What Alson had given her to eat, however, was miserable. The bread was dry and stiff. It had to be yesterday’s, and she would swear it was more chaff than flour, while the cup held ale so thin it might as well have been water. Penance was one thing. Starvation was another. How long did Domina Elisabeth mean to keep her this little fed? She hoped Neddie was better seen to than this, poor little mite. The church had been so shadowy that, with the rood screen in the way, she hadn’t been able to see if he had been brought to suffer through Vespers, and she could not guess when she’d be allowed to see him again. Domina Elisabeth might decide that to be separated from him should be part of her punishment.
But no. No matter what the nuns did to her, Cecely didn’t think they would be that cruel to a small child. Let him cry for his mother, or even ask for her piteously enough, and they would be merciful. She had told him that and was certain she could depend on him to do that much.
If nothing else, Alson would surely help her. Cecely said a quick and general little prayer of thanks for her good fortune in finding Alson still here.
That did not help her to choke down the miserable bread, though, nor did she dare take time to soak it much in the ale. When the nuns finished eating, she would be expected to be done, too, she supposed, so she chewed at it and, to take her mind from it, listened to the nun reading aloud at the room’s other end, only after a while realizing that what she was hearing was the same sermon for Tenebrae, the dark days before Easter, that had been read at them all this same way in her last Lent here. Dear saints above, did nothing ever change in this place?
She was washing down the last of the bread with the last of the poor ale when Domina Elisabeth rose from her place to show the meal was done. All of her nuns rose like shadows with her, and grace was said again-little though there was to be thankful for, Cecely thought. Maybe they were giving thanks there hadn’t been less.
Now came the one hour of recreation they were allowed each day. Given the cold and wet, they would probably go straight to the warming room, Cecely supposed, and supposed, too, that she should simply stay where she was until told to do otherwise. The nuns left, save for Dame Juliana. Cecely looked at her, and she pointed at the table for Cecely to put the cup there. When Cecely had, Dame Juliana signed for her to follow her, and they went from the refectory and around a corner of the cloister walk to, as Cecily had expected, the warming room.
With its fireplace it was one of the more comfortable places in the cloister, but not very. A fire was usually allowed there only from October’s end until April’s, and it was as plain a room as the refectory but far smaller, the nuns’ retreat in poor weather and where they sat through the daily chapter meetings where nunnery business was dealt with, confessions made of common faults, and penances given for them. Cecely had expected she would be dealt with in the morrow’s meeting, but found that the nuns, rather than at ease and in talk and at the various light pastimes allowed in this while of recreation, were seated on their joint stools in a partial circle facing the prioress’ chair, and as she followed Dame Juliana into the room every one of them looked toward the doorway. Toward her.
Her heart sinking a little, Cecely stopped on the threshold, looking back at them. Not in the morning, then. Now. Tonight. While she was still tired with travel, still chilled from the rain and the church. Still hungry.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head. So be it, she thought defiantly.
Then she remembered she was supposed to be humbly contrite in her disgrace, and bowed her head and let her shoulders slump. Not soon enough, it seemed, as Domina Elisabeth, standing at her chair, said sternly, “Come forward to me and kneel here, facing your sisters.”
Head down, Cecely went. Behind her, Dame Juliana shut the door and went quiet-footed to sit in the place left for her among the other nuns. Cecely had had enough of a cold floor under her knees when she was in the church, but she knelt where Domina Elisabeth had pointed beside her chair, keeping her head down but feeling all their stares. Let them stare. They had little else in their lives, so let them enjoy her infamy, her shame. Their staring would never give them as much pleasure as she had had.
That thought briefly warmed her, might almost have brought her to silent laughter if the next thought had not come swiftly, bitterly-that her Guy was gone and all the pleasure and love there had been between them would never be again. Resentful tears rose so suddenly in her eyes that she could not stop them swelling and spilling over. Well, let them spill, she thought, making no move to wipe them away. These women would think they were tears of contrition, acknowledgement of her shame.
They would likely think, too, that tearful contrition was only the beginning of what she deserved if the unalloyed coldness in Domina Elisabeth’s voice was anything to judge by, saying at the others, “By now you know from talk among yourselves all that need presently be known about our Sister Cecely’s return. Nine years ago she fled with a man. He is now dead and she has returned to us, bringing her child. More than that you do not need to know about her apostasy, and it will be to everyone’s good if talk about her among you ceases hereafter, at least until Easter is done.” Downward, at Cecely now, she went on, “You have come at a goodly time for your own soul, not at so good a time for us.”
Cecely bowed her head lower to show she heard and was suitably sorry for it.
“From now through Easter,” Domina Elisabeth said, “our duty of prayer is heavier than ordinary. These are high holy days. You will not be allowed to distract us from them. You will be more fully seen to after Easter, the more so because no word can come from our abbot until then, surely. In the meanwhile, you are the least among us. Even Sister Helen, young to the cloister though she is, is above you in all things. You will remember this and, remembering it, you will behave with deep humility at every moment of every day, thanking God for the mercy of your return. For your better governance, you will each day have a nun to oversee and direct you. From now until Vespers tomorrow, it will still be Dame Juliana. You will obey her, and the others after her, while you’re in their charge. You will be given a nun’s gown to wear, but in open token of your shame you will go without wimple and veil.”
Cecely almost raised her head in protest at that. Would they force the unseemliness of going bare-headed on her? Surely there were limits even to shame.
But Domina Elisabeth went on. “You will be allowed your coif but only your coif, and you are to mind it covers your hair well. The cutting off of your hair we will leave for now. The abbot may want a public shearing as part of your penance.”
At least she was spared it for now, Cecely thought and, despite herself, shuddered with a silent sigh of relief that she hoped Domina Elisabeth took merely for outward sign of inward grief.
Whether the prioress did or not, her voice stayed flat as she continued, “You will have your place in the choir as you had it at Vespers today. You will sleep in the dorter. You will dine in the refectory, standing as you did tonight apart from your sisters. You will keep silence at all times unless there is absolute need to speak. All of this is for our sake as much as yours, that you trouble us as little as may be through these high holy days. When they are over, we will take other counsel concerning you. Do you understand?”