A Shadowed Evil

by Alys Clare

  ‘Yes, yes, of course he was,’ Hugh said, waving an impatient hand. ‘As boys, Harold and I were closer than brothers, and our friendship persisted as we grew up, married and had families of our own. My Herbert and Harold’s William were boyhood friends too, just as their fathers had been, although circumstances later separated them, and for many years they saw little, if anything, of each other. Enough of the old affection remained, however, for Herbert to wish to pay his respects when his friend William died.’ He gave a great, gusty sigh. ‘And so Cyrille came into our lives.’

  ‘She brings with her a fine son,’ Helewise said. She wondered if she should have spoken. Was it correct to offer her opinion? Hugh had turned to stare at her, and, nervously, she pressed on. ‘Is it not some consolation for her presence, that you have the grandson of your old friend under your roof?’

  Hugh sighed again, but he was nodding. ‘I suppose so, yes, and it’s no fault of the lad who his mother is.’ Isabelle, Helewise recalled, had said something very similar. ‘He has a look of his forefathers, and I do indeed see dear old Harold in him,’ he conceded. ‘But – but …’

  Quite suddenly, Uncle Hugh changed. From being alert, interested and lucid, he turned in the blink of an eye to a puzzled, frail old man, mouth mumbling incomprehensible words, a drool of saliva trailing from his lower lip. Helewise, filled with the urge to help, leaned forward, her hand briefly on the old man’s, and, reaching for a piece of cloth, she gently wiped his mouth. ‘Uncle Hugh?’ She kept her voice low. ‘Are you all right?’

  He stared up at her, his eyes wild. He tried to say something: ‘Mar—’, it sounded like. ‘Not that one!’ he spluttered. ‘Mar!’ His voice rose to a shout, surprisingly loud, and he freed his hand from Helewise’s, clenching it into a fist and pounding it hard on the bed, still repeating that strange word and shaking his head in impotent, furious frustration. Then, as if he had exhausted himself, his eyes closed and he sank back into his pillows.

  Josse was already at the door. ‘I’ll fetch Editha – I can’t think where she’s got to,’ he said, his voice tense with anxiety.

  Helewise heard his footsteps hurrying away along the passage. She stayed where she was, once again gently holding the old man’s hand. After some time, she heard footsteps again, but they were walking, not running.

  Isabelle appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray, and Editha was beside her. Josse followed them into the room.

  Isabelle went to the far side of the bed and Helewise moved out of the way so that Editha could take her place. Editha smiled at her, obviously understanding the gesture. ‘Don’t worry, he often does that,’ she said kindly. ‘Josse told us what happened. We think that Father’s mind somehow slips at times, and then for a while he is lost to us.’ She looked at Hugh, her face full of love. ‘He always comes back, though.’

  So far, Helewise thought sadly. Catching Isabelle’s eye, she read the same, unspoken comment.

  She and Josse quietly crept away, leaving Isabelle and Editha with their father. She thought Josse looked distressed. ‘He is old, dear Josse,’ she said, taking hold of his hand. ‘Take comfort from what he said: he is not afraid of death, and he is lucky to have such tender care.’

  ‘Aye, I know,’ Josse said gruffly. ‘It’s just that—’ He stopped, and shrugged helplessly.

  Just that he’s dying, she silently finished for him. There really wasn’t any more to say.

  They went through into the new extension and made their way to the solar. A wintry sun was trying to shine in a sky so pale that it was scarcely blue at all. A light snowfall had turned the land to patchy white. A fire burned in the hearth, and the little girls were playing beside it. A big chest of cast-off remnants of clothing stood open on the floor; clearly, the dressing-up box.

  Josse and Helewise smiled to the family members who were present. Philomena and Henry sat watching the children, and Emma was sitting on a low stool sewing a length of grubby white silk into a headdress of some sort for Cecily, who stood right at her shoulder directing her. Josse led the way to a bench set against the far wall, and he and Helewise sat down.

  Presently, Jenna came to join them, and they moved up to make room for her.

  ‘Your daughter is very patient with her little sister,’ Helewise said, nodding towards where Emma, her head bent over her sewing, was unpicking a seam and reworking it precisely as Cecily commanded.

  Jenna smiled fondly. ‘She is.’ Turning to Helewise, she said, ‘You know she wants to be a nun?’

  Was there anything significant in that question? Did she know of Helewise’s own past? ‘Yes, Isabelle mentioned it,’ she replied cautiously. She hoped Josse would not say anything. She was planning to reveal herself to this welcoming, open-hearted family one day, but she was not quite ready to do so yet.

  ‘She’ll go to Hawkenlye,’ Jenna was saying. She gave a harsh laugh. ‘If they’ll have her, once—’ She broke off. Then, in a very obvious change of direction, she said, ‘Do you know it? It has a fine reputation, and we hear well of it even here in Lewes. You live much closer, I believe?’

  Helewise met Jenna’s clear eyes and found she could not dissimulate. ‘I do know Hawkenlye Abbey, very well,’ she said quietly. ‘I would very much like to tell you about it, and how I come to know so much, but not yet.’

  Jenna was watching her, obviously intrigued. She started to say something, then, bowing her head, said politely, ‘As you wish, my lady.’

  Josse was looking puzzled. ‘You said, Jenna, if they’ll have her.’ Jenna turned to him. ‘Why should they not?’ he asked in a whisper.

  Jenna’s strong face contracted in a scowl. ‘Because my dear brother’s wife has taken it upon herself to say to Emma – and to everyone else who will listen, including, in time no doubt, the good sisters of Hawkenlye – that she doesn’t think Emma is suitable.’ The last word, cruelly emphasized, came out as a furious hiss.

  ‘But surely that isn’t for her to say?’ Helewise protested. ‘The call to the religious life comes from God, and if he has deemed a man or a woman suitable, that is all that matters.’

  ‘So you’d think,’ Jenna agreed. ‘Cyrille, however, has her own ideas, and, since she expresses them with a considerable amount of conviction, Emma has let these ideas influence her. She’s so worried!’ For a moment, Jenna’s eyes filled with tears. With an angry gesture, she brushed them away.

  ‘What is the basis for Cyrille’s objection?’ Helewise asked.

  ‘I cannot say, although I have my suspicions,’ Jenna replied. ‘I’ve asked her to explain, but either she cannot or will not. She maintains that as a truly God-fearing woman, she is uniquely qualified to judge Emma’s suitability for the religious life, and furthermore she tells me – and I’m Emma’s mother! – that she observes aspects of my daughter’s nature that I and everyone else miss.’ Her face working, she added in a sort of growl, ‘She has managed to maintain, or so she informs me, the unique viewpoint of the outsider, who is best placed to appreciate the full picture.’

  ‘But what does she observe?’ Josse persisted. ‘Can there be any basis for her concerns? You just said you had your suspicions,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Oh, she drops allusions to “inappropriate behaviour” which, she informs me, is not at all seemly in one who wishes to give her life to God. “Emma will have to do without a good many of the pleasures life has to offer,” she told me self-importantly’ – Jenna’s imitation of Cyrille’s careful, precise tones was uncannily accurate – ‘“and I am not at all sure that will be possible for her.”’ Slowly Jenna shook her head. ‘You almost have to laugh, it’s so absurd.’

  Helewise was thinking hard. Guessing that Jenna didn’t want to say anything to disparage her daughter, she said cautiously, ‘It sometimes happens that, before a woman is quite sure that she hears God’s call, she experiences the normal feelings and emotions of all the young. Perhaps Emma felt drawn to some handsome young man of your acquaintance?’ Jenna had flushed, and Helewise realize
d she had guessed right. ‘Perhaps, even, the young man might have stolen a kiss or a caress. It is what happens when we are young and the blood is hot,’ she went on, not allowing either Jenna or Josse to interrupt, ‘and, although we are quite rightly instructed that our passions must at all times be under our control, nevertheless I have always felt that a loving God – even more so his beloved Son – would understand, and not condemn a young woman or a young man for allowing themselves to be carried away by youthful affections.’

  She paused. Steadily, she stared into Jenna’s eyes. After a long moment, Jenna said, ‘And would an indiscretion of this nature – if, indeed, it had happened – be sufficient to make a great abbey such as Hawkenlye refuse to take a young woman as a novice?’

  Helewise took both her hands. ‘Of course not,’ she said firmly. ‘No woman is born a nun, and all have had a varying number of years in the world before they answer their call. Since not one of us can say we are free of sin, I would judge that every single nun on earth has had to reconcile their past with their future. Why, Hawkenlye has widows and former harlots among its congregation,’ she went on bluntly, ‘all of whom would have had a great deal more to tell their confessor than some minor misdemeanour committed by a young, unmarried woman.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘Nobody will expect her to be perfect.’

  ‘And –’ Jenna hesitated – ‘and what if a girl, a young woman, believed she had heard God’s call, and yet discovered, after a time, that the – er, that the aspects of life she had thought to have given up were too strong, and summoned her back into the world?’

  ‘Nobody is asked to make vows before they are ready, in both their superiors’ and their own eyes,’ Helewise replied. ‘And, before anybody even begins to think of perpetual vows, there is the postulancy and, after a minimum of six months, the novitiate. Both are designed to ensure that both a woman and her community have made the right decision.’ She paused. ‘Hawkenlye is unique, and run on lines different from other foundations,’ she went on softly. ‘The man whose vision was behind both it and one or two other abbeys, here and in France, believed passionately in Our Lord’s message of compassion and tolerance, and consequently Hawkenlye has a flexibility not known elsewhere.’

  Jenna was looking at her, her expression fascinated. ‘You seem to know a great deal—’ she began. Then – and Helewise actually saw the realization dawn – Jenna gasped.

  ‘Please,’ Helewise said softly.

  There was no need for more. Jenna nodded, then, tears once more in her eyes, she leaned forward and put a soft kiss on Helewise’s cheek. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ she whispered. ‘Your past is your own business, and I will only say that, whatever path brought you to Josse, and so to us, I am very glad that you took it.’

  Then she was on her feet, and, without a backward glance, hurrying away across the solar and out through the door.

  During the afternoon and early evening, the snow came back. As if the first flurries had just been an experiment, now it came down with its full might. The sky was grey and heavy, with a solid look about it, as if it carried a huge weight and was finally, with relief, beginning to set it down.

  The temperature dropped. The family deserted the solar, for, with the icy chill outside, the heavy wooden shutters had been fastened securely over its windows. The room that was made for light and sunshine turned into a gloomy, dark space, where footsteps echoed and nobody was inclined to linger.

  The fire in the Old Hall’s great hearth was kept well stoked, and, as the short daylight quickly faded beneath the dark grey clouds, more and more lamps and candles were lit. The family closed in around the warmth and the light, snug with blankets, wraps and cushions. Outside, the snow went on falling.

  Late in the day, Helewise turned worriedly to Josse. ‘Olivar still has not been permitted to join us,’ she whispered. Cyrille sat quite close, on a footstool beside Editha, and Helewise did not want her to overhear. ‘Do you think he is allowed light and a fire in his room?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Josse said fervently. ‘It begins to be inhumane, this punishment.’ He shifted in his seat, levering himself up.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Helewise hissed.

  ‘Speak to Isabelle.’ He looked down at her. ‘While Uncle Hugh is unwell, Isabelle is head of the household.’

  He strode off across the hall to where Isabelle sat beneath the light of a torch set in a wall sconce, working at a piece of tapestry. Helewise, hurrying after him, watched as he bent down to speak to his cousin. She too got up and, with Helewise a few paces behind, the three walked out into the passage.

  ‘What is it?’ Isabelle looked from one to the other. ‘Is there something you need?’

  ‘No, Isabelle – your hospitality leaves no wish unmet,’ Josse said. Then, as if his unease could brook no delay, he said, ‘Helewise and I are concerned for Cyrille’s lad. We understand he is being punished by being confined in his room, but surely he has been there long enough? And, given the conditions, will he not be cold and frightened? Unless that is part of the punishment?’

  His voice had risen with his anger. Isabelle, with a narrowing of her eyes, said quite sharply, ‘Don’t get cross with me, Josse, it’s not my fault!’

  ‘I apologize,’ Josse said instantly. ‘I know it’s not.’

  ‘Accepted.’ Isabelle managed a brief smile. ‘I quite agree with you. This treatment is far too harsh for the boy, especially as his crime wasn’t all that severe in the first place.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Josse asked.

  ‘He went into his mother’s room when she was having her afternoon sleep, and, although she repeatedly tells him not to, he amused himself till she awoke by playing with a rather pretty rosary she has, the beads of which are pearls and coloured glass. The inevitable happened, the rosary broke, and some of the beads couldn’t be found.’

  ‘It was wrong to have played with something he’d been told not to touch,’ Helewise said tentatively. ‘But I would have thought a short, sharp punishment would have better driven the lesson home.’

  ‘So would I,’ Isabelle said tersely. She met Helewise’s eyes. ‘You have children, Helewise?’

  ‘Two sons, yes, and now they too have children.’ She smiled. ‘I was married before.’

  Isabelle nodded. ‘I thought you probably had been.’ Then, returning to the matter in hand: ‘If you’re going to ask me to speak to Cyrille, and suggest it would be kind to fetch Olivar to join us, then I must tell you I’ve already done so, more than once, and each time she informs me that it is up to her, not me, to order her child’s days.’

  ‘Couldn’t Herbert ask her?’ Helewise suggested. ‘He is making Olivar his ward, isn’t he?’

  Isabelle frowned. ‘Yes, he is.’ The frown deepened. ‘It’s odd,’ she went on, lowering her voice still further, ‘but Cyrille’s attitude seems to have changed. To begin with, she was constantly harping on about it – Herbert’s adoption of Olivar as his heir – and she never gave my son any peace. “What if something happened to you before the formalities are complete?” she said once. “What would then become of me and my poor little boy?”’ Isabelle’s eyes flashed with indignation. ‘What did she think would happen?’ she added in a sort of suppressed shout. ‘Did she imagine we’d kick her out on her fat little backside and Olivar with her?’ She paused, taking some deep breaths. ‘No, oh, no,’ she said softly after a moment. ‘Cyrille, I very much fear, is here to stay.’

  ‘You said her attitude changed?’ Josse prompted her.

  ‘Hm? Oh, yes. I first noticed a couple of weeks ago, or maybe three. She – Cyrille – went quite quickly from wanting Olivar with her every moment, and sort of pushing him at the rest of us, as if she was determined to keep him right under our noses and remind us constantly of who and what he is, to virtually ignoring him.’ She turned puzzled eyes to Helewise and then back to Josse. ‘He, poor little lad, didn’t know what to make of it, which is hardly surprising. One minute she’s on at him all the time, tellin
g him he must behave like a little lordling and keep his elbows in at mealtimes, not chatter with the servants, sit up straight and all the rest of it, and the next, she’s ignoring him as if he’d suddenly become invisible.’

  ‘The poor boy must be utterly confused!’ Helewise exclaimed. ‘How very cruel.’

  ‘I suspect that’s why he went searching for her on the occasion he broke the rosary,’ Isabelle said. ‘Until she changed in her attitude towards him, she liked him to be clinging to her skirts. Pretty much literally,’ she added with a grim smile, ‘since she’s taken to wearing skirts that trail on the ground at the back, and gets Olivar to hold up the hem as she walks.’

  Stunned into silence, it was a moment before either Josse or Helewise spoke. Eventually, Josse said, ‘What would happen if one of us quietly slipped away and took the boy some hot food and something to drink, a candle or two and the means of making a fire to comfort him?’

  Isabelle turned to him. ‘I’ve already done it,’ she whispered. ‘It may be going too far to dictate to Cyrille how she treats her own child, but this isn’t her house. Yet,’ she added in a savage mutter. Raising her chin – and, Helewise observed with a quiet smile, looking absurdly like Josse – Isabelle said, ‘Tomorrow, Olivar will be allowed to rejoin us. Cyrille has decreed it.’ Then, with a bow to both of them, she spun round and went back to her sewing.

  It was late. It was cold. It was very, very dark.

  The little boy lay huddled deep beneath the bedclothes. He had been alone for a long time now. He had eaten the food that the stern-faced but nice lady had brought – gulped it down so fast that it had made him burp, in fact, in case She came and got furious because he’d been eating when she’d said he mustn’t – but that was ages ago. He was hungry again now, and there was nothing left.

  The nice lady had made a little fire, too, and brought a candle. Both had burned out.