Authors: Alys Clare
‘She may not,’ he admitted.
‘The trail has led her to Hawkenlye,’ de Gifford said, ‘and to you. Wherever she is, I would guess that she is not far away for, until she has found you and learned news of the man she seeks, she will need to return there.’
‘I can’t just sit and wait for her to come back!’ Josse protested.
De Gifford smiled. ‘Unless you can find out where she’s hiding, you may have to.’ The smile left his face and he said quietly, ‘If you find this Sabin de Retz, Josse, persuade her, if you can, to see me.’ Before Josse could comment, de Gifford added, ‘Amid all our other concerns, let us not forget that I have poor Nicol Romley’s murderer to find and to bring to justice.’
It was fully dark by the time Josse got back to the Abbey. De Gifford had pressed him to stay for the night but Josse was anxious to speak to the Abbess. Hoping there would still be a light shining through the gap under her door, he walked as quietly as he could along the cloister.
She opened the door as he put up a hand to knock. ‘I thought you would not retire before we had spoken,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘Come in, Sir Josse, and warm yourself.’
He did as she said, removing his heavy gauntlets and stretching out his ice-cold hands to the small brazier that stood in one corner of the little room. Without turning round, once more he gave a report of his day’s findings.
She heard him out in silence and made no comment even when he had finished. Turning, he said, ‘My lady?’ but even as he spoke, it occurred to him that all but the final piece of news she would have already heard from Augustus.
Perhaps that explained her distracted look . . .
She raised her head, met his eyes and said, ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse, I
was
listening but—’ She broke off with a small shrug, as if explaining herself were beyond her.
‘You’ve a great deal on your mind, my lady,’ he said kindly, ‘and, in truth, there is little in what I have just said to keep the attention.’ She made to speak but he went on, ‘Any new cases of the sickness?’
‘Sister Judith has a fever,’ she said dully. ‘And Sister Beata is very unwell with the bowel flux.’
‘I regret deeply that I have no power to use the Eye of Jerusalem,’ he said. ‘If only—’
‘Sir Josse, what if—’ she began, but instantly closed her mouth on whatever speculation she was about to make.
‘What if?’ he prompted her. ‘Please, my lady, share your thought with me.’
But she shook her head. ‘It is late,’ she said, ‘and I am weary beyond imagination, as indeed you must be too.’ She managed a faint smile. ‘Let us speak in the morning, Sir Josse.’
He watched her but she would not look at him. With unease stirring deep within him, he bowed and left the room.
She
might be sufficiently exhausted to sleep, he thought a long time afterwards. I thought I was, too.
But there was something wrong, something she could not bring herself to tell him. Knowing her as well as he did, it had been a surprise to see an expression on her face that he had never seen before.
When she had started to ask him something, only to stop again almost instantly, she had looked almost . . . He thought hard for the right word.
She had looked ashamed.
Helewise had been asleep but it had been a brief surrendering to her fatigue and had only lasted a few hours. Now she lay wide awake, demons racing around her head.
I have begun on a course of action that will bring Josse face to face with something that will change his life, she thought miserably. I have done this for a very good reason and, when he finds out, he will understand that I had to do everything within my power to save the lives of the sick who have come here for help.
He may well understand, the thought continued. But will he ever forgive me?
And I have sent Sister Tiphaine into danger, she went on remorselessly, determined to face up to the full horror of her actions. She went into the forest – or so I conclude, for she has not been seen in the Abbey all day – and she has not come back.
Oh, supposing something had happened to her! Supposing night had come upon her when she was alone out there, lost in that terrible place, and even now she was lying injured, with wolves circling and those strange forest people threatening her with death for having trespassed in their lands!
Sister Tiphaine is in no danger from the forest people, the sensible part of Helewise’s mind told her firmly. She has regular contact with them and knows their ways better than you do; she will be fully aware what she can and cannot do out in the forest and she is probably tucked up quite safely somewhere. The only reason for her continuing absence is probably that she has not yet fulfilled her mission.
It was a comforting thought but Helewise soon came up with something else to worry about.
Her mission. Yes, Sister Tiphaine’s mission.
And, unfortunately for Helewise, that brought her straight back to Josse.
She lay awake, restless and very anxious, for what remained of the night.
In the morning Josse made it his first task to seek out Sister Ursel.
‘The young woman who came here looking for Nicol Romley,’ he began, after greeting her and exchanging a few remarks about the weather, which was still cold and clear.
‘Sabin de Retz,’ Sister Ursel said promptly.
‘Aye. Sister’ – he paused, wondering how to phrase his question without giving offence – ‘Sister, when she asked after him, obviously the name was familiar to you and you knew to whom she referred, but—’
‘I didn’t tell her he was dead, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Sister Ursel interrupted, not looking the least offended. ‘I knew what his name was, of course – you can’t keep a thing like that a secret in a community such as Hawkenlye – and I recognised it when she spoke it. But it wasn’t my place to break the news to the poor lass, Sir Josse, especially not when she’d just asked to speak to you. I knew you’d be able to tell her far more about the whole sorry business than I could,’ she added confidently.
I don’t know that I could have done, Josse thought ruefully. ‘I see,’ he said.
‘Anyway,’ Sister Ursel concluded, ‘standing by the gate is no place to receive bad news, eh, Sir Josse?’
Smiling, pleased with himself for having so accurately guessed what Sister Ursel would say, he agreed that it was not. He left the porteress with strict instructions to inform him the instant Sabin de Retz returned –
if
she returned – and was just trying to decide whether now was the moment to speak to the Abbess and demand to know what was the matter with her – apart from a murder on her doorstep and a ward full of desperately sick people, he thought ruefully – when someone called out his name.
Turning, he saw Brother Augustus running towards him.
‘Good morning, Gussie,’ Josse greeted him. A sudden chill caught at him; was Augustus racing to bring bad news? ‘How is Brother Firmin?’
Augustus stopped, panting, and said, ‘He is still holding out, Sir Josse. I have been praying since I awoke and they tell me Brother Firmin is praying too.’
‘When – if the moment comes, Gus,’ Josse said gently, ‘then surely he will soon be with God in heaven.’
Augustus looked faintly surprised that Josse might even be thinking anything to the contrary. Then, with a shake of his head as if to drive out that thought and proceed to another, he said, ‘It’s not about him that I’ve come looking for you. It’s about the young woman.’
‘Sabin de Retz?’ As if there could be any other young woman.
‘Aye.’ Augustus sounded impatient, as if he too thought the interjection unnecessary. ‘Sir Josse, when I wasn’t praying for Brother Firmin I’ve been thinking about where she might be. Like we were saying yesterday, it’s unlikely anyone’s taken her in, what with the sickness and that, and I’d guess you found no trace of her in Tonbridge for the same reason.’
‘You guess right,’ Josse agreed.
‘Well, there’s one sort of place where they never turn people away even if the whole county falls ill,’ Augustus pressed on eagerly. Then, when Josse didn’t instantly reply, he cried, ‘Places like Hawkenlye! Religious foundations!’
God’s boots, but the lad was right! ‘Well done, Gussie,’ Josse said, clapping him enthusiastically on the shoulder. ‘Even now she could be joining the community at their prayers in . . .’ He realised he had no idea where the nearest religious house was. ‘Er, where might she be, d’you think, Gus?’
Augustus smiled. ‘There’s West Abbey,’ he began, ‘that’s north of here and they’re Benedictine nuns, only the place burned down a few years ago and I don’t know if they’ve rebuilt their guest quarters. There’s the canons down at Otham, but they’re in the middle of plans to move their foundation somewhere more suitable and I doubt they’ve much accommodation for guests either. There’s St Martin’s at Battle and then there’s . . .’
But Josse had remembered something. A year ago, when word had first come of King Richard’s capture and imprisonment, Queen Eleanor, beside herself with anxiety, had sent two trusted abbots out to Speyer to see the king and report back to her. One abbot came from . . . where was it? Boxley, aye, that was it, and wasn’t Boxley up near Rochester? The other envoy was the abbot of Pont Robert, or Robertsbridge, as the people called it. And Robertsbridge was only some fifteen miles south of Hawkenlye.
‘Robertsbridge!’ he cried.
Augustus shot him a glance. ‘I was just going to say Robertsbridge.’
‘What do we know of the place?’ Josse demanded eagerly.
Augustus had a think and then said, ‘It’s run by the White Monks and they’re farmers and foresters. The Abbey’s tucked away in the forest, like all Cistercian houses, because the monks aren’t allowed near towns.’
‘Would they accommodate a young woman like Sabin de Retz?’
Augustus shrugged. ‘I can’t say for certain, but the Cistercians are known for their charity and their care of the poor.’
‘It doesn’t sound as if Sabin is poor,’ Josse said, half to himself, thinking of the grey mare and the fur-lined gloves.
‘Maybe the old White Monks wouldn’t be above letting her stay anyway but rattling the poor box under her nose,’ Augustus said shrewdly.
Josse grinned. ‘Very possibly,’ he agreed. ‘Is it a good road to Robertsbridge, Gus?’
‘Reckon so, Sir Josse. It’s the Hastings road nearly all the way.’ Returning Josse’s smile, he said, ‘Want me to ask leave to go with you?’
‘Aye, do that, lad. I’ll go and tap on the Abbess Helewise’s door and explain where we’re going.’
He found the Abbess sitting behind her table. She seemed to have plenty to do, judging by the rolls of parchment spread out in front of her and the stylus in its horn of ink, but Josse had the distinct impression that, immediately before he went in, she had been staring into space. The look of anxiety on her face barely diminished as she greeted him.
‘Sister Beata is dead,’ she said.
It had been expected, Josse well knew, but nevertheless the news hit him like a fist in the stomach. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘She was a loving and a lovable woman.’
‘She was,’ the Abbess agreed. Raising dull eyes briefly to meet his before she looked away again, she said, ‘What is it, Sir Josse? As you see, I am busy.’
What is the matter with her? he wondered yet again. The death of Sister Beata was hard to accept, aye, but normally under such circumstances the Abbess would surely have derived comfort from talking over her grief and pain with Josse. And here she was, hinting that the sooner he said what he had to say and got himself out of her presence, the better she would like it.
Coolly he said, ‘Brother Augustus has come up with the bright suggestion that Sabin de Retz is probably lodging in a religious house. He and I are off down to Robertsbridge, it being the nearest one to us, to see if we can find her.’
‘I see,’ the Abbess said neutrally.