‘Berthe, has Augustine told you anything of our trip?’ she asked casually.
Immediately Berthe gave a brief tsk! of irritation. ‘No, Abbess Helewise, not a word! I’ve pressed him and pressed him, tried to wheedle out a few remarks, but he just shuts his mouth up tight and says it was Abbey business and he’s not allowed to gossip. Gossip! Really! And it was my own village he went to! Well, amongst other places.’
‘Now, now, don’t be cross with Augustine,’ Helewise soothed. ‘He is right to be cautious. And anyway, Berthe,’ — she crossed her fingers and hoped God would understand the lie — ‘there wasn’t much to see.’
Only slightly mollified, Berthe said, ‘Huh!’
Helewise took the girl’s hand as they went back to the shrine, hurrying now for the rain was coming down harder.
She watched her go back inside the rest house — and the laughter from within suggested that the same game was still in progress — then, accepting Brother Saul’s offer of a piece of sacking to cover her head and shoulders, she walked quickly through the rain back to the Abbey.
As she ran in through the rear gate, a clap of thunder detonated right overhead. Hoping that it was not an omen of dire happenings ahead, she headed for the shelter of the cloister and made her way to her room.
Chapter Fifteen
Josse had expected to feel very tired after his first whole day spent outside. But, when he woke the next morning, he was delighted to find that he was full of energy.
Sister Euphemia was sceptical when he told her. ‘Are you sure you’re not just telling yourself that because you want to go racing off to help the Abbess sort out these wretched sisters?’ she asked. ‘Mind, I’m not suggesting she couldn’t do with a bit of help; they do say trouble comes in threes, and it certainly has done with Alba, Meriel and poor little Berthe.’
‘Aye, that it has,’ he agreed. ‘But I promise you, I really do feel well, Sister Euphemia. After all,’ he added craftily, ‘I would be of little help to the Abbess if I were to collapse at her feet from exhaustion, now, would I?’
Sister Euphemia gave a snort of laughter and dug him in the ribs. ‘Go on with you!’ she chuckled. ‘You’ve always got a plausible answer, haven’t you?’
Agreeing that he had, he shooed her away while he put on his tunic and his boots.
He was sitting on a bench outside the infirmary when, some time later, Helewise came to look for him. The side of the long building which faced into the courtyard was lined with a deep cloister and, tucked in against the infirmary wall, he was sheltered from the rain. Sister Beata had thoughtfully brought out a sheepskin fleece, which she had draped over his legs, and he was adequately warm.
He knew from the Abbess’s face that she was troubled. He shifted along to make room for her to sit down beside him, then said, ‘What is it?’
Without preamble she said, ‘I have thought of a plan. I intend to tell Berthe that I must release Alba — indeed, that Alba will have to leave the Abbey — and then I shall have Berthe followed. She will, I am quite sure, go straight to find Meriel, to tell her that Alba is once more to be on the loose.’ Before he had time for even the briefest comment, she rushed on. ‘Oh, there’s no need to tell me I’m being cruelly devious, and taking advantage of a suffering girl’s confusion and concern! I know I am, and I just hope it will prove worth it. But I must speak to Meriel, and I cannot think of another way.’
She finished, turning an angry, defensive face to Josse. He said mildly, ‘I think it’s a splendid plan.’
‘Oh! Do you?’
‘Aye, Abbess. I understand how you feel. I wouldn’t like to think I was making use of Berthe, either. But look at it this way: she must be suffering agonies, trying to keep Meriel’s secret and worrying about how she’s managing, wherever she is. And your scheme, although possibly hurtful to her in the short term, will ultimately help both Berthe and Meriel. Won’t it?’
The Abbess’s face was clearing. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said. No, he thought, you wouldn’t. You were too busy accusing yourself. She gave him a brief bow. ‘Thank you, Sir Josse.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ he murmured. Then: ‘Who have you in mind to act as hound to Berthe’s hare?’
She gave a short laugh. ‘I should like to go myself, but a nun’s habit is hardly the garb in which to go creeping through the undergrowth trying to be quiet and inconspicuous. I thought I might ask Brother Augustine. He is young and lithe and, because he accompanied me on my travels, he is already aware of many of the finer points of the situation.’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘In addition, he is, I believe, fond of little Berthe, and thus may be eager to help her.’
‘A good choice,’ Josse agreed. He wished yet again that he were fully fit. He would have argued her out of appointing any other man but himself, had he been able to go. But, even assuming he were able to walk into the forest, he certainly wasn’t up to doing so stealthily. Trying to be sensible and ignore the childish protest clamouring, send me! he said, ‘When do you propose to put your scheme into action?’
‘I was only waiting to discuss it with you,’ she said.
Moved, he muttered, ‘You do me too much honour, Abbess. You do not need my advice, when your own decisions are so sound.’
‘Oh yes, I do,’ she countered.
There was a moment’s rather weighty silence between them. Then, deliberately lightening his tone, he said, ‘You’ll have to brace yourself if you’re really proposing to go and see Alba. Or will you just tell Berthe you’ve done so, and not actually inform Alba that she’s to be released?’
‘Oh, I intend to visit Alba first,’ the Abbess said. ‘And I know what you mean about bracing myself; the nuns who have had the care of her report that she is increasingly restless, and that they have had to resort to the threat of depriving her of her daily excursions.’
‘Humph.’ Josse privately thought that it had been over-charitable to allow a violent and possibly unbalanced woman out twice a day to take the air. But, knowing the Abbess would not agree, he merely said, ‘I hope you’re not planning to go in to see her alone. Take Saul, and maybe one of the more robust nuns with you.’ Then, realising what he had just said; ‘I apologise, Abbess. I did not mean to give you orders.’
But she was smiling. ‘Apology accepted. And thank you for the advice.’ She got up.
On an impulse, he said, ‘May I come with you to Alba’s cell?’
She studied him for a moment. ‘Yes. Provided you do not attempt to form part of my bodyguard.’
He grinned back. ‘I promise.’
They sent for Brother Saul, and Sister Martha came over from the stables; the Abbess made her leave her pitchfork behind. Then the four of them went down the steps into the undercroft beneath the infirmary, and the Abbess unlocked the stout door of Alba’s prison.
Josse, keeping his word and remaining behind the Abbess and her two guardians, peered round Brother Saul and caught his first glimpse of Alba.
He was shocked.
He had been prepared for her to be considerably older than her two sisters; he’d already been told that. But he had not expected the pale face, thin to the point of emaciation, nor the bleak look in the deep-set, dark eyes. Sister Martha must have heard his intake of breath; turning, she whispered, ‘They do say she has not been eating, poor wretch.’
And, to prove her point, Josse saw that on the floor was an untouched tray of food.
The Abbess stepped forward. At Sister Martha’s gesture, Alba got reluctantly to her feet and faced her.
‘Alba, I must tell you that I have visited your convent at Sedgebeck, and I have been informed that you have been released from your vows as a nun,’ she said, her voice level and unemotional. ‘Since I now know that you are not in holy orders, I have no authority to keep you imprisoned here. You are not under my jurisdiction and, as soon as we can find a place for you, you will be free to go.’