‘Hmmm.’ Josse scratched his head with his left hand. ‘The dead man had an odd accent, did somebody say?’ The Abbess nodded. ‘And the sisters, Alba, Meriel and Berthe, come from some distance away?’
‘Indeed. Sister Alba mentioned having been in a community at Ely.’
‘Ely,’ Josse repeated. ‘In the Fenlands of East Anglia.’
‘Do men there speak with an odd accent?’ the Abbess asked.
Josse shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But it seems always true that people speak differently in different areas of a country — I know they do in France — so it is fair to say that yes, probably they do in East Anglia.’
‘But it is too little evidence from which to conclude that the dead man and Meriel were known to one another!’ the Abbess exclaimed.
‘I agree,’ Josse said. ‘Let us merely keep it in mind.’
The Abbess seemed to be engaged in her own thoughts; for some moments she did not share them with him. He kept his peace, knowing how irritating it could be when somebody interrupted a line of reasoning that was reluctant to resolve itself.
After a time, she raised her head and met his eyes. But what she said took him completely by surprise; in as normal a tone as if she were announcing that it was time for dinner, she said, ‘I shall have to go to Ely.’
‘What on earth for?’ His response was automatic; with a very little amount of thought, he could have answered his own question.
‘Because that is where they came from. Where Sister Alba came from, anyway. She was in a convent there.’
‘And you know which one?’ Josse had no idea how many religious establishments there were in the vicinity of Ely, but he seemed to remember having been told there were several; apparently the geographic setting of the Fens suited those in search of solitude and the contemplative life.
‘I shall find out,’ the Abbess said with dignity. ‘Then I shall be able to ask Sister Alba’s former superior all the many questions I have been puzzling over.’
‘And that will help you to find Meriel?’
‘Not necessarily,’ she admitted. ‘However, I sorely need to penetrate this screen of secrecy that exists around the girls. They won’t tell me the truth; Sister Alba because she has made up her mind not to, and Meriel and Berthe because they are very afraid of something or someone. Of Alba, for all I know.’ She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I see only one way out of the dilemma, Sir Josse.’
‘Could someone not go for you?’ he asked gently. ‘It is a very long way and, on your own admission, the Abbey is in a time of trouble. Would you not do more good staying here?’
‘Perhaps. But, Sir Josse, I cannot send anybody else on such a delicate matter. Goodness, I should not really be speaking to you of this!’ She looked faintly shocked at her lapse in convent etiquette.
‘I understand,’ Josse whispered. ‘You are, in effect, doubting the word of a professed nun and, because your mind and your conscience cannot rest until you know the truth, you are going to have to go and check up on the tale you have been told. Yes?’
Dumbly she nodded.
What a problem, he thought, relaxing back on to his pillows. And she was right, he could see that — she could hardly despatch even one of her senior nuns to the superior of another convent to ask, did you have a nun called Alba here, and was she any good? I need to know what she told you of her background, because I’m quite sure she told me nothing but a pack of lies.
No. There were some tasks that only the commanding officer could do, and this looked like one of them.
He said, knowing what she would say, ‘Will you not wait for a week or so, and allow me to escort you?’
She gave him a smile of great sweetness. ‘No, Josse, I won’t. For one thing, if I were to agree to that, you would get up and set out before you were ready, and we might well end up back where we started. For another, I don’t believe I should wait at all. Meriel is missing, we know her to be in a very depressed state, and — well, the sooner I discover what lies behind this sorry affair, the sooner we may be able to help her. If, that is, we manage to find her,’ she added under her breath.
‘Now, then, no defeatist talk!’ he muttered back. He felt the bonds imposed by his sickness acutely just then, though, and it was hard to put any levity into his voice.
‘I shall ask at Alba’s convent if they know the whereabouts of the former family home,’ the Abbess was saying. ‘They ought at least to be able to supply the father’s name. I cannot imagine a convent in which a woman arrives with no background and no past.’
‘She did not give you her family name when she came here?’ Josse asked.
‘No, she merely said she had come from another convent. In Ely, as I said. And, before you ask, she provided no details of her sisters’ former lives either, other than to say they were recently orphaned.’
‘If I can’t be of any other help to you,’ Josse said — which in itself was a painful admission — ‘then may I make some suggestions about your journey? I am a not inexperienced traveller, as you know, and perhaps I may be able to ensure a bit of comfort for you on the road.’
She gave him another smile. ‘I was hoping that you would. Please, proceed. I’m listening.’
For some time after that, he went through a list of the preparations he would make for a journey from Kent to Ely. It was, he told her, a good time of year for travelling; the days were lengthening perceptibly, the weather was warm, and a long dry spell meant that the roads would be in a good state. Furthermore, April usually saw the start of the pilgrimage season; although this meant that wayside inns might be busy, that was compensated for by the fact that there was safety in numbers. You were far more likely to reach your destination when the roads were well peopled than as a solitary traveller; then, you were prey to thieves.
But, in any case, she should not, of course, go alone; he was adamant about that. ‘Could Brother Saul be spared?’ he asked. ‘I have always held his sense and his capability in high regard.’
‘So have I,’ she agreed. ‘I shall ask Brother Firmin in such a way that he has no choice but to say yes.’
‘You should take one other,’ Josse said. ‘Another lay brother. It might be best to get Saul to propose someone.’ A thought struck him. ‘Has the Abbey mounts for three?’
She frowned. ‘We have the cob, the pony and the mule,’ she said. ‘Although the mule is very old and weary. Brother Saul can ride the cob — he often does — and I suppose I could ride the pony.’
‘He’s only a small pony,’ Josse said.
‘Yes, but very strong.’ She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘I hope, Sir Josse, that you are not implying I would be too heavy a burden.’
She was a tall woman, and well built, and that was exactly what he had been implying. ‘Er — I — well, of course not, Abbess, it’s just that you have a long road to travel, and-’
Her face alight, she interrupted him. ‘Oh, what a fool I am! I had forgotten, but we do have another horse. A pale chestnut mare, a most beautiful animal, given into our care by-’ Her hand flew to her mouth and she stopped.
But she hadn’t needed to say. Josse knew as well as she did who had ridden a pale chestnut mare. Someone whose new life must surely make caring for an elegant, well-bred mare almost impossible. .
‘You have Joanna’s mare,’ he said tonelessly.
‘Yes,’ the Abbess said quietly. ‘She left her with us. We promised to take care of her — she is called Honey, by the way — and we are allowed to ride her in exchange for her keep.’
‘I see,’ Josse murmured. But he was hardly listening. He was thinking of Joanna. With an effort, he made himself attend once more to the Abbess.
‘. . can’t think of a lay brother small enough to ride the pony, which means we shall still be a mount short, unless we take the mule,’ she was saying.
‘Take Horace,’ he said. ‘He’s at New Winnowlands, but someone can be sent to fetch him. I’m not using him,’ he added bitterly.