She didn’t.
Instead she raised her chin, stared him out and said haughtily, ‘You have not the least idea what you are talking about, and you won’t trick me into telling you. I’m no fool, Sir Josse.’
‘I didn’t think you were,’ he said. Then, for she was angry now and he knew the moment for confidences was past, he added, ‘I intend to sleep until first light. Then I shall leave. I suggest you escort me to some place where I can find my bearings. I will allow you to blindfold me again, if you wish it.’
‘I do,’ she said frostily. Turning away, she said, ‘Until first light. Come, Ninian.’
The boy gave Josse a wistful look — you’re here, and I’m so glad, but you’ve got to be going again! it seemed to say — and then meekly fell into step behind his mother. They disappeared up a narrow staircase which had been concealed behind a hanging in one corner of the room, and for a short time he heard their footsteps overhead.
Soon, the whole house was quiet.
As he had promised, Josse lay down his head and went to sleep.
* * *
In the morning, he was awake before her.
He made his way outside, where he found a water butt. The top couple of inches of water were frozen solid, and he had to break the ice with a stone. He filled a bowl, and took it in to heat it over the fire, which he had fed on waking, tickling it into a good blaze.
He had brought his small saddlebag in from the barn, and now, for the first time in three days, he enjoyed the luxury of a wash and a shave. Before dressing again, he brushed down his tunic as best he could. He gave his boots a shine, and tried to get some of the forest floor vegetation out of his hair. But it was difficult to do so without disturbing the poultice and its linen tie, and he soon gave up.
By the time the woman came down, he felt almost presentable.
‘You look better,’ she said, looking him over.
‘I feel better.’
‘You should keep the poultice in place for another day or two. But it has probably done its work already.’
‘I’m grateful.’
‘No need to be.’
They shared a light breakfast, then she stood up, raising her eyebrows at him.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
They went out to the barn, and he tacked up Horace while she saw to the pony. Why not her own horse? he wondered, if that was what the other animal was. Too conspicuous? Better to ride her son’s sturdy pony? There was no way of knowing for sure. He stood before her for the blindfold, and, once he had mounted, she secured his wrists as she had done before.
‘I’ll go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ve attached a leading rein.’ He didn’t answer. There didn’t seem anything to say.
* * *
It was a far longer ride this time. Trying to work out their direction from the way the sun’s rays were falling on his shoulders — not easy, with a weak winter sun — he had the distinct impression she was taking them round in circles.
Finally, she drew rein. ‘This will do,’ she said.
He heard her dismount and approach. His wrists untied, he reached up and took off the blindfold, wordlessly handing it to her.
Then he looked around to see where they were.
He didn’t recognise the spot.
She said, ‘The road down to Tonbridge is half a mile along the track, in that direction.’ She waved an arm. ‘You can get your bearings there?’
‘Aye.’
He looked at her, then looked away. He wanted very much to say something — something about being there to help her, whatever her trouble was, if she’d only swallow her pride and let him. Something about the importance to her of a true friend. The friend that he could be.
But her chin was in the air again, and instead of offering his loyalty he almost said, do it your way, then! But don’t come crying to me if it all goes to the bad!
He knew she wouldn’t go until he was out of sight, in case he was watching to see which direction she took. So, with the briefest of nods, he kicked Horace and set off down the track.
She called, ‘Sir Josse!’
He stopped, turning round in the saddle to look at her. ‘What is it?’
For a moment, her despair and her need were naked in her face. ‘I-’ she began. Then, with a visible effort, violently she shook her head. ‘Nothing. Farewell.’
‘Farewell, lady.’
He turned back to face out along the track once more. This time, he encouraged Horace into a canter and, when once more he looked round, he had left her behind and out of sight.
Chapter Six
Helewise was feeling well again.
Three days’ total bed rest had done the trick. She was a robust woman, and, as Sister Euphemia remarked, it had only been necessary for her to act sensibly and take to her bed, which had allowed Mother Nature to do the rest.
Sitting at her table once more, the truckle bed and the brazier — such signs of weakness! — removed, out of sight and out of mind, she was eagerly going through Sister Emanuel’s entries in the accounts ledger.
She was, although she didn’t admit it to herself, looking for mistakes.
There weren’t any.
Sister Emanuel, whose usual duties revolved around the care of the elderly folk in the retired nuns’ and monks’ house, was an educated woman. She was — and this was another thing Helewise didn’t care to admit — probably more learned than her Abbess.
Helewise came to the end of Sister Emanuel’s entries. Closing the heavy ledger, she folded her hands on top of it and tried to empty her mind of the many other items clamouring for her attention.
I resent the fact that another nun has just proved herself as capable as I over this matter of keeping the accounts in a neat, legible hand, she thought, spelling it out relentlessly to herself. My pride is bruised, because she can do a task I liked to think only I could do.
This I must confess, and I must do penance. Pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and particularly ill-housed in a nun.
Then I shall humbly ask Sister Emanuel if, amid her busy life, she can find the time to help me out by taking on the task of keeping the accounts ledger up to date.
That, Helewise was well aware, was going to hurt.
All the more reason, said her conscience firmly, to do it. When it hurts, it means it is important.
What, then, shall I do with the spare time I shall have bought for myself? she wondered. Then, as she sat there, still trying to empty her mind so as to make it receptive, she remembered a scheme she had dreamed up long ago, in the heady days when she had just been appointed Abbess of Hawkenlye and believed she could change the entire religious world single-handedly.
I shall teach my nuns to read and write.
Oh, not all of them! That would be impossible! For a start, there are too many, and secondly, many are not … She tried to find a way of expressing the fact that many were not bright enough for such skills without it seeming patronising or condescending (which would have added to her present weight of pride). Many are possessed of talents that do not suit them to the acquiring of literacy, such as skill with plants or animals, the ability to sew beautiful embroidery, a tender and patient hand with the sick.
Was that all right? she asked the Lord timidly.
She found herself suddenly feeling much happier. As if she had been … lifted. Taking this as a sign of the Almighty’s approval, she got up and went in search of Sister Emanuel.
* * *
When the company of Hawkenlye Abbey was leaving the Abbey church after Nones, there was a sudden commotion at the gate. Helewise hurried across to join Brother Saul, Sister Martha and Sister Urseclass="underline" Sister Martha was holding the reins of a large, heavy horse, soothing him and gently stroking his nose; Brother Saul and Sister Ursel were bending over the figure who had just slid off the horse’s back.
‘It’s SirJosse!’ Sister Ursel said, which Helewise had just seen for herself. ‘He reached out to push at the gate, fell off his horse, and had landed on the ground before I could rush out to aid him!’