I have burdened her too much with tasks involving this murder, Eleanor thought. Yet she noticed that Gracia was delighted with those challenges and even suggested clever ways she could do more. This was not a girl happiest when clutching her cloth poppet, the prioress decided, and now she wondered if the education offered at Tyndal Priory could match the quality of the child’s wits.
Yet there was a problem.
As the descendant of one who had served and entertained Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and Queen of England, the prioress was not inclined to let a woman’s ability to learn go fallow. But, intelligent as Gracia was, the girl’s family still belonged to the lowest rank of free men. How should Eleanor best teach her maid while also preparing her for the place she would have to take in the world outside Tyndal Priory?
Her former maid, Gytha, had come from a line of Anglo-Saxon thegns, even though Norman rule had reduced that family’s position to breeders of donkeys and brewers of ale. Before the marriage to Ralf, Eleanor knew Gytha would marry at least a merchant. Gracia had little hope of such a high union.
I need guidance, the prioress thought, and she resolved to write Sister Beatrice, her aunt at Amesbury, to seek advice.
“It is nothing momentous, my child,” Eleanor said. “I had just forgotten to look at an entry in another accounting roll that would answer a question I had.”
Gracia nodded, but her deep set blue eyes shifted color to gray.
Eleanor had learned to identify this as a sign that the maid recognized a lie. It was a trait that troubled some but not her. She reached out a hand and touched the girl’s thin shoulder with affection. If she were to win Gracia’s complete trust, she must not utter even innocuous falsehoods.
“Very well, but my complaint truly meant nothing,” she said gently. “I was pondering a dilemma that requires more patience and understanding than I am wont to own.” Then the prioress clapped her hands together with amusement. “I shall tell you a secret. Reaching womanhood does not mean we have learned all we need to know of life, but we often believe we have, then rue our ignorance. It is a common failing.”
As Gracia carefully memorized this bit of wisdom, her eyes regained their color of a bright spring sky.
Standing, Eleanor took the child by the hand and proceeded along the path, pointing out various plants, giving their names, and an interesting detail about each.
Gracia touched them all and repeated the name, adding her observations on color and form.
What a truly clever girl she is, the prioress thought with pleasure. “Are you happy here, my child?”
“Yes, my lady!”
“You have done well in this matter of Sister Anne and Father Etienne. I am proud of you.”
The girl blushed.
“You have been my eyes and ears and blunted my impatience with the restrictions placed on me. Were it not for your efforts, I would have little hope.”
“You have Brother Thomas and Crowner Ralf,” the maid replied with honest modesty.
“Brother Thomas can do little more than I, and our crowner serves the king’s justice, which does not rule here. He is limited in what he can do to seek the truth. You have helped where they and I cannot.”
Gracia turned pale and fiercely grasped the prioress’ hand. “You will not be sent from here, will you?” Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.
“There is no reason for that to happen. I am innocent of all accusations as is Sister Anne. Once the intent behind these vile charges and crimes is revealed, Father Etienne can declare us blameless, go back to Anjou, and Sister Anne may return to her hospital.”
Squeezing the child’s hand, she realized that she had not reassured Gracia as she should have. The girl had been present when Davoir accused Eleanor of breaking her vows, yet Gracia had remained steadfast in her loyalty despite fearing she would lose the home she had just found. The prioress wished she had immediately told her maid that the child’s world would not be upended again.
“I must confess something.” Gracia looked up but did not let go of Eleanor’s hand.
“And what is that?”
“I have not liked this priest from the moment he arrived.”
Neither had Eleanor, but she hid her concurrence and encouraged Gracia to explain.
“When he spoke to you and Prior Andrew, after you had first greeted him, his manner reminded me of the men who walked past me when I was begging at the inn in Walsingham. Not all were so cruel that they would push me to the side with a boot, but some wished they had not been faced with a child who sat begging. The sight was unpleasant, yet they had no solution for my need, and thus passed by, pretending they had not seen me.”
Something in these words caused a dim light to flicker in a dark recess of her mind. The prioress urged her to continue.
“Perhaps Father Etienne brings us grief, not because he wants to do so, but because he believes he has no other choice?”
Or does not wish to see, Eleanor realized, and drew Gracia into a warm hug. “Well said, my child!”
The crunching of the gravel caused them both to look up.
Sister Christina appeared at the bend in the path. “My lady?”
Noting the infirmarian’s pale cheeks and eyes widened with distress, Eleanor called out to swiftly reassure the nearsighted nun. “I am here. What has happened?”
The nun looked nervously over her shoulder and began to twist her hands.
Panting with effort, Sub-Prioress Ruth came into sight. Despite the aid of two sticks, she struggled to walk. Her teeth were clenched, and her breath came in short gasps. The woman was in much pain.
Eleanor sent Gracia to help Sister Christina ease the older nun onto the stone bench.
The sub-prioress waved them back. “My lady, I am unworthy of your kindness. Let me stand on these wretched feet and beg forgiveness. Even to kneel and kiss your feet, as I ought to beg for mercy, would bring a relief I do not deserve.”
“You may not stand,” Eleanor replied and sternly pointed to the bench. “I command you to sit and tell me what you have come to say.”
Rejecting assistance, the sub-prioress struggled to sit down on the rough stone, then put her arms around her knees and groaned before she could speak further.
Eleanor waited, banishing all compassion from her expression. Sub-Prioress Ruth would expect nothing else from the leader of Tyndal Priory.
“My lady, I have a terrible sin to confess. And after I have told you of my wickedness, I will resign my position and, with true repentance, accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate.” She began to sob, a sound as dreadful to hear as it was rare to behold in this proud woman.
Eleanor felt a deep chill course through her and stiffened her back to banish any overt tremor of fear. “Leave us,” she said to Sister Christina and Gracia.
The pair quickly went to seek a far corner of the garth.
Then Prioress Eleanor sat down next to this woman who had always hated her and waited for her to speak.
Chapter Twenty-eight
With the stride of one confident of God’s favor, Davoir entered the audience chamber. When he saw those who had gathered to greet him, he hesitated. The surprise displeased him.
Brother Thomas and Crowner Ralf stood on either side of Prioress Eleanor. To her left sat Sister Ruth. Her hands clasped and head bowed, the elder nun failed to greet the priest, mumbling instead a long prayer. Standing beside the troubled woman was Sister Christina, forehead creased as she gazed down with concern.
Gracia approached the priest, bobbed with courtesy, and offered him a mazer.
When Davoir looked into it, he was astonished to see red wine. He looked at the prioress and raised an eyebrow
“When souls or bodies need healing, Father,” she said without the trace of a smile, “we may drink wine.” Then she gestured for him to sit.