Forsaken Soul

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The day had dawned with pleasing warmth, tempered by a cool breeze from the coast.

Eleanor, however, was not soothed. “What am I failing to understand?” she asked, seating herself on the stone bench in the middle of the cloister gardens.

The previous night had been a restless one for the prioress, her dreams filled with writhing shapes and troubling images. This time, the creature shattering her sleep was not an incubus in the shape of Brother Thomas but the tormented soul of Ivetta. Even now the woman’s screams echoed sharply in her ears.

The sight of the blackened burns from Hell’s fire on the woman’s naked body was terrible enough, but her piteous cries had so distressed Eleanor that she abruptly awoke with hot sweat streaming down her trembling body. Mercifully, sleep failed to return. The prioress could bear no further meetings with the dead woman’s spirit.

Eleanor now shut her eyes, but the most terrible image from the night remained as if burned into her eyelids lest she try to forget it. In the dream, Ivetta had held the image of a perfectly formed but tiny child in her hand, stretching it out for Eleanor to take. “I promised her to the priory when she was born,” the spirit had howled. “I may deserve this eternity of fire, but she never had the chance for salvation. For pity’s sake, take her to your heart!”

The voice, as piercing now in bright daylight as it had been in darkness, chased Eleanor from her seat. She ran a few steps, then dropped to her knees and wept.

After a few minutes, she calmed, breathing in a fragrance of almost holy sweetness as if the breeze from the North Sea carried the scent of Heaven. “I shall find your murderer,” she whispered. “To deny a soul the chance for absolution is grave, but to deny a babe baptism before death is an unspeakable and most cruel sin.”

Prioress Eleanor rose and walked back to her chambers with a determined step, swearing that she would do more than she had in this matter. Martin’s murder may have been a secular concern, but God had made it quite clear that Ivetta’s death was her responsibility.

As she walked into her private room, her attention was drawn to the tapestry hanging on the wall at the end of her bed. The depiction of Mary Magdalene at the foot of Jesus never ceased to fascinate her, the expression of love and compassion between the two figures bringing comfort on dark nights when the wind howled outside her window. Now they seemed to rebuke her for not casting aside all other concerns when justice should have been the foremost one.

“Had I dealt with Ivetta differently, she might have repented and sought our cloister, thus saving her life and that of her child. I must find the killer,” she murmured, closing her eyes to banish all possible distractions.

“My lady, do you have need of anything?”

The prioress spun around and faced Gytha.

Her maid did not need to express her concern. Her eyes conveyed it eloquently enough.

“Stay, if you will. I have need of your advice,” Eleanor said, smiling as an idea struck her. “Indeed, I may even ask for gossip.”

“Of that I have some knowledge, my lady.” Gytha grinned with both humor and evident relief.

“It is about a priory matter. What does the village say about Sister Juliana?”

“Most believe she is a holy woman who speaks as if blessed with the tongue of Heaven’s Queen. A few are troubled that she sits by her window only at night. These voices are the same who question whether it is seemly for any woman to go to her after the sun sets. Yet others counter with the argument that our anchoress’ virtue might be more truly doubted if most of the visitors were men.”

The prioress reached down and petted the cat now rubbing against her robe. “Men do not seek her out?”

“I know of only two from Tyndal village, although a few strangers may have visited. Each of our local men came away uneasy, wondering why she did not seem to welcome them. My brother spoke with her and left as terrified as if God Himself had spoken. When he told me about it afterward, he said her words may have been wise but he could not convey the tone with which she spoke them. The very thought of returning filled him with dread. He mentioned only one other man from here who had sought her out. It was he who told my brother that he understood at last what it must have been like to talk to God in the burning bush.”

“Tostig is not a man who frightens easily,” the prioress remarked. “Who among the women have told any tales?”

“Signy. When she visited, she found both welcome and comfort in our anchoress’ words, unlike my brother and his friend.”

Eleanor clutched her hands tightly, hoping to hide her delight in the way this discussion was going. “She felt no terror?”

“Sister Juliana did beg her to kneel farther from the window, but Signy was not disquieted, believing that our anchoress would rightly fear corruption from a mortal woman if she came too close to her.”

“Did the innkeeper’s niece say why she had sought counsel?”

“I did not ask, my lady, nor did she offer to tell me.”

“Has anyone mentioned if Ivetta visited Sister Juliana?”

“Aye! Signy herself told me that she had seen the woman once or twice and wondered why a harlot, who did nothing to change her ways, would seek out an anchoress. As you must know, the innkeeper’s niece and Ivetta were not friends. There was no reason for either to confide her reasons for visiting or even acknowledge that one might have seen the other. If it would help you find who committed this crime, I could ask about. Someone might know why Ivetta wanted to speak with our anchoress.”

Either I have failed in subtlety or else Gytha is too clever by half, Eleanor thought with affection as she noted her maid’s eagerness to be involved in hunting down a killer. “I will not involve you in murder, and the asking of questions might bring you harm.”

The cat gave up trying to gain his mistress’ full attention, went to sniff at Gytha’s shoes, then left the chambers in pursuit of those things deemed important by his ilk.

“I am troubled by accusations against our anchoress, Gytha. As you are also aware, I am also concerned with two deaths, one of which we know to be murder and the other I believe must be.”

“We have a market day, my lady. No one would question my presence there as your servant, and I could carefully listen for any tales that might be abroad about the deaths. That would be safe enough if I do not show undue interest.”

“I will think about consenting to that but only if you promise to take care.”

Gytha eagerly agreed.

“In the meantime, I may be glad that Sister Juliana has been of service to the village, a mercy that most seem to agree upon, but Sister Ruth complains she cannot find any proper woman who is willing to wait upon her. I hear that our anchoress can be most frightening when she is possessed of this spirit that may be most holy.”

“If I may be honest, my lady…”

“…as I have always permitted.”

“Sister Ruth chooses servants much like herself. If our anchoress wishes to pray quietly all day and serve as a conduit of God’s wisdom by night, she does not need a woman in attendance who loves the sound of her own voice. Nor should she be cursed with a woman more desirous of a heightened reputation because she waits on a holy woman than any longing for true service.”

Eleanor laughed. “Methinks you have touched upon the truth of it. Nonetheless, I have no solution to the problem. Our sister cannot wait on herself and still spend every hour serving God. In addition, she has expressed horror at the very idea of any servant.”

“If I might suggest someone, my lady?”

The prioress looked delighted. “You know of a woman?”

“A cousin, my lady. She is younger than those Sister Ruth has recommended.”

“Not a young girl, surely? Will she not be terrified when our anchoress falls into her fits? And what of marriage? She could not continue serving an anchoress when a husband would need her by his side.”

“My cousin has no expectation of marriage and is possessed of a quiet, calm temperament. She will be content to sit until called upon and will not tremble when God’s spirit enters Sister Juliana.”

Eleanor frowned. “Why has Sister Ruth not suggested her to me?”

Before Gytha had any chance to reply, the door to the public chambers flew open and crashed against the stone wall. The aforementioned sub-prioress stormed into the room like Satan’s imp cloaked with the form of a wild-eyed horse with a stitch in its side.

“My lady, you must come immediately!” Sister Ruth’s face was gray.

“What has happened?” Eleanor exclaimed. The genuine fear in the woman’s urgent tone chased all annoyance from her heart.

“Sister Juliana has murdered a lay sister!”