‘A little. It aches.’
‘Someone wrenched your arm out of the joint, I think.’
Joanna stared at Lucie as if willing her to go away.
‘It is difficult to do that with a fall.’
The staring eyes blinked, betrayed by tears.
‘And difficult, if not impossible, to pull back yourself. Was your arm useless for long?’
Joanna forced her eyes wide, trying to deny the tears.
Lucie dabbed at the tears already fallen. ‘I am finished. I will tell Brother Wulfstan what I’ve found. Trust him. He is a kind, skilled healer.’
Joanna thrust out her hand, clutching Lucie’s wrist. ‘I am not to be healed.’ Now her eyes, still wet, beseeched Lucie.
What on earth was she to make of this young woman? Not to be healed? ‘Why? Because of what you did? Running away, stealing the relic, arranging a funeral? Is that why you must do penance?’
‘I am cursed.’ Joanna emphasised each word, though her voice still held no emotion.
Lucie pulled her hand from Joanna’s grasp, smoothed the pale red strands from the woman’s brow. ‘God be with you, Joanna.’ She closed the curtains and stood quietly for a moment, collecting her thoughts. As she moved towards the door, Dame Isobel stood.
‘Joanna responded well to you, Mistress Wilton. You seemed to have a calming effect on her.’
‘She seems more secretive than agitated.’
Dame Isobel shook her head. ‘No. She is different with you. When I ask questions, she becomes disturbed and incoherent. She answered your questions.’
Lucie found Isobel’s round, unlined, moon-pale face unnerving. Ageless. As if the girl Lucie remembered had merely grown larger, taller, but had not matured. ‘Joanna answered some of my questions. But she hardly gave me useful answers.’
Isobel looked down at her folded hands, back up to Lucie’s face with meek eyes. ‘His Grace the Archbishop wants me to interrogate Joanna, find out what I can about what has happened to her. Would you help me?’
Coming to Brother Wulfstan’s aid was one thing, but to help Dame Isobel. . They had not been friends at the convent. And last summer Owen had told Lucie that Isobel was much to blame in this present case, that she had kept Joanna’s disappearance a secret, being relieved to be rid of the strange young woman. ‘I am a busy woman, Reverend Mother. I have little time to spare.’
‘Forgive me.’ Isobel bowed her head and stepped aside. ‘God go with you, Mistress Wilton. Thank you for coming today.’
Lucie found Wulfstan waiting anxiously in the corridor. She told him what she had found, the chipped tooth, the healing eye, the shoulder, the other inconsequential cuts, scrapes, bruises. And the almost healed abrasions and deep bruises on her back. ‘I do not know what to make of them. Her explanation was that she is clumsy. An odd sort of clumsiness, always to land on her back.’ As Lucie voiced the thought, she blushed, hearing echoes of jokes about women who conduct their business on their backs.
Brother Wulfstan did not seem to notice Lucie’s discomfort. ‘Clumsy, yet no serious wounds or broken bones.’ He sighed. ‘So it is her soul, not her body that requires our help.’
Lucie forced herself to concentrate on Wulfstan’s concerns. ‘She will be a difficult patient. She believes God means her to offer up her pains as penance, and that she is meant to die soon.’
Wulfstan looked unhappy. ‘I understand she has had a vision about this.’
‘She says the Blessed Virgin Mary guides her. Do you believe she had a vision, Brother Wulfstan?’
He lifted his hands, palms up, shrugged. ‘How can we ever know? But in my heart I think it more likely she had a nightmare, a fever dream.’ He shook his head, sighed. ‘Did she say aught about her — Sweet Jesu, it sticks in my throat — resurrection?’ He winced on the last word.
Lucie gently touched his cheek. ‘No. When I mentioned it she said nothing.’
‘What of the mantle? What had she to say of that?’
‘Only that we are not to touch it.’
Wulfstan sighed. ‘Put your feelings aside and tell me, do you think the child can distinguish visions from dreams?’
‘I cannot tell. She says pain purifies her. She claims to be cursed. We have all heard such things before. If only her visions were more unusual. But even then, she might simply be a good storyteller.’ Lucie found it frustrating. ‘There are questions she will not answer, but I did not think that strange. Perhaps in time she will trust us and speak more freely.’
Wulfstan took Lucie’s hands. ‘You have been most generous with your time, Lucie. I am grateful. You have had better luck than most who have spoken with her. She babbled to me about stars winking out and much other gibberish I could not understand.’
Lucie squeezed his hands affectionately. ‘I am happy to have been of help to you, my friend. But now I must get back.’
Wulfstan nodded. ‘God bless you for coming. When does Owen return?’
‘Perhaps tonight, for a short while, and then he will be gone again. Unfortunately, Sir Robert D’Arby comes later this week to stay while Owen is in Pontefract.’
Wulfstan searched Lucie’s face. ‘Your father?’
Lucie nodded wearily. ‘Aunt Phillippa told him I am with child.’
‘You — ’ Brother Wulfstan’s face lit up. ‘May our Heavenly Mother protect you.’ He made the sign of the cross over her. ‘How wonderful. It is a kind gesture on your father’s part, to keep you company.’
Lucie rubbed her eyes, suddenly tired. ‘It is foolish and useless. What does he know of my life? What does he know of me?’
Wulfstan put a hand on Lucie’s shoulder, waited until she met his eyes. Hers shimmered with stubborn, angry tears. ‘He made a long pilgrimage to the Holy Land to ask God’s forgiveness for what happened to your mother. I am certain that God forgave him. Why can you not try?’
Lucie looked into Wulfstan’s sad eyes. She wanted to beg his forgiveness for distressing him, but she could not help how she felt. ‘It is not so easy.’
Brother Wulfstan gave her a little hug. ‘You are a sensible woman, Lucie. You will do what is right.’
She took a deep breath, calming her warring emotions. ‘I shall go about my business as usual.’
‘You must take care of yourself.’
Lucie relaxed, seeing Wulfstan did not mean to argue. ‘Magda Digby and Bess Merchet are watching me closely. You need not worry.’
Wulfstan pretended to be shocked. ‘Magda Digby, the Riverwoman? Could you not find a Christian midwife?’
‘Magda brought me and so many other citizens of this city into this world, Brother Wulfstan. God guides her, no matter what she calls Him.’
Wulfstan tucked his hands in his sleeves, gave her a little bow. ‘Well, she will have Bess to answer to if aught goes wrong. And myself. And Owen.’
They moved outside into the bright June sunshine, Joanna forgotten for the moment.
Five
Orchards surrounded St Clement’s, leafy and alive with bird song. But Alfred grumbled.
‘Where are the apples, that’s what I’d like to know.’
Archbishop Thoresby, frustrated that Alfred and Colin had watched St Clement’s for two days without sighting the watcher, had ordered them to the nunnery at first light this morning, so early that they had not had time to break their fast.
Colin laughed. ‘Too early for fruit. When have you eaten a fresh apple before midsummer?’
‘Can’t say I notice when I eat what.’
‘Didn’t you have fruit trees as a lad? Don’t you look around you?’
‘I’m not partial to trees and such. Just what comes off them.’
‘And I suppose you’re proud of that.’
‘What’s a soldier want with such things?’
‘It’s civilised to notice such things.’
‘I notice people is what I notice. And I’ve noticed that character pass the priory gate twice this morning.’ A stocky man in a russet cloak stained by travel. As the day warmed, he had removed the cloak and wide-brimmed hat. His clothes were those of a modest merchant. His balding head was tanned and weathered.