Cecely’s breast heaved as she tried for air enough to answer that arrogance and ended by turning her fury on Domina Elisabeth again with, “Why was Neddie in the church at all? You’re supposed to be protecting him, but you let him in the church where anyone could snatch him! John Rowcliffe could grab him from there and there’d be nothing you could do! Who’d stop him? Any of you?” She rounded on Father Henry in raging scorn. “You?”
Like everyone and everything else in this place, the priest had grown older in the years she had been gone. When she had tried, all those years ago, to tell him what she was suffering, he had only told her she must endure in patience and pray for God’s grace. From anything he had said to her since her return, he was grown no wiser. He had even tried to tell her of his guilt at having failed her all those years ago. He said he had been bearing the burden of it ever since. Was she supposed to care? Now he was saying, “What if Domina Elisabeth agreed to give you leave to attend the Offices again, would…”
Together she and Domina Elisabeth said back at him, “No!”
And with Father Henry startled into silence, Domina Elisabeth said at her, “Get back into that room. If ever you step over its threshold again without my leave, I’ll have you tied to keep you there, I swear it!”
Chapter 16
Frevisse wondered angrily why Mistress Petham had not gone-or at least sent Edward-the long way around the cloister walk to avoid just what his mother had done. But then who would think Sister Cecely was such a fool?
Impatiently, Frevisse answered that question for herself. Anyone who knew her-that was who would think Sister Cecely was such a fool!
At the same time, she knew what made her angrier was how frightened Edward had been. Whatever else he might have felt when his mother grabbed him, what had shown on his face was fear. Of what? His mother? Certainly he had not resisted being taken from her or looked back as Mistress Petham led him away. And anyway, even if he was not frightened by his mother, he was frightened because of her, and it was grievously unfair that, already in grief for his father, he had to be frightened, too, for whatever reason.
Abbot Gilberd’s man could not come soon enough to take all of this out of here and away into Abbot Gilberd’s hands.
But her own duties went on, and returning to the guesthall, she sent the servant Tom to tell Father Henry of what was toward and ask him to meet her shortly in the church. She took on herself the task of telling Rowcliffe that Edward would rather see Jack than him.
Rowcliffe accepted that better than she had thought he would, saying with a shrug, “If that’s what he wants, so be it. All we want is to know for a certainty how he is. Jack can do that as well as I can.”
So it was with Jack she crossed the yard toward the church, explaining as they went why Elianor had not brought word as intended. Tom overtook them on the way, to say Father Henry would be there shortly, and she left Jack to go by himself into the church by its west door while she went through the cloister door to fetch Edward.
He was waiting in Mistress Petham’s chamber, standing beside her bed where she was lying down again. His hand was in hers, and he looked freshly face-washed, with hair newly combed and tunic carefully straightened. Frevisse held out her hand to him and said, “Your cousin Jack is waiting to see you.”
Edward let go of Mistress Petham, took her hand instead, and left the chamber with at least outward willingness. For safety’s sake, they went the long way around the cloister walk, Frevisse keeping hold on him until they were in the church, only letting him go when she turned back to close the door behind them.
When she turned around, he had left her, was running with a quick patter of feet past the rood screen and down the nave to where Jack Rowcliffe now stood with Father Henry. Jack stepped forward to meet him, arms held out, and Edward flung himself into his cousin’s hold. Jack swung him up and around in a glad circle, and Edward laughed aloud. Nor did Jack put him down afterward but carried him aside and sat them both down on the stone bench along the wall, Edward on his knee, one of his arms around Edward and one of Edward’s around him.
Father Henry stayed where he was, beaming at them. Frevisse felt obliged to go closer, to hear what was said between them, not wanting to find out later that Jack had used the chance to persuade Edward to leaving the cloister or some other foolish thing. They were only talking of home, though, with Jack telling Edward that his little mare was safely at Rowcliffe’s stable. “She’s right there with my old girl Damsel,” Jack said. “I led her over myself. After all, I couldn’t ride her.” He stuck out his long legs and wiggled them. Edward laughed. Jack’s voice leveled and went kind. “I have your father’s chest, too. The dagger is there that’s to be yours when you’re older. And his red leather belt with the silver-gilt buckle and studs. And the prayer book with the pictures. You remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Edward said indignantly. “I’m not a baby.”
Frevisse guessed that, in truth, he remembered all too well. Tears had swollen into his eyes with the pain of his remembering, and Jack put both arms around him and held him close, tears suddenly in his own eyes, too, as he said, “Of course you remember. It’s very hard to have him gone, isn’t it?”
With his face now buried against Jack’s shoulder to hide the falling tears, Edward nodded.
“But do you remember,” Jack asked, his voice lightening, “the time when he went up on the roof to see how the thatchers were getting on? And what happened?”
Edward remembered. His shoulders shook but when he lifted his head, it was laughter on his face along with the tears. “He slid right off! He slid off into their pile of straw!”
Frevisse turned her back to them. She would go on listening but they did not need her watching them. Jack Rowcliffe meant Edward no harm. She was glad to see there was someone among his kin who seemed to like Edward for Edward’s own sake and that somewhere beyond Edward’s grief there was still a little boy who could be happy, the way he had been happy in the orchard with Dame Amicia and Sister Helen, the way he was happy here with a trusted cousin. Come to it, he seemed to be content with Mistress Petham, too.
Was it only his mother who brought that stiff silence on him?
Frevisse found that easy enough to believe. She also found it regrettable how readily she believed ill of Sister Cecely. Even if Sister Cecely was a fool, there had to be good somewhere in the woman, buried though it might be under the heavy layers of her betrayals and lies. Frevisse’s prayers for her would be the better, would be more than merely rote, if she could just find even a glimmer of that good.
The trouble was that she did not much feel like looking for any glimmer, and that was a regrettable thing to admit.
She gave Edward and his cousin as much time together as she could before she turned back to them and said, “Sext will be soon. I must needs return Edward to Mistress Petham now.”
Jack slid Edward to the floor, both of them standing up unwillingly. Jack freed his hand from Edward’s tight hold, put both his hands on Edward’s shoulders, and bent to kiss the top of the boy’s head, then said, “This won’t go on forever, Edward. We just have to be brave about it. This Mistress Petham, she’s good to you?”
Edward nodded. “She’s helping me with my reading,” he said, back to his usual half-whisper.
“Oh-oh,” said Jack. “You’ll be better than me at it if you keep that up.”
Edward looked up at him with a sudden return to laughter. “That won’t be hard, the way you read.”
Jack made a satisfactory sound of outrage and rumpled his hair. Frevisse held out her hand, and dropping his gaze to the floor, Edward took it. Over his bowed head, Frevisse said to Jack, “If you would be so good as to wait here, I’d speak to you after Edward is safely back to Mistress Petham.”