Chapter Twenty-Two
At four o’clock the following afternoon, Jane went down to the parish church to rehearse with Brother Benedict. She was in high spirits at the prospect of a pleasant hour making music. She pushed open the church’s heavy wooden door and went in. Inside, it was cool and peaceful; the only sound came from the colony of jackdaws nesting in the tower. The straw on the floor of the nave crackled under her feet, and she jumped when a tiny field mouse scampered out from under the straw and bolted towards the daylight. The afternoon sun poured in through the door, lighting up the brightly coloured frescos which covered the walls of the church: above the door, a beautiful painting of the Holy Family fleeing into Egypt; the donkey, which carried Mary and her child, was huge with large, floppy ears and the expression on its face was one of resigned obedience. On the opposite side of the church a huge figure of the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary smiled down at the congregation. At the east end, to the left of the altar, was the scene of the Crucifixion and to the right, the scene at the tomb on Easter morning. Jane loved the parish church with all its bright paintings, telling the story of Christ to the villagers who couldn’t read it for themselves.
The door at the east end, which connected the monks’ church to the parish church, opened, and Brother Benedict appeared. He looked his usual cheerful self, and after he’d greeted her, suggested they go up into the gallery under the tower where the Vicar wanted them to perform on Sunday.
He led the way up the narrow spiral staircase which went up into the gallery and then up again to the platform in the tower where the bellringer stood to ring the bell for Sunday Mass. The gallery was a sturdy, wooden structure built during the last century expressly for musical performances. There was no ceiling above it, just a view straight up into the bell tower, where the jackdaws were arguing vociferously over their nesting sites. The floor of the gallery was covered with their droppings and the twigs they’d relinquished in their constant battles. As they appeared in the gallery the birds set up a chorus of disapproval and Brother Benedict looked doubtfully at Jane.
‘Too much competition?’
‘Maybe they’ll settle down once we start. It’s strange they’re noisier than usual today. I wonder what’s upset them.’
‘Nesting time?’
‘They should’ve got over that. Now they should be settling down to feed their young. Anyway, let’s start. What time does the Vicar want us here this Sunday?’
‘About six. After Compline.’
‘That’s good. The birds’ll be going to bed by then.’
‘I hope so; otherwise no one’s going to hear us. The Vicar, by the way, wants us to sing some of the Josquin chansons from the Ave Maria Stella. After all, May is the month of Mary.’
Benedict gave the note and looked at the manuscript he’d brought with him. Jane joined him for the first song. It was so wonderful to sing with someone as accomplished as Benedict that Jane forgot the jackdaws and neither of them saw the silent figure up in the tower who was watching them intently. Their voices echoed round the high vault and Jane felt her spirits soar. She hadn’t felt so happy for a long time.
Although she knew most of the songs by heart, Jane thought she’d be better off if she moved to the other side of Benedict so that she could see the notes more easily if she lost her place. It was at that precise moment, just when she moved, that a huge piece of masonry fell down from the tower and knocked her sideways, missing her head by inches. She fell, and Benedict gave a cry of horror and went down on his knees beside her. She was unconscious, but still breathing. Thank God, he thought, her guardian angel had been vigilant that afternoon. He went to the edge of the balcony and shouted for help. He should’ve been warned, he thought angrily. Surely the vicar would know if the tower was unsafe.
No one heard him, so checking that Jane was still breathing, he ran down the stairs and over to the little room that served as the priest’s house as well as the vestry. He banged on the door and shouted for Hobbes, who eventually opened the door. Exclaiming in horror at the news, and calling to the Sexton, who was out in the graveyard, they ran back into the gallery. The Sexton puffed up the stairs after them, and, picking Jane up, they gently carried her downstairs and laid her on the straw.
‘Quick,’ Hobbes said to the Sexton, ‘run and ask the Prior to send over Brother Michael or Martin. We’ll carry her over to her house; her father’s going to be horrified when he sees her. I can’t imagine how it happened; the tower’s been safe for as long as I can remember. There was no sign of faulty stonework when I last had a look at it with Pierrepoint.’
‘Could be them birds,’ said the Sexton as he got stiffly to his feet. ‘Troublesome creatures they are. They will build their nests up there at this time of the year and it loosens the masonry. I’ll get them out as soon as I can.’
‘The jackdaws have always nested up there and have never given us any trouble.’
‘Aye, but I always knew that one day something like this would happen. I’m sorry, though, that it was Mistress Jane who got in the way of that lump of stone.’
They carried Jane back to her father’s house, where Guy Warrener hid his grief by ranting at the Vicar.
‘You stupid fool, how dare you let my daughter go up into the gallery when you ought to’ve known it was dangerous. This is the last time I’ll let her sing for you and those infernal monks.’
His diatribe was cut short by the arrival of Brother Martin, who took a good look at Jane and the place where the stone had landed between her shoulders. He looked at her father. ‘Best to calm down, Master Warrener. There’s no great harm done. She’s concussed and her back’ll be sore for a few days but nothing that a good sedative and a lotion for rubbing into the bruise won’t put right. Now get her up to bed, and leave her to sleep. I’ll come back later on and take another look at her. Would you like me to send for a goodwife from the village to keep an eye on her?’ he said to Guy Warrener.
‘Over my dead body,’ he shouted. ‘I can’t do with any of those village crones around my house. I’ll look after her. She’s my own lass and I’ll not have anyone else interfering.’
‘Someone ought to tell Lord Nicholas,’ said Brother Benedict gently. ‘I’ll get over to the manor. He’s going to be very upset.’
‘Don’t bother,’ said Guy Warrener, ‘he’s only interested in my lass’s voice. She’ll not be singing for the King now so he’ll not bother to come and see her.’
‘She’ll be up and about soon,’ said Brother Martin, packing away his phials. ‘And have no fear, her voice will be as good as ever by next week.’
* * *
Nicholas stared at Brother Benedict in horror. His worst fears were now being realised. ‘Jane? Unconscious? My God, what happened? Where is she?’
‘Calm yourself, my Lord; she’s in her father’s house. Brother Martin has seen her and says that she’ll soon be back on her feet. Best not to go and see her just yet. Her father’s raging at everyone and he’ll not let you in. It was an accident, my Lord. The Sexton thinks the piece of masonry was dislodged by the nesting jackdaws.’
‘That remains to be seen. Come on, I’ll get my horse and you can tell me the details as we go along.’
* * *
‘No visitors,’ said Guy Warrener, standing in front of his door with his arms stretched out to fend off all comers. ‘She’s asleep; and it’s best that she stays that way. I’ll tell her you called,’ he said, suddenly remembering his manners, ‘when she wakes up. But, in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you kept away.’
‘I’ve no intention of waking her up. But I must see her and I want to see the place where the rock hit her. Now let me pass or I shall have to force my way in. I’m sorry, Warrener, but I have a huge respect for Jane.’