She came from the warming room with the others at chapter’s end to find Alson waiting in the walk to say that Dame Perpetua was to take Sister Cecely up to the prioress’ parlor now, that Abbot Gilberd would be there shortly. Since today was Dame Perpetua’s turn with Sister Cecely, this bidding could hardly be a surprise to Dame Perpetua, but she nonetheless cast a pleading look around, as if in hope of a rescue no one could give her. The most she got was an encouraging hand laid briefly on her shoulder by Dame Claire and, “At least now you’ll hear what is happening.”
Dame Perpetua looked only a little encouraged by that, but since she would surely be as enjoined to silence as Dame Margrett had been, none of the rest of them would be any the wiser, and Frevisse went away to the guesthall, feeling yet again forestalled from giving the deeds and bill to Domina Elisabeth.
Forestalled-or plain unwilling.
She faced it might well be the latter, then tried to tell herself again that burdening Domina Elisabeth with more just now seemed unfair. But if that was it, why not give them to Abbot Gilberd?
Because they were not his business.
That thought had come far too easily. She looked at it more closely. It stayed the same. Abbot Gilberd was here to determine what should be done with Sister Cecely. These other matters-the poisonings, the stolen deeds and bill, even Edward now he was under St. Frideswide’s protection-were arguably the priory’s to deal with.
Or-to be closer to the truth, Frevisse thought-they were hers to deal with, because she found she was indeed increasingly hesitant to give anything over to Domina Elisabeth just now. The way the prioress was presently slacking and forsaking all her duties, she might simply give any and all priory problems over to Abbot Gilberd, and that would not be to the priory’s good in the long run of things. Giving over power to someone was always easier than getting it back, and Frevisse was not minded to let Abbot Gilberd have more of a hand in St. Frideswide’s business than could be helped. If he took it into his mind that his hand was necessary here, getting his hand out again later might prove difficult.
So when, at the foot of the stairs up to the guesthall, she met Abbot Gilberd coming down, followed by one of his clerks with an ink bottle in one hand and a clutch of paper in the other, she made no effort to speak to him, merely stepped aside and sank in a low curtsy. He sketched a cross in blessing above her as he passed without pause, and she let him go his way to the cloister while she went up the steps and into the guesthall.
Ela was there, keeping an eye on matters. By this time on any usual day, the hall would have been fairly or altogether empty except for servants, with such travelers as had been there overnight gone on their way at first daylight, and Tom and Luce clearing and cleaning around such rare, few guests as were staying longer. But this past week and more had not been usual, and still was not. The hall was cluttered and loud with the abbot’s men, and Ela cocked her head to look up at Frevisse and asked, rather than waiting for Frevisse’s every-morning question of how things were, “What’s toward? Father Henry was closeted with Abbot Gilberd a long while yester-evening and looked none so happy when he came out. Nor he looks no happier today, and not Abbot Gilberd either.”
“Abbot Gilberd is going to speak with Sister Cecely this morning,” Frevisse said, keeping aside from a straight answer. “I suppose Father Henry will be there, too.”
“More patience to them both,” Ela said back, letting Frevisse know she knew an aside-answer when she heard it but letting it go. “The Lawsells purpose to leave this morning. Their man came in with their horses about Compline.”
Frevisse nodded. She would try to be present when they left, she thought, to bid Elianor farewell and encourage her mother to think of the girl’s return.
“They’re quarreling over it though,” Ela said. “They were loud about it a while ago. It’s why they’re not gone yet, I think.”
“Quarreling?” Frevisse asked. “The Lawsells?”
“Them. You should talk to them, maybe.” Meaning she thought Frevisse had better talk to them.
Frevisse held back from a sigh, because Ela was right, and went toward their chamber at the hall’s side, hearing as she neared their door Elianor’s young voice saying, low but angrily stubborn, “Once you have me back there, you won’t let me out again until I agree to marry someone. I know that’s what you mean to do. Don’t tell me it isn’t.”
“You know no such thing,” her mother answered with the edged patience of someone determined not to show how angry she was. “What I am saying is we need to go home and talk about it more. I am saying…”
“You don’t mean ‘talk about it.’ You mean ‘talk me into changing my mind.’”
Frevisse knocked firmly at the door and opened it. Mistress Lawsell turned toward her, and Elianor, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms folded across herself-to show she did not intend to move, Frevisse supposed-stood up. Before either of them could say or do anything more, Frevisse said, “I wish to speak alone with your mother. Please leave us, Elianor.”
Elianor, surprised, looked back and forth between her mother and Frevisse, then dropped a short curtsy more or less at both of them, and went out of the chamber. Frevisse turned back to Mistress Lawsell and said, “You do wrong to keep her from where her heart wants to go.”
“You would say that,” Mistress Lawsell snapped back. “Being a nun and in need of more nuns here.”
“And you would say otherwise,” Frevisse said evenly, “having come here in a lie.”
That direct attack caught Mistress Lawsell off her guard. “What?”
“You didn’t come here in the hope of turning your daughter toward becoming a nun. You hoped to turn her from it. What you want for her is a wealthy marriage, not the good of her soul.”
“Marriage isn’t damnation!”
“It can be, if someone’s heart is altogether elsewhere. Force someone into a pathway against their nature, and the chance of damnation is very great.” As Sister Cecely had been forced, Frevisse suddenly thought. She and Dame Johane had both come here by their family’s choice, not theirs, and Sister Cecely must have gone through with taking her final vows because it was expected of her, not from any true desire. Dame Johane, however it had been with her at the beginning, had found a place here, had found work she cared about and become happy. Sister Cecely had failed, had made her life instead on lust and lies and broken vows. And Frevisse said, with a sad sense that she was pleading as no one had pleaded for Sister Cecely, however opposite that pleading was, “Think on it, I pray you, Mistress Lawsell. Which will be better? A daughter forced to go a way she does not want to go and angry at you for it, or a daughter gladly become a nun and praying for your soul’s salvation all her days. Which will be better-for your daughter and for you?”
Mistress Lawsell’s jaw had set stubbornly while Frevisse spoke. There was no surprise in her answering, “We’re going home today. The matter can be discussed as well there as here.”
Frevisse guessed that Elianor had the right of it. Having failed of her purpose to put her daughter off thought of being a nun, Mistress Lawsell would put her under duress of one kind or another once she had her home, to force her to do as she was bid. There was nothing Frevisse could do about that. The girl was her mother’s. And somewhat more shortly than might be charitable, she said at Mistress Lawsell, “Very well. May God and St. Frideswide be with you both,” and left the room, leaving Mistress Lawsell to remember-or not-what St. Frideswide had done to those who had tried to come between her and her desires.