And I, she thought as she knelt to pray in the empty church, need first to talk to God.
Which, for the spell of peaceful silence that endured until the nuns entered the church for Compline, was exactly what she did.
In the morning, Helewise rose with her day’s tasks clearly outlined in her mind. There was much for her to do and, she had always found, setting about a busy day with a well-defined plan of campaign was of great benefit in terms of efficiency.
Between Prime and breakfast she remained in the Abbey church, in private prayer. There were many matters over which she needed God’s help, but uppermost of her concerns was what to do about Alba.
What should I do, dear Lord? she asked, eyes fixed on the simple wooden cross on the altar. She begs to stay here, in this community, but for the sake of everyone else here, how can I let her?
But if I send her away, where is she to go? I cannot simply turn her loose, for, if Meriel and that passionate young husband of hers are to be believed, she will seek them out. Even if I cannot make myself accept what Meriel said about Alba doing them actual harm, I do see that her interference could be very unwelcome. New marriages need privacy, while the couple become accustomed to one another. To the state of wedlock itself. It would not aid the progress of either adaptation to have a bossy and quick-tempered elder sister hanging around.
Helewise closed her eyes, trying to empty her mind, trying to listen to whatever guidance might be sent to her.
Trying, if she were honest with herself, to face up to the insistent little voice in her head that said, you should believe Meriel.
She pictured Meriel’s face, transformed by her happiness from the haggard pallor of misery into radiant loveliness. And Jerome’s words, as he interrupted something Meriel was about to say, kept echoing in her ears: No, Meriel. Not until we know.
What had the girl been about to say? Whatever it had been, it was to do with Alba, clearly; for just afterwards Meriel had said of her, she was ruthless.
Oh, dear Lord, did it mean what Helewise was so dreadfully afraid it meant?
I must not start suspecting that, she told herself firmly. I have no proof and, in Christian charity, I must prevent myself believing the worst purely for the excitement of the sensation, like some superstitious peasant listening to an ancient legend of ghouls and monsters for love of the fear-induced thrill down the spine.
She prayed aloud for some moments, repeating the familiar words until she felt calmer.
By the time she rose from her knees to leave the church and go over to the refectory, she had convinced herself that she was right to ignore Meriel’s warning, and that the best thing she could do for Alba was to send out word that the Abbess of Hawkenlye needed a place in some good household — the further away, the better — for a young woman who had lately been living in the Abbey. It was something she had done many times before, usually with success; Hawkenlye had an excellent reputation, and when its Abbess asked for a situation for somebody, her request rarely went unanswered.
Next on Helewise’s list of tasks was to visit Josse. To her relief, she found him quite well; he was up and about, helping a man recovering from a fever to take his first steps outside. Having settled his patient on a bench, Josse came over to the Abbess, and they moved out of earshot.
She told him what she had decided to do about Alba.
Frowning, he said, ‘Are you quite sure, Abbess?’
‘Sure of what?’ She felt herself stiffen; her tone, she realised, had not been exactly friendly.
Josse’s frown had deepened. ‘Sure that you will not be sending something into this distant household you envisage that they will wish you had kept well away,’ he said bluntly.
Something, she noted. Not even someone. ‘You have decided to judge and condemn Alba all by yourself, have you?’ she demanded, anger rising. ‘When you do not know her? When, but for one brief visit, you have not even met her?’
‘I am going by what you have told me!’ he cried, angry in his turn. ‘And, indeed, by what Meriel said.’
The little flame of doubt flared again in Helewise’s mind. Meriel. .she was ruthless. . Swiftly she doused it. ‘Meriel was distraught,’ she said firmly. ‘And also in a highly charged emotional state. I do not feel we should place too much credence on what she said.’
Josse was nodding knowingly, fuelling Helewise’s anger. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Aye, I see.’
‘What?’ She had an uncomfortable feeling she knew what was coming.
‘Abbess, you still can’t get over those two in the woods, can you?’
‘I-’ she began.
But he did not let her interrupt. ‘They really discomforted you, didn’t they, when they emerged from their lovers’ bed and stood before you? And even though you know they are man and wife and perfectly entitled, even in the Church’s eyes, to share a bed, you haven’t forgiven them. Have you?’
His face wore an expression she had never seen before. Confused, she said, ‘Of course I have!’
But even to herself she did not sound convincing.
And Josse, with a muttered, ‘Abbess Helewise, I never took you for a prude,’ turned his back and walked away.
Shaken, she went through the office of Tierce struggling to keep her mind on her prayers.
Then, with difficulty dragging together the ragged remnants of her fine plan for the day, she announced to her senior nuns that she wished to work alone and was only to be disturbed in dire need. Then she went to her room and firmly closed the door.
Having solved the problem of Alba — I have, she insisted to herself — she pushed her recent preoccupations to the back of her mind and surveyed everything else awaiting her attention. Oh, but it was depressing! The new system of delegating tasks to her deputies was working, after a fashion, but both the senior nuns and Helewise herself were finding it difficult to adapt to new ways after so long in the old ones.
But Helewise, she reminded herself, had promised Queen Eleanor that she would do her best to employ the system that Eleanor had outlined. It was early days yet. And the Abbess had been away from Hawkenlye, throwing everything out of kilter. .
Resignedly she reached for the heavy accounts ledger, now kept by Sister Emanuel, and began going through the neat entries. When she had worked her way through three weeks of Hawkenlye’s material comings and goings, there would be the reports of her deputies to consider. Then it would probably be time for Sext, and then the midday meal.
All in all, Helewise reflected, the day was going to be well advanced before she got round to the next item on her list, which was telling Berthe that she knew about Meriel and Jerome.
She had a vague sense that she ought to do that sooner rather than later, but dismissed it as a temptation she should ignore — she would far rather have sought out Berthe than ploughed her way on through the ledger. With a sigh, she bent her head and got on with her work.
In the end, it was late afternoon before Helewise finally went to look for Berthe.
She went first down into the Vale but, as it turned out, she could have saved herself the trouble. Berthe, Brother Firmin informed her, had gone to see Sir Josse up in the infirmary.
Oh, Helewise thought. Walking slowly back up to the Abbey, she felt a rush of shame. I shouted at Josse this morning, she reminded herself. For saying something that I didn’t like. But which, I have to admit, was perfectly true.
I must apologise. Tell him he was right.
As she approached the infirmary, she caught sight of Josse and Berthe sitting outside. They were laughing.