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 hurried on, determined not to give Agnes a chance to ask the purpose of her visit.
'A lily?' Agnes was too shaken by Janna's disclosure to question her. 'What for?'
'What do you think?'
'A . . . a token in honour of our saint?'
'Maybe.'
Agnes was silent for a long time. She 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 don't know.'
'Can you honestly say that all your heart belongs to God?'
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 even 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 it isn't Will? 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.
'What have you got to lose? Surely it's better to take action, risk everything, than to live your life knowing that you had not the courage to follow your heart and find happiness?' Janna gave Agnes's hand a final squeeze and then 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 up with joy. 'Shall I put a lily next to his lilies 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 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, she thought, recognising that 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, biting her lip as she wondered 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 realise 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 learn 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, you're right.'
'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.'
'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?'
Janna shrugged. '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. 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, she promised herself.
'I am very pleased with the way you have settled into the abbey,' Sister Anne said, as Janna entered the infirmary kitchen, her hands full of flowers and herbs. 'I've been meaning to tell you that for some time. 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've been a very good teacher, Sister Anne, and I am very grateful to you.' Janna set the plants down on the kitchen table. She knew it would be hard to speak of her plans and say goodbye to the infirmarian, but realised that she should do so, for it was
time to move on. She opened her mouth to say the words, but 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 some time,' the infirmarian began. 'I know that, at first, you found it difficult to adapt to the ways of the abbey but I believe it is time for you to think of the future. I realise you have no dower, 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 physic 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.'
Janna 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 sorry. I have to leave here, and soon,' she told the infirmarian. 'I sought refuge here, yes, but the threat has passed . . .' Janna comforted herself with the thought that, once she left the abbey, Robert would have no way of knowing where she'd gone and would be unable to act against her. The realisation gave her the 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 hold of Sister Anne's hand, and held it tight. '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.'
'And that is?' Sister Anne's voice was harsh with disappointment.
'To go to Ambresberie.' Janna hesitated. 'It seems my mother, Eadgyth, was once the infirmarian at the abbey there.'
'The infirmarian at Ambresberie?' Sister Anne's eyes widened. 'Emanuelle!' she breathed. The hard lines of her face softened into reminiscence. 'You spoke of "Eadgyth", but your mother would have left her own name behind when she entered the abbey and took her vows. If you go there, you must ask for information about Sister Emanuelle. She was your mother, Johanna. She was also legendary as a healer, and as something of a free thinker.' The infirmarian's lips twitched upwards with amusement as she looked at Janna. 'It certainly explains a lot!'
Sister Emanuelle! Giving her mother a new name made her mother's past seem even more real to Janna, although it was hard to think of her in any other way than as Janna herself remembered her. 'What else have you heard about my mother?' she asked eagerly.
Sister Anne closed her eyes, the better to summon up memory. 'I know that the infirmarian at Ambresberie died quite suddenly, and that the convent was without anyone to physic them for quite some time,' she said slowly. 'I was told it by one of their own sisters, who was forced to come here for help. That was a long time ago; I'd only just arrived here myself. But I heard later that a wortwyf had come to the abbey saying that she had a gift for healing, which she wished to dedicate to God.'
'My mother?' breathed Janna.
Sister Anne nodded briskly. 'She was said to have no formal training, but she obviously told you all she knew. For certes, you have inherited her gift for healing, and now you have the knowledge to go with it.'
'Thank you, Sister Anne,' said Janna. 'I'm truly grateful to you for telling me that, and for everything you've taught me. And I'm sorry, so sorry to let you down now.'
'Searching for your mother isn't going to change anything, prove anything,' Sister Anne said, determined not to be thwarted in her plans. 'You know now who she is. Was. And you said before that you know nothing of your father. How do you hope to find him?'
'I don't know. I can only take one step at a time,' Janna answered honestly.
Sister Anne sighed in frustration. 'Why not leave the past in the past, and think about your own future, Johanna? A young woman travelling the road on her own . . .' She clicked her tongue, tutting her disapproval. 'If you take your vows, you can live here as one of us. You'll be doing something no-one else here can do. You'll have a roof over your head, a bed to lie on, and regular meals to fill your belly. You will have a home and a family. More, you will be serving God. Are you really prepared to throw all this away, your life here with us, to chase after someone who has never known or acknowledged you, and who may well even be dead by now?'
It was a fair question. In fact, Sister Anne made a compelling argument for Janna to stay, both for her own comfort and her conscience. She recognised her debt to the infirmarian; she hated to disappoint her. She hesitated, torn between wanting to honour her debt while staying in the safety of the abbey, and honouring her promise to her mother that her death would be avenged. She remembered, then, her words to Agnes: 'Surely it's better to take action, risk everything, than to live your life knowing that you had not the courage to follow your heart and find happiness?' She would do well to follow her own advice, she thought.
'I would stay if I could, you know that, but I have to go,' she said, adding, 'And I am sorry for it, Sister Anne, for I wish I could stay to help you. I shall miss you. I shall miss everyone here at the abbey.'
It was not quite true. The whining gnat, and Sister Catherine and her awful dog . . . she certainly wouldn't miss them! But Sister Anne, and Agnes and Ursel . . .
'I'm sorry,' she said again, and truly meant it.
'I'm sorry too.' The infirmarian nodded, accepting that Janna's mind was made up. 'One good thing about your coming here,' she said, determined to look on the bright side. 'I've realised how much I need a knowledgeable assistant, and I shall waste no time in finding a replacement for you, Johanna.'
It was somewhat humbling to think she could be replaced so quickly and so easily! But, meeting the infirmarian's rueful glance, Janna understood then the truth behind Anne's brisk words. She wondered who her replacement would be, and hoped that she would prove worthy, for she'd come to have great respect for Sister Anne's knowledge, as well as her kind ways with her patients and her skill in dealing with their many aches and ills.
'When do you plan to leave?' The infirmarian's question broke into Janna's thoughts.
'Soon.' As soon as Agnes's future was assured, Janna thought. 'Quite soon,' she amended.
Sister Anne gestured towards the plants Janna had laid on the table. 'Then I must make good use of you while you're still here,' she said, and set her to work.
Restless, unable to sleep, Janna rose early the following morning. Her heart felt leaden at the prospect of leaving the abbey, leaving behind the friends she had made there – and el
sewhere, she thought, recognising that part of her reluctance to leave was the thought of never seeing Hugh or Godric again. She would never know, now, if Hugh had found someone worthy to marry, someone with a large dower and land of her own. Nor would she know if Godric and Cecily had found happiness together. There was grief in her heart, as well as a faint stir of excitement at the thought of the challenge ahead.
How would she travel on the road to Ambresberie? Janna looked down at her habit. Emma's gift had been generous; it would pay for food and lodging on the journey. But she could not travel alone, not dressed as she was. Could she reclaim her smock and breeches from Sister Grace? By now they could well have been donated to a good cause but it was worth asking the sister for help. She would also have to take leave of the abbess. Janna's spirits sank at the prospect.
Remembering her vow, she visited the garden first to pick sunturners. Clutching hold of the small flowers, she went through the cloister then, stopping along the way to pick the lily, the first to unfold its petals and show off its pristine beauty. It was fitting, she thought, that Agnes should carry the first of the blooms to Will. If the lay sister hadn't lost her courage overnight. If Will came. If they hadn't entirely misread the situation and what it meant.
So afraid was Janna of missing Will, she decided to miss the morning bread and ale with which the nuns broke their fast, and go straight to the shrine. Early as she was, Agnes was there before her, and she greeted Janna with a gasp of relief. 'Thank you.' She took the single lily from Janna. She was about to lay it on the shrine beside the other two but changed her mind and kept on holding it instead. She waited while Janna placed the marigolds on the casket and closed her eyes to murmur a brief prayer of thanks to the saint.
'I have news for you,' she whispered, once Janna had returned to her side. Although reluctant to disturb the sanctity of the saint's shrine, Agnes was eager to pass on what she'd learned. 'Some pilgrims are staying here, visiting the hand as well as the shrine of our own saint on their journey home. They've come from Santiago de Compostela. I heard them speak of their pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint James, and their desire to see the missing part of the saint that is now kept here.'
Lilies for Love Page 27
