Domina Elisabeth momentarily out of sight, there was a scurrying of the younger nuns away to the slype on their way to the garden, their voices rising in talk as they went. Dame Perpetua and Dame Juliana followed almost as quickly, only a little more aware of dignity, leaving Frevisse, Dame Claire, and Dame Thomasine behind with their prioress, who said as they all moved toward the refectory door together, “Dame Frevisse, would you keep watch on them, please, and as much ward as you can on their tongues? Dame Claire…”
“My lady,” Frevisse said, “there’s something else you have to know.”
Domina Elisabeth looked at her. “Please, not more trouble.”
“I fear so, yes,” Frevisse said and told what had passed between Rowcliffe and Breredon in the guesthall.
Domina Elisabeth heard her out in increasingly stern, strained silence and at the end said, “Then she never meant anything except to use us.”
“It seems so, my lady,” Frevisse agreed.
Domina Elisabeth stood considering that, weariness etched on her face, then said, “Dame Claire, I’d have you come with me. Dame Thomasine-”
Dame Thomasine lifted her head, her face pale and quiet in the white surround of her wimple. She did not speak, only looked at her prioress from whatever place she lived in, aside from them all.
“Dame Thomasine,” Domina Elisabeth said as quietly as Dame Thomasine’s look, “I’d have you pray for all of us, if you would.”
Dame Thomasine bowed her head in a small accepting nod and without raising her head again went quiet-footed away toward the church.
Domina Elisabeth watched her for a moment, then said, “Dame Claire, if you would,” and would have started away except Frevisse said, “By your leave, what’s been done with her?”
There was no question which “her” was meant. Domina Elisabeth gave a sharp glance away across the cloister garth. “She’s in the guest parlor. It’s where she can be kept and guarded with least trouble in the cloister. I’ve set Malde to guard the door for now, but we’ll all have to take turns at it until Abbot Gilberd says what else is to be done with her.”