Frevisse, for one, was more than willing to sit there in silent thought for the while until Vespers. What they had just done-what she had done-to Alson had left her shaken. Needed though it had been to have the truth, to have so deliberately torn a woman open, to have ruined her life and her brother’s…
Domina Elisabeth, instead of stepping up into her own stall at the choir’s end, was stopped beside it, her head bowed, her brother beside her, his tall abbatial crozier still in one gloved hand, his other hand resting on her shoulder. One by one, all her nuns, not yet all into their places, stopped where they were, staring, until Abbot Gilberd said, “Be seated, dames.”
They finished taking their places but went on staring at their prioress and abbot. Frevisse wondered if the others felt the same sick worry and wondering what came next that she suddenly did, but giving them little time to wonder, Abbot Gilberd said, “A parting of the ways has come, my ladies. After long talk and much prayer together these past days, I have granted your prioress’ request to relieve her of her office and allow her to return to the nunnery from whence she came.”
Domina Elisabeth did not stir, but while Frevisse, Dame Claire, and Dame Thomasine stayed silent, there were exclaims among the others and heads turning and accusing looks at Dame Perpetua and Dame Margrett because they must have heard something of this while keeping their prioress company in her parlor.
“They were under my order to say nothing, hint at nothing,” Abbot Gilberd said, bringing instant quiet and all the nuns’ attention back to him. “As for your prioress, she came to you in your need twelve years ago. She has made well what was ill. She has made strong what was weak. The good to you has been great. The cost to her has been heavy. She is weary and has asked for rest. That I have granted her. In two days’ time you will hold election for your new prioress. I bid you pray well between now and then, that your choice be acceptable in the eyes of God.”
Or, more to the immediate point, acceptable in the eyes of Abbot Gilberd, thought Frevisse. His was the final word on who became prioress in a nunnery under his care, unless things went so badly that the bishop himself had to settle matters, God forbid. It had been the disasters brought on St. Frideswide’s by a very ill-chosen prioress that had forced the abbot to use his authority and bring his sister from a London nunnery to be their prioress, trusting none of them to the place. Now he was saying he trusted them again to make their own choice. What he did not need to say was: And woe to them if they chose ill again.
Mercifully, the bell rang for Vespers, silencing them all. Abbot Gilberd took his hand from his sister’s shoulder. Head still bowed, she went to an empty stall at the bottom of the choir, slipped into it and to her knees. Abbot Gilberd signed the cross toward her bowed head and then at them all. Then he left, disappearing into the shadows of the nave, and after an uncertain moment Dame Juliana unsteadily began the Office. The other nuns unevenly followed her.
The familiarity soon steadied them, but they went forward at an almost gabbled haste, so that Frevisse, who would have preferred to make the Office last as long as might be, found no peace in the prayers and psalms and all too soon was leaving the church with the others. Supper was next, with no chance to talk then either, only for long looks and wondering head-shakes at the head of the table where Domina Elisabeth was not, having stayed in the church when they left.
Frevisse was not looking forward to recreation’s hour, when talk would burst out freely. The talk about Cecely and Alson and all of that was going to be bad enough, but now it would be mixed with exclaims over Domina Elisabeth. Frevisse was not ready to face all that, and by the time the nuns rose from their places along the refectory table and rapidly said final grace, her set intent was to escape directly from the refectory to the church.
She was forestalled as she reached the refectory door by Malde coming to her and saying in an almost frightened, too loud voice that she was wanted in Domina Elisabeth’s chamber. The others all turned to stare at her. She walked away from them quickly and walked faster as the gabbling started up behind her, aware that she would now be among the things they exclaimed over.
Her way took her past the closed door of Cecely’s cell, now guarded by one of Abbot Gilberd’s men. It was unsettling to see a man simply sitting there in the cloister, neither coming nor going. He stood up respectfully as she approached. She gave him a nod as she passed, but her thought was on Cecely in that lightless room beyond the shut door. Under the clouded sky, night was coming fast; even what little light let in through the slit of a window would soon be gone and then she would be alone in unrelieved darkness with nothing but her thoughts and maybe prayers, although Frevisse had doubt about the prayers of someone who had tried to kill a man because of her hurt feelings. Without prayer, all that Cecely had were her memories-now mostly of losses-and her anger. And even anger must be a cold comfort in that room.
Frevisse slowed as she reached the prioress’ stairs and unwillingly went up them to scratch at the door and enter at Domina Elisabeth’s bidding. Domina Elisabeth was standing near the small fire burning on the hearth; Abbot Gilberd was seated in the tall chair that was usually hers. The shutters had been closed across the window against the on-coming night, but several lighted candles showed the remains of their supper on the table, and Luce from the guesthall standing in the shadows beside the door. The abbot must have brought her with him from the guesthall, that Domina Elisabeth not be alone with him, but he said now, “You may go, woman,” and Luce dropped a curtsy and slipped behind Frevisse and out the door with a quickness that said she was grateful to leave.
“Come forward, dame,” Abbot Gilberd said. “Join us.”
Retreating into her nunhood, tucking her hands into her opposite sleeves and bowing her head, Frevisse obeyed, going forward to stand beside Domina Elisabeth.
“In our haste to bring an end to these poisonings,” Abbot Gilberd said, “there are some questions that have gone unanswered. Master Rowcliffe has ceased to go on at me about his stolen deeds. Do you know why that is?”
Toward the floor but firmly, Frevisse said, “Because they’ve been returned to him, my lord.”
“By your doing?”
“Yes, my lord.” As he had surely known before he asked the question because he must have overheard her in talk with Cecely.
“Your explanation for doing so without asking my leave or word for it?”
Not trying to judge either his displeasure or anything else, she answered straightly, “Sister Cecely had hidden the deeds with her son. He gave them up to me because he understood that neither he nor she had any right to them. Because they are Master Rowcliffe’s, I returned them to him. To make an end of at least one of the troubles.”
“You did not see fit to consult with either your prioress or myself about it. You simply did it.”
Her gaze still on the floor, Frevisse said, “Yes, my lord.”
As Abbot Gilberd’s silence drew out, she wished she had tried for humble rather than firm in her answer. She also wished she had not bowed her head quite so deeply; she could not see either his face or Domina Elisabeth’s, to read between them what they might be thinking. All she could do was wait, and only finally and slowly did Abbot Gilberd say, “That was, probably, well done. With his deeds returned, he should be satisfied to leave Sister Cecely to us. It might have been better to keep them, until we were sure he’ll make no trouble over our claim on the boy, but what’s done is done.”
Frevisse forgot humble and looked at him. “The boy? Our claim on him?”
“I believe there is property that comes with him, and that his mother intends to give him to the Church,” Abbot Gilberd said.