“It is!” Flushed and defiant, Agnes stared at Janna as if daring her to speak against her decision.
“I beg you to reconsider, Agnes. Master Will loves you. He has hopes that you might wed.”
“I will never wed. I will never leave the abbey again!”
If she hadn’t persuaded Agnes to come to the fair and then teased her about Will, perhaps Agnes’s decision might have been different. Janna wondered if she might be able to persuade Will to wait, to ask Agnes again during haymaking, or at the next harvest, when they could be alone together in the fields while still being within the protection of the abbey. It comforted her slightly to think that it might not be too late, although in her heart she was sure that the damage was already done. And it was all her fault for not understanding Agnes’s fear, and choosing a more opportune time to introduce her to the outside world.
Janna sighed. There was no point in arguing further, given Agnes’s current frame of mind. “Just so long as you’re happy,” she said quietly.
“Happy? With this?” Agnes touched her scarred face. She looked angry, almost desperate, and Janna hastened to soothe her.
“Those who know you, love you. You don’t have to face any more strangers if you don’t want to.”
“I know.” Agnes managed a small smile. “Don’t mind me, Janna. I woke up cross as a bear this morning. Angry with myself, angry with the world. I’m no good to anyone right now.”
Janna remembered her gift from the fair. “Maybe this will help to cheer you,” she said, and lifted her sleeve to reveal the golden ribbon beneath. She untied it, and handed it to Agnes, who stared at it as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “No-one has ever given me anything before. Thank you, Janna, this is more than I deserve when you have already done so much for me.”
“You’d best keep it hidden,” Janna advised, and Agnes quickly whipped the ribbon out of sight. “I will treasure it always,” she promised. She leaned forward and touched Janna’s arm. “Actually, I wish I had stayed at the fair, for I missed all the excitement. Was it an accident, do you think, or did someone mean to harm the lord?”
“I wish I knew.” Janna shook her head. “But I know him already,” she added on impulse. “I stayed on his manor farm before I came to the abbey.” Her mouth quirked into a dreamy smile. “He is young, and very handsome.”
“Is he your beau?” Agnes asked eagerly.
Janna laughed. “He is a lord. I am lowborn, remember, and the daughter of a wortwyf. I am nothing and nobody.”
“But if he loves you?”
“He does not.” Janna thought of Gytha, of Cecily, of Emma. Was Hugh as innocent with women as he seemed? She wasn’t sure what to believe: that she was the intended target, or that the attack was indeed meant to punish Hugh for not honoring his pledge to the delectable Emma.
“I must go,” she said now. “Sister Anne and the lord Hugh both need me. But I haven’t forgotten my promise to you, Agnes. If I can persuade Sister Anne to it, do you still want to come and help in the infirmary?”
“More than anything!” Agnes’s smile glimmered like sunshine after rain.
Janna hurried off, feeling regret on Master Will’s behalf yet relieved that Agnes didn’t blame her for what had happened, and that she seemed to have recovered her usual high spirits. On her way to the physic garden, she lingered for a moment at the abbey’s cemetery. It was a quiet, peaceful spot, sheltered in part by yew trees although several headstones lay in a patch of sunlight, recording the passing of nuns long gone and probably mostly forgotten. Janna wondered who they were, and if the sunshine warmed their tired old bones and gave them ease. She hoped that they rested in peace after a lifetime of service to God.
The sun would also be shining on her own mother’s grave, set in the wasteland of unconsecrated ground beyond the chapel at Berford. Janna hoped that the grave was safe, undisturbed; that it had not been vandalized by superstitious villagers. “Rest in peace,” she whispered. “I will avenge your death, I promise you.”
She walked on through the kitchen garden and into the herbarium. She had come to know it well, including those rare plants that had come from far-off lands, for Sister Anne had schooled her in their healing properties. She looked about with a critical eye as she leaned over to pick the flowers, leaves and roots she needed. Too many plants were being choked by a rank growth of useless weeds. Some of the herbs had finished flowering, and their dead heads needed cutting off and the seeds preserving. Leaves also needed to be cut and dried before they shriveled in the autumn chill, while roots must be taken before winter snow drove living shoots under the earth to wait for spring. She would ask leave to work in the garden now that she no longer had to prepare goods for sale at the fair. She would ask if Agnes might join her, so that when it came to the big question of Agnes’s future, she would be able to say in all truth that the lay sister knew everything she could teach her.
As Janna sniffed the pungent aromas of the plucked herbs, she smiled at the memories of her childhood that they evoked. Suddenly mindful of the patient who awaited her, she hurriedly sought out the last of the plants she needed then went indoors to the infirmary to make up some new medicaments.
To her surprise, she found a number of people gathered around Hugh’s bed. There seemed to be quite a party going on under the indulgent eye of Sister Anne who, as Janna entered, was making a vain attempt to shush their exuberance.
“Johanna!” Hugh saw her first, and called out a greeting. Godric gave her a smile, as did Cecily, while Hamo, Hugh’s nephew and Cecily’s young charge, took one delighted glance at her then cast himself into her arms. Janna hugged him hard, while looking over his shoulder at the fifth member of the group. She tried to suppress her amusement as she noted a look of recognition, followed by embarrassment and dismay, flit across Gytha’s face. “John!” Gytha said the name like an accusation. Which it was, Janna realized, as the girl continued furiously: “You let us believe you were a youth! How could you trick us like that! I would never have confided in you had I known you were a—a nun!”
Janna had to try even harder not to smile. “I beg your forgiveness,” she said gravely. “I was in hiding, and being a youth was part of my disguise. I did not mean to shame or embarrass you, mistress, and I assure you that your secrets are safe with me.”
Gytha slid a sideways glance at Hugh, then looked hurriedly away. Both remembered well her stated intention to wed Hugh and her determination to let nothing stand in her path. “But I’ve taken no vows,” Janna said, trying to smooth the awkward moment. “I sought shelter here and, as you see, I help to look after such patients as come to the abbey.”
“I, too, have my lord’s best interests at heart,” Gytha said importantly, feeling herself now on safer ground. She proffered a basket to Janna. “I have brought some delicacies from the manor’s kitchen to sustain him while he recovers from his wound. Please see to it that he receives this good food from now on.”
“There is naught wrong with the food we eat here at the abbey.” Sister Anne’s patience had finally snapped. She bustled forward and snatched the basket from Gytha. “Rest assured, the lord Hugh will not go hungry, nor will he lack meat for it is allowed here in the misericord.” She looked at Janna. “I shall take this to our kitchen and, while I am there, I shall make up some new medicaments with the herbs you have gathered. After that, I shall go on to the fair. There is no need to change the dressing on the wound for now; you may do it later when the lord’s guests have gone. In the meantime, please keep watch over the other patients—and I mean all the patients, not just this one—while I am gone.”
“Yes, Sister.” Janna set Hamo aside and stepped out of Sister Anne’s way. She was delighted to see the little boy. She was afraid that his abduction might have changed his bright and trusting nature forever, for he had suffered cruelly at the time. But his affectionate hug had done much to reassure her.
“How are you doing, my y
oung lord?” she asked.
He smiled up at her. “I am quite well now,” he said.
“But he has nightmares sometimes,” Cecily piped up. Hamo looked embarrassed.
“I would have nightmares too, if I’d been abducted like you were, Hamo,” Hugh said quickly, and was rewarded by the boy’s relieved grin.
It was clear that Hamo worshipped his cousin, and took comfort from the fact that someone as big and brave as Hugh might also have nightmares. His glance switched to Janna. “Are you a nun now?” he asked.
Janna smiled. “Not exactly,” she said. She was sorry the boy was having nightmares, and wondered if it might be possible to divert him by giving him something else to think about. “Tell me, Hamo,” she said, “do you know your letters and numbers?”
“No,” Hugh answered. “It is my duty to teach Hamo the arts of war and of polite society, to fit him for his eventual role as lord of the manor. While I, myself, have acquired some knowledge of reading and of writing, there is no need for Hamo to learn such things, for he will have a scribe at his disposal.”
“There are some children who come here to learn their letters with Sister Grace and Sister Maria,” Janna said, ignoring the disdain implicit in Hugh’s words. She couldn’t believe anyone would choose not to learn if given the opportunity.
“It might be something to think about, my lord?” Cecily spoke up, anxious for anything that might help Hamo forget his ordeal.
Hugh inclined his head. “Perhaps when he is older. If Dame Alice thinks it necessary.” He heaved himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain of it.
“How are you today, my lord?” Janna asked hastily, thinking she should focus on her duty of care rather than advising their newest patient on how his young cousin should be raised.
“Sore,” Hugh answered with a smile. He now wore a nightshirt, and Janna was glad of it. She wondered where Sister Anne had found such a garment.
“Do you want to tend my wound?” He plucked at the fabric, ready to raise his shirt, and Janna panicked.
“No!” She read the amusement on his face at her sharp rejection. “I can look at it later,” she amended. She felt the prickle of perspiration as she recollected Hugh’s hairy chest.
Gytha shot her a hostile glance. “So you really are a healer, even if everything else you told us was a lie?”
“There was a good reason for Sister Johanna to hide her true identity, but it doesn’t concern you, Gytha,” Hugh reprimanded her.
Gytha flushed, looking resentful.
“But I do regret having to deceive you all,” Janna said kindly. She glanced at Cecily. “I regret all the lies I’ve had to tell.”
As Cecily bent her head to hide the stain of guilt coloring her face, Janna turned back to Hugh. She laid her wrist against his forehead. Touching him threw her into such confusion, she couldn’t tell if he was feverish or if it was her own burning emotions that scorched her skin.
“Do you feel hot, my lord?” she asked anxiously. If the wound became infected, Janna knew that fever would follow as the infection spread.
“No, I’m just uncomfortable. Of course, being attended by a beautiful woman—” Hugh’s gaze raked the small cubicle. “By so many beautiful women—would heat any man’s blood!”
“I’m sure Sister Anne will give you something to make you feel easier as soon as she returns.” Janna moved to the entrance of the cubicle, anxious to escape Gytha’s hostility, Cecily’s discomfort, and Hugh’s awkward compliments. “I must see to my other patients,” she said.
Godric’s voice stopped her. “Before you go, Janna. How long do you think my lord will need to stay here?”
“He should not leave until his wound has knitted together. It’s quite deep, so it may take some time to heal. But it’s not my place to say how long his recovery will take. You must ask Sister Anne.”
“Shall I then stay here with you, my lord?” Godric offered eagerly.
“No, indeed, Godric. I thank you, but I would rather you kept an eye on our sales at the fair and on what is happening at my manor. I shall send for you if I need anything.”
Godric’s face fell. Janna suspected that she was part of the reason he wanted to stay, although she did not doubt he wanted also to do his very best for Hugh. She caught Cecily’s eye and inclined her head toward the curtain, hoping the young woman would take the hint and come outside. As she left the room, she heard Hamo say, in a loud, clear voice, “If Janna’s not really a nun, you and she could be wed, cousin Hugh. I’d like that, I really would.”
She lingered just long enough to listen to Hugh’s answer. To her disappointment, he gave only a light laugh. Any reply he might have made was blocked by Gytha’s hasty questions: “Shall I bring you a change of clothes tomorrow, my lord? And I know how much you like my mutton pies. Shall I bring you one at the same time?”
So Gytha was still intent on her pursuit of Hugh. Janna wondered if she knew of Emma’s existence, but suspected she did not. As the cook’s daughter, she would have been born and raised on the manor farm that Hugh had later come to manage, whereas Hugh had told her he, and Anselm and Emma, had spent their childhood at Dame Alice’s manor.
“Did you want to speak to me, Janna?” Cecily asked.
“I wanted to warn you.” Janna drew Dame Alice’s tiring woman away from the cubicle so they could not be overheard. “You can see, from what has happened to me, just how determined Robert of Babestoche is to keep the real cause of my mother’s death a secret. You are already a threat to his safety and his conscience. I know you are careful when you are with him, but I worry that it won’t be enough to protect you, Cecily.”
“Robert doesn’t suspect that I know anything beyond that your mother helped me…” Cecily’s voice wobbled uncertainly. She drew in a breath. “Helped me when I was in trouble,” she finished in a rush. “He believes himself safe, for he has told me that my lady would dismiss me if she knew of my ‘disgrace.’ That’s what he calls it, although he was the seducer, not me.” Indignation flushed Cecily’s cheeks. She took hold of Janna’s hand. “I am a coward, I know, not to tell Dame Alice about him, or about his responsibility for your mother’s death, but in all conscience, Janna, my lady has been so distressed over the death of her babe I cannot add to her grief by telling her the truth about her husband.”
Janna nodded. Cecily wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t already suspected. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all,” she said. “And keep your mouth shut about what you know.”
“I will. I am frightened too. I don’t have your courage or the skill to protect myself from Robert or his assassin. That was why I was so glad when my lady asked me to take Hamo to stay at Hugh’s manor. In truth, when she and Robert came to stay there after Hamo went missing, I asked my lady to release me from her service. But she will not hear of it, nor have I pressed her, for I have been with her since I was a child and I know not where I would go if I was to leave her manor.” Cecily’s face crumpled. She pressed Janna’s hand. “Never was anyone so wrong about a man, and so wrong about the nature of love as I,” she said wretchedly.
“You are in good company,” Janna comforted her. “Remember, Dame Alice made the same mistake about Robert as you did.”
Cecily’s confession over the nature of love, the unknown Emma, and the consequences of a broken vow all jostled for space in Janna’s mind as she moved from bed to bed, here dispensing a soothing syrup for a troublesome cough, there medicating an ulcerous sore, or bringing ease to ancient limbs with a liniment rubbed in with strong and careful hands. But even Hamo’s unexpected question and Hugh’s laughter took second place behind the most pressing question of all: Who had wounded Hugh—and why?
She was no nearer to answering that riddle when she returned to Hugh’s bedside late in the afternoon, and found him entertaining a new visitor. She recognized the girl instantly as Emma, and was about to withdraw and leave them alone when Hugh’s voice stopped her.
“Joha
nna,” he said. “Stay a few moments to hear this, will you? I know you to be a shrewd observer, and we have need of your counsel.”
“But—” Emma half rose from the stool on which she was sitting. Hugh reached over and placed a hand on her knee to stay her. Janna noted the intimate gesture, and felt hugely uncomfortable. Yet her curiosity was piqued, and so she ventured further into the small room.
“Johanna once solved a serious crime that took place on my manor,” Hugh told Emma. “You may speak freely in front of her.” Unobserved by Emma, he winked at Janna. “Besides, having taken the veil, Johanna is bound by the vow of silence, as are all the nuns under the Rule of St Benedict.” He sounded solemn enough, but Janna knew he didn’t believe a word of it. Nevertheless, she was grateful for his public expression of confidence and so she stood quietly, and waited to learn what troubled the young woman.
“It’s Anselm,” Emma confessed. “After I spoke to you yesterday, Hugh, I went in search of him, for I was much distressed by this quarrel between you. It is all so unnecessary. If only he would see reason!” Her voice was raw with emotion. “He’s angry with me, but he’s taking it out on you, Hugh. And it’s just not fair!” She took a couple of breaths in an effort to regain her composure.
“He’s taking what out on me?” Hugh prompted. “Is there trouble between you two?”
“Yes.” Now Emma looked defiant. “The fact is—I have fallen in love.”
Hugh looked a little taken aback, while Janna was filled with foreboding. She would have left the cubicle there and then, but didn’t want to draw attention to her obvious dismay.
“And that is why Anselm was so insistent that we should wed when I spoke to him yesterday?” Hugh asked warily.
“Yes! That’s what he wants: a good marriage for me. A safe match with someone we’ve both known and loved since childhood. He wants a brother-in-law he can look up to, someone he can trust.”
“But I have nothing to offer you, Emma. You know that. You have always known that my aunt owns my manor, and that Hamo is her heir. Anselm knows that too.”
Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3 Page 13
