The four younger nuns, lacking their wariness, were crowded to the stools nearest Domina Alys’ chair. Last night during recreation they had talked into the paving stones everything they knew or guessed about what had happened yesterday afternoon and been annoyed at Frevisse when she refused to embroider on the bare facts that she told them once and not again: a girl had been seized by Sir Reynold’s men in Banbury, had been rescued here by Domina Alys, and was now in Lady Eleanor’s keeping. Chapter meetings were for dealing with the nunnery’s daily business and they were looking forward to asking questions at length about this particular business.
Frevisse doubted it was going to be that easy. Domina Alys’ face was set this morning with a heavy-jawed stubbornness that did not bode well. Neither did her refusing them a fire. Admittedly, there were supposed to be no fires, except in the kitchen, from spring until Allhallows and they were barely to St. Crispin’s, so the warming-room fire had been an indulgence on Domina Alys’ part, one that she was within her rights to cancel if she chose. But shivering slightly, Frevisse thought that it was bitterly unfair they should lose it because Domina Alys was displeased over something that was none of their fault.
And, she promptly added with wry humor at herself, it was bitterly unfair for her to resent Domina Alys not keeping within the rules for some things and then being annoyed when she did if it led to discomfort. Diverted by how easily her own virtue could slide when she was faced with a cold room when she had hoped for a warm one, Frevisse made her curtsy with the rest as Domina Alys entered and then stood with her eyes down and hands folded in front of her, wishing she were as quiet in her mind as she hoped she outwardly seemed.
Domina Alys went to stand beside her chair, resting one hand on its high back as she looked them over with a darkly critical eye but saying nothing until Father Henry hurried in. As he took his place beside her, she declared, “In nomine Patris, et Filü, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen,” and proceeded to pray-or order-the Holy Spirit to guide and bless what they would do here. Then Father Henry read the chapter of St. Benedict’s Rule designated for the day, first in his uncertain Latin, then again in English, and made his brief commentary on the reading, to the effect that they should obey the holy St. Benedict’s Rule. With Father Henry the obvious was always his strongest point. He was deeply sincere but never profound, and Frevisse, having managed after a long effort to accept that, barely listened to him anymore, thereby saving herself much aggravation.
He finished, blessed them, and departed, and Sister Emma and Sister Amicia thrust up their hands. Domina Alys’ gaze flicked back and forth between them and then she chose to nod at Sister Amicia, who, eager as arrow from bow, sprang to her feet exclaiming, “About that girl Sir Reynold brought yesterday, was she really-”
Domina Alys snapped, “That’s not something for discussion now. Sit down.”
Sister Amicia stood staring, mouth open on her unfinished question.
“Sit!” Domina Alys ordered.
Sister Amicia sat, and Domina Alys turned a daunting stare on the rest of them. This was the time for accusations and confessions of faults to be made among the nuns, and disciplines and penances given, but today no one seemed inclined to rouse Domina Alys by either confession of their own faults or accusations against anyone else. There was only an uneasy shifting and silence under Domina Alys’ gaze while she waited for someone to begin; and when it was clear she would not go on with chapter until something had been said, Dame Perpetua ventured to suggest uncertainly that Sister Cecely might have been a little abrupt in answering her yesterday over a matter of a book that had not been put back where it should have been.
Domina Alys set her glare on Sister Cecely. “Were you abrupt to Dame Perpetua?” she demanded.
“I-I-I might have been,” Sister Cecely admitted. “Yes.” She tried to sound more certain about it. “Yes, I think I was.”
“Fifty paternosters on your knees sometime today before Compline,” Domina Alys said. “And mind your tongue better after this. And you,” she added at Dame Perpetua.
“Don’t be so careful over what’s said to you and not meant or you’ll be doing penance, too.”
Having established that she was not about to let anyone be innocent of anything, she looked at Dame Juliana and asked, “What have you to say?” to show she was ready to go on to the obedientiaries’ reports. As cellarer, Dame Juliana was supposed to see that the nunnery had all it needed of food and other necessities, and because St. Frideswide’s was small, she served as kitchener as well, with the kitchen and the daily preparing of meals under her supervision. The nunnery’s needs not only from day to day but for the months ahead was her responsibility. Frevisse suspected mat Domina Alys had appointed her to those duties, first, because of Dame Juliana’s unwillingness to impart ill news and then because she was unlikely ever to presume to challenge what Domina Alys chose to tell her about the nunnery’s accounts.
Unfortunately for Dame Juliana, that did not mean she was easy in her mind over any of it, and of late her formerly serene brow had begun to show the creases of concentration and worry. Now, at Domina Alys’ demand, she unconsciously drew a breath, let it out as a deep sigh, and stood up to answer. “There’s word… it’s being said… I’ve heard… that Yorkshire had a drier year than we did and…”
“From who?” Domina Alys demanded.
“It’s being said… among the servants. It’s talked of… in the village.”
“And what’s it to us?”
Dame Juliana blinked, gathered her words, and said in a rush, “There may be wheat for sale there. They’re saying that, too.”
“I thought,” Domina Alys said warningly, “that you’d told me we have enough to see us through the year.”
“I did. We did,” Dame Juliana quickly agreed. “But… but…”
“But now we don’t?” Domina Alys’ lowering voice warned that this was not the answer she wanted to hear.
Somewhat desperately Dame Juliana said, “We’ve used more… our need has been… greater than we expected.” Because of Sir Reynold and his men, she refrained from adding. Hands clasped to her breast as if in prayer, she forced out, “If we could send someone to Yorkshire… to see about buying wheat there… it would be…”
“Useless,” Dame Alys said with a darkening look. “Where’s the money for it supposed to come from, for one thing? Not just for buying the wheat, supposing there is any, but for paying to have it brought here. Do we have funds I don’t know of?”
Dame Juliana did not even try to answer that. She had already dared more than Frevisse would have cared to, and for the second time in hardly a month. Near Michaelmas, when it had still seemed the nunnery would have enough grain for the year but it was plain the village would not, she had hesitantly suggested the nuns might lessen their daily ration of bread, to make their stores last longer so that later they would be able to give to the village. Domina Alys had unhesitantly pointed out, “All that will do is mean we go hungry with them. Where’s the point of that? Our first duty is God’s worship and we can’t do it if we’re ill from hunger. God looks after his own. He made villeins better suited to beans than to wheat bread anyway, and if they haven’t enough, they’ll learn to work the harder next year.”
She had made it clear she did not want to hear of the matter again, or anything like it. So it was all unexpected that now she smiled instead of going into rage. “But it doesn’t matter whether there’s wheat in Yorkshire or not. I’ve promise from Sir Reynold to see that we have wheat enough and anything else we might lack before he leaves.”