The Beautiful Thread (14 page)

“Aye,” he said. “We do have mice. We keep a cat, but she misses some.”

“Then get another one,” she responded. The abbot's jaw tightened, but he did not reply.

“You know how I want the tables set out? The top table at the far end there, the others flanking the long walls – then the harpist at the bottom, there.”

“Aye, I do. I believe you had a word with our fraterer, Brother Richard, on the matter. I'm not your man, really, Lady Bonvallet. It's not I who will be arranging the furniture for your family wedding.”

Florence's mouth compressed into a tight, twisted rune of displeasure. The abbot sounded distinctly unco-operative. She fixed him with a frosty look, and drew breath to speak, but the far door – that led most directly to the kitchen – opened, and in walked Rose, cheerful and pleasant.

“Yes?” Florence re-directed her attention to the interruption.

Rose, smiling, curtsied. “Good morrow, your Ladyship. My son told me you were here. We thought the wedding day might be such a press and bustle of people, and since we have some of the sweetmeats ready and two of the subtleties are complete, we wondered if you might like to be the first to have a quick peep.” Her eyes sparkled with fun. Though she spoke respectfully, she made the suggestion sound enticing and delightful. She put some of the magic back. Watching Florence's face change, seeing it light with eagerness and interest, John felt ashamed. A lifetime dedicated to the pursuit of prayer and humility had evidently not taught him the sweetness of manner that seemed to come naturally to Rose.

“May I have your permission, Father John,” Rose then asked him, “to take Lady Bonvallet through the cloister to the kitchen? I know it is a liberty, not something for every day. But I think it might mean a lot to her.”

Florence, who had taken a step forward, it never occurring to her to seek the abbot's permission, paused and looked at him. She read effortlessly the softening of his face, the tenderness with which he regarded Rose and heard her request. She could see that whatever Rose asked, the answer was never going to be “no” from Abbot John. Her eyebrows rose slightly in astonishment. Intrigued, she watched as the whole demeanour of his body changed; the obstinate rigidity of a moment before melted away.

“Conradus is with you?” he ascertained. “Then, yes; certainly.”

Making a mental note to get Rose on her side about the mice, Florence followed this interesting and unexpected person into the kitchen to see what they had made. Not much about this wedding so far had made her happy; but she had to admit, the sweetmeats were the daintiest creations imaginable. They let her taste one of each kind, and she had to pronounce them delectable. The dragon's head was ready, and they showed her how the body would be formed of artfully stacked shortbreads – “But they must be crisp and the butter quite fresh, your Ladyship, so we'll be making them the day after tomorrow.”

Brother Conradus, bursting with pride, showed her the subtleties he had made – the chalice and paten on the altar with gilded glory raying at the back; and a crenellated abbey with open doors revealing a host of tiny pastry people. Florence peered closer. “How did you make their eyes?”

“Poppy seeds, my lady,” he said with a smile. Then, the question he could contain no longer: “Do… do you like them?”

Lady Florence Bonvallet looked at the short, plump brother with his ruddy cheeks and shining dark eyes (exactly like his mother), anxiously awaiting her verdict; and in spite of herself she couldn't help smiling back. “I do,” she said. “I think what you've made is magnificent. The best I've ever seen. It makes me feel better about the whole thing.”

As she escorted Florence away from the monastery kitchen, Rose asked her softly: “Forgive me if I am too forward, or if it's a secret, your Ladyship; I'm just dying to know – what will you be wearing?”

As Florence described the embroidered linen lawn of her chemise and kerchief, the sumptuous green silk velvet cotehardie, with pearls and thread of gold adorning the sleeves, then the deep red surcote with the jewelled braid edging, Rose's eyes grew round with delight. “And on your head, my lady? Oh yes, you said – a kerchief in linen lawn over your barbet! Oh, gracious goodness, you will be perfect! A queen! I shall be serving along with my son on the day, so I'll be able to catch a glimpse. Oh, my! So exciting!” She wisely omitted any enquiry about the attire of the bride.

Lady Bonvallet went home happy; curious about the abbot, too – evidently a man not immune to feminine charm, which she hadn't expected.

Chapter
Four

S
ince he was at St Alcuin's, so said the bishop, he might as well take advantage of the proximity of Byland Abbey to pay them a visit too. He'd just take his equerry; his other two manservants could stay here at St Alcuin's seeing they were perfectly comfortable. He'd be away only one night.

Abbot John had to acknowledge a twinge of jealousy that Byland got off so lightly. But then on reflection, he imagined their porter hurrying across the court at Byland to tell the abbot Bishop Eric had arrived unannounced to look into their affairs, and he thought maybe he hadn't so much to be jealous of, after all. Yet he did wonder, with vague despair, how much longer his Lordship planned to extend his stay at St Alcuin's. He wouldn't still be here when the guests arrived for the wedding, surely? They wouldn't have to try juggling the – unfortunate, as it now began to appear – designation of William as steward of the feast, with keeping him out of sight of the bishop? John refused to entertain that notion, thrusting it from him firmly. Bishop Eric would be gone. It would be all right.

His Lordship had featured prominently at the abbot's supper table most evenings since his arrival, and John saw this one night's absence offered a chance to honour some among his guests who wouldn't mix too well with ecclesiastical dignitaries: like Rose.

This could also present an opportunity to go through final details for the wedding – the small things; where the musicians could be accommodated and any conveyances of guests with more ambitious travelling arrangements than straightforward horseback. He imagined the horses could be led up to the top pasture and put out to graze overnight, but that wouldn't happen by itself, and it occurred to him that he might be wise to check Brother Stephen had been apprised of the idea and hadn't planned to move all the sheep into the same field at the same time. And he thought it was time he took an interest in the extent to which the novices would be mingling with guests, if Theodore wouldn't let them help in the kitchen because of Rose. Would they be putting their hands to anything useful at all, or had his novice master got so protective of them as to restrict their involvement to singing some complicated setting for the nuptial Mass?

So he asked Brother Stephen the farm manager, Father Theodore the novice master, Brother Giles the guestmaster, Father Francis the prior, William, Father Gilbert the precentor, and Rose, to dine with him. He wished he might have included Brother Conradus, but saw the impracticality of his kitchener being required both to oversee the hospitality of the abbot's house and be simultaneously the abbot's guest. In the event, it turned out that Hannah and Gervase intended to call on him in the afternoon, so he included them as well. Yes, Hannah might recognize William, but then she'd be unlikely to have anything to do with Bishop Eric.

All of them came to Vespers except Rose. She stayed in the kitchen to finish off community supper preparations for Conradus. Nobody had told him why the novices who usually helped out in the kitchen had been suddenly withdrawn, and monastic obedience restrained him from complaining or enquiring. He did his best, but with the ongoing daily preparations for the wedding, and more guests than usual at the abbot's table, he accepted with relief his mother's offer to set everything in order while he went to the evening office.

Rose heard the brothers beginning to make their way along the cloister to the refectory after the office. She hung up her apron, washed her hands outside in the bowl by the well, and went the long way round by the lavatorium and the storehouses under the dorter in the south range overlooking the river, coming through a gap in the hedge at the corner of the buildings, into the court. Seeing Hannah and Gervase walking along from the west door of the church, with Father Francis, she hastened to join them. Conradus had told her the couple would be among the abbot's guests, and she felt grateful to know she would not be the only woman.

When Brother Thomas opened the door to them, Hannah was happily describing the detail of her wedding gown – blue, with thread of gold laid down on it in intricate patterns – while Rose listened with every appearance of admiration and delight, asking about the posy of flowers Hannah would carry, who would be minding the children, and whether Hannah intended to wear a crown of flowers over her cap and veil.

She managed to find a tactful moment to break away, allowing the abbot to take her hands in welcome. She smiled up into his face, saying what a privilege she felt it to be invited to his table, mentioning that she had just received word her husband Gavin would be free as she had hoped, to help serve at the wedding, then take her home the day after.

“I heard so much about you from our boy, in his letters home, before I came.” Her voice, low and melodic, sounded comfortable and gentle as she took the opportunity to express these thoughts that had been on her heart. “He told us you are wonderful, Father John, and I think, having met you, I must surely agree. I am so glad for the chance to spend these days with him, side by side, setting about work we both love and understand. Thank you for taking such good care of him; it is clear he is flourishing here. Thank you for allowing me to come. Thank you for this invitation tonight.” Then, gently, she withdrew her hands from his.

But his eyes cherished hers as he looked down at her, and his face relaxed into softness as he listened to these words. “I am so glad you came, Rose,” he said simply. “Sit by me tonight.”

For propriety, in the social ordering of things, the abbot ought to have invited Gervase Bonvallet to sit at his right and Hannah at his left. Francis, seeing that he sat Rose where Gervase should go, had to think quickly. William thought quicker, and slid into the place where Hannah should have gone – at John's left hand. Francis immediately saw why. If the place had been left vacant, Gervase would have gravitated there, as the brothers of the community courteously stood back in deference to his choice or invitation. Whoever sat at John's left would be treated to a prolonged contemplation upon John's attitude to whoever sat on the abbot's right, should that individual absorb a significant proportion of his attention. If William blocked that place, it increased the chances of someone lower down the table distracting other guests from the sphere of interaction around the abbot. The move made William look presumptuous, but he didn't care too much about that; and the prior gave silent thanks.

So Father Francis smilingly invited Gervase to sit beside William, and himself took the place next to Rose, with Hannah the other side of him. He left the other men to dispose themselves as they saw fit. Theodore (Francis wished he'd make an effort and try not to look quite so long-faced) quietly took the seat beside Hannah. Brother Stephen, glad of some interesting and jolly company, sat next to Gervase. He'd been in conversation with him about farming earlier in the day. Brother Giles the guestmaster sat next to Stephen, and that left the place at the foot of the table to Father Gilbert the precentor – with Theo on his left and Giles on his right.

The abbot said their grace, and Brother Thomas waited upon them in the usual way.

Though the time was much occupied with strategic discussion of forthcoming hospitality arrangements, John also found time to talk to Rose about matters nearer to their hearts.

“Tell me about your family, Rose,” he said to her quietly, once the essentials concerning accommodation of guests and their mounts and conveyances had been agreed. She felt honoured that he should turn aside from the necessary planning of important events, to take notice of the insignificant detail of her humble life.
He makes me feel so special
, she thought;
what a kind and considerate man. Gavin will love to meet him
.

So she described her home to him – the small house with its big family tumbling around; the garden rioting with flowers and keeping them in beans and greens, in leeks and onions and garlic. She told him about the bee skeps, how they stood in a quiet corner; about the ferocious rooster and the gentle one, the brown hens and the white goat – “From Switzerland, my husband says, these goats come. But where is that – Switzerland?”

She talked of her children, the ones who were married and those still at home – “And I know I should let them go, Father John; it's natural they should make their way in the world: but how happy it makes me to have them close about me. I love their company.”

He listened, his face loving and gentle, drinking in what she told him of simple, ordinary family life; nobody important, nothing arrogant or imposing or weighty, just the threads of kindness and belonging from which peace is woven. He forgot where he was, forgot to pay attention to his other guests, as he listened to her.

Francis sprang into action, managing to captivate Hannah with gently playful chat, teasing her with suggestions of including some goats among her bridesmaids, laughing together about the flowers they might wear – and whether over one ear, around or between their horns, and whether they could be trusted not to eat them at least until Mass had begun. He kept a weather eye on Gervase, thankful that Brother Stephen had him engrossed in evaluation of livestock and the going price of wool.

Theodore sat in silence, his face sober and grave. Courteously he passed the butter or the gravy jug or whatever he saw was needed, but he said nothing. Absolutely nothing.