by Kate Ellis
"Yes. She is pretty, is she not?" said Katheryn with a mischievous grin. Bartholomew blushed in reply. "I should be grateful, brother, if you would show me the chapel where you found her. I have heard much of it."
"Indeed, my lady, it is a most holy place. To think it has been desecrated by..."
"So you know it was no accident?"
"Brother Valentine told me that Sister Agnes had been hit. Though I can hardly believe it in a holy place."
"When so many are homeless and dispossessed, it is small wonder the desperate turn to wickedness."
Bartholomew nodded. "The King has much to answer for."
"Take care, brother. There are many who would report such talk as treason." Katheryn's concern was genuine. She had no wish to see this likeable young man hanging from a gibbet.
"I guard my tongue well, my lady. I have to when I take the ferry across the river. I do not always know who my passengers are or where their sympathies lie."
They had reached the chapel door. Bartholomew lifted the latch and they stepped into the incense scented gloom.
Katheryn and Bartholomew knelt to pray: Jane and Will, a few paces behind, did likewise. After a while Katheryn got up and wandered round the small chapel. The prayers of generations of importuning pilgrims had permeated the stones and the chapel’s simplicity enhanced its holiness. A statue of Our Lady, delicately carved from ancient and battered oak, stood to one side of the plain stone altar, surrounded by dancing candle flames. Katheryn approached the altar in the flickering light of the tallow tapers. What had Agnes said? That the devil had risen from the altar? There was a space behind the slab large enough for a man to squeeze into. She examined the ground. The space was well swept in common with the rest of the chapel floor. There were bunches of fresh michaelmass daisies placed before the statue and the altar. This place was lovingly cared for. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. No sign of Agnes's devil.
The silence was broken by the nearby jangle of church bells. Bartholomew stood up. "It is time for mass, my lady...at the church of Our Lady and St. Nicholas. I hear mass whenever my duties permit."
"Then we shall accompany you, brother."
Shutting the chapel door behind them, the group strode across the churchyard accompanied by the sound of bells and the cry of seagulls overhead. The church of Our Lady and St. Nicholas was a well sized, airy building, lit by a kaleidoscope of stained glass. Katheryn counted three chantry chapels as well as the high altar. The church had been well endowed by the donations of the wealthy.
Out of one of the chapels in the south aisle, walked a line of boys with their pale-faced schoolmaster. Townspeople filed in through the great west door, summoned by the bells to mass.
When the service was over Katheryn, refreshed by an hour's prayer, blinked as she emerged from the church into the watery sunlight.
"I must attend to my ferry, my lady." Bartholomew looked over to the jetty. "It seems I have passengers waiting."
"Would you direct me to the house of Brother Valentine? I should like to speak with him."
Bartholomew nodded. "You will find him in Dale Street, just past the Guildhall. Anyone will direct you. And may God's blessing go with you."
Katheryn touched Bartholomew's shoulder. "I will do my best for Agnes, brother, be assured of that."
With a weak smile, Bartholomew turned and walked down the crowded strand towards his craft and the waiting passengers. Katheryn, Jane and Will made their way back past the church towards the High Cross and Dale Street.
*
The beggar with one hand took up his position by the White Cross at the end of Juggler Street. It was a good spot; there were many passing to and from the townfield to tend their plots. He had to take care to be inconspicuous if he wasn't to be ejected from the town or shut up in the jail. Every so often the Mayor and Aldermen engaged on a campaign against vagrancy, but in between times an individual beggar could live comparatively undisturbed, providing there were not too many of his number making nuisances of themselves to the good burgesses of the town.
The wind was cold. He drew his stained cloak about him; a warm cloak: so good of Father John to give it to him. There had been some good - much good - among the monks of Norton Abbey, now themselves dispossessed and scattered across the countryside.
He sat shivering at the foot of the White Cross. Most passers by ignored him; the more charitable minority tossed him a small coin. A small group of foreign sailors jeered at him in some incomprehensible tongue as they passed: it was too early yet for drink to increase their generosity. Hunger gnawed at the beggar’s stomach. But at least he would soon have enough money to buy a bowl of stew at the Mayor's House - not the dwelling of the town's chief citizen but an inn near the Guildhall famed for its cheap and filling victuals. And maybe there would be enough left for a loaf of stale bread from the baker's. And tomorrow was market day. There were many who would take pity on a poor man on market day....and many who would, after too much ale, be ready to give a beggar a sound beating. On the streets you had to take care.
A figure approached. A man, tall and well built, wearing a good brown woollen cloak, new by the looks of it: its wearer had money. The beggar held out his left hand.
"Alms, sir, I beg you. Of your charity give alms to a poor man who has lost all he had. God will bless you, sir. Alms, I pray you."
But as the man drew nearer, the beggar saw his face and fell silent. His heart pounding, his hunger forgotten, he gathered his cloak about him and ran down Chapel Street towards the church, all the time keeping his hand firmly on the dagger that hung from his belt. He only stopped to catch his breath when he reached the safety of the strand.
It was impossible...he must have been mistaken. Surely a dead man could not walk the streets of Liverpool?
CHAPTER 4
Valentine's shop smelled of herbs. Katheryn paused for a moment by the door, breathing in the delicious aroma. Inside, a red haired boy of about thirteen was sweeping an already clean stone flagged floor. Katheryn bade him good day and he looked up, smiling welcome, at the gracious lady with the kind face who was asking for his master.
Ralph, the apprentice, hurried into the back of the shop with the news that Lady Katheryn Bulkeley of Cheadle wished to speak with Master Valentine.
Valentine emerged from his fragrant domain, wiping his hands on a clean white apron. "Forgive me, my lady, I was mixing some medicines. Agnes Moore mentioned you. You were her Abbess at Oxford were you not?"
"I had that honour, sir...until recent events overtook us."
Katheryn and Valentine's eyes met in understanding.
"How is Agnes? I have not been called by Mistress Moore so I assume she is recovering."
"In body, perhaps, but not in spirit. She is still in great distress."
Valentine nodded. "I knew it. I was concerned for her state of mind. She spoke of strange things."
"The devil?"
He nodded. "Do you stay with Mistress Moore, my lady?"
"For now. I feel that my rank causes Mistress Moore to offer me the hospitality of her house but I think I shall soon outstay my welcome. She has no patience with Agnes or her fancies."
Valentine smiled. This woman was perceptive and had read Marjory Moore correctly. "Then we must do our best to help Agnes, my lady. Does she still keep to her room?"
"Yes. And looks quite uncared for."
"I wonder that Mistress Moore does not have the girl working about the house again. Poor relations are cheaper than servants."
"Doubtless she would if she could. I should be grateful if you would come with me and see Agnes. I should like your opinion." She studied Valentine and liked what she saw. A kindly man, quite handsome, with a refreshing air of good sense. It was good to share the worry of Agnes's care with another.
"I have some medicines to make up urgently and I have a funeral to attend, but I will call the Old Hall as soon as I can."
"I shall tell Mistress Marjory of your visit." She
grinned. "I trust it will not make me too unpopular."
Valentine took Katheryn's hand, the ring she wore as Abbess still in place, and kissed it. "Sister Agnes is indeed fortunate to have a friend such as you, my lady."
Their eyes met once more in understanding. Katheryn dismissed the quickened beating of her heart as due to the brisk walk round the windswept streets of Liverpool. She joined Jane and Will who were waiting for her in the street, deep in conversation, their hands touching. There must be something in the air, she teased herself. Master Valentine was a good man - and attractive. Nothing more.
*
There was an appointment Valentine had to keep: he had promised Father James. There would not be many mourners at Father Clement's funeral. He had not served the church long enough to be a well known figure in the parish and those that had known him had regarded him with indifference rather than love. Valentine, with his tentative interest in the man's death, would be there to make up the numbers.
The wind bit hard as they stood by the fresh dug grave in the churchyard. Father James recited the prayers for the dead quickly. Like everyone else he did not relish standing in the windswept graveyard any longer than he had to. The pale schoolmaster, Master Culver, was there, having sent his pupils home as a mark of respect for the dead priest, much to their delight. A couple of soldiers from the garrison at the castle slouched in the background, their presence incongruous and unexplained.
The church's other chantry priest, Father Nicholas, had not much liked his colleague and found it hard to muster any grief. He fidgeted at the graveside, anxious to be out of the cold and into the bed of his new and unofficial wife: they had married before the King had passed the new Act of Six Articles, forbidding the marriage of priests by law. But he would not abandon his Mary: Liverpool was not London and much here went unnoticed provided the King’s security wasn’t threatened.
The small assembly broke up as soon as the sexton began shovelling earth into the grave. Father James turned to Valentine. "You will take a cup of wine with me, brother to keep out the cold?"
Valentine accepted the invitation, sensing that James wanted company. He followed James to the small thatched stone house next to the church, walking in silence as they considered the briefness of earthly existence.
They were so deep in thought that they did not notice the cloaked figure of the beggar with one hand watching in the shadow of the church wall.
*
Mistress Moore's lips tightened as Katheryn told her of the apothecary's impending visit. "I shall, of course meet any expenses," she stated with ingratiating charm. "It is to put my mind at ease, Mistress. I feel a responsibility for my sister, you understand."
Will returned to his duties in the stables as Katheryn and Jane helped Agnes to wash and put on a clean shift. There was nothing so demoralising as filth, Katheryn thought. With Griselda's help Jane even found fresh linen for the bed. Agnes, at least, now looked presentable. But the girl was lethargic and lolled against her bolster as if she no longer had the spirit to help herself.
When Valentine arrived he found Katheryn reading to Agnes from the lives of the saints. Katheryn had hoped it might prove inspiring - or at least relieve the tedium of Agnes's existence - but the girl hardly seemed to be listening. She said nothing as Valentine examined her.
"She is well enough in body," he said confidentially to Katheryn outside the chamber door. "But, as you say, she has sunk into melancholy. I will give her valerian to calm her and help her rest. But I think we should try and discover the true cause of her condition."
"Find the child's father?"
"That would help. I will leave it to you, my lady. You are best placed to gain her confidence."
Katheryn sighed. "Do you think I have not tried?"
"If we can find the young man and tell him what has happened, perhaps bring him to her."
"I feel it may not be that straightforward. I fear that this was not merely a case of young love but something more."
"More what?"
"I don't know. Could she have been violated?"
Valentine looked at her sharply. "There was never any suggestion. I found no signs of violence but after that time... I admit I had not considered the possibility. But she spoke of a lover. And she claimed that she had sinned."
Katheryn shrugged. "It was but a thought. I will try to question her further when she is more receptive. She was never a secretive girl at Godstow. I am sure I can discover the truth but it will take time and patience." She smiled. "I will endeavour to keep Mistress Marjory from interfering."
"A wise course of action, my lady." He handed her the medicine. "I will return when you call for me."
"I am most grateful, Master Valentine." He raised her hand to his lips again. She lowered her eyes modestly, feeling a tiny thrill of forbidden excitement.
She watched him go down the staircase then returned to Agnes's bedside. She found the girl staring into space. She was certainly worse today; more preoccupied.
"Agnes," Katheryn began. "Master Valentine says that you are well again in body. Will you not tell me what distresses you?"
Agnes looked at her and shook her head.
"I promise I shall say nothing to Mistress Marjory. It shall be our secret." Agnes's eyes filled with tears. Katheryn was getting through at last. "You wrote and asked for my help. I cannot give it if you do not tell me what troubles you."
Tears began to flow down Agnes's pale cheeks. "I am beyond help, Mother."
"Nobody is beyond help, even the worst of sinners." She put a comforting arm around Agnes's shoulders. "Tell me. Please. I will try to help."
"He would be angry. I promised."
"Who would be angry? Please, Agnes..."
"I cannot say..."
"Is it the man you lay with? Your lover?"
Agnes nodded.
"Why would he be angry?"
"I should not tell."
"That you lay together?"
She nodded again.
"Is he married already?"
She shook her head.
"A priest? One who has taken a vow of chastity?"
Agnes looked up, her eyes wide with alarm. Katheryn's question had hit its mark. "Can you tell me his name?"
"I cannot. He would be angry."
Katheryn sighed and smoothed her skirts. "You do know, Agnes, that many priests have married. And as St. Paul says, it is better to marry than to burn. Our Lord understands that in changing circumstances our vows of chastity..."
"Oh Mother, it is not so simple."
"He no longer wants you?" she said gently. "He used you to satisfy his lust with no intention of marriage?" She knew the question was blunt but she felt she was getting near the truth.
"He said he loved me but he walks past the house. I see him sometimes when I look from the window. He has abandoned me."
Agnes began to weep. Katheryn held her, stroking her hair. "Tell me his name, Agnes. I will speak with him."
"I promised I would never tell," she sobbed. “Please. I am tired. I want to rest."
"Take Master Valentine's medicine, my child. It will calm you."
"Leave it there, Mother. I will take it later."
Katheryn felt that until she knew the man's identity there was nothing more that she could do. She left the room quietly. Agnes should get some sleep.
As soon as the door shut, Agnes rose from her bed and went to the chest where her clothes were kept.
*
It was almost dark when the bald headed priest knocked at Father James's door. Father James, expecting no one, opened his door with caution. One never knew.
The bald priest, clad in a shabby black gown, introduced himself as Father Theobald, late of Norton Abbey. James, satisfied that the man’s inclinations were spiritual rather than villainous, opened the door wide and admitted him to his sparse lodgings.
He poured his guest some ale. Father Theobald looked in need of refreshment. His cloak was travel stained and he seemed ti
red.
"I have travelled from Chester, Father,” Theobald began. “I was...I was held at His Majesty's pleasure in the castle there, along with two of my brothers and our Father Abbot."
James nodded. He knew that Norton Abbey had not surrendered to the King's commissioners peacefully and that some of the brothers were still paying for their disobedience. "You are fortunate to have your liberty, Father Theobald. There are many who have paid for dissent with their lives."
Theobald smiled. He was a chubby man: his imprisonment in Chester had clearly not been too harsh. "The High Sheriff, Sir Piers Dutton, had no taste for bloodshed and he was most skilled at ignoring the King’s orders when it suited his purposes. He took a liking to our Father Abbot and we were treated well. Now the events at Norton are all but forgotten, we have been released. One of my brothers is intending to seek passage to Ireland. That is why I am here. I thought to join him."
