Eadgyth’s bitterness, her pride and her solitude, her determination not to speak of Janna’s father, began to make sense at last. Janna bowed her head and crouched low, shaken to her very soul by her discovery. She began to cry, a storm of weeping that spoke of her sorrow for a great love gone so badly awry. How different their lives might have been if Eadgyth had only swallowed her pride and asked someone to read the letter to her! How could she have had so little faith in John’s good intentions? Why could she not have trusted him?
Thinking of her mother, and the hard life they’d led, and how Eadgyth had died with John’s name on her lips, loving him to the end in spite of everything, Janna felt desolate with grief. She sobbed for her mother’s mistaken belief in John’s betrayal; she sobbed for the father she’d never known, who had loved Eadgyth so much he’d been prepared to defy his father and break an arranged betrothal to marry her. She cried for all that had been lost.
At last, when her tears finally dried, and she was able to think more clearly about the letter and what she had discovered from it, her spirits lifted slightly. John was not a priest after all, for he was expected by his own father to marry someone called Blanche. If he’d had to follow his father to Normandy, it might mean that the family had land there, or perhaps his father had been summoned there by the king? Many barons had land both in Normandy and in England and needed to keep an eye on their interests on both sides of the channel, as did the king himself.
It was clear, from the insignia on the ring, that her father’s family were loyal supporters of King Henry. Janna reached into her purse and pulled out the heavy ring, looking at the inscription in the wavering light of the candles. There was a crown on one side and, on the other, a strange beast with a tail. In the center was a swan, forming the letter J. J for John. J for Johanna. Holding the ring gave Janna a feeling of warmth, of connection with her father.
England? Or should she rather seek him in Normandy? If he was there, he might well be there with Blanche, his betrothed, who would not take kindly to her husband’s bastard coming to their doorstep. She would probably be sent away. Janna wept anew at the thought of losing her father all over again. It seemed that whenever a door opened for her, it was only to disclose ever more obstacles beyond.
“Please,” she whispered to the saint, “please, show me where to go, what I should do next, for I am utterly, utterly lost.”
She had no idea what time it was when she finally dried her tears on her sleeve. Feeling cold and stiff after kneeling on the rough stone for so long, she scrambled to her feet. She looked at the wall painting, and at the portrait of the saint that stood so close to the reliquary containing her mortal remains. Grief sat like a cold stone in the pit of her stomach. The letter had told her as much about her mother as about her father, but it had failed to give her the clues she needed to proceed. It hadn’t told her where to find him; it hadn’t given any hints as to his identity either. Nevertheless, Janna was conscious that she’d taken a significant step forward in her quest.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the saint, making up her mind to pick some flowers when next she was in the garden, to show her gratitude. But someone had already got there before her, she realized, as she looked down at the golden casket. A single lily lay on it, fresh and newly picked. Someone had come in this very day to make obeisance to the saint.
Janna thought of the swelling buds and the single bloom in the cloister. The lily hadn’t come from there, but might well have come from some other garden. The saint’s shrine was open to the public. Anyone could visit it, and someone had. Inevitably, Janna’s thoughts went straight to Will—and Agnes.
Chapter 19
Through the long night that followed her discovery, Janna’s thoughts moved between her father’s message and where it might lead her next, to the significance of the lily on the saint’s shrine. Should she tell Agnes about it? Did it mean anything—or not? One moment Janna was sure it did, but almost immediately she would tell herself it was merely happenstance. Her thoughts went round and round: Tell Agnes, or not?
By morning, she was still undecided. She visited the shrine after Mass, just to see if there was any sign she might have missed, anything that might give her some direction. There was a crowd clustered around the casket in the small chapel and the sacristan kept a careful watch over the visitors, as she did whenever the chapel was open to the public. Remembering her vow, Janna had stopped to pick a rose to place on the reliquary. She had to nudge her way past pilgrims and townsfolk, several of whom were on their knees, reverently praying for favors of one sort or another. At last she reached the reliquary. The lily was still there, drooping after a night without water. Beside it was another, freshly picked. Startled, Janna swung around, paying closer attention to all who stood within. There was no sign of Will. Had he come in before Mass, or was someone else responsible for this floral tribute?
Recollecting herself, she kneeled before the saint, and reverently laid the rose beside the lilies. They made a pretty picture; Janna hoped they pleased St Edith, and prayed that the saint’s blessing would follow her cause even after she’d left the abbey.
Agnes’s cry sounded in Janna’s ears: “If I could only be sure of the right thing to do. If only there was a sign!” Had her prayer been answered? Janna looked at the lilies and made up her mind. She hurried off to chapter, determined to speak to Agnes without further delay.
The chance to talk to her came later, while Agnes was laboring in the garden and Janna was plucking sunturners for a salve to soothe a nasty rash that seemed to be doing the rounds of the convent. Thanks to Janna’s insistence that she continue to learn, Agnes now recognized all of the plants and herbs growing both in the garden and in the physic garden, and was coming to an understanding of their uses. Janna secretly nurtured the hope that, if Agnes didn’t leave the abbey, Sister Anne might be willing to take her on as her assistant, once Janna left. She glanced sideways at her friend, thinking it possible that if she married Will, she could put her knowledge to good use among the abbey’s servants at the home farm instead. She was conscious that Agnes’s fate rested in her hands. She’d miscalculated more than once; she must not do so again.
Agnes had hardly spoken of Will since the fateful day when she’d turned away from him and scurried back into the safety of the abbey. Did she still mourn over chances lost; did she regret her cowardice that day? Janna studied her friend. Was Agnes happy? Or was she now resigned to her future, and making the best of it in her own resilient way?
Janna wished for a sign of her own—and found it in a graceful trumpet of white, the first among the lilies in the garden to open. She called Agnes’s attention to it, adding, “The lilies we planted in the cloister are also starting to open. The lilies from Master Will. I saw one yesterday. Sister Ursel is using it to illustrate her manuscript.” She tensed as she waited for Agnes’s response.
Agnes said nothing for a moment. Then she walked over to the flower and cupped it gently in her hands. “It’s beautiful.” There was no mistaking the sadness on her face, the note of longing in her voice.
“I visited St Edith’s shrine yesterday,” Janna said, tentatively feeling her way. “There was a lily lying on her casket,” she added quickly, lest Agnes ask the purpose of her visit.
“A lily? Why? What for?”
“What do you think?”
“A-a token in honor of our saint?”
“Maybe.”
Agnes stood motionless, staring down at the lily still cupped in her hands. “A sign?” she whispered.
“Maybe.”
Agnes released the flower and swung around to face Janna. “What should I do?” She seized Janna’s hand, her face open and full of anguish. “Please…tell me what to do.”
“I don’t know.” Janna was determined not to interfere. Nevertheless, she clasped her free hand over Agnes’s to show her love and support. “What do you want to do?”
Agnes shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.
Janna told herself to hold her tongue. It was for Agnes to make the decision, not her. “Do you care for Master Will?” she heard herself asking. “Do you care enough for him to leave the abbey and the life that you know? Do you trust him enough to love you for yourself, and to protect you from all that you fear?”
“I don’t know.” Agnes’s eyes filled with tears of longing and loss. “I just don’t know.”
“Can you honestly say that all your heart belongs to God instead?”
Agnes was silent for a long time. “No,” she whispered at last.
“Then we need to make a plan.” Janna thought about it for a few moments. “I noticed the lily when I visited the saint’s shrine yesterday afternoon,” she said. “It was lying on the reliquary, all by itself. I went again this morning, after Mass, to take a rose to St Edith. There were a lot of people there, and there was another lily on the casket, a fresh one lying beside the one from yesternoon. I looked about for any sign of Master Will, but he wasn’t there. But he might have come earlier, before the Mass started. The sacristan would allow him entry, if he came alone.”
Janna paused. She was so afraid of saying the wrong thing to Agnes, of either frightening her off or of raising false hopes that might well be shattered if Will had indeed given up his suit and bestowed his affections elsewhere. She wished, with all her heart, that she knew the truth behind the lilies at the shrine. All she had to guide her was Will himself, his professed love for Agnes, his words after he’d handed over the lily bulbs: “Tell Agnes to remember my pledge whenever she sees these flowers, for they remind me of her and they are a living token of my love.”
This was not the action of a fickle man, Janna thought. This was the action of a man who knew his own mind and was prepared to wait—at least until the lilies bloomed.
“What if we’re wrong? What if someone else is leaving the lilies at the shrine?” Agnes gazed down at the flower as she put Janna’s fears into words.
“If we’re wrong, nothing will have changed. But isn’t it better to take action, to risk everything, rather than live your life knowing that you had not the courage to follow your heart when you had the chance to find happiness?” Janna gave Agnes’s hand a final squeeze and released it. It was Agnes’s decision. She must make it alone.
“But how am I to act? What shall I do?” Agnes’s question encouraged Janna to believe that she had indeed found the courage to follow her heart.
“Will gave the lily bulbs to you ‘as a living token of his love,’ he said. Now it’s up to you to leave him a sign, a sign that you return his love.”
“A lily?” Agnes’s eyes lit with joy. “Shall I put a lily next to the lilies already on the reliquary?”
Janna shrugged. “It’s up to you,” she said noncommittally, although her heart sang with relief.
“And should I take the lily to the shrine before Mass starts, not after?”
“Good idea.” Janna smiled at Agnes. Agnes grinned back. “Then you must come with me,” she said firmly. “I’m not that brave, you know! And will you pick the lily for me, just in case I can’t come into the cloister before Mass?”
“Isn’t picking flowers in the cloister a Sin?” Janna spoke gravely, but her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Not if the flower is for St Edith,” Agnes said firmly.
“Or even for Master Will?” Janna was delighted with the way things had turned out. “I’ll meet you at the shrine as soon as you’ve broken your fast,” she promised. She bent down to pluck some more sunturners.
But with her own concerns now settled, Agnes’s thoughts had moved on to a new question. “And what were you doing at St Edith’s shrine?” she asked. “I didn’t think you believed in saints and miracles and all that sort of thing.”
Janna slowly straightened. She was reluctant to discuss her mother and what had gone before, but she’d meddled so much in Agnes’s life, she felt she owed her friend something in return. She’d asked Agnes if she trusted Will. She should similarly ask herself if she trusted Agnes, for trust was not something that came readily to her. That much she had learned from Eadgyth.
“I went there to read a letter.” She stopped, wondering how much of her life she could, or should, disclose. “I don’t know who my father is, you see, and I’m beginning to realize I know hardly anything about my mother either. But after she died, I found a letter that she’d hidden from me. It was written by my father, but I couldn’t read it. That’s why I came here to the abbey: to learn how to read and write. And finally, yesterday, I was able to read what he’d written to my mother, and understand the tragedy of their lives.”
Janna’s eyes filled with tears as she recounted the contents of the letter, and what it had meant to her mother.
“That’s why you want me to have the courage to trust Will, to follow my heart!” Agnes exclaimed.
Surprised, Janna nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“So what will you do now?”
“I have to leave the abbey. I have no reason to stay on here.”
“But where will you go? What will you do?”
“I’ll continue to look for my father.”
Agnes frowned. “You say the letter has told you nothing about him, who he is or where he lives. How will you know where to find him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should try to find a passage to Normandy, in case he’s still there with Blanche?”
“Where was your mother when she met him, do you know? He might well have property there. He may even be there still.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Janna’s face blazed bright with the excitement of hope. “Sister Ursel told me my mother was the infirmarian at Ambresberie Abbey, so that’s where I’ll go.”
“Your mother was a nun?” Agnes’s eyes grew round with horror.
Janna gave her friend a shaky smile. “If she can risk everything for love, when she’d already taken her vows, so can you!”
Ambresberie. Feeling stronger, more sure of herself now that she had some direction, now that the decision was made, Janna bent once more to the sunturners. They lay before her like small golden patches of sunshine, reflecting Janna’s growing optimism, the sense that her path had been made clear and that she, too, could turn her face to the sun. Along with Agnes’s lily, she would bring some sunturners to the saint’s shrine on the morrow.
*
“I am very pleased with the way you have settled into the abbey,” Sister Anne said, as Janna entered the infirmary kitchen, her basket full of flowers and herbs. “And although you already knew a great deal when you arrived here, I am also pleased by your willingness to learn new skills, new ways of thinking and doing things.”
“You’re a very good teacher, Sister Anne, and I am very grateful to you.” Janna set the rush basket down on the kitchen table. She knew it would be hard to speak of her plans and say goodbye to the infirmarian, but realized that she must do so while the weather was still set fair for traveling. She was about to speak when Sister Anne forestalled her.
“Now is as good a time as any to talk to you about something that has been on my mind for quite a while,” the infirmarian said. “I know that, at first, you found it difficult to adapt to the ways of the abbey, but now that you are used to us I believe you need to think of your future. I realize you have no dowry, but I am prepared to speak to Abbess Hawise on your behalf, to ask if she will accept you into the abbey as a novice, preparatory to taking your vows.”
“But I—”
Sister Anne raised her hand and spoke over Janna. “I am getting on in years, I won’t always be here to physick our sisters. That’s why I’ve paid special attention to you, why I’ve made sure to tell you all I know, and given you the experience of ministering to our sisters’ needs, which I know you lacked before. You are worthy—more than worthy—to follow in my footsteps, Johanna. When I go, I will go with peace of mind, secure in the knowledge that my sisters in Christ will be well cared for by you.”
J
anna was appalled by the infirmarian’s words, and by her expectations. She didn’t know what to say. Nor could she even suggest that Agnes take her place, not after what they planned to do on the morrow. It was an impossible situation!
“What do you say, Johanna?” Sister Anne looked at her expectantly.
Janna closed her eyes, praying for guidance. Not for anything would she upset the infirmarian, not after the chance the nun had taken on bringing her into the infirmary, and all the care and attention she had lavished on her tuition. And yet upset was inevitable—unless she abandoned her quest and stayed on at the abbey.
Janna was tempted to do just that. She loved the work she did here; it gave her the greatest satisfaction to care for people and to heal their hurts. And she enjoyed the respect she’d earned as Sister Anne’s trusted helper and a healer in her own right. She’d become accustomed, now, to abbey life, the quiet round of devotion, the melodious chants, being cared for and protected within the confines of the abbey. She was safe from Mus here. And safe also from the temptations of her heart—from Hugh and from Godric.
No! She opened her eyes and straightened her shoulders, mentally preparing herself for what needed to be said. “I’m so sorry, Sister Anne, but I have to leave here, and soon,” she said. “I sought refuge here, yes, but the threat has passed…” Janna supposed that once she left the abbey, Robert would have no way of knowing where she’d gone and thus would be unable to act against her. The notion gave her comfort, and the courage to continue. “I also wanted to learn how to read and write and, thanks to Sister Ursel, I am able to do that now.” She took Sister Anne’s hand, and pressed it. “You have been like a mother to me,” she said, her voice husky with emotion for it was only now, at the leaving, that she was fully aware of just how much she owed the infirmarian, and how close they had become. “I am more grateful to you than I can say, but I—I have to go. I’m searching for my unknown father, you see, and I know now what the next step of my journey must be.”
Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3 Page 27
