Ashes of the Elements (6 page)

The Hursts were God-fearing people. When, one summer’s night, a mysterious female infant was left at their door, they accepted that this was a duty put on them by the Almighty. Not only did they take the child in, they cared for her as if she were one of their own. They named her Peg.

If there had ever been any idea in Matt and Alison’s minds of keeping Peg’s strange provenance from her, then they had to abandon it, because Peg herself seemed to know. Knew, at least, that she was not their child, although, in truth, that would not have taken any particular psychic powers. The Hursts, both the women and the men, were short and dumpy, with reddish or lightbrown hair, pinkish, freckled skin, and pale eyes fringed with almost colourless lashes. Peg was slim and willowy, with a smooth, cream complexion, dark hair, and eyes like the midsummer sky at dusk.

Peg was, in short, quite exceptionally beautiful.

But, despite her awareness of all that separated her from her adoptive family, she was an obedient and hard-working child, doing what was asked of her without complaint, ever grateful to the kind-hearted people who had taken her in. Throughout her early childhood she fed chickens, mucked out their smelly runs, collected their eggs and went to market to sell what the family would not use. She also learned to cook and clean. But it was only when Alison Hurst began to teach her garden lore that Peg seemed to come alive; from that time on, from the exciting spring when the Hursts discovered that Peg had a green thumb, she was excused all other duties and put solely to cultivation.

But even that was not enough.

When Peg was fourteen, she presented herself at Hawkenlye Abbey and asked to be admitted as a postulant.

Helewise, who made it her policy to try not to turn anyone away, had grave misgivings about Peg. For one thing, the girl was very young. For another, she had seen nothing of life outside the small confines of Hawkenlye: how could the child be sure that convent life was for her?

The Abbess’s most important doubt, however, was that she could detect little of a religious vocation in Peg.

She did her best to discover it – sometimes, she had found, a woman kept her love for God very close to her heart, so that it was not readily apparent to an outsider – and she spent many an afternoon walking and talking with Peg. She also visited Alison Hurst, who, when asked a direct question, replied, after considerable thought, ‘The lassie’s what you might call
spiritual,
and no mistake, Abbess. That I’ll swear to right willingly. But as to whether she worships the same Holy Spirit as you and me…’

She had left the sentence unfinished.

Helewise, after much thought, had decided that it would do no harm to accept Peg for a trial period, but with the condition that her postulancy should continue for a year instead of the usual six months. She gave as her reason Peg’s youth.

But Helewise had accepted postulants of fourteen before, many of whom had grown up to be good nuns. The true reason for her decision regarding Peg was that a full year would give Helewise more time to assess this strange spirituality of the girl’s. To decide either that it was truly Christian in inspiration – or Christianity in some other similar guise – or whether it was something else.

That something else Helewise did not define, even to herself.

Thus, right from the start, there was a difference about Peg.

*   *   *

Within a few weeks of being in the convent, Peg’s talents in the garden were being put to work. She was apprenticed to the elderly Sister Tiphaine, who grew the herbs which Sister Euphemia used in her tonics, medicines and ointments. Sister Tiphaine took a shine to the girl, and reported favourably on her to the Abbess; but Helewise took Sister Tiphaine’s enthusiasm with a pinch of salt, since the old woman herself had always verged on unorthodoxy.

Then, one morning in late autumn, when there was little to occupy her outdoors, Peg knocked on the Abbess’s door and asked to be taught to read.

Amazed – for few of the sisters either read or had the least desire to – Helewise demurred. Thought about it for a couple of days, saw no earthly reason to refuse. Finally agreed, and took on the task herself.

Peg was an apt pupil, and was reading simple words within a few months; she would have reached that milestone earlier, had her Abbess had more time to spare for lessons. By the following spring, Peg was begging to be allowed to read the precious manuscripts kept in the Abbey’s scriptorium; despite the vehement objections of the young, aesthetic and highly intellectual Sister Bernadine, who had the care of the valuable books, Helewise gave permission.

From then on, Peg could be found most mornings, seated on a bench in a corner of the Chapter House, poring over one of Sister Bernadine’s manuscripts, with Sister Bernadine tutting and sighing close by. Peg would, Helewise thought, have read all day, had she been allowed to; but, both for Sister Bernadine’s peace of mind and because no nun, especially a postulant, could be permitted such a luxury, Helewise limited Peg’s study time to the short period between Sext and the midday meal.

One morning, curiosity overcoming her, Helewise stopped by Peg’s bench and looked down over the girl’s shoulder to see what she was reading. It was an ancient and, to Helewise, almost incomprehensible manuscript on tree lore.

*   *   *

When Peg’s year as a postulant was up, she renewed her request to take her vows and be admitted to the community. Helewise, still dubious, could find no valid reason to refuse; in the midsummer, when Peg was fifteen, the girl took the veil and became the youngest novice that Hawkenlye Abbey had ever had.

When Helewise was preparing her for her first vows, Peg had said, ‘Abbess, may I be known by another name?’

Initially surprised, Helewise quickly understood. Or thought she did. ‘Yes, Peg. Sister Peg, I do see, is not the most harmonious of epithets, is it?’

Peg smiled. ‘No. But it’s not that. My foster parents chose according to their own lights, and I have never complained. It’s—’ She stopped. Then asked, ‘Need I give a reason, Abbess?’

Helewise, who reflected that she was usually prepared to accept unquestioningly what every other new nun chose to call herself, saw no justice in making an exception now. ‘No, Peg. I suppose not. What name do you wish us to call you?’

Peg said, ‘Caliste.’

*   *   *

Sister Caliste had spent the past year as a willing and obedient novice. In much the same way, Helewise thought, as she had probably spent her early years as a dutiful chicken-tending peasant child. What troubled the Abbess was that, just as the life of a peasant could have utilised only a fraction of Caliste’s potential – only a fraction, apparently, of her soul – the same could be said of her life as a novice nun.

There is no complaint I can make against her! Helewise repeatedly told herself. She is always punctual, always diligent, always does her best to please. Never complains – which was more than could be said for many of the sisters – even when the most arduous tasks are laid on those straight young shoulders.

Why, then, did the Abbess feel so uneasy about Caliste?

*   *   *

Helewise rose from her knees, suppressing a groan of pain; she had been praying for an hour, foregoing the midday meal in the hope that offering her hunger to God might please Him, as a fair return for beseeching His help.

Quietly closing the great west door behind her, Helewise left the church.

Oh, but I do not feel any easier! she thought miserably as she crossed the cloister and made for the privacy of her room. I
still
cannot decide what to do, although that indecision itself makes me feel that the girl’s final vows must be postponed, at least until this present and deeply unsettling business has been—

‘Abbess?’ called a voice.

Helewise turned. Sister Ursel was hurrying towards her, a broad smile on her face.

Helewise, crushing the thought that a long conversation with the porteress was the last thing she wanted just then, arranged her own features into a corresponding smile and said, ‘Sister Ursel. What can I do for you?’

‘Abbess, you’ve got a visitor!’ Sister Ursel said. ‘Sister Martha’s just seeing to his horse, and he’s having a bit of a natter with her, but then he says he’d like to come to see you, if that’s all right? Only I said I thought it would be.’

Helewise waited patiently for her to finish. Then said, ‘And who, Sister Ursel, is “he”?’

‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ Sister Ursel chuckled. ‘No, I didn’t, did I? It’s just that I was so pleased to see him again, looking exactly the same, for all it must be two years since he came to see us, and…’

‘Sister Ursel?’ Helewise interrupted gently.

‘That Josse, Abbess!’ Sister Ursel exclaimed. ‘That Sir Josse d’Acquin, I should say. Come over from his grand new house, he has, to pay his respects!’

*   *   *

As she sat in her room waiting for Josse to finish his gossiping with Sister Martha and come to join her, Helewise reflected on what a wonderful piece of chance it was, for Josse to turn up just now. Why, it might be heaven sent, it was so perfect! An outsider, but a friend nevertheless, whom she knew to be sensible and trustworthy, arriving at the very moment that she had need of a wise and sympathetic ear!

As she heard Josse’s heavy tread outside, she saw, in a flash of insight, that heaven sent was precisely what he was; her hour-long, desperate prayers had been heard after all.

*   *   *

The Abbess Helewise looked well, Josse thought, sitting down on the same insubstantial stool he remembered from two years ago; had nobody suggested to her, in all that time, that the larger of her male visitors might be easier in a chair? She had the same calm expression, same clear grey eyes, same wide mouth.

But, knowing her as he did, for all that – for all that she might appear well – there was something on her mind. There had to be! Because, as he rambled on and on about his new house, about this plan and that, about Will and Ella and their respective skills in looking after him, he suspected quite soon that she wasn’t really listening.

‘Oh, really?’ she said, and, ‘Lovely!’ and, ‘How very pleasant.’ When he said, feeling slightly mean, ‘There’s a terrible smell in the main hall, I think it’s probably been used by wild boar,’ and she answered, ‘Oh, how nice,’ then he knew she wasn’t listening.

He leaned forward, noticing, from a closer vantage point, the fine lines of anxiety between her brows. ‘Abbess Helewise,’ he said gently, ‘that wasn’t the right answer.’ Briefly he confessed to what he had just done, and, her pale cheeks flushing slightly, the Abbess apologised. Waving away her discomfiture, he said, ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’

Her eyes flew to his. ‘Nothing! I’m worrying about nothing, I’m quite sure. And, anyway, I shouldn’t be unburdening my concern on to you, why, you’ve only just arrived!’

‘Ah.’ He bided his time.

After several moments, she said, ‘It’s Sister Caliste. A young novice.’

‘Ah,’ he said again.

She sighed. He perceived in her the struggle between her natural reticence and her need for the relief of talking. Eventually – as he had hoped it would – the need to talk won.

‘Yes.’ Another sigh. ‘You see, my strong instinct is to put off the first of her final vows, and I can give no good reason for it.’

‘Must you explain your decision?’ he asked.

‘Officially, perhaps not.’ She smiled briefly. ‘But Caliste is a sensitive and intelligent girl, and I feel I owe her an explanation.’

There was a reflective silence in the little room. Then Josse said, ‘You and I, Abbess Helewise, have shared our worries before, to both our own and others’ benefit.’ He hesitated. Should he go on, even bearing in mind all that they had endured together in the past?

Yes, he decided. He should.

He said gently, ‘Why don’t you tell me about her?’

After a slight pause, Helewise did so.

*   *   *

Listening, Josse thought, I think she’s quite right, for what it’s worth. Another year as a novice will give both girl and the Abbey some much needed extra time.

‘… you see, Sir Josse,’ the Abbess was saying, ‘and, what with her odd behaviour since the time of the murder, well, it’s just the final straw.’

Realising he had missed something – something rather important – Josse said sharply, ‘Murder, Abbess?’

She murmured something; it sounded like, ‘
Now
who’s not listening,’ then proceeded to tell him the few slim facts about the death of Hamm Robinson all over again.

‘I bring you bad luck,’ Josse observed when she had finished. ‘The last time I was here, it was because of a murder. Now here I am again, and, heralding my return, someone else is slain.’

‘People have been killed in the intervening years,’ the Abbess said. ‘Much as it pains me to say so, we live in violent times, Sir Josse. When men are hungry, when they act recklessly and fear retribution, such things lead all too easily to the swift blow, delivered too hard.’

Sobered by her words, yet at the same time relieved that he was not actually some dread harbinger of death, Josse nodded. ‘But the murder of Hamm Robinson was unusual?’ he prompted. ‘Killed with a spear, you say?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘A spear with a flint head. Which, according to our friend the sheriff, implicates the people of the forest, but, as I told you, since they’ve left the area, he has abandoned any faint hope of bringing them to justice.’

‘It could equally be some devious soul making it
look
as if the forest dwellers are responsible,’ Josse said.

‘Exactly what I thought,’ the Abbess said.

‘Hmm.’ Josse frowned in concentration. The concept of these Wild People, as the Abbess had called them, was new to him. He knew the old legends, everyone did, but to have figures from the ancient tales apparently take on flesh and blood and kill a man, well, that took a bit of swallowing. ‘Abbess, about these forest folk who—’

‘Sir Josse, there is no point in pursuing this!’ she interrupted. ‘We must follow the sheriff’s example, and accept that the matter is closed.’

‘Hm,’ he said again. Then, remembering something, ‘Abbess, you were saying that your young novice began acting up – how did you describe it? Behaving oddly? – when this Hamm Robinson was killed? Surely, then, you can’t forget about it, since it affects one of your nuns?’