by Alys Clare
Something, she noted. Not even someone. ‘You have decided to judge and condemn Alba all by yourself, have you?’ she demanded, anger rising. ‘When you do not know her? When, but for one brief visit, you have not even met her?’
‘I am going by what you have told me!’ he cried, angry in his turn. ‘And, indeed, by what Meriel said.’
The little flame of doubt flared again in Helewise’s mind. Meriel . . .she was ruthless . . . Swiftly she doused it. ‘Meriel was distraught,’ she said firmly. ‘And also in a highly charged emotional state. I do not feel we should place too much credence on what she said.’
Josse was nodding knowingly, fuelling Helewise’s anger. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Aye, I see.’
‘What?’ She had an uncomfortable feeling she knew what was coming.
‘Abbess, you still can’t get over those two in the woods, can you?’
‘I—’ she began.
But he did not let her interrupt. ‘They really discomforted you, didn’t they, when they emerged from their lovers’ bed and stood before you? And even though you know they are man and wife and perfectly entitled, even in the Church’s eyes, to share a bed, you haven’t forgiven them. Have you?’
His face wore an expression she had never seen before. Confused, she said, ‘Of course I have!’
But even to herself she did not sound convincing.
And Josse, with a muttered, ‘Abbess Helewise, I never took you for a prude,’ turned his back and walked away.
Shaken, she went through the office of Tierce struggling to keep her mind on her prayers.
Then, with difficulty dragging together the ragged remnants of her fine plan for the day, she announced to her senior nuns that she wished to work alone and was only to be disturbed in dire need. Then she went to her room and firmly closed the door.
Having solved the problem of Alba – I have, she insisted to herself – she pushed her recent preoccupations to the back of her mind and surveyed everything else awaiting her attention. Oh, but it was depressing! The new system of delegating tasks to her deputies was working, after a fashion, but both the senior nuns and Helewise herself were finding it difficult to adapt to new ways after so long in the old ones.
But Helewise, she reminded herself, had promised Queen Eleanor that she would do her best to employ the system that Eleanor had outlined. It was early days yet. And the Abbess had been away from Hawkenlye, throwing everything out of kilter. . . .
Resignedly she reached for the heavy accounts ledger, now kept by Sister Emanuel, and began going through the neat entries. When she had worked her way through three weeks of Hawkenlye’s material comings and goings, there would be the reports of her deputies to consider. Then it would probably be time for Sext, and then the midday meal.
All in all, Helewise reflected, the day was going to be well advanced before she got round to the next item on her list, which was telling Berthe that she knew about Meriel and Jerome.
She had a vague sense that she ought to do that sooner rather than later, but dismissed it as a temptation she should ignore – she would far rather have sought out Berthe than ploughed her way on through the ledger. With a sigh, she bent her head and got on with her work.
In the end, it was late afternoon before Helewise finally went to look for Berthe.
She went first down into the Vale but, as it turned out, she could have saved herself the trouble. Berthe, Brother Firmin informed her, had gone to see Sir Josse up in the infirmary.
Oh, Helewise thought. Walking slowly back up to the Abbey, she felt a rush of shame. I shouted at Josse this morning, she reminded herself. For saying something that I didn’t like. But which, I have to admit, was perfectly true.
I must apologise. Tell him he was right.
As she approached the infirmary, she caught sight of Josse and Berthe sitting outside. They were laughing.
Wondering if Josse had already told Berthe of the visit to Meriel, Helewise quickened her steps. He should not have done that, she thought crossly, it was up to me to tell her. . . .
Josse looked up and greeted her with his usual smile. ‘Good afternoon, Abbess,’ he said. ‘Berthe and I were playing at riddles.’
Sorry! she said silently to him. What was it about her today, she wondered, that she insisted on misjudging her old friend?
‘Sir Josse, I have come to steal your young companion away, I am afraid,’ she said. She met his eyes. Would he guess what she was going to do? ‘I have a fancy for a stroll in the forest,’ she went on, keeping her gaze on his as she improvised, ‘and I wondered if Berthe would like to come with me?’
He gave a faint nod of understanding. ‘A good idea, Abbess. Berthe?’ He turned to the girl.
‘I would love to walk with you, Abbess Helewise.’ Berthe had shot to her feet. ‘Now?’
‘Now,’ said Helewise.
They fell into step, walking out through the Abbey’s main gates and off towards the fringes of the forest.
‘If we go that way,’ Berthe said after a moment, pointing along a path that circled the trees and that led in a completely different direction from the charcoal burners’ camp, ‘we shall stay in the sunshine.’
‘Indeed.’ Helewise was thinking. Taking Berthe’s arm and turning her firmly in the opposite direction, she said, ‘But that is not the way I wish to go.’
Holding the girl as she was, she felt the sudden tension. They walked in silence for a while, then Helewise said gently, ‘Berthe, as you have doubtless guessed, we are not merely going for a pleasant stroll.’
‘Aren’t we?’ Berthe sounded desolate.
‘Child, do not despair!’ Helewise gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You have borne a heavy burden these many days, and you have borne it long enough.’
‘But I can’t tell you! I can’t!’ Berthe was sobbing.
‘Berthe, there is no need for you to break a confidence, since I already know what you are trying so hard to keep from me.’ Helewise gave the girl a little shake. ‘Sir Josse and I came out here to find Meriel yesterday.’
‘You can’t have done! You didn’t know where they – where she was! Nobody did but me!’
Feeling distinctly sheepish, Helewise said, ‘I must confess that I asked Augustine to follow you. He told me where you had gone, and whom you met there.’
Berthe’s face had darkened. ‘Augustine?’
‘Yes.’
The girl said, with a catch in her voice, ‘I thought he was my friend.’
‘He is!’ Helewise insisted urgently. ‘Berthe, he realised that matters could not go on as they stood, purely because he is your friend! You are not a natural liar, child, and it was not right for you to be forced to go on bearing another’s secret.’
‘I didn’t mind! Meriel’s my sister, I’d do anything for her!’
‘Even lie to Sir Josse?’ Helewise asked shrewdly. ‘How did that feel, Berthe, to pretend to someone as fond of you as he is that you had no idea where Meriel was, pretend that you were worried sick about her?’
Berthe’s resistance collapsed. ‘I couldn’t lie to him,’ she said softly.
Helewise threw her arms round the slumped shoulders. ‘I’m very sorry, Berthe. This – setting Augustine to follow you and reveal your secret to me – was entirely my plan.’
Berthe disengaged herself and stared up into Helewise’s face. ‘But then you’re tougher than him,’ she said quietly.
‘I—’ Helewise found she couldn’t go on. What, indeed, was there to say?
‘Come on, then,’ Berthe said, leading the way off along the track. Stopping again and turning round, she added, ‘That is, if you really want to pay them a visit, and this wasn’t just a way of getting me on my own for a private talk?’
Such cynicism! Helewise thought. And the child still so young. ‘Indeed I do wish to visit Meriel and Jerome,’ she assured Berthe. ‘And in your company, too. Much has been going on that has been damaging to you both, and I wish to set matters right.’
Berthe did n
ot reply. But the look she gave Helewise over her shoulder rather suggested she doubted whether setting these particular matters right was within any one person’s power.
Even if that person was the Abbess of Hawkenlye.
Berthe was still in the lead when they came to the clearing.
‘Meriel!’ she called out. ‘Jerome! It’s me, Berthe, and I’ve got the Abbess with me!’
There was no answer.
Berthe turned round to Helewise. ‘They’re probably off checking the snares,’ she said confidently. ‘Jerome’s getting very good at snaring; he got a hare the other day and Meriel cooked it beautifully! Meriel!’ she called again, more loudly. ‘Where are you?’
But Helewise had walked over to the little hearth. No fire burned; none was laid ready. She put her hand to one of the pieces of turf that had been neatly cut and placed where the fire had been, gently moving it aside to feel beneath.
Cold.
Hearing Berthe’s calls echo from the edge of the trees, she straightened up and went across to the shelter which Meriel and Jerome had been using.
It was empty.
Other than the edges of the scar left by the recent fire, the glade and the charcoal burners’ camp looked deserted. Looked, moreover, as if nobody had been there for weeks. Months.
Helewise called softly, ‘Berthe, come here.’
After some time, Berthe obeyed.
Helewise stared at her. ‘Child, they’ve gone. Meriel and Jerome have gone.’
Berthe was shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears. She said, ‘No!’
‘Now, Berthe, don’t cry!’ Helewise tried to hug her but she would not suffer herself to be hugged. ‘We’ll find them, I promise, and then you’ll—’
‘We won’t find them!’ Berthe shouted. ‘Don’t you understand? I only found them here because they told me where they were, and you only found them because you followed me! If they don’t want to be found, then nobody will find them.’
‘They don’t know the forest,’ Helewise said, trying to sound calm and in control, ‘whereas I—’ No. She could not say, whereas I do, even to reassure this poor child. It was a lie. And for some reason Helewise didn’t like to fathom, it felt as if it would be a dangerous lie. . . .
Berthe was looking at her. ‘The forest is vast,’ she said. ‘I know it is, Jerome said. Big enough for two people to disappear and never be found.’ Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Helewise’s heart broke for her. ‘They won’t leave you behind, Berthe.’ She wished the girl would relent and let her approach. ‘Your sister won’t abandon you.’
‘She will if she has to,’ Berthe said. ‘And anyway I told her about the infirmary, how I really like working there and how Sister Euphemia says maybe one day I can be one of her proper nurses.’
‘So?’ Helewise didn’t immediately see the connection.
Berthe gave a faint sigh. ‘So she knows I’ll be happy. Even if she has to go.’ But the tears, momentarily halted, were flowing again. ‘Even if I never see her again as long as I live.’
Helewise could no longer resist the urge to comfort. Stepping forward, putting her hands on Berthe’s shoulders, she said, ‘Berthe, it will not come to that! I am quite sure it won’t!’
Berthe shook her off. ‘Abbess Helewise, I know you mean well, but you don’t understand!’ Her voice rising to near hysteria, she cried, ‘That’s been the trouble, all along! You’ve tried to help, but you can’t. You just don’t know what’s at stake!’
‘Then tell me!’ Helewise implored. ‘Let me help you, all of you!’
For a moment of stillness, she thought Berthe was going to relent. Waiting, she found she was holding her breath.
But then Berthe said, ‘No.’ With a resigned look, she straightened her shoulders, and the gesture almost undermined the Abbess. Managing a weak smile, Berthe went on, ‘Please don’t think I don’t long to tell you. But the secret isn’t mine to reveal.’
Turning away from the camp, she headed out of the deserted glade and back along the track.
And Helewise found she was left with no option but to follow.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time Helewise and Berthe were safely back inside the Abbey’s gates, the nuns were already making their way to the church for Compline. As Sister Ursel carefully barred the gate behind her, engaging the Abbess in a few brief words of conversation as she did so, Helewise wondered if there was anything she could say which would have the effect of sending Berthe more happily to her bed.
She couldn’t think of anything.
And when she turned from Sister Ursel and walked on towards the church, she saw that Berthe had already hurried away. The child was not even going to have the solace of prayer before she went to bed.
Helewise, while not entirely sure what she could have done differently – done better – was nonetheless filled with the feeling that she had failed Berthe. Failed her badly.
Since Meriel and Jerome undoubtedly would not have fled had the Abbess not announced that she was about to set Alba free, she probably had.
The nuns dispersed after the Office, most heading for the dormitory and a well-earned night’s sleep, but some going off to various parts of the community for night duty. Helewise knew she should go to bed – she was worn out – but her mind was still racing.
It is no use my going to bed, she realised, for I shall not sleep.
She slipped away from the rest of the sisters and, walking in the shadows of the great church, made for the rear gate. Perhaps some time spent looking out over the Vale, absorbing its serenity and its peaceful, natural beauty, would calm her.
She unbolted the gate and went outside. It was almost fully dark now, but there was a half moon in the clear sky, and she could make out the details of the familiar landscape. Strange, she thought, I hardly ever come out here unless some matter has called me to visit the shrine. I wonder why I should have felt drawn to come and stand here this evening?
Perhaps it was because there had been a death down there on the path that led off along the Vale. A death that seemed to have gone out of most people’s heads, driven away by other, more pressing problems.
Why do I think of that poor soul now? Helewise wondered.
But there was no answer.
After a while, she went back inside the Abbey walls and fastened the gate.
She was back in her room, tidying away her earlier attempts to complete her tasks and leave a perfectly clear table to greet her the next day, when there came a knock on the door.
It was so soft that at first she doubted whether she had really heard anything. Stopping what she was doing, standing perfectly still and holding her breath, she waited.
The tapping came again.
Clearing her throat, which seemed to have gone quite dry and closed up, she said in a low voice, ‘Come in.’
The door opened slowly. Against the dark backdrop of the deserted cloister, she could not see who stood there. But it was a tall figure, broad-set. . . .
Alarm making her sound shrill, she said, ‘Step forward into the candlelight and show yourself!’
Instantly the figure obeyed.
And, once again, the bearded stranger from the Vale made her that deep, graceful reverence.
‘I regret having alarmed you,’ he said as he straightened up again. ‘I did not mean to. I thought about approaching you just now, when you were outside the gate, but I feared that would scare you even more.’
‘I am not scared!’ she said crossly, swiftly removing her hand from where she had pressed it against her wildly thumping heart. Then, as a worrying thought occurred to her: ‘How did you get in? I barred the gate when I came back inside!’
He gave her a quick grin, momentarily making him look like a boy caught out in a misdemeanour. ‘I know. I heard you do it. But there is a place just along from the gate where a convenient tree branch allows a determined person to climb over the wall.’
‘Is there, indeed,’ she
said coolly, making a mental note to tell Brother Saul to make sure all such branches were ruthlessly lopped off. ‘And why, may I ask, were you so determined to get in?’
‘I had to speak to you,’ he replied. There was no mistaking the earnestness that now filled his face. ‘I have been watching out all afternoon and evening, waiting for my chance to catch you alone. But you kept disappearing, Abbess. You are, indeed, a hard woman to follow.’ He smiled briefly. ‘When I saw you step outside the rear gate, I believed that my prayers had been answered, and that you had come to find me.’
‘It’s strange,’ she said musingly, ‘but I did sense a weird and quite unprecedented urge to go and look out over the Vale . . .’ Then, hearing what she had just said, mentally she pulled herself together and demanded, ‘Who are you? And what do you want with me?’
‘My name is Bastian.’ There was the briefest hesitation, as though he were usually more forthcoming but, in this instance, had chosen not to be. ‘I have heard tell that you propose to release the former nun known as Alba, and I have come to beg you to reconsider.’
How did he know about Alba? Helewise wondered. Had he overheard Berthe and Augustine discussing her? But that was not the most important thing; waiting for a moment until she was sure she could speak calmly, she said, ‘I have no choice but to let her go. She is not a nun, as you appear to know already, and I cannot contemplate her joining the Hawkenlye community. As either a nun or a lay worker.’ He started to speak, but she did not let him. ‘Rest assured, however, that it is not our way to turn people away without first ascertaining that they have somewhere to go. A place will be found for Alba.’ Whatever business it may be of yours, she wanted to add.
He closed his eyes briefly, and his lips moved silently. It looked as if he were praying. Then he said, ‘Abbess Helewise, I appreciate that this is not how I should be doing this. You do not know who I am, and anything I tell you of my background could, as far as you are concerned, be a pack of lies. All I can do is beg you to put your trust in me.’
