Isobel dropped her gaze. ‘Forgive me, Brother Wulfstan, but I could not help it.’
‘There is nothing to forgive. I am thankful you heard. I begin to see God’s plan in this.’
Isobel frowned. ‘But Joanna was making her confession. There should have been no witness.’
Wulfstan could not remember the precise rules of confession — he saved what was left of his memory for his work in the infirmary. What he did remember was that a confessor was not to repeat what he was told by the sinner — something he had never been tempted to do. Could the Reverend Mother speak out? Surely God wished the truth to be known. ‘It was fitting that you were in the room, Reverend Mother. And it works to our benefit. I cannot reveal what has been told to me in confession. But you can.’
Isobel looked horrified. ‘Oh no, Brother Wulfstan! It is not right.’
Did she know of some rule he had misplaced? He knew full well he was becoming forgetful. But in this Wulfstan was determined. ‘Please, Reverend Mother. This is not a matter of a few venial sins that harm no one but the offender — people have been murdered. Several. Please send for Dame Prudentia and have her watch while you rest a while. Then I shall escort you to Mistress Wilton’s apothecary after high mass. You must tell her what you heard.’
Isobel made a face as if about to protest again, then pursed her lips and bowed her head in acquiescence. ‘His Grace the Archbishop would agree. He is anxious to resolve Joanna’s story and return her to St Clement’s.’ Isobel glanced back at her charge. ‘But Joanna must be watched. And Prudentia is so tired. .’
Always a whining protest. ‘I added milk of poppy to the tisane,’ Wulfstan said. ‘Joanna should sleep peacefully into the morning. Dame Prudentia can surely sit with Joanna while she sleeps.’
‘If it is what you wish.’ Though Isobel bowed meekly, her voice crackled with resentment.
Her false humility irritated Wulfstan. Better to voice an opinion than seethe silently. Besides, what did Isobel want if not to get to the truth? But Wulfstan was not one to challenge. ‘I shall be grateful for your assistance in this, Reverend Mother. Go in peace.’
As he left the room, Wulfstan was deep in thoughts of Edmund. What to tell him of his friend? ‘Adrift on the sea.’ That is what Joanna had said yesterday. And tonight she had confessed to leading Stefan to his death. Had she drowned him? Is that what she meant?
Brother Oswald stepped into Wulfstan’s path. ‘Forgive me. I know you have much on your mind. But you should know that there was someone in the corridor. He ran past me just before dawn. It was too dark to see his face. But he did not wear monk’s robes.’
Wulfstan had difficulty grasping this fresh subject. A hazard of age. He blinked a few times. ‘In the corridor. Do you mean someone listening?’
Oswald shrugged. ‘I cannot say for certain. I saw him only as he ran away.’
Wulfstan thought of the man from whom Alfred guarded Edmund. Perhaps he was loose on the abbey grounds. ‘Beware of him, Oswald.’
Oswald pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. ‘I pray we are soon rid of this troublesome nun.’ He said it quietly, but with far more feeling than Wulfstan had ever heard from the hospitaller. ‘I knew she would bring trouble to St Mary’s.’
Wulfstan assured Oswald that Joanna would leave as soon as they knew she would be safe at St Clement’s. Then he hurried off to find Alfred to warn him to keep a close watch on the infirmary, for Jack may have found his way into the abbey grounds. If so, Edmund was in danger. Wulfstan sighed. He had doubted the archbishop’s confidence in the security of the abbey from the beginning. It would be simple for an intruder to insinuate himself into the grounds by claiming to be a pilgrim.
Owen woke long before dawn. Before he could slip back into sleep, he remembered something Lucie had said the previous night. She had expressed concern that Owen had grown too fond of Edmund. Owen had been puzzled. What was the matter with his liking the man? Lucie had been vague in her answers. Perhaps nothing at all. I simply wonder whether you know him as well as you think you do.
Owen had brushed it off as sleepy talk last night, but now he lay awake wondering whether Lucie had some insight that eluded him. He watched her sleep, curled up, her head nestled in her cupped hand. Such a deep, peaceful sleep. He must not wake her, not now that she so often did not sleep. But how he yearned to ask what she had meant.
How well did he know Edmund? Owen knew little of Edmund’s life except that he had been an apprentice shipwright in Whitby when he had met Stefan. How long had Stefan and Edmund been together? Owen had no idea. Had Edmund ever been married? Been in love? It had never occurred to Owen to ask such questions.
What was it Lucie had said? What does Edmund feel for Joanna? She is beautiful. You say her father and brother described her as flirtatious. Consider how he groomed himself to see her.
Owen sat up. True enough. But what did it mean? He regretted leaving Edmund at the abbey infirmary. Were he here, Owen would wake him for a talk.
And what of Jack? Was he truly Edmund’s enemy? Why was he following Edmund? If it was to kill him, why follow him all the way to York? An ambush would have been simpler out on the high moors than in a city. And until the conversation with the taverner in Beverley, Owen and Alfred had doubted Edmund’s uneasiness. They would have been caught off guard, an ideal situation for the attacker. So what was Jack waiting for?
Owen feared Lucie was right, that he had formed an idea of Edmund and the mystery surrounding him and was acting on a view that might be dangerously wrong-headed.
Careful not to wake Lucie, Owen eased out of bed and dressed.
Edmund stared at the brightly painted statue of Mary, Queen of Heaven. Her robe was a warmer blue than the mantle he had given Joanna, but otherwise it was much the same. Was Joanna truly so innocent that she believed he had given her a holy relic to keep her warm? Or did she pretend to believe in order to brag of miracles? Was she mad? He had sensed something strange in her from the beginning, but had thought it simply her uneasiness about breaking her vows. Yet Joanna’s behaviour had never been that of a cloistered sister reluctant to sin. She had flirted with Stefan from the start, and even with Edmund in a subtler way. Was all this a sad battle over a soul already lost to madness?
But Joanna was no longer his concern. He must see to Stefan. Edmund resolved to return to Scarborough and scour the coastline in search of Stefan’s body. There was nothing more to learn here. He doubted that in Joanna’s state she would be able to describe where she had left Stefan.
And he feared that if he got near her again he would be tempted to shake her until she lost her wits entirely.
So best that he leave now.
As the monks shuffled into the choir for prime, Edmund left the church, too heartsick to bear their chanting. He noted others leaving, too. It was sad to think there might be other men so full of grief that they could not bear the beautiful harmonies of the monks.
Out in the abbey yard, God’s alchemy was turning the silvery light to gold. Edmund walked slowly round the cloister buildings and headed for the postern gate into the city. He would need a horse, and hoped that he might sneak his out of the stables at the York Tavern before any of the help woke. Then he could be alone with his grief on the long ride home.
Owen met Brother Wulfstan scurrying back to the infirmary. ‘God be with you, Brother Wulfstan. You are out betimes.’ He did not like the monk’s worried expression.
The old infirmarian made the sign of the cross. ‘You are the answer to my prayers. I fear I have done a foolish thing, leaving Edmund alone in the infirmary. Pray God Alfred has kept careful watch.’ He told Owen about his call to the guest house and the intruder.