Owen and Louth exchanged puzzled looks.
‘You decided Joanna was like her mother and might be better off in the convent?’ Owen guessed.
‘When madness begets madness, perhaps it is better to end the line, eh?’ Matthew looked at their frowns, shook his head. ‘You cannot know, either of you. You keep hoping it is a passing mood, that tomorrow she will make sense, that you will have a sensible partner. You rejoice when she wakes with clear eyes, practical worries, reasonable reactions to household problems. You mourn when the vagueness returns.’
Louth lifted an eyebrow. ‘It is a wonder that your son Hugh is retained by the Percies if he behaves so.’
Matthew shrugged. ‘Hugh embraces danger. That is desirable in what he does. And he seems merely a weaver of tales, not a liar, not mad. Just comes out differently in Hugh.’
Owen grew curious to meet Hugh Calverley. ‘Why did your wife turn against Hugh and Joanna?’
Matthew frowned, stood up as if to get more ale, but just stood with his back to his guests, looking out at the garden. ‘It does not matter. She saw plots and transgressions in everything. I paid her no heed. Had I listened to Anne I would have gone mad myself.’
‘So you do not think that Joanna’s flight from the convent and Mistress Calverley’s disappearance are related?’
Matthew shook his head. ‘I do not say it lightly when I tell you Anne turned against them. I was at my wit’s end when the letter came from my sister, warning of Joanna’s return. Anne said she would not let Joanna in the house. It was only after I exaggerated Joanna’s reported vocation that Anne agreed to having Joanna in the house for a short time.’
‘Did Joanna know of her mother’s feelings?’
‘Joanna is seldom aware of the feelings of others.’
Owen found it an interesting observation.
‘The prioress of St Clement’s is a Percy,’ Louth said, changing the subject yet again. ‘Did she take Joanna as a favour to you?’
Matthew took a moment to answer. ‘A Percy?’ He frowned. ‘Nay. Seven years back the prioress was not a Percy. Sir William Percy merely suggested the convent was poor, might accept Joanna with a generous dowry. He had placed a poor relation there. Perhaps she is the present prioress.’
The shadows lengthened in the garden. Owen grew tired of sitting. He rose. ‘You have been most helpful, Master Calverley.’
Matthew rose in haste. ‘But surely you will stay to supper?’
Louth followed Owen’s lead and rose. ‘You are kind to offer, but we have men to see to, and a long journey tomorrow.’
Matthew looked disappointed.
‘There is one other piece of information that would be of use,’ Owen said. ‘Do you know where your son stays in Scarborough? Is he actually up at the castle?’
Matthew shrugged. ‘I imagine him there, but as I say, I have heard nothing from him in his new life. I address my communications with the Percies to the castle, but that means naught.’ He touched Owen’s arm as he began to move towards the door. ‘If you see Hugh, tell him his mother has passed on, if you will. It seems right that he should know not to expect her if he ever returns. And tell him — tell him we are well.’
Owen walked back through the grand hall, turning his head this way and that to see around him the lovely tapestries, the delicate tracery in the windows, the carved, high backed chairs, the solid table tops hung between the tapestries, ready to be brought down for feasts. Someone had worked hard to make the room pleasant. Anne Calverley on her lucid days? Was she aware of her changeable nature? Was Joanna? Had Joanna seen her mother’s moods and wondered whether she would be the same? And if she had, had she feared it?
Owen, Louth and the canon’s men were to spend the night at the guest house of Kirkstall Abbey. As they rode into the outer court of the abbey, Louth became animated, pointing out the tannery, the fulling mill, the brew house. ‘The Cistercians have perfected the self-contained community. They have everything here. They use every resource available. You will find all the latest techniques practised here.’
‘You are thinking of giving up your prebends and joining the order?’
Louth looked at Owen askance. ‘Of course not. What gave you that idea?’
They rode through the inner gatehouse into the inner court, Louth still pointing out the wonders of the Cistercian design. Owen was glad when, after they were shown to a chamber in the guest house, Louth took his leave to go explore with his squire.
In the main hall of the guest house, Owen met a traveller en route to York with a scar on his hand that drew and bothered him like the scar on Owen’s face. Seeing an opportunity, Owen gave the traveller a sample of the ointment he carried, specially prepared by Lucie, and promised him a jar of it if he delivered a letter to Lucie. The traveller found the trade more than fair. Owen found a quiet corner in the hall and spent the late afternoon writing to Lucie, telling her all he had learned that day from Matthew Calverley. It helped him organise his thoughts.
Twelve
Joanna stared with such ferocity that Lucie could not help but look away from the penetrating eyes. ‘For pity’s sake, what have I done to warrant this?’ Lucie asked.
Joanna just stared. This morning she made no other response.
Lucie tried to take Joanna’s hands. Joanna pulled them away.
‘I come here as your friend,’ Lucie protested. ‘I want to help.’
Now the eyes flickered. ‘You talk to me for them, not for me.’
Lucie’s heart pounded. Two spots of colour high on Joanna’s pale cheeks bespoke her agitation. Best not to lie to her. ‘His Grace and the Reverend Mother are worried about you.’
Joanna shook her head slowly, tauntingly. ‘They are jealous of me. Not just those two, all of them. The abbot, Sir Richard, Sir Nicholas.’
Lucie pressed her knuckle to her brow, searching for a reply that would not anger Joanna, but encourage her to talk. ‘Of what are they jealous?’
Tears welled up in Joanna’s eyes. ‘I am alone but for Our Lady’s love.’
‘We all mean to help you,’ Lucie said gently.
Joanna blotted her eyes with the sleeve of her chemise. Today the mantle was folded neatly beside her. ‘Do you remember what Christ said to Mary Magdalene when she saw Him walking near His tomb?’
Lucie nodded. ‘You told me once. “Noli me tangere.” ’ But last time talk of Hugh had brought it up.
‘After Mary Magdalene had loved Him so, mourned Him so, she was not to touch Him. He is cruel.’
Good Lord. How had they come to this? ‘I do not think that was the point,’ Lucie said. ‘He was risen. He — ’
Joanna shook her head. ‘No! It is the point. It is always the point.’
Lucie threw up her hands. ‘What are you telling me?’
‘I am telling you nothing.’ Joanna folded her arms over her chest and turned away.
Lucie rose stiffly, walked to the window, massaging her left shoulder. When she spoke with Joanna it was as if she held her breath and tensed for a blow. She worried over each word, each gesture, hoping that what she said or did would not upset the awkward, fragile balance they had achieved.