I smiled at her. ‘That will be all, Irene,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
She nodded graciously and left. A new chemise of finely woven linen was left draped across a chair; a wash bowl filled with scented water was on a table, and another empty bowl in the corner. I attended to my toilet and put on the chemise, then blew out the candle by the bed to crawl into its feathered softness.
Sleep did not come quickly and when it did my dreams were erratic. I dreamt of Gabriel in battle, covered in blood before a sword pierced his heart.
When I woke another servant girl was standing beside my bed ready to dress me in some of the apparel provided. Shortly after I was made presentable, Lewis came to my room with his offer as tutor.
And now after my discussion with him, and contrary to what Gabriel had told me, I couldn’t help but feel that I may have just bargained with the devil.
Chapter 8
Arianne
The cobbled streets were cool under my thinly soled shoes. Dust blew across my skirts and dirtied the hem. People shouted their wares as I walked past. I was glad to find a stall that stood beyond the chilly shadows of stone buildings. On the windows above, linen had been hung out to dry, catching the last of the summer rays before the cold came. I dared not say to anyone that I dreaded yet another winter saving the homeless. Each year my resolve had weakened against such misfortune, even more so in the months since Lilah left. My heart had been broken for the work she had done counted for nothing in the end. The children I collected sick from the streets could rarely be saved without her.
I saw the man while purchasing the last of the summer fruits that were bruised and doughy. The streets were busy this market day. People were bartering and stocking up for winter. Skinned animals were being bought up by servants. Large jars of milk squeezed from the fattened udders of cows to be stored and used sparingly.
I removed my veil. This was not condoned by my superiors but I needed to be free of my restraints to embrace the cool breeze. It reminded me of those short-lived days of childhood when my brothers and I would run through the gardens, wind in our hair and sun on our faces; before my innocence was stolen.
The first time I had seen the man I had been returning from distributing food parcels. He passed me in the street his hat low over his face but I could tell he was examining me. The second time was when he stood outside the gates, pausing slightly as if to wait for my attention before proceeding. That time he had lifted his hat to me. The other sisters in the gardens at the time did not appear to notice him.
As the vendor bent his head to wrap my purchases the stranger stood in clear view behind. He stared intensely at something off to his side. And, as if expecting my scrutiny, he turned to me and smiled. I nodded uncomfortably and my heart pounded. It was not necessarily his handsomeness that drew me and caused me to fluster but something far deeper, as if we had shared our thoughts.
I turned to leave but found that he had caught up with me. It was not uncommon for a sister to enter the towns without a chaperone, and to converse and walk with strangers, so the townspeople rarely passed a glance at me. I can say, however, that the man’s appeal spread wider than our confine for several young ladies could not help but stare at him as he walked by. His impeccable clothes fit perfectly across broad shoulders, and he wore an affable, enchanting smile with blue eyes much deeper and darker than my own.
‘Excuse me sister,’ he said, enunciating his words distinctly, with a hint of foreignness or eccentricity. ‘I wonder if I could trouble you for your advice.’
‘Of course,’ I said. As sisters we did not turn from anyone.
‘Well you see that my belief does not allow me to enter your church and my family would be horrified at my interest but I have always had a burning desire to see inside your home. Naturally, I would respect your deities and your traditions whilst visiting.’
‘They are not deities to us, sir. They are our creators and redeemers.’
‘Oh, I see,’ he said sheepishly. ‘You must think I’m terribly rude.’
‘We open our doors to everyone and you are welcome to pray in our chapel for guidance, which I believe you could be seeking.’
‘How perceptive you are. I do have feelings of loss; of travelling through life without any value sometimes. Not that I have anything to complain about.’
‘What was the religion of your parents?’
‘Well unfortunately they are long dead but they preferred no kind of worship, but that of the beauty around us; of nature and the wonders of life.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’
The question threw me and for a moment I had the strangest thought of falling from a high precipice to where he stood below, his arms outstretched to catch me. His presence and closeness made me feel dizzy and I tried to remain attentive. This meeting seemed significant somehow.
‘Yes, I think so. Your parents did not bring you up with any spiritual guidance therefore you have feelings of not belonging. It is only natural that you might want to find your true God and his son and our saviour, Jesus Christ’.
‘Perhaps you are right.’
‘Our monastery would open their arms to you. There is nothing like a conversion to brighten our abbess’ day.’ I could not help the jest and his eyes lit up.
‘Sister, you are not like any other I have met.’ He touched my hand and I did not shrink away but held his gaze boldly. He paused then and repeated in a whisper, ‘nothing like any other.’
We had begun to attract attention from passersby, and suddenly aware of the intimacy, I pulled my hand away quickly.
‘Will you return with me now?’
‘No, not now, but soon,’ he said. ‘I have a pressing engagement to attend to. My family requires it of me… to do with a young cousin staying with us.’
He walked back down the street disappearing into the crowded market and I assumed that he was from out of town. I wondered about the young cousin and strangely hoped that she was very young or unattractive.
My cheeks felt flushed and I scolded myself for such a reaction. My mother once said that I was a handful and the man I married would have to be interested only in brazen, wilful women. She was relieved when I volunteered to be a sister and quite decisive in wrapping up the deal with the convent along with a bag of denars.
I was in charge of fewer orphans these days. Sister Gertrude had organised for several of the children to work for local families in exchange for board. If they made their way back to the monastery – either discarded or mistreated – I was instructed to turn them away. The stranger, at least, gave me reason to think of something else instead of the sad fates of these children; something Lilah and I had worked so hard to prevent.
For several nights I lay in bed thinking about him, his eyes so aqueous and vivid. One day after a night of very little sleep he arrived asking for me. It was curious that he had learnt my name for I had not introduced myself.
We met in the foyer of the church and knelt together. I instructed him to pray and caught him watching me with a grin. He rolled his eyes towards one of the sisters praying on the far side. She was chanting in Latin over and over, her head bobbing up and down passionately.
‘Are they always so expressive?’ he whispered cheekily.
I don’t know why I had never seen such actions as funny before but all of a sudden a short laugh escaped me. Several of the sisters turned to look, taking me in with a frown and a look of caution before their eyes rested on the man suspiciously.
I nodded, said a silent apology to Jesus above me on the cross then left the church. Composed once again in the garden the man came to my side and I was regretful for my outburst.
‘I do not think this is the place for you,’ I suggested.
‘No, perhaps you are right,’ he said with a sigh. Looking at those merrymaking eyes again I could not help but smile. He was right. I was definitely not like the other sisters, a fact that I had tried to ignore over the years. Curing children had been
a diversion for any other ambition.
‘You should go,’ I said reluctantly, wishing instead to spend many hours asking about his life.
‘As you wish, Sister Arianne,’ he said. He bowed, lifted his hat, and proceeded to walk away.
‘Wait!’
He turned with a glint in his eye almost expecting this.
‘Will I perhaps see you at the market Mr…’
‘Just Gabriel will be fine. And yes, you most certainly will.’
My heart beat strongly as I returned to the church. One of the sisters pulled me aside and chastised me for bringing someone who was neither dedicated, nor intended on being, into our midst. I humbly apologised and rushed back to my room where I sat on the bed.
I lifted off my habit and retrieved a piece of glass from my bag – one of the few possessions I had kept from my childhood home. Long hair uncurled over my shoulders and I wondered if he saw a woman or a servant of the church when he looked at me. In frustration, I put the glass on the floor and cracked it. This was vanity. I could not keep to my calling if I were to think of how I looked, although I did not really understand what a calling was. A message from God was something I did not experience. My calling was something I made myself; an option chosen totally out of desperation.
After several days of praying I felt closed in – something I had never felt during my time at the monastery. Gabriel had left a mark. What indelible feelings, I could not have named at the time, but I was drawn to this man. He filled my head with thoughts very unreligious and I proceeded to make excuses for leaving on errands in the town. I would make more visits to the poor and offered to go to the market often. I found it difficult to eat. I rarely slept and was often distracted during conversations with the children and sisters.
Sister Gertrude pulled me aside to query on my wellbeing and for the first time I found lying easy. I dismissed her concerns and told her that everything was fine.
She did not believe me and found every opportunity to give me a chore to keep busy. At first I welcomed these interruptions to my heavy thoughts, but little by little more uncharitable imaginings crept in and I avoided running into her. I wanted to be left alone and not be quizzed. I can say that I had some very dark moments of melancholy. My buoyancy and energy had now been replaced by something else. Only the children seemed to pull me out of my dark moments and I prayed again for strength that I would not let them down. Their trusting, needing faces were now something I depended upon.
I stopped going to the market and over the next few days settled down to routine once more. My restlessness had ceased and thoughts of Gabriel grew dim, while I replaced these with new plans to build shelters on the outskirts of the cities for the poor. I had already received help from several landowners to pitch in for the supplies.
Then, when I had finally stopped dreaming strange dreams of the two of us together in intimate forms of embrace, he came in the dead of night like an angel to my bedside to lend me his wings.
Sister Gertrude – journal entry
Sister Arianne has changed these past months. From the first moment I had confronted her about her flighty behaviour she has steadily grown worse. I was sad to demote her to only duties with the children, for that is where she is only attentive these days. We have only a handful of orphans here now and these will ultimately be groomed for God’s work. Many of those who have moved on will not be replaced.
I cannot say for certain what has become of Arianne. The weather has become much worse, and with a foot of snow. Sometimes I have caught her walking briskly outside the front gates, and disappearing into a screen of snowfall. No-one can say where she goes but when she returns, sometimes late into the evening, she seems distant; her clothes damp and habit removed. She avoids eye contact and goes quietly to her room without explanation.
Some days she will come into the rectory beaming and excited and she will eat with gusto. Other days she frequently looks over her shoulder as if she is expecting someone. I find it most distressing. She has truly been a jewel among us. If the children did not care for her so much, I would perhaps have sent her back to her family. She is certainly not like she was. Her dedication has waned. She is like a lost lamb.
I have discussed at length with some of the other sisters what to do about her. I have even suggested she consult our surgeon here since it is not like her to be so erratic in nature. It would sadden me greatly if we were to lose her.
The other day she asked me the strangest question as we were coming back from chapel prayer.
‘Gertrude, do you think that we are meant to always stay the same. Do you think that God frowns on change?’
I replied that God loves all creatures and does not judge us on our change if it is to better others.
‘But what about ourselves? Should we not change ourselves to be happy?’
‘Yes, of course, but our vows are not about personal ambition, rather our happiness in our commitment to our Christian values and God’s will.’
She frowned at this and I knew that something was happening outside any control. Perhaps even a minor disturbance of the mind. When she first came here as a young girl I could tell she had experienced some previous mistreatment. She arrived with her mother, an unloving person who seemed grateful to be rid of her, if I can be so blunt, for it is rare for me to judge. Her personality was not unlike what I was seeing now and I wondered if whatever damage had befallen her had returned to play havoc with her commitment and solace.
‘Are you happy Annie?’ I asked her in private.
She paused before she answered. ‘I am happy when I am doing something good for someone else.’ Then she seemed to make up her mind about something. As I said, her behaviour had been erratic and flighty. It was difficult to know where one stood with her at any time. ‘Yes, you are absolutely right. If you are making others happy then change is a good thing.’ She kissed me. ‘Thank you Gertrude, for everything.’
Whatever I had said she had wielded the answer to suit herself. I then reminded her that two young siblings had been admitted and could she see them. Unfortunately, because part of our monastery has been given to the doctor who now resides here, we offer only temporary emergency shelter to children who have met with misfortune. Only those ill enough will spend longer here while these others will be given something to eat and then sent on their way.
‘Of course.’ She bounded eagerly from the room to wash, dress and feed the children. She sang to them and when I checked on the children later they were in high spirits and clearly smitten by her as was everyone.
I still wonder if it was right in sending Lilah away. She had been a stable influence on Arianne. I sometimes have to pray for my own soul. Lilah, kind and good, yet carrying something so bad within her. That is what was said to me by others in our order, yet perhaps we were all wrong. Perhaps it was God’s work that she performed. Apart from myself, only Arianne knows the reason for Lilah’s abandonment and I cannot help feel that by breaking their union I have unleashed such sadness in Arianne, which has altered her.
Chapter 9
Lilah
The days after I arrived at the castle were uneventful, yet my senses warned me that this was only temporary. I spent much of the time in my room with my own company, listening to the wind from the north whistling through the tiniest of window gaps and whooshing down hallways the moment it could push through an open doorway.
Between long spells of solitude, tending my own dress and having meals brought to my room by a servant, Gabriel would visit briefly to check on me. He seemed excited at these moments, the blue of his eyes magnified in the grey light, and I hoped his happiness had much to do about me.
On the fourth day, just as I was starting to wonder if I would ever leave my room, he took me on a tour of the castle rooms. He warned not to venture outside the east wing I was designated – such entry to the west wing restricted from the strigoi – unless accompanied by either Lewis or himself, and until the other strigoi were used to my presence.
Part of the west wing was occupied exclusively by the strigoi, and though it was against code to harm me, he stated clearly that there had been, at one time or another, one rotten apple in the bag, especially among Lewis’s reborn experiments. I would learn more about those later. I did not question his warning. What I had seen in the short years of my life told me to expect the unexpected and take nothing for granted.
Despite the castle’s extravagance with paintings on the ceilings and gilded skirting, it did not emit feelings of warmth. The hallways were drafty and heating seemed scarce except near the galley and Lewis’s library where a fire was always burning; a fact made more curious when I later learned that the strigoi did not feel the cold at all. I believe that such heating in his private room had been for my benefit alone.
The many sleeping chambers were luxuriously decorated with heavy curtains and thickly woven rugs, and each piece of furniture was intricately carved with flowers and animals and unusual oriental patterns, imported from countries across the lands. On the ceilings of most rooms were pictures of beasts and fire. It was not something I thought appropriate for sleeping and likely a cause for bad dreams. Most of the rooms had their curtains closed and passing open doorways gave me chills as if these creatures might pounce from their plaster and into existence.
Each room had tall windows with a view of the surrounding forest. The castle was built like a fortress but not on a mountain top like some. This one was built on lower ground, disguised by a thick circumference of trees, hoping to remain unseen.
‘Are they all strigoi who reside here, or are there others like me?’ I asked when we were outside in the garden. Gabriel playfully brushed the flecks of snow from my hair.
‘Only the strigoi reside here at present.’
I thought it strange to be the only one. It did not occur to me at the time to ask about the witches who had been here previously. All I could think about were the faces of those mysterious creatures in the paintings.
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