The Apostate's Tale

Chapter 26

Symond Hewet was sleeping when Frevisse came to his chamber. His cousin Jack was sitting on a stool beside the bed and stood up at sight of her, bowed his head courteously, and whispered in answer to her inquiring look, “He’s been sleeping more easily. I think he’s better.”

Symond’s breathing did seem more even and there was perhaps somewhat more color in his face. It was surely a pity to wake him, and Frevisse hesitated; but she needed two answers, one of them as soon as might be, and she reached down and touched his shoulder. Jack made a small sound but no other protest and she ignored him. Symond awoke slowly. Still too weak to be surprised, he peered up at her and asked vaguely, “What?”

Frevisse stooped to put herself closer to him, so he need make less effort in answering her, and said, “Sister Cecely claims that you meant to have Edward’s wardship. That you threatened to take Edward from her. Did you?”

“Threatened?” Symond sounded puzzled. “His wardship, yes. Not threatened. No…I told her we’d agreed on it. That we meant…all of us…not to leave him…to her.”

He made a small lift of one hand’s fingers toward Jack as if bidding him to take over, and Jack said, “After Guy died, when we all talked together-my father and mother, Symond and his wife, and me-we all found that, one time and another we had all had Guy say to us he didn’t think Cecely should have the raising of Edward if anything happened to him. He hadn’t done anything about it before he died. There was a lot he didn’t do before he died. But none of us thinks she’s fit to raise a cat, let alone Edward, and we think Guy had come to know it, too.”

“Didn’t…” Symond started, paused to take several shallow breaths, then finished, “…I tell you that?”

“You didn’t,” Frevisse said. “You simply said she threatened to tell about Jack’s bill of obligation.”

Symond made an effort toward a smile. “Thank you for that, by the way. And for the deeds.”

“I told him,” said Jack.

“It means though…Cecely will hate you…as much as she hates us.”

That brought a sudden, startling new thought to Frevisse. She set it aside for later and said to Symond, holding steadily to the present point, “So it was decided among Guy’s kin that you were to have Edward.”

Symond made a small grunting sound of agreement, and Jack said, “Yes.”

“What happened was that you told Cecely you wanted Edward’s wardship, and she then countered with the threat of Jack’s debt.”

Symond made the barest nod, agreeing to that.

“One question more,” Frevisse said. “Then I’ll leave you to sleep again. Did you say anything to Cecely about knowing she was a nun? Or anything by which she might have guessed you knew it?”

“Nothing. To her or anyone,” Symond whispered. “Not until she had gone. Guy had me swear…it was only if there was…trouble. Otherwise…secret always. I swore…that to him.”

Frevisse straightened. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to your rest now.”

Only when she was out of the room did she find how greatly angry she was all over again. At this time yesterday Symond Hewet had been a hale man, fine in both wits and body. Today he was so ill and damaged that dying could come to him almost more easily than living, and if she was right about why this had been done to him, she was going to be even angrier than she already was.

There was momentary relief in seeing neither John Rowcliffe nor Mistress Lawsell as she passed through the hall. Just as when she had been going to Symond, only a few of the abbot’s men were sitting about, taking no interest in her. Meeting Rowcliffe would probably have been no great matter, but she was certain that encountering Mistress Lawsell would be anything but pleasant. At any other time, the trouble between the mother and daughter would have been the center of everyone’s heed. Now it was an aggravating distraction that Frevisse wished Abbot Gilberd would see to, rather than spending his time in long talks with his sister and far too little time, so far as Frevisse could tell, on the problem of Cecely. Unless-again that terrible thought-they were talking over at such length what was to be done with Cecely because Abbot Gilberd wanted to leave her here and Domina Elisabeth was resisting it.

If that was it, Frevisse prayed Domina Elisabeth held her ground at whatever cost.

That being a worry about which she could do nothing, Frevisse pushed it away from her. There were an irksome number of things in the world about which she could do nothing. Let her keep her heed on those that she maybe could. Even though that meant she had to talk to Cecely again and never mind that was least among things she wanted to do. With the question that had taken her to Symond Hewet still stark before her, she went grimly to do it.

Dame Perpetua looked up from the book she was reading to say as Frevisse neared her, “Whatever you did to her last time, don’t do it again, if you please. She has been pacing and angry ever since. If she kicks that stool across the floor one more time, I may hit her with it.”

“Has she said anything?”

“Said anything? Other than damning all of us and everyone else she can name to Hell? Only that man’s name-her paramour’s-over and over, angrily some of the time, crying the rest of it.” Dame Perpetua did not seem moved to pity by that.

From the shadows beyond the doorway, Cecely said bitterly, “I can hear you talking of me!”

“Then know I’ve been hearing you, too,” Dame Perpetua snapped back at her, “and not liking you any the better for it!”

Frevisse went in. Standing against the far wall, Cecely said, “Go away. I don’t have to talk to you. I don’t want to talk to you.”

As bluntly back, Frevisse asked, “How did you know it was Symond who told the rest of the Rowcliffes you were a nun and might be here?”

“What? Because…because he’s the one Guy told.”

“How did you know that? That Guy had told him?”

With the anger that seemed so often to serve her in place of thought, Cecely flung back, “Because Guy told me! How else would I know?”

Frevisse stared at her a long moment, then swung around and left her.

Dame Perpetua asked, “What was that between you?” but Frevisse only shook her head against answering and went away along the walk. She paused at the foot of the stairs to the prioress’ rooms but could not find it in herself to turn to Domina Elisabeth or Abbot Gilberd for help in this just yet, and she went on, out of the cloister and back to the guesthall, to the kitchen this time.

With a great many people to be fed at midday, Luce and Tom were bustling while Ela sat hunched on her stool well out of the way, ready to give orders if need be. There was pause when Frevisse came in, with Luce bobbing a quick curtsy from where she was slicing some pale vegetable at the worktable, and Tom giving a kind of bow without stopping stirring a large pot of something on the fire. Ela did not try to rise with her stiff knees but gave a respectful nod of her head while Frevisse came fully to a stop, taking a deep breath of the good smell with surprised pleasure before crossing to kneel down beside Ela and say, “Whatever is cooking, its smell is a delight.”

“Pease pottage with ham, and in a while there’ll be a bit of onion in it, too,” Ela said. “Master Rowcliffe talked with me, thank you much for that. He’s already sent a man off to Banbury, so we don’t need to eye everything we put into the pot with a question as to whether there’ll be anything left for tomorrow and who knows how many days. Besides that, Father Henry brought in two conies, and Luce is going to make a cony pie for tomorrow.”

All of that made for one less trouble off Frevisse’s mind, leaving only the greater ones, and she asked first, “How does Mistress Lawsell?”

“Last heard, she was demanding that Abbot Gilberd talk to her. He’s promised he’ll do so after Vespers. That didn’t make her happy. Doubt he’s looking forward to it. What’s toward with Domina Elisabeth? Is she so taken up with the whore’s trouble, she’s no heed to give to the Lawsells and be done with them? She’s ill, is she?”

Frevisse found answer to that came more slowly than she liked. Only after a pause did she say, “She’s not had Dame Claire to see her. That’s all I know of it.”

“Hm,” said Ela.

Before Ela could ask more, Frevisse went quickly to the question that had brought her here, saying, “I need you to tell me who from the cloister has been in here since Easter.”

“Here? In the kitchen? Malde has come twice or so to help since the abbot came with all his folk.”

“I mean in the hall itself, too. Anyone anywhere around here.”

Ela gave her a narrow look but did not ask any of the questions probably crossing her mind, just answered after a moment’s thought, “You. Dame Claire. Dame Johane.” Ela paused in more thought. “That’s all.” Then she added, “Tom’s sister. Not in the hall. Here. Didn’t come in, though. Was just there at the door.” Ela nodded toward the kitchen’s door to the yard.

“Tom’s sister?” Frevisse echoed blankly.

“From the cloister. Rabbity. Might find herself cooked into a pie one of these days, she’s so rabbity.”

“Alson,” said Frevisse.

“That’s her name. Tom’s sister.”

“But she didn’t come in.”

“Nay. Some evenings, when work’s done, they go out for a time together. Then there’s been those that came with Master Breredon and the Rowcliffes and the abbot, too. They’ve, one and another, been in and out of here to fetch this and that.”

“Thank you,” Frevisse said. She could see Ela readying to ask her own questions now but gave her no time for them, simply stood up and left, taking unhappy thoughts with her.

Returning to the cloister, she went again to the church for somewhere to think. Dame Thomasine was kneeling in front of the altar, undisturbed by Frevisse’s coming, nor did her presence trouble Frevisse as she settled into her choir stall and to her thoughts.

It was nine years since Cecely had fled from St. Frideswide’s. There had been the alarm of her disappearance and the search for her, then the report to the abbot and the following descent on the nunnery of officers from Abbot Gilberd and the bishop asking questions of the nuns and everyone else, and prying into every part of the nunnery’s life for sign of other trouble either present or possibly to come. Even after all of that was over, the nuns were left with penances and an enforced heart-searching among themselves for what had or had not been done to keep Sister Cecely safe. The problems brought on by her flight had seemed as if they would go on forever, but they had finally ended, were long past and gone.

The memories of them were not.

Neglected until brought back by Cecely’s return, but not gone.

Alson.

Alson then. Alson now.

Poor, foolish Alson.

Nine years ago she had admitted, with frightened weeping, her part in Cecely’s flight, had admitted she took Cecely’s place in the kitchen so Cecely could meet a man but sworn, still weeping, that she had not known Cecely meant to run away. She had wept and denied and sworn, and been believed. She had been told she was a fool but been forgiven and, out of pity, not been dismissed when well she might have been.

Surely, with that behind her, she was not fool enough to have been drawn into some new trouble at Cecely’s asking.

Surely she was not.

But-Alson then and Alson now.

Alson a link between the guesthall kitchen and the cloister, with a brother who could come at food and drink with no one thinking twice about it.

Frevisse was thankful when the bell rang for Nones.

Domina Elisabeth came again, which was surely a good sign; but Mistress Lawsell did, too, and stood close beyond the rood screen, glaring, impossible to ignore. The sooner the problem of her and her daughter was settled, the better, Frevisse thought, then tried to turn her mind away to the Office, only to find, as she had feared, no respite in it, and at its end she finally, fully faced that time for thinking was ended.

Given what she suspected, time was come for something to be done.

After all, if she suspected correctly, she might herself be the next one poisoned.