‘You poisoned Stefan?’
Joanna rubbed her eyes wearily. ‘I did not know how. Not with what little we had there.’
‘And yet you stayed.’
‘I — ’ she shrugged. ‘I still wanted him.’
Lucie pressed her chilled fingertips to her eyelids.
‘One night, after much wine, Stefan stripped me and beat me — with the hilt of his sword, his hands, his boots — shouting all the while that I was unclean, I had made him unclean, I had made him a murderer. When I was bleeding and bruised and retching, he tied my hands to a post so I could not touch him, and he took me. So violently I thought he meant to kill me. And then he beat me again. And took me again. When he was finished, spent, he left me there, tied up, naked, unclean. I do not know for certain how long I lay there. I know it was days — I saw the light come and go. I lay there waiting to die. I prayed that death would not be slow in coming. I was so cold. Naked upon the stones. The sunshine I saw outside the cave could not reach me.’ She paused, crossed herself. ‘And then one night she came to me.’ Joanna’s voice changed, hushed.
‘Who?’
Joanna smiled. ‘Our Lady. She told me she would not let me die until I returned the vial of her milk that I had stolen from St Clement’s. I told her I could not move. She said I could work the cord on my hands loose enough to slide it up the post. So I obeyed her. She had come to show me the way to peace. It was midday by the time I worked my hands free. My first movements were so painful. It was late afternoon before I wrapped myself in her mantle, took my clothes, and went down to the water to wash.’ She bit her lip, dropped her eyes. ‘And there he was, lying on the rocks.’
‘Stefan?’
Joanna’s eyes focused on something Lucie could not see. ‘He must have slipped. The cliff was always wet with spray’
‘So you did not kill him?’
Joanna focused on Lucie. ‘But I did. If I had run away, he might not have fallen. He was so angry.’ She shook her head. ‘It should be clear to you. I am guilty.’
‘He was dead?’
‘I did not go too close. I washed myself and dressed. I had my mission for the Virgin. Then I could die in peace. That is all I wanted.’
Lucie found it difficult to believe that Joanna had not gone near enough to Stefan to see whether he breathed, whether someone might yet save him. ‘You walked away without knowing?’
Joanna nodded. ‘It was over.’
Who was crueller? Hugh or Joanna? ‘Did you go into Scarborough? Tell anyone?’
Joanna looked askance. ‘Tell whom? Edmund would have murdered me then and there. I could not allow that until I had found the vial and returned it.’
‘Can you be so unfeeling? Stefan might have been alive. Don’t you wonder if he lies there still?’
Joanna shrugged. ‘I suppose he does. Unless he slipped into the sea. I hope that happened. It is a kinder death.’
As she stared at the madwoman before her — for surely Joanna was mad — all Lucie wanted was the comfort of Owen’s arms. She shivered with cold on this warm July day.
When she left Joanna, Lucie was grateful that Daimon asked no questions, just accompanied her to the abbey church. She sank down in front of the statue of the Virgin, put her head in her hands, and wept. Maddy, Jaro, Colin, Longford, Hugh, Stefan, Jack — all dead; Joanna yearning for death. Even Mistress Calverley seemed to have willed her death to escape the tragic truth of her children. Not just their forbidden love but their cruel insistence on having their way, no matter whom it destroyed. For Lucie the overwhelming tragedy was that none of this could ever be put right. Even if Joanna and Hugh had managed to escape to France and live as a married couple, they would have earned their momentary happiness by three deaths, and they would have lived with that knowledge. A confessor might have shriven them of their mortal sins — all but one. And that sin, of brother and sister living as man and wife, would have damned them for all eternity. Unless they parted. And then all would have been for nought.
Now even Hugh was gone. And Stefan. Leaving Joanna alone with her memories. Memories that made death seem a kindness.
A long while passed as Lucie worked through the emotions that gripped her. The bells rang out for nones. In the choir, the monks chanted their office and departed. At some point in the afternoon, Daimon had brought Lucie a stool. Now she sat, leaning her tired back against a pillar, staring at Our Lady, uncertain how to pray for Joanna. As the bells rang for vespers, someone knelt beside Lucie, gathered her in strong arms.
‘Lucie, my love,’ Owen whispered, ‘it is over. Come. Let us go home.’
She wiped her eyes, looked up into Owen’s face, dark with worry. ‘Over? No. Not for Joanna. It will never be over for Joanna.’ Owen pressed her head to his chest, but Lucie had seen Edmund whisper something to Daimon, who gasped, then crossed himself. She pulled away from Owen. ‘What do you mean, “over”? What is over?’ That look in his eye.
Owen shook his head. ‘Not now. Come home.’
‘What has happened to Joanna?’
Owen tried to lift her.
Lucie fought him. ‘You said it, Owen. Now tell me.’
‘Joanna jumped from the window. Her neck was broken.’
Lucie’s stomach lurched. ‘But she did not confess the deepest sin, Owen. Not to a confessor. Only to me.’
Owen pulled her close, kissed her forehead. ‘Perhaps it was enough. We shall pray that it was.’
Jasper and his friends from the school sneaked round to the archbishop’s gaol to glimpse the men being led out in shackles.
‘What did they do?’ one of the boys asked.
‘Killed a nun,’ another replied. ‘Pushed her out of a window.’
Jasper shook his head. ‘No one pushed her. She jumped.’
They all turned to Jasper with wide eyes, remembering his authority.
‘Did Captain Archer see it?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone see it?’
‘Dame Prudentia, the infirmaress,’ Jasper said. ‘She cried a lot and said it was her fault. But the captain told her that when people are determined to do such things, no one can stop them, just delay them.’ Jasper gazed round at the attentive faces lifted towards him. This was a benefit of being an apprentice in the Wilton apothecary that he had not foreseen. ‘Those men wear the livery of Captain Sebastian of Scarborough. He was a traitor, but now he fights for our King.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘Captain Archer went to Scarborough and convinced him to fight for Right.’
All heads turned to study the livery of the shackled men.
‘But look at the one coming out with Captain Archer. He’s wearing the livery, but he’s free.’
Jasper ducked back behind the corner of the building. Owen might not be pleased to see him there. ‘That’s Edmund of Whitby,’ Jasper told his friends. ‘He helped the captain a lot, so His Grace the Archbishop has pardoned him. But he must return to Scarborough and answer to the Percies. He’ll be under guard, but unshackled.’
His friends peered again round the corner to watch for any further action. They were disappointed there were to be no beheadings or hangings.
Twenty-four
The men riding ahead of Edmund talked of how Fortune smiled on them, to be ordered down to the shore on such a warm day. They were glad to escape the stinking city. Edmund rode silently behind them, trying not to look at the blue sky. It reminded him of the cursed mantle he had given Joanna Calverley, the mantle he now carried. He had asked the Reverend Mother for this small thing, the mantle; perhaps it was somehow blessed and might speed Stefan on towards Heaven. Dame Isobel had gladly given him the mantle, pleased to be rid of it. ‘For it was you who gave it to poor Joanna. It should go back to you.’