Her father came in then, alerted to the fact that they were awake by the sound of their voices. He bent down to kiss Richildis, and handed over a bulky package.
She took it and hurriedly unwrapped it, flinging aside the woolly fleece that had protected the delicate object. She gasped with pleasure as the mirror was revealed, and held it up to peer at herself, her eyes widening with wonder. Then, with an angry cry, she threw it across the room. It hit the stone wall; the glass shattered on impact.
“Richildis! Daughter, what are you thinking? Why did you do that?” John rushed forward, but Richildis shrank away from him.
“I know I am ugly, too ugly to be wed! Why do you mock me so?” The girl’s voice was raw with pain as she shrieked the words.
“Mock you?” Janna found her voice with an effort. “Oh, Richildis, can’t you see how beautiful you are? You were.” The words were coming out all wrong. “How beautiful you could be, if only you would smile more and start eating properly?”
“Why should I?” Richildis glared at her, her eyes huge and haunted in her thin face. “I was Papa’s favorite until you came along,” she hissed, glancing swiftly at her father before turning back to Janna. “Now he does not notice me. Nor does Maman. You’ve come between us and my father, and now all Papa thinks about is you. Finding you a husband, making you a good match, introducing you to the king. He doesn’t care about me anymore. No-one does!” Distraught, she covered her eyes with her hands, curled up into a small ball on the bed and began to rock back and forth, crying all the while.
“You know that’s not true, Richildis.” John moved swiftly to sit next to her. “You are my daughter and I love you,” he said, taking her hands in his and rubbing them gently. “I want to take care of you, but I can’t do that if I leave you behind when I go to Wiltune. That’s why I want you to come with me.”
Richildis stared at him doubtfully. Rosy, however, was highly indignant. “She’s bad. Wicked! She doesn’t deserve to go with you, Papa. Look what she’s done!” And she pointed at the smashed remains of the mirror lying on the floor.
John looked at the bright shards of glass, and then turned to his daughters. “Johanna. Rohesia. Will you leave us, please?”
Janna led the way out with alacrity, relieved to escape. Rosy trailed after her, obviously longing to witness whatever came next.
It was a greatly subdued Richildis who joined them later at the dinner table. Her eyes were red-rimmed from weeping; her face was haggard with despair. She sat with her head down, not looking at anyone, even when her mother and brother produced gifts to mark her passage to womanhood. In spite of all the grief she’d caused, Janna couldn’t help feeling sorry for Richildis, especially when, with trembling hands, she unwrapped the gift from her mother to reveal an unbecoming cloak of dark brown velvet that would age her far beyond her years. Chosen with great care, Janna had no doubt, although Richildis did her best to sound pleased with the gift as she stammered her thanks.
“I think Richildis has something else to say to us,” John prompted gently, once the girl had fallen silent.
“I apologize for breaking the mirror. It – it was an accident.” Richildis’s voice faltered on the lie.
“You threw it at the wall!” Rosy shouted indignantly.
“We’ll say no more about it,” John said firmly, and gestured to the servants to serve the food.
It seemed that, in spite of Richildis’s willful act, she was still to travel to Wiltune with them. Janna wondered if she should voice her misgivings, but a few moments’ reflection led her to think that her father already knew what she suspected. She would keep silent – and watchful. It was all she could do.
Chapter 6
For this journey to Wiltune, John took with him a sizable escort, as befitted his position, and made no effort to hide his identity. Their passage also differed in other ways, for it was summer, and instead of winter storms and biting winds they traveled along muddy roads hemmed with high hedgerows of sweet-smelling roses and briars, and the jeweled colors of wildflowers bright among grass that was rapidly fading from green to gold. Shady trees gave protection from the midday sun or the sudden showers that occasionally swept across the sky. As they traveled further west, Janna began to notice familiar landmarks, and felt her stomach roil with a mix of excitement and fear. Her agitation grew as they came ever closer to their destination, which left her little time to worry about what Richildis might try next. Her mind was wholly taken up with the prospect of seeing Godric again, and what might come of it.
Their first stop was at Wiltune Abbey. Janna was puzzled to find that the whole town had been heavily fortified, while the abbey itself looked more like a military garrison than a house dedicated to God. “I had heard that Stephen and his troops are staying here as guests of the abbey while a new castle is being built nearby,” her father explained when she asked him about it. His face set in grim lines as he continued, “Judging from what I see here, I suspect that once he has secured Wiltune as a stronghold to fall back on, he will march against the castle at Sarisberie, which remains loyal to my half-sister. Strategically, capturing the castle is crucial to Stephen, for it would break my sister’s hold over the West Country.”
“But – ” Janna’s alarm was partly assuaged as her father interrupted her.
“I don’t know if Robert of Gloucestre is aware of Stephen’s plans and how far his preparations have progressed, but I shall certainly send a message to him to prepare to defend Sarisberie.”
In spite of her father’s assurance, the scene before her gave Janna a deep feeling of disquiet. She hoped with all her heart that the king would take his quarrel to Sarisberie before it met him here, for she knew only too well how devastating these sieges could be.
The abbess was all smiles and obsequiousness as she greeted Janna’s father and welcomed his party. Her smile turned into a puzzled frown when John introduced his daughter. Her puzzlement grew as John explained that Sister Emanuelle was Janna’s mother, that they had been wed at the time of her conception, and that his daughter was his legitimate heir.
“You knew my mother as Eadgyth, the wortwyf,” Janna explained, realizing that the abbess had no idea either of who she was or what John was talking about. “You gave her a cot to live in, a cot that was burned down by the villagers at the urging of the priest and Robert of Babestoche. I was lucky to escape with my life.” She felt safe in telling the truth at last, now that her father was here to support her. The abbess opened her mouth but apparently could not find voice to speak. She stared at Janna in shocked disbelief.
“You gave me shelter here for a time,” Janna continued helpfully. “You might remember that I served in the infirmary with Sister Anne.”
The abbess gulped and nodded. “You are welcome,” she said faintly. “Most welcome. Sister Anne will be glad to see you again, as will Sister Ursel. You are fondly remembered here, my child.”
Janna couldn’t help a smile spreading across her face. After all she’d endured on her journey to find her father, all the setbacks and sneers, it was sweet indeed to have such praise from the abbess. Even if the abbess’s words were prompted by the presence of her father, Janna was determined to savor the moment. Her pleasure was momentarily dimmed by the expression on Richildis’s face. Such envy. Such malice. Truly, the girl was in urgent need of repair.
It seemed that John was thinking along the same lines. “This is my younger daughter, Richildis,” he said, drawing her forward. “I have fears for her health, Mother Abbess. I understand from Johanna that your infirmarian is greatly skilled as a healer, and I wonder if I may leave my daughter here at the abbey in her care once we travel on to attend to…certain matters.”
“Of course you may. We shall be delighted to have her here. In fact, let me take her to Sister Anne at once.” After a moment’s hesitation, the abbess put her arm around Richildis’s shoulder. The girl made a small movement to pull away, but John’s hand at her back stayed her.
“There is
another matter I wish to discuss with you,” he said. “I understand that the priest refused to bury my wife, Johanna’s mother, in consecrated ground. If her body has not yet been taken to Ambresberie, then it is my wish that her remains be removed from where she now rests and that she be buried here in the abbey without delay.”
Janna thought of her proud, free mother being laid to rest within the confines of the abbey. “Not inside the abbey,” she said quickly. “I am sure my mother would prefer to lie outside, under the sky.”
John raised his eyebrows.
“Toward the end of her life my mother did not go to church.” Janna shot a glance at the abbess, who remained silent although her expression betrayed her conflicting emotions. Janna was tempted to explain that her mother had lost faith in the church partly because of her treatment by the abbess, but also because of the attitude of the new priest, who would not tolerate any deviation from his own orthodoxy and who denigrated Eadgyth at every opportunity. But she needed all the support she could muster to fulfill her promise and so she held her peace. “My mother used to talk about ‘God’s great garden’ and how there was no need to go to church to worship Him when there are signs of His presence all around us,” she said instead.
John gave a grudging nod. “You knew your mother best of all,” he said gruffly, as if it hurt him to admit as much. “It shall be as you say. My daughter shall choose my wife’s last resting place within the confines of the abbey grounds. And I want a commemorative requiem mass to be said here, at the abbey, in her honor.”
John paused, perhaps waiting for the abbess’s assent. Janna thought she could not dare refuse. But the abbess was the liege lord of her demesne; that might give her the right to decide.
“You are aware, sire, that your…your wife died unshriven, and by her own hand? It was for that reason that I rejected the request from Ambresberie Abbey.”
“She may have died unshriven, but she was murdered. She did not take her own life!”
“But – ”
“And the murderer will be brought to justice. That is a promise I intend to keep.”
The abbess’s mouth opened and then closed. She raised a hand as if in protest.
“You will find me generous toward the abbey, once my wife’s soul is able to rest in peace,” John offered, as an added inducement.
“Of course, my lord. I shall make sure your wishes are carried out.”
Janna exhaled a quiet breath of relief. This was part of what she had hoped to achieve when first she’d set out to find her father. How easy he made it all seem, and how grateful she was to him for gaining the abbess’s consent to his plans. Truly, anything was possible for those who had the wealth and power to demand that their wishes be met. She hoped that the rest of her quest might be achieved so easily: that Robert of Babestoche would be brought to justice, and her father would consent to let her choose her own husband.
She stood quietly while he made arrangements for the exhumation and return of his wife’s remains, and also for Richildis’s welfare. That done, he took leave from the abbess and motioned for Janna to follow him to the guest house.
After making her own obeisance, and with a last glance at Richildis, Janna left the abbess’s parlor. Her heart was wrung with pity as she noted the girl’s anguish. She had grown up in a family born to wealth and prestige, and yet she seemed entirely alone, whereas Janna, who’d had no-one at the start, could now count on numerous friends and allies for support, along with a father who seemed determined to do his best for her. Could that be because she had been loved by her mother and therefore had grown into confident womanhood, whereas Richildis seemed neither loved nor valued by anyone? Or had she found good fortune because she’d had the freedom to act, to follow her own will, to make mistakes and learn from them, while Richildis was completely confined and shaped by her family?
Richildis would never have the freedom to follow her own desires, for her future was bound entirely by her father’s wishes. A further thought gave Janna cold shudders of fear: Unless she could find some way to extricate herself from her father’s ambitions for her own future, she was now trapped just like Richildis.
*
“I heard you’d returned to Wiltune! Oh, Janna, I’m so pleased to see you!”
Janna and her father were standing in the outer courtyard of the abbey after attending High Mass. It felt strange being an honored guest rather than a lowly lay sister; she was still getting used to her new position. She had lingered, hoping to catch sight of some of the sisters who had befriended her in the past, and now it took her a moment to recognize the portly figure who lumbered across the yard and threw her arms around her, hugging her so tightly she could barely breathe.
“Agnes!” She drew back and surveyed her friend with great pleasure, and some satisfaction. The last time she’d seen Agnes, the girl was planning to sever her ties with the abbey in order to wed the bailiff. Now here she was, and swollen with a child that, if the size of her belly was anything to go by, was imminently due. “How are you? Are you happy now you’ve left the abbey?” she asked, even though the evidence was before her in her friend’s shining face and changed appearance.
“So happy, you have no idea! And it’s all thanks to you. If you hadn’t given me such a great push…” Agnes laughed, and set her hands on either side of her stomach. “If it’s a girl I shall name her after you. Johanna.” A sudden realization brought a flush to her cheek and a stammered apology. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I have heard also of your changed circumstances, your great good fortune.” She cast a quick, shy glance at Janna’s father, and bobbed a hasty curtsy to them both.
“To you, and to all my friends, I am still Janna. Nothing’s changed,” Janna said firmly. She drew her father forward. “Look, Agnes, I found him, just as I’d hoped. This is my father, Sire John.” She turned as she heard her name called out, and gladly greeted Sister Ursel and Sister Anne. Once she’d performed the introductions, Sister Anne drew her father away to consult with him about Richildis’s welfare, leaving Janna free to talk to Ursel and Agnes.
“How is the life of St Edith coming along?” she asked, pleased to note Sister Ursel’s happy and confident demeanor.
“S-splendidly! I am almost f-finished my manuscript, and already one of the postulants has been set to m-making a copy. You remember our lay sister, Sister Martha, I’m sure?”
Agnes gave a snort of mirth. “The gnat,” she reminded Janna.
Janna’s eyes widened as she recalled the lengths to which the young woman had gone in her determination to report even the smallest lapse and infraction of the Rule whenever the nuns assembled at Chapter.
“She has shown great aptitude in learning her letters, and has an uncommon gift for d-drawing and lettering. I am giving her extra t-tuition,” Sister Ursel continued. “She’s coming along very well. I am so proud of her.” She permitted herself a small smile. “Sister Martha has become happier and more amenable now that she has something she values to occupy her time, along with her new position in the abbey as a postulant.”
“I am so glad she’s found something more worthy to fulfill her life.” Janna exchanged a wry grin with Agnes.
“The abbess spoke true, Johanna. You have made many friends during your journey to find me.” Janna’s father had rejoined them, along with Sister Anne.
“Johanna is intelligent and loving, and has a generous heart.” The words were kind, but Sister Anne’s tone conveyed something more. Janna wondered what she’d been saying about Richildis, for it sounded as if a comparison was being made. Had her father told the infirmarian about Richildis’s tricks, or was Sister Anne making her own judgment, based on the girl’s appearance and behavior? She longed to ask, for she felt genuine concern over her half-sister’s welfare, but knew that now was not the right time to air such intimate family matters.
“I’m going to visit Richildis with Sister Anne,” John told Janna, while Sister Ursel also bade them a reluctant farewell in order to attend t
o her duties.
“Oh, Janna, I am so glad to have the chance to talk to you alone,” Agnes said, as soon as they’d left. “A terrible thing has happened, and you’re just the person to set things right.”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“You worked out who was stealing pages from Sister Ursel’s manuscript and spoiling them, and also who attacked Lord Hugh in the market place. You even solved the mystery of the lilies – and changed my future! You’re clever at finding out the truth when things go wrong.”
Janna could only hope Agnes’s faith in her was not misplaced. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“A young girl has drowned in the millrace. She was caught on the wheel and badly battered, poor thing. Maybe it was an accident, maybe she was trapping eels or some such. Or it may have been suicide, for it seems she was with child, though she was unwed. But a man is being held for murder, although he swears he is not guilty and others say he speaks the truth. If it was murder, then his crime is a double sin, for an unborn child has died as well as its mother.” Agnes shuddered, and cupped her hands across her stomach in an unconscious gesture of protection.
“Who is looking into the matter?”
“Robert of Babestoche. The girl was the daughter of one of Dame Alice’s villeins.”
Robert! Janna was filled with immediate suspicion. “Is anything known about the father of the unborn child?” she asked carefully.
Agnes shook her head. “She never said who he was, but she was seen with someone shortly before she died. That is the man who’s been taken in for questioning.”
“When did she die? How long ago?” From what she’d been told and her own observation, Janna knew that it was possible to tell from an examination of the body whether death was from drowning or due to some other means. She wondered if it was still possible to view the girl’s body.
“I know not when she died, but news of it came only yesterday. The man they suspect of murder actually comes from Dame Alice’s manor farm, the one that is overseen by Sire Hugh. You’ll remember him, of course?” Agnes’s eyes twinkled; they both remembered the attraction that had flared between the injured Hugh and Janna, who had nursed him back to health at the abbey. “Sire Hugh is one of those who believes the man is not guilty, and he came himself to ask the abbess to stay proceedings until the man’s guilt can be proven. He’s very troubled by the whole affair. Oh, Janna, you will help him find out the truth, won’t you?”
Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6 Page 13
