A Promise to Keep (Out of Time Book 2)

by Loretta Livingstone

  “We’re on a jaunt to see the ruins,” confided Sister Jacinta. “We’ve not been here before, have you, Brother?”

  Father Dominic was charmed. He was fairly sure they were nuns, yet not as he could ever have imagined. They wore dark clothing, crucifixes and short veils but no wimples, and those skirts! Still, I must adapt to the time in which I find myself, he decided.

  “So, Brother, do you want to join us?” Sister Jacinta stood before him laughing. “Or have we frightened you to death?”

  “Ah, you speak for yourself, Jacinta.” That was Sister Bea. “Give the poor man chance to catch his breath.”

  Dominic made up his mind. “Sisters, I should consider myself honoured.” He held out an arm, which was swooped on by Sister Mary, and started towards the gatehouse. “I know this place well.”

  “Then, we have ourselves a guided tour, Sisters.”

  They chattered all the way to the turnstile, insisting on paying for his entry, ignoring his protests, barely giving him a chance to speak until he led them around, when they hung on his every word, until his stomach made a loud growl. He flushed with humiliation, and Sister Maresa said, “Oh, you poor man, you’re starving. Jacinta, is there a café here?”

  “Isn’t that one, over there?”

  They bustled over, claiming the largest table, consulting the menu, talking about the food and suggesting a drink which they called coffee. “Or would you prefer tea, Brother?”

  “No, no. Coffee will be delightful.” He hoped it would.

  “Milk, sugar?”

  “Everything, please.” He might as well include the food and drink in his experience. Besides, he had not had opportunity to bring any supplies, and he must have sustenance for he had many miles ahead of him. He waved his money at them.

  “Oh, aren’t you a darling, Brother.” Jacinta whisked it out of his hand and went to the counter, coming back with a loaded tray of plates and cups, which she shared out. “I hope you like tuna mayo or ham salad; they didn’t have much choice. There’s crisps. And chocolate brownies; we must have those.”

  Dominic picked up one of the things she’d called a sandwich and examined it. Some kind of bread. He bit into it experimentally. The bread tasted like nothing he recognised. Tasteless, utterly without texture and soggy. But the filling! Fish never tasted so good. As for the things she called crisps – he had no idea what they were but crunched rapturously.

  The first sip of his drink tasted bitter, and he shuddered involuntarily, putting it down again and ignoring his thirst, until Sister Kathleen said, “It’s strong. Don’t you want sugar? I’ve never yet known a brother who didn’t love the sweet stuff. Here. And some milk?” She opened a couple of small packets beside his cup, tipped them in, poured milk from a jug and stirred it. He sipped again and found the taste more than palatable, this time closing his eyes in bliss.

  Sister Bea nudged him. “Have a chocolate brownie, Brother. They look like they’re home-made, so they should be good.”

  He took a bite and had to stop himself from exclaiming aloud. Never, in all his days, had he tasted anything so exquisite. Savouring each mouthful, he made it last as long as possible. As he regretfully swallowed the last delicious morsel, Sister Jacinta said, “Now, Brother, tell us all about yourself.”

  “Dear ladies, I’d far rather hear about all of you.” It was the right thing to say. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee, drinking in the experience as they chattered around him.

  When they finally pushed aside their plates, he realised they were preparing to leave. A pity – he would have liked another of these wondrous beverages, but he drained the last of his coffee and surreptitiously slipped a few packets of sugar into his scrip. After all, as far as he could tell, they had been paid for, and it would be a shame to waste them.

  Then, he saw it – one last chocolate brownie, sitting unloved and unwanted on its platter. He glanced around discreetly before picking up one of the things they called serviettes, wrapping it carefully around the brownie and sliding that into his scrip along with the sugar. His mouth watered at the thought of devouring it later.

  Sister Mary caught his eye. “That’s the way, Brother. Waste not, want not.” He flinched slightly with embarrassment, before he realised she approved of his actions. Not only did she approve, she took the untouched one from her own plate, passing it to him. “Here, take this too. You know you want it, and it’s too rich for me.”

  Dominic’s hand hovered, undecided, for a moment. Should he be giving in to such greed? But Sister Mary waved it enticingly before him, and his resolve faltered. He could do penance later – it would be worth it. Mayhap, this was an extra gift from God. Yes, that was it. And, such being the case, no penance would be necessary. He beamed his thanks as he stowed it safely along with the other.

  Casting one final glance around the café, so full of delights, he followed the sisters out and led them, all talking and pointing, around the rest of the abbey, indicating where the different rooms had once been.

  They listened, charmed, as he explained to them where each room was and what it was used for.

  “For sure, Brother, you tell it so well,” said Sister Bea. “Better than any guide. You love this place, I can tell. It’s almost as though you lived here yourself.”

  Sister Kathleen chimed in. “I can almost see him here, can’t you, Sisters? Where would the priest have lived? Not here near the nuns, eh?”

  “Indeed not, Sister. That would never be…er, have been permitted. I…the priest had a separate lodging over there.” He pointed to the area of his own abode, which was now just a forlorn heap of stones sprawling across a grassy expanse. “He lives…would have lived near the dorter where the lay brothers were housed with their own kitchens.”

  “And what about the abbesses? One book I read said they had to sleep in the dormitories with the nuns, then another book told me they had their own lodgings. I never know what to think.” This from Sister Mary, the historian of the group.

  “Indeed, I believe it varied from abbey to abbey, but here, our dear Abbess–”

  “He’s doing it again,” said Kathleen. “If I believed in reincarnation, I’d say he’d been a priest here in an earlier life!”

  A chorus of laughter greeted her remark, and Dominic gave a sheepish chuckle. “It’s only because I have spent so long around its confines that, indeed, I almost feel I did once dwell here. Now…” And he continued with his tour.

  Father Dominic waved regretfully to the sisters as they clattered back to their conveyance. What had they called it? A mini bus? He looked at the sky. It must be about Nones. After staring again at the abbey, trying to imprint it on his mind, he turned and headed back to the tree, ready now for his long walk to Oakley. His belly full, his head equally full, he walked steadily towards the beech.

  As he neared it, he slowed, cocking his head on one side, listening. Ah, there it was, the sound of buzzing. How alarmed he had been when he first heard that. And how strange the sensation of plunging through a solid object, feeling it turn to something like pottage as he pushed through. He had wondered whether he would choke at first and held his breath, but before he’d needed to exhale, he had stepped into fresh air.

  He gazed about him once more, regretful that he could spare no more time to explore this wonderful world, took a deep breath and returned to his own time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Unlike Father Dominic, Hildegarde had not had a delightful day. Unable to know how the thing had gone off, whether Shannon had got home safely, whether Father Dominic had been able to return or even whether Giles and Isabella had been able to get them out of the abbey without being noticed, she had spent hours in a state of tension.

  Brother Anselm had Bardolf isolated in the infirmary where, for now, he was still too weak to care what was happening. Hildegarde expected he would feel considerably better quite soon. When he was back to himself, she knew he would be nosing around trying to find out where Shannon had gone
. She smiled grimly. And good luck with that one.

  The Abbess struggled to keep her eyes open, so strained was she from the events of the last two days. She was thankful she’d decided to impose the rule of silence, for although she’d kept a firm grip on her temper, it was beginning to fray dangerously, and, without the rule, she feared she would have been snapping at everyone who approached her.

  How she got through the day, she had no idea. She had moved mechanically, with a set smile on her face, avoiding people wherever possible; however, it was nearly at an end and now, she made her way to Compline, heavy with weariness.

  Once there, Hildegarde carefully surveyed the faces around her, all lifted up in praise. She paused, counting; one was missing. Seeing Ursel, she raised her eyebrows. The older woman nodded. Who was sick? She counted faces again. Aldith. She would leave her in Ursel’s care tonight and enquire after her tomorrow. It was unlikely to be anything too serious, for surely Ursel would have informed her.

  The Abbess finally began to relax; she must leave it in the Lord’s hands, as she should have done earlier. There was naught else she could do, so she must just have faith. In an easier frame of mind, she joined with her sisters in the chants which heralded the night.

  After Compline, Hildegarde took herself to her chamber, grateful to be away from questioning eyes and thankful to be alone. Silence could sometimes be a great gift indeed – she ached with exhaustion. These old bones are not made for adventures and neither is my peace of mind.

  As she opened the door, she hesitated. A faint noise came to her ears; something was amiss. A shiver ran icy fingers down her spine. She berated herself for her foolishness and peered in cautiously, holding her candle aloft, but could make out nothing. My imagination is overwrought. Forcing herself to relax her shoulders which were creeping towards her ears, she was closing the door behind her when she heard something which sounded like a muffled sob low to the ground.

  She turned quickly and moved silently around the desk, still holding the candle, starting when something wrapped around her ankles. Peering down, she made out the shadowy form of a woman – surely not one of the sisters. But if not, who then? She put down the pricket and bent low. The shrouded head raised itself to her, face haggard, eyes reddened and swollen. She almost didn’t recognise Aldith. What now? Forgive me, Lord, it seems I cannot keep the silence tonight. Ah well, He would understand; He always did. And, grant me patience and kindness, Father.

  “Sister, whatever troubles you? Are you ill?” The young nun was always so composed – almost smug. Hildegarde could not imagine what had happened to cause her such distress.

  “Oh, Mother! Sweet Abbess, forgive me. I meant no harm.” Aldith shuddered and moaned, then wrapped her arms more tightly around the Abbess’s ankles, burying her face in Hildegarde’s robe as she wept, her whole frame shaking. Hildegarde was aghast, the nun was verging on hysteria. As the Abbess struggled to maintain her balance, Aldith finally let go and started to wrench her veil and wimple from her head, tearing at her cropped hair.

  The Abbess pulled the distraught woman to her feet and manoeuvred her into a chair. Aldith fought her and threw herself back onto the floor. “Scourge me! Punish me! Imprison me! I cannot bear the guilt.”

  With difficulty, Hildegarde hauled her back up, this time holding her upright. Aldith’s head sagged, and she kept up her litany of woe. There was no help for it. Hildegarde shoved her over to her inner sleeping chamber, forced her to sit on the bed and slapped her. Aldith’s jaw dropped open, and she gaped at Hildegarde with stricken eyes, but at least her terrible wailing had stopped.

  “Sister Aldith, I have no idea what you are talking about. What has brought you to this state, child?”

  A mistake. Aldith started to weep again, streams of mucus running from her nose. Hildegarde poured water from her ewer into her laver, dipped a linen towel into it and began sponging her face. “Sister!” Her voice rang with authority – nothing else would break through this storm. “Sister, listen to me. If you don’t stop crying this instant, I will empty this ewer over your head.”

  Aldith stopped abruptly, hiccuping and choking, watching Hildegarde with wild eyes. The nun was in no state to speak, and Hildegarde had no intention of starting her off again now she had reduced her to silence. She heard the outer door open. What now?

  “Praise be to our Lord Jesus Christ, Mother. May I speak?” Ursel’s voice came whispering in the dark.

  “May He be praised, indeed, Sister. Please do speak.” There was a time for rules and a time for compassion. This could not be done without words. “Come in. Mayhap you can shed light on the matter.”

  A cloak-wrapped form came silently into the room. “So that’s where you went, you foolish girl.”

  Hildegarde turned. Aldith didn’t move, just continued to moan and tremble. Thank the Lord she had stopped pulling at her hair.

  Ursel sat on the bed next to Aldith, placing one arm around her. Aldith promptly turned her head into the old nun’s shoulder and clung like a child.

  “Stay with her. I’ll fetch some syrup of poppy. I doubt aught else will calm her. But what–?“ She broke off as Ursel put her finger to her lips. “No, of course.”

  Hildegarde lit the lantern, moving it to a niche in the wall near the bed, pulled on her fur-lined, cloth night boots, then picked up her candle and walked softly to the infirmary, peering at Ursel’s remedies by the flickering light until she found what she needed.

  Pouring a little into a cup, she hesitated before adding a few drops from another small bottle. That should settle her. Padding back, she wondered where she herself would sleep. They really could not carry the young nun back to the infirmary, neither could they leave her alone. Hildegarde sighed. It looked as though she would take her rest on a pallet tonight. And she would be the first to wake to Aldith. Faced with the challenge of dealing with more hysterics on the morrow, Shannon now seemed the lighter of the two responsibilities.

  Opening her own door noiselessly, she slipped back into the room, handing the cup to Ursel who gave it to a now subdued Aldith.

  As the potion started taking effect, Aldith lay back on Hildegarde’s bed, curling up like a foetus, moaning as though in pain until she dropped into a heavy sleep, whereupon she started to snore instead.

  “We may speak now. She will not waken soon.” Ursel covered the young nun with a blanket and turned to Hildegarde.

  “Did you find out what has upset her so?”

  “Aye,” said the infirmaress grimly. “And well she might be upset. It seems Sir Giles’ young knight,” she curled her lip in disgust, “had fooled the witless wench into acting as go-between.

  “She’d been keeping watch while he dallied with Rohese, warning him when you or Lady Isabella came near so he could slip away unnoticed. To make matters worse, she’d been telling him where he could find her.”

  Hildegarde drew in her breath sharply. Whatever she’d expected, it was not that. “But how did he convince her? And Sister Aldith, of all people!”

  “He told her he’d had a vision of our Blessed Lady; said she’d appeared to him, telling him he was destined to wed Rohese. According to him, the forces of evil were conspiring against this. Of course, the stupid girl swallowed his tale.” Ursel was furious. Hildegarde could almost see steam rising from her. “Had her opinion of herself been lower, had she been less inclined to think she had been favoured by visions herself, she would have sent him on his way.”

  So that was how he’d done it. When Aldith recovered, she would have to be disciplined – there was no help for it. Even if she’d learnt her lesson, and Hildegarde was pretty certain she had, this breach could not be ignored. For Aldith’s sake. For everyone’s sake.

  Still, tomorrow’s troubles could not be solved tonight. She and Ursel dragged a pallet into her room and, after bidding the infirmaress goodnight, she knelt and committed herself and Aldith to God, before she sank thankfully onto the makeshift bed. Despite Aldith’s snores, she was soon asl
eep.

  For Shannon, the return to her own time had been almost too abrupt. She still felt slightly disorientated. If she hadn’t been so tired and her ankle hadn’t hurt so much, she’d have liked to wander around the abbey ruins, just to say a final farewell and allow herself to adjust slowly.

  As she turned to go indoors, she gave Father Dominic one last wave and said a prayer that he might stay out of trouble and go home. She would have felt happier if he had gone back before she got into the taxi. His flat refusal had confused her; now, she wished she’d been firmer. But what could I have done? I couldn’t force him back through.

  While Shannon was still waving and groping for her key, the door opened and Chloe stood there. Her face was blank with surprise at first; Shannon was supposed to be away for at least three weeks. Then, her questions tumbled over themselves when she saw the crutch, and the bandage on her sister’s ankle. “Shan! What have you been up to? What’s happened to your ankle? Why are you home early? Oh, never mind, I’ll get your bags. Is that all you took? You travelled light. I won’t be a minute. You go on in and sit down. Fancy a cuppa?”

  Shannon was overwhelmed by the onslaught. Her head ached. She didn’t have her story quite straight yet, and for a moment, the peace of the abbey was a lot more appealing, but then, Chloe wrapped her arms around her in a bear hug, and she realised how much she would have lost if she had stayed back there.

  Her eyes were moist, and she sniffed before freeing her arm and dashing the tears away with an impatient hand. How could she even have considered leaving them all?

  She hugged Chloe back, then disentangled herself from her sister, ignoring most of her questions. “Yes, I’d love a cuppa, but can you make it coffee instead of tea? Good and strong.” She’d need it if she was going to find enough answers to satisfy them. Her imagination was going to be stretched to its limit, much as it had been at Sparnstow.