Lilies for Love (8 page)

'I shall do all I can to help you, Johanna.' Sister Anne leaned forward. She tapped Janna's hand. 'A little higher,' she said. 'Use your thumbs, and move in circles around Sister Angelica's back.'

'My greatest wish is to learn my letters,' Janna continued, following the nun's instructions as she spoke. 'I will willingly tell you all that I've learned from my mother, and help you in every way I can, if you could also teach me how to read and write.' She held her breath. Her hands moved in a slow rotation.

Sister Anne frowned. 'I didn't realise we were going to bargain over this, Johanna. When I asked for your help I expected a free exchange of information, for the joy of doing the Lord's work, as well as helping the sick and needy.'

'Yes! Yes, of course!' Janna was horrified her words had been misunderstood. 'I beg your pardon, Sister. Of course I will tell you all I know. I . . . I was just speaking what was in my heart, telling you my dearest wish in the hope that you may help me.'

'I would if I could.' Sister Anne gave a rueful laugh. 'But I am not so very skilled in letters, child. What I know of medicine and healing was told to me by my predecessor here, just as I will now pass on that knowledge to you. Those sisters who can read and write have duties elsewhere to occupy their time. The chantress and Sister Grace are our teachers, but . . .' She shook her head. 'They teach the oblates, postulants and novices, those who have come to the abbey with a dower. And the greatest part of their instruction is in the forms of the offices and the rules and customs of our house. They also give lessons to those children whose parents wish them to learn their numbers and letters, but the abbey is paid a fee for that instruction.' Sister Anne's meaning was plain, and Janna's high hopes evaporated like dew in the summer sun. 'Besides, I have need of you here,' Sister Anne continued. 'St Edith's fair is less than two weeks away, and there is much to prepare before then.'

It was a bitter blow to Janna's hopes. She knew of nowhere else, other than the abbey, where she might learn to read and write, yet it seemed those skills would be denied her. But there was one more thing that she might learn. 'Did you ever meet my mother, Sister Anne?' she asked eagerly, only to have her hopes dashed again.

'No, I did not. I heard how she had come to the abbey asking for help. That was shortly after our beloved abbess died and Sister Hawise was elevated to take her place.'

Janna noticed how tart the infirmarian's voice became at the mention of the abbess. She continued to massage industriously. Beneath her supple fingers, muscles eased and softened, and the old nun gave a murmuring sigh of relief.

'Do you know of anyone in the abbey who might have spoken to my mother or know anything of her circumstances?' Janna persisted, still not willing to accept defeat.

'No, I do not.' Sister Anne looked in puzzlement at Janna. 'Why do you ask? Is it important?'

'It's very important! You see, I know nothing about my mother, where she came from or what she did before she came here. She told me nothing about her past, but I . . . I have reason to believe she may once have been a nun, perhaps even an infirmarian like you.'

'Why did you not question her?'

'I did! She would not answer me, at least not until just before she died. She was going to tell me, she said, who my father was, for I don't even know that!' Janna's face flushed hot with shame at the admission. She pressed down too hard, and the old nun groaned in protest.

'Be more gentle!' Sister Anne remonstrated. 'Old skin is thin and old bones brittle, remember that.'

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, Sister Angelica.'

'It's all right, child. Your touch gives me relief and I am grateful for it.' The sharp, clear tone reminded Janna that there was another witness to her shameful admission. She blushed anew.

Sister Anne stayed silent for a few moments. 'I can think of no-one who knew your mother, or who spoke to her when she came here, but that need not stop you asking questions when talking is permitted, Johanna.'

'Thank you, Sister. I'll do that.' The conversation was over, all opportunities closed. Janna knew a bleak despair as she continued to carefully massage the old nun's back.

T
HE DAYS RUSHED
by, crammed with various activities. If Janna wasn't ministering to the sick under the watchful eye of Sister Anne, she was out gathering herbs and preparing healing salves and decoctions for sale at the fair. In spite of her disappointment over her failure to learn to read, she was happy to be busy and greatly looking forward to the fair, for she was hoping she might get leave to attend with Sister Anne. People were travelling to Wiltune from all around the country, and the guest houses of the abbey, both for pilgrims and poor travellers as well as for the well-to-do, were already full, as were the stables. Every day there was a hustle and bustle in the courtyard as traders came in to pay their respects to the abbess, and their tolls and fees to her steward.

Whenever she was outside in the cloister or in the garden, Janna could hear the faint sound of hammering from the marketmede as booths and stalls were constructed for merchants to display their wares. The travellers who had so frightened her outlaw companion, Edwin, would be there to buy and to sell. Janna hoped, with all her heart, that Edwin had managed to stay hidden from their sight for all this time. He would have help in that from his sweetheart, Bertha, and probably from Hugh too, for Hugh understood Edwin's situation and his need to stay safely out of their sight.

A sudden thought set Janna's heart racing. It was quite possible, nay, even probable, that Hugh, and maybe Godric too, would also attend the fair. Now that the cheating reeve was dead and his horde of purloined goods discovered, there would be an abundance of produce from Hugh's manor farm to sell. The thought made Janna even more determined to seek leave to attend the fair.

She remembered the attempt on her life and felt suddenly cold. She might feel trapped inside the abbey, but its walls kept her safe. Her spirits revived somewhat as she began to rationalise the attack. After what had happened, Dame Alice must surely be keeping a watchful eye over Robert and his servants, while Robert would know by now that she was keeping silent about his role in her mother's death, and therefore was no threat to him. Not yet, at least, Janna amended grimly, knowing that bringing Robert to account for the death of her mother was the main part of her search for her unknown father.

A further thought lifted her spirits. The attack had happened weeks ago. Dame Alice and her husband were probably safely home on their own manor by now. Their steward might attend the fair, to buy and sell on their behalf, but it was most unlikely that they themselves would come.

The day in memory of St Edith's death dawned sunny, as hot and bright as a summer's day. Inside the abbey, all had been made clean and sparkling in honour of their dead patron saint. The church was resplendent, being decorated with flowers and produce as thanksgiving for a harvest safely in and as a benediction to St Edith. Half-asleep as she was, Janna's nostrils were overwhelmed with the scent of the flowers, fruit, nuts, herbs and spices heaped at the altar and around St Edith's shrine in its own small chapel. She took her place at the back of the choir stalls, and peered down the nave, searching for Agnes. She'd hardly had a chance to talk to her friend in the intervening weeks; making up creams and potions for the fair had kept her too busy. The only time they could snatch a few words was when Agnes came for a new supply of ointment, for Janna had taken over its preparation, adding lavender and sunturners to Sister Anne's usual mix in the hope that they might ease the tight scars.

Janna hadn't forgotten her promise to Agnes, but her entreaties to Sister Anne had not met with any success. She determined that, if she was given leave to go to the fair, she would try to ensure that Agnes came too. Meanwhile, she half-listened as the Mass continued. Agnes had taught her all she knew, so Janna could follow some of the chants, but she still did not join in, although she loved to listen to the sound of the nuns' voices and the music they made. She was coming to know them now, and it amused her to watch them sing for she thought their characters could be read in their faces and the language of their bodies.

The sister who leaned forward, almost bouncing on her toes as she threw her heart and soul into glorious song, was just as enthusiastic and whole-hearted over everything else she did about the abbey. The nun who sang with hands folded and mouth pursed small, as if begrudging her time and the use to which it was being put, made sure that her disapproval touched everything to which she set her hand. A large nun sitting in the front row of the choir always opened her mouth just a little too early and finished with an extra trill that kept her singing on after the others were silent. As she had the loudest voice, the disharmony was often painful, just as her insistence on always coming first and being the best caused some heartache and muttering among her sisters in their daily lives. There were nuns who sang with serenity and joy, secure in the knowledge that God listened and was pleased. Others sang with unclear words and uncertain notes, reflecting perhaps their own lack of vocation and certainty. Janna, to her intense chagrin, had found she was unable to sing at all.

She had also come to know those nuns who broke the rules of the abbey in the keeping of pets. Sister Ursel was the only one who kept a mouse, and Janna had yet to make the acquaintance of Chester, for the nun kept him well hidden. But several nuns sheltered small dogs, docile for the most part, with the exception of the bad-tempered brute that had barked at Sister Ursel's mouse and was universally disliked, except by its owner. Rabbits were more popular, being simple to feed, silent and easily concealed, but there were a couple of cats, and one nun kept a squirrel and another a rook with a broken wing. Sister Anne had tended it after being sworn to secrecy, and had made its owner promise to release it into the wild as soon as it was able to fly and fend for itself.

Janna was sure the abbess knew of the pets but she turned a blind eye if she could, as did the prioress and Sister Grace, under whose special care the young oblates and novices came. They were the worst offenders. Janna watched the love and attention they lavished on their animals, and felt sorry that they seemed to know so little of human love and warmth.

She looked down the nave, where stood the lay sisters and guests of the abbey. It was as well, she thought, that Sister Martha was not part of the nuns' lives within the confines of the abbey. Janna was sure that hard, self-righteous heart would have no room for furry pets given that there was so little room in it for her companion sisters. She would find much to whine about, should she ever take her final vows and be admitted to the community. Janna doubted even St Edith, with all the miracles she'd performed over the years, would ever be able to turn that annoying little gnat into a compassionate and glorious butterfly.

She took a breath of the sweet, scented air, while her thoughts turned to the saint whose life was being celebrated here this day.

Sister Anne had told Janna the story of St Edith, child of a handfast union between Edgar, King of England, and a woman called Wulfrid. 'She may have been a nun, for it is said the lady wore a veil,' Sister Anne had said, sparking Janna's interest as she recalled the fate of her own mother. 'For certes, she would not consent to live with Edgar. Instead, she retired here to Wiltune with her baby daughter, Edith, who grew up devout and learned. Edith received the veil from the Bishop of Winchestre when still only a child, and she built the church of St Denis here at Wiltune, which was consecrated by St Dunstan. She died shortly afterwards, aged only twenty-three. But miracles were already happening in her name, and they continue still.'

Miracles. Janna resolved to say a prayer to St Edith to help her find her father. Sister Anne was still talking. 'This is not the original church. That was built of wood, like the rest of the abbey, but both town and abbey were destroyed by the Danes. Our church was rebuilt in stone by another Edith. She was the wife of the Saxon king, Edward the Confessor. Pilgrims still come to pray to St Edith in the hope of a miracle, but we do have other saints' relics here too.'

'Here? Where?' Janna had looked around the infirmary, while Sister Anne smiled at her innocence.

'Our precious relics are all kept safely in their own small chapels in the church,' she said, and had gone on to tell Janna of a group of weary pilgrims from Brittany who had once visited the abbey, bearing the bones of a saint called Ywi. 'They laid the bones on the altar before retiring to bed,' she said. 'In the morning, when they came to continue their journey, the casket bearing the bones was so heavy they could not lift it; it seemed stuck fast to the altar. Try as they might to shift the saint, he could not be budged.' Janna was about to laugh, until she realised that the nun was in deadly earnest and that the story was not yet over.

'Our abbess expressed her regret, and did all she could to assist the pilgrims to lift the casket bearing the saint's bones, but he would not move. At last, accepting that the saint had decided to make his home here at Wiltune, the abbess had to give a large offering to compensate the pilgrims for their loss, and the saint stayed with us.'

'Was that Abbess Hawise?' Janna asked, with an innocent expression.

Sister Anne gave a sly smile. 'No, fortunately it was not, or the pilgrims might have been forced to take both casket
and
altar with them on their journey. Our abbess does not give money lightly, not even for the relics of saints.'

Janna looked now towards the small chapel where the bones of their saint reposed in her reliquary. The altar was usually illuminated by cresset candles, hollowed stone bowls each filled with mutton fat and a floating wick. Under the care of the sacristan, they burned day and night and were never allowed to splutter out and leave the saint in darkness. There were extra candles today, and the shrine looked magnificent. The golden casket was decorated with flowers; the colours glowed in the soft candlelight. Propped against the walls were a multitude of discarded crutches, testimony to the healing powers of the saint. The chapel was opened daily to the pilgrims who came to kneel in devout prayer, asking for the saint's intercession in their lives, and it would be crammed later with a press of eager bodies. But for now the space in front of the saint's altar was empty for everyone was in church, giving thanks for the day and for the saint's life and, no doubt, also eagerly anticipating the delights of the fair.

The priest concluded the Mass and the nuns began to file out in a line. Janna, as befitting her humble status, came last after the novices and oblates. In the few minutes it took to walk into chapter, she put her request to Sister Anne. 'May I come with you to the fair?' she asked. When Sister Anne did not immediately reply, she pressed further. 'I know, as well as you, what is in our lotions and ointments so I can help you tell people what is in them and give advice as to their use. Besides, my mother and I used to make up goods for sale so I have experience in the marketplace. I will get the best price for everything, I promise you!'

Sister Anne's expression turned from doubtful to extremely wary. 'We do not haggle,' she said severely. 'Remember, we are about God's work here.'

Janna knew that she had won. She could not hide her delighted smile. 'Wouldn't Mother Abbess be delighted to know that God's work doesn't come cheap?'

'Be careful you don't let your tongue run away lest I change my mind,' Sister Anne warned, but her tone was more indulgent than her words.

'Could our good Sister Agnes come too?' Janna pleaded, knowing she was testing the infirmarian, who might think she hadn't heeded her warning. But this was something that must be settled before chapter. 'Sister Agnes knows something of our work and, besides, she'll provide an extra pair of hands when we're rushed off our feet with eager customers.'

Sister Anne gave a chuckle deep in her throat. 'Your enthusiasm does you credit, Johanna. Just take care that it does not carry you away altogether.'

Janna was so delighted she could have hugged the nun. She took a few dancing steps instead, then hurriedly straightened her face along with her habit as they walked side by side into chapter.

Both Agnes and Janna were hard put to hide their excitement as they walked sedately beside Sister Anne past the porteress's lodge, out through the abbey gates and on to the marketmede, where trading had already begun. Janna looked about her, happy beyond measure to be outside the confines of the abbey. 'I expect we'll see Master Will busy about the abbey's business here at the fair,' she commented. She chided herself for poking her nose into something that was none of her business, but she was curious to know how things stood between her friend and the bailiff.

'Do you think he'll be here?' Agnes's ready smile flashed out. Her eyes sparkled with joy.

'I do believe you care for him!' Janna instantly regretted prying into her friend's private life when the look of surprise on Agnes's face turned to a hostile wariness.

'No, you're wrong. I don't care for him at all! My life is here at the abbey. I already told you that.' Agnes quickened her pace to catch up with Sister Anne. Janna hurried after them, silently berating herself for her insensitive meddling. She could find no excuse for it at all.

Crowds swirled around them as they reached the heart of the fair. Excited, Janna glanced about, anxious for a possible sighting of Hugh or Godric. She became aware that Agnes had dropped back to walk beside her, and felt a pang of pity as Agnes whispered, 'Did you see how that merchant and his family turned their eyes from me when they saw my disfigurement?' She realised that Agnes had pulled down the front of her veil and was busy rearranging the folds of her wimple to cover most of her face.

'Who? Where?' Janna had noticed no such thing.

'There.' Agnes pointed at a small group of people clustered around a young man who was busy juggling balls, keeping five of them in the air at once.

'Perhaps they turned their eyes to watch the juggler?' Janna suggested.

'I saw the look of horror on their faces before they turned away,' Agnes insisted. Her steps had slowed. On her face was an expression of sorrowful bewilderment. 'I can't see how I look, and so I forget,' she said. 'Inside I feel whole, and joyful.'