Fortune Like the Moon

Chapter Nine

Helewise, sitting behind her oak table, had only been waiting for a few moments when Josse arrived. She inclined her head in response to his greeting, then, even before she could invite him to sit down, he announced that he’d seen Gunnora’s father and had been given permission for Gunnora to be buried at Hawkenlye.

‘Thank God,’ Helewise murmured fervently. Her mind already turning to the details of the service and where Gunnora might be laid to rest, she was distracted by an awareness that Josse had more to tell her.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, giving him a swift smile. ‘What other news do you bring?’

He told her.

‘Her sister dead, too, and by such ill chance!’ she exclaimed. She couldn’t recall if she had been aware that Gunnora had had a sister. The business of her admission to the convent had been conducted by her father and her aunt. The father, she remembered, had, although weak with exhaustion after the long ride, still managed to summon the energy to give both his sister and his daughter severe and almost brutal reprimands during the course of the brief visit. She said, ‘How is Sir Alard?’

‘Dying,’ Josse said starkly. ‘He is wasting away with the lung rot. He cannot, I fear, have long.’

‘And, with both daughters dead, there is no one to whom he may leave his wealth.’ She should not, she admonished herself, have gone straight to the practical matters; she should have said a few words about the poor sick man, whose sufferings were now so greatly increased by bereavement. Should have made a moment for a brief, compassionate prayer.

But Josse didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I was going to ask you,’ he was saying, ‘was there any question of Sir Alard bequeathing money to the Abbey? There was a dowry, I presume, but I wondered if possibly he intended to ensure favour in Heaven by a gift?’

‘He provided Gunnora’s dowry, yes, although one had the sense he did so grudgingly.’ She recalled the scene, enacted right here in her room. Sir Alard had looked seriously ill a year ago, so much so that Helewise had thought him unwise to have undertaken the journey. Not that he was the sort of man to whom you could say such a thing, even had she been given the chance; Sir Alard had made his laborious way into the room, supported by Gunnora’s aunt and by a heavy stick, flung a small bag of coin on the table, wished Helewise and her nuns well of Gunnora, and stumped out again. ‘But there has never been any mention of a bequest.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I would consider it highly unlikely. Especially since his daughter’s death has removed her from our community.’

‘Not the man for a magnanimous gesture?’ Josse suggested.

She hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of a dying man. But Josse was after the truth. And, besides, she did not think he would think the less of her for her plain speaking. ‘That was my impression.’

‘Hm.’ Josse was frowning. Aware that, sooner or later, he would tell her what he was thinking, she waited. Presently he said, ‘It looks as if the estate and the money will go to a niece. She’s got a new husband, a fashionable young fellow who seems all too eager to get his hands on his uncle-by-marriage’s fortune.’

‘You met them?’

‘No. The niece, I was told, is staying with her husband’s family somewhere near Hastings. I saw him, though. The husband.’ He laughed briefly. ‘Can’t say I was impressed.’

‘A little uncaring, wouldn’t you consider,’ Helewise said thoughtfully, ‘for a niece who stands to inherit her uncle’s estates not to be present when he is dying?’

‘I do indeed,’ Josse replied, with some heat. ‘The least she could do, I’d have thought, is to show some respect, even if she couldn’t manage genuine tears of regret.’

Helewise was about to go on to ask Josse what overall impression he had formed of Gunnora’s family and circumstances, when she recalled the present, more pressing, matter. ‘I don’t wish to interrupt, but I have summoned Elvera here to meet you.’

Momentarily he looked blank, then said, ‘Aye! The young postulant, friend of Gunnora’s.’

‘You expressed a wish to speak to her.’

‘Aye, I did.’ He flashed her a grin. ‘Thank you, Abbess.’

‘I must tell you, before she arrives, that she has been behaving oddly.’

‘Oddly?’

‘Distracted, pale, eyes heavy as if she does not sleep well.’

‘Aye, I remarked myself on her reddened eyes.’ Did you, indeed, Helewise thought. I must never, for an instant, forget how observant you are, Josse d’Acquin. ‘Grief for her friend, do you think?’ he was asking.

‘Perhaps. I have told myself that is most likely.’

‘But you have not convinced yourself.’ Again, the smile. ‘Why not, Abbess?’

‘Because her distress only started when you arrived, Sir Josse.’

He met her eyes, and she saw that he was thinking along the same lines. ‘So, not the murder that grieves her, but its investigation,’ he said softly.

‘Indeed.’

Before either of them could comment, there came the sound of approaching footsteps, quickly followed by a tap on the door.

‘Come in,’ Helewise said.

Sister Anne put her head round the door. ‘Here’s Elvera,’ she said, standing aside and ushering in her charge. ‘Go on, girl, she won’t eat you!’

Josse, Helewise noticed, had pushed his chair back so that he was hidden by the opened door. It would appear, to Sister Anne and, more crucially, to Elvera, that Helewise was alone.

Elvera took a step into the room, and Sister Anne followed.

‘Thank you, Sister Anne,’ Helewise said.

‘Oh! But…’

While she was thinking up an excuse for staying, Helewise added, ‘I’m sure you have duties requiring your attention.’

Sister Anne gave Elvera a last glance, then turned and left, closing the door behind her with exaggerated care.

Elvera stood facing Helewise, who studied the white face and the tense body for a few moments. Yes, there was definitely something amiss with the girl. Could it be that she was ill? In pain? Then wouldn’t she have said so?

There was only one way to find out.

Still holding Elvera’s eyes, Helewise said, ‘Here is someone who wishes to meet you, Elvera. I present Josse d’Acquin, who comes from our new king’s presence with his grace’s express orders to investigate the murder of Gunnora.’

Elvera’s first reaction was to shut her eyes tight and shake her head, as if, perhaps, she hoped that by denying Josse’s presence she could make it not so. As Helewise watched, slowly her eyes opened again and she turned to face him.

She does not lack courage, Helewise thought. Then she said, ‘Elvera, as Gunnora’s friend, you may be able to help Sir Josse by telling him anything that occurs to you about how she was during the last days of her life. If, for example, she seemed worried about anything. If she confided in you any secret anxieties.’

‘Any secret hopes,’ Josse put in. He was, Helewise observed, looking kindly at the girl. ‘Don’t be alarmed, Elvera. I realise you must be very upset to lose a good friend in this way, but-’

‘She wasn’t my friend!’ Elvera burst out. She was clutching at the cloth of her black robe, where it hung loosely over the rounded breasts. The drab black headdress, which would have made almost any other girl or woman look plain, was not enough to remove the lively appeal of Elvera’s face, even in her present state. ‘I hardly knew her! I’d only been here a week when she died! We weren’t close at all!’

‘No, all right, Elvera.’ It wasn’t all right, but Helewise didn’t think they’d get anything useful out of the girl if she were not swiftly brought back from the brink of panic. ‘Just as a fellow member of the community, then, can you help in any way?’

‘Why are you asking me?’ the girl flashed back. ‘They’re already gossiping about me, all those old nuns, saying isn’t it strange, Gunnora and me being so close, anyone’d think we already knew each other before! Goodness, their eyes were out on stalks when Sister Anne came galumphing over her cabbage patch to fetch me just now!’ She paused for breath, then added, her voice unsteady and beads of sweat on her white face, ‘None of them gets sent for to be asked horrible questions by the king’s investigator!’

Then Helewise knew exactly what was ailing Elvera. She was terrified.

But, terrified or not, a postulant did not speak to her Abbess in that way.

‘Elvera, you forget yourself,’ Helewise said coldly. ‘It is not for you to question my actions. You have undertaken to be obedient.’

‘I-’ Some inner battle was going on inside Elvera. It was apparent that she longed to hurl back some pert denial, but something stopped her. Lowering her eyes, she straightened her expression and said demurely, ‘Yes, Abbess.’

Her whole demeanour was so clearly false that it was almost amusing.

Getting up from his seat, Josse moved round to stand beside Helewise, facing Elvera across the table. ‘Friend or not,’ he said mildly, ‘it was noticed by several people that you and Gunnora got on quite well. That you laughed together. That sometimes she sought you out, and-’

‘She didn’t!’

‘Elvera, we know she did,’ Helewise put in gently. ‘You sought each other out. That is a fact. It’s quite senseless to go on denying things which more than one other person noticed and remarked on.’

‘Well, it wasn’t my fault if she came to look for me,’ Elvera said triumphantly. ‘Was it?’

‘No,’ Josse acknowledged. ‘I suppose not.’

‘She hadn’t made any friends all the time she’d been here,’ Elvera went on, with the air of one who has seen a way out and is making all speed to set off down it. ‘Lonely, she was. She latched on to me because … because…’ A sudden fierce frown disturbed the young face, then, as quickly, cleared. ‘Because I was new!’ she finished.

‘You were new,’ Helewise echoed.

‘Yes! New and not set against her like everyone else!’

‘You must not malign your sisters in this way,’ Helewise said. ‘Nobody was set against Gunnora. Her self-absorption was her own choice.’ Dear God but I’m judging her, she thought. And, what’s worse, expressing my judgement in front of this disturbed child.

As if understanding why she had suddenly stopped speaking, Josse said, ‘Elvera, look on it this way. Gunnora believed you to be her friend, enjoyed your company, your light-heartedness. Perhaps it would comfort you to think that you might have made her last days happy, and-’

‘No!’

The single word seemed to emerge from Elvera as if its expression gave her agony. As Helewise and Josse watched, she shut her eyes again. This time, two tears appeared from under the lids and slid down the pale cheeks.

Josse seemed to be at a loss as to how to continue. Helewise didn’t feel any more confident, but, in her own room and in her own abbey, it was up to her to do something.

‘Elvera, I understand your pain but you must tell us anything that might help,’ she said gently. ‘Take a moment to think back over that last day. You and Gunnora were heard laughing together outside the infirmary, and Sister Euphemia-’

‘She came thundering out of her hospital and gave us a right telling-off,’ Elvera said sulkily. ‘Especially Gunnora, since she was senior to me. But she had a go at me, too. Sister Euphemia, I mean. She told me I was a child, that I had to grow up.’

‘Never mind that now,’ Helewise put in. ‘Did you see any more of Gunnora that day?’

‘Of course. In the refectory, during the Holy Offices, here and there around the Abbey.’

‘I meant did you see her alone?’ Surely the girl realised that!

‘No.’ Elvera raised her head and looked Helewise straight in the eye. Her face looked strangely smug. ‘You told her we mustn’t. Didn’t you?’

‘Not that day!’ Helewise exclaimed. Elvera must know that, too. Oh, the interview seemed to be going round in circles! ‘We respect your feelings, Elvera, and we know what you’re going through, but-’

‘You don’t.’ Elvera spoke so softly that Helewise hardly heard. ‘You can’t.’

‘We want to help,’ Josse put in. ‘We must find her killer, Elvera, and he must be tried and punished for his crime.’

Josse, Helewise was well aware, was trying to reassure the girl. Encourage her to unite her efforts with his and find the murderer.

But, when once again Elvera raised her head, she looked neither reassured nor encouraged. She looked suddenly ten years older.

She said dully, ‘I know.’

Then, without waiting for permission, she turned and quietly let herself out of the room.

* * *

Helewise sat staring at the closed door. Beside her she sensed Josse start to move; returning to his chair, he said, ‘What did you make of that?’

‘She’s afraid.’

‘Indeed she is.’

‘She knows a great deal more than she has told us.’

‘She hasn’t told us anything!’

Helewise felt his frustration. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse. She was, as you imply, singularly unhelpful.’

‘She’s bright, that one,’ he said musingly. ‘Not as bright as she believes she is, but not the sort to be pushed into revealing her secrets just because someone in authority orders her to.’

Helewise said mildly, ‘I did my best.’

He smiled. ‘Aye. And I thank you, Abbess.’ The heavy brows came down again. ‘Why does she deny the friendship? Do you believe this convenient explanation, that all the overtures were made by Gunnora, and Elvera just went along with it?’

‘Not for a moment. For one thing, it didn’t happen like that — I saw with my own eyes that, if anything, Elvera was the instigator. For another, Gunnora wasn’t the sort of woman to woo others for their favours.’

‘Hm. Why lie, then?’

‘She was horrified when she saw you hiding behind the door,’ Helewise remarked.

‘Many people react that way.’ He grinned. ‘I was comely when I was young, they used to say.’

Absurdly — and most inappropriately — she had to quell a desire to laugh. Pulling herself together, she said, ‘Did you observe her reaction when you suggested she had provided some happiness for Gunnora in her last days? And, later, how she looked when you spoke of Gunnora’s killer?’

He nodded. ‘Aye. Go on.’

She had the feeling he already knew what she was about to say, but went ahead anyway. ‘I think, Sir Josse, that our little Elvera is carrying a burden of guilt.’

Still nodding, he said, ‘A singularly heavy one.’

* * *

Between Compline and Matins, when most of the sisters were deep in the first dreamless sleep that comes from a busy day and a clear conscience, somebody was abroad.

As Gunnora had done the night she died, somebody crept along the dormitory and descended the steps, careful to avoid the third stair. Made her way in the shadows to the rear gate, slid back the bolts, emerged on to the track.

The slim figure pushed back her short, ugly veil, and the springy hair, not yet confined by wimple and barbette, caught the soft moonlight. The girl breathed in deeply, striding over the short grass as if glad to be free, to be outside the confines of the convent wall and, for a short time, out of sight of the watching, gossiping nuns.

There was nothing tentative about the way she walked; an observer would have gained the impression she had done this before, and, indeed, would have been right. For anyone within the Abbey who wanted a private meeting with an outsider, going out secretly by night was the only way to achieve it. And she wanted such meetings. Oh, she did! Wanted them, needed them, for more than one reason.

Nearing the meeting place, well hidden in the undergrowth beside the path, she broke into a run. Let him be there! He must be, it is the day of the week that he always waits!

She left the path and made her way into the bushes. Called his name softly, waited for an answer.

Nothing.

Called again, went deeper into the shrubbery.

Then, as she stood still to listen, heard a footfall.

Turned, a smile of relief and love on her face.

And, as he approached, moved forward into his arms.