When the former prioress had suddenly begged help to prove her innocence, Eleanor was shocked. So why had she agreed to the appeal?
I am not inexperienced in the devious ways of mortals, she thought. Those who initially confess to a crime often claim later to be guiltless. Amicia might not face a hanging, but the Prior of England would not otherwise grant her much mercy. To be stripped of her habit and sent out into the world, with little more than a thin patched robe to hide her nakedness, was not a kind fate.
Whatever her worldly rank, let alone the religious one, Eleanor knew that few friends or family would grant sanctuary to a convicted murderer and especially a prioress cast out by her Order. Nevertheless, whether God or Satan had inspired this decision to help the woman, Eleanor had given her word. She and her companions would do what they could to find the truth. If God willed it, they would succeed.
As she again mulled over the tale told by the former prioress, and especially her demeanor as she told it, she was still convinced by Amicia’s story. The difficulty in proving it remained immense. As she had told the weeping woman, there was little hope they would find proof good enough to change the conviction. The corpse had been buried. The location of the murder had been sullied. No evidence likely remained.
What she did not say to Amicia, but surely the woman must know, was that the Fontevraudine monastics were also strangers here with no authority beyond common courtesy. In the unlikely event that they could question all witnesses and the residents of the nuns’ preceptory or the brothers’ nearby house, which ones could they trust to tell the truth? They knew no one. And asking the former prioress for the names of the honest was deliberately tilting the scales of justice.
Eleanor felt as if she and her two religious were floating in a sea mist, only this one was made of ignorance. All she could give was her word to try, but that alone seemed to have given ease to Amicia.
From the corner of her eye, she saw something move. Startled out of her musing, she turned.
Janeta waited nearby, her silence heavy with impatience.
“Did you serve Sister Amicia for many years?” The question was an awkward one, but Eleanor had to start somewhere.
“I serve her still.” Janeta turned around and began to walk away again without turning her head.
Feeling a bit like a duckling trailing a hen, Eleanor dutifully followed. “You are allowed into her cell to wait on her?”
Amicia had not mentioned any visits from her maid, although she had spoken of the priest and even those who served her meals. Was Janeta’s presence of less significance to her than a mazer or trencher? Yet the maid’s devotion suggested a closer bond, and she most certainly would gain nothing by maintaining such loyalty to a religious convicted of murder.
“I accompany Sister Richolda each week when she comes to treat my mistress. She is the infirmarian here.”
Desperate to glean any information, Eleanor asked another question. “Will you stay and join the Order as a lay sister, if your mistress is cast forth from the priory, or follow her?”
Janeta spun around, her face red. “My future shall be determined by God’s will, my lady. I pray each day for His guidance.” Then she resumed striding down the corridor.
“As we all must do, my child.” Eleanor called after. Tired of patiently chasing after the maid, she stopped and felt her face grow hot with fury at the rank discourtesy shown her.
Yet despite the rudeness, the prioress knew her anger should be directed at herself, not Janeta. Eleanor’s questions had been ill-phrased and badly considered. If she were to investigate this crime, in a place where she did not know friend from foe, she must be both cautious and wise in her methods.
The logical thing was to tell Prioress Emelyne that the former prioress now wanted to claim she was innocent, but Amicia had forbidden it. All available evidence had been considered in the Chapter meeting of nuns who found enough to condemn, she said, and she respected their fair judgment. She knew of nothing new and significant to change their minds. To demand a reopening of the decision based on what they had already considered would be a profound insult.
Eleanor did ask why the former prioress had refused to defend herself.
In reply, Amicia asked her if she would reverse her own judgment, having found someone guilty on adequate testimony, solely because the convicted criminal now pled innocence but could offer nothing of significance to explain why.
Noting the patent evasion, Eleanor chose to concede the woman’s point and not pursue her query.
Halfway down the hall, Janeta again waited, hands clutched to her waist.
The Prioress of Tyndal ignored her.
After a brief hesitation, the maid retraced her steps. Her expression was now humble as she dutifully lingered until the prioress gave her a command.
Eleanor, however, was lost in thought.
The first problem, she decided, was to find a way to remain here longer than she had planned. Normally, they would have accepted the priory’s charitable hospitality for a night or two at most, depending on the weather. Considering the difficulties involved in this kind of investigation, they might well need several days, but she knew they did not dare stay much longer. Again she reminded herself that, although she had sworn to Amicia that she would make an honest attempt to reverse the conviction, she had also made it very clear there was little hope.
Without question, she knew Brother Thomas would be eager to help. As for Sister Anne, Eleanor had doubts. After the deaths of the abbots last winter, when the sub-infirmarian struggled to find the causes for their deaths and illnesses, she had suffered from melancholy. Never plump, she had become skeletal. Eleanor questioned the wisdom of engaging her in another murder investigation so soon after that last one, but she would let her friend decide what she wanted to do.
The prioress turned to Janeta and nodded, indicating she was now ready for the maid to resume leading her to where her companions were waiting.
Meanwhile, I must come up with a reasonable excuse to linger here that does not betray my true intent, Eleanor thought. If we find no indisputable evidence to prove the Chapter verdict in error, Prioress Emelyne will suffer no insult. If we do, I will decide the best way to present it then.
As Janeta approached the dining hall where the two monastics were presumably eating a warm meal, the maid stumbled slightly on the uneven stone floor.
Eleanor had her answer. Without further hesitation, she flung herself to the ground and cried out.
Janeta spun around and reacted with horror as she saw the Prioress of Tyndal writhing on the stone floor in agony.
“My ankle!” Eleanor grabbed her foot and hunched over it grimacing with severe pain. “Summon Sister Anne and Brother Thomas to me immediately! I fear I have broken it. I need their help.”
With praiseworthy speed, Janeta ran to the hall to bring them.
Chapter Six
Sister Anne knelt by her friend’s side. “Where is your injury?”
Brother Thomas, his brow furrowed with worry, stood a short distance away.
Standing over the prioress, a fist pressed against her mouth, Janeta whimpered. Her wide-eyed look did not clarify whether she grieved more out of sympathy for the injury or fear of reprisal because her negligence had allowed it to occur.
Catching Thomas’ attention, Eleanor subtly indicated that she wished him to lead the maid further away.
The monk immediately turned to Janeta and took her to a more private place down the hall where he began offering consolation.
As she pointed to her ankle, Eleanor loudly proclaimed, “I think it is broken!” Then she gestured for Anne to bend closer. “Decide it is badly sprained,” she whispered. “I deliberately fell and am quite well.”
Anne felt the ankle.
Eleanor cried out in pain.
Trying not to smile at the prioress’ re
alistic performance, the sub-infirmarian decided to thoroughly examine the ankle anyway, despite her friend’s protestations. It was sound.
“I feel no broken bone, my lady,” the sub-infirmarian announced with fitting gravity, “but you have probably suffered a serious injury.” She looked around. “I would prefer to examine your foot more thoroughly, but your modesty would be offended if I did so in this public place.”
“Then I must be carried to my chambers. I cannot stand by myself.”
Anne rose and called out to Janeta. “We must assist the Prioress of Tyndal to her quarters.” She gestured for the maid to stand by her stricken leader. “Wait here while I confer with Brother Thomas.”
The maid did as commanded. Whatever the monk had said seemed to have done little to calm her trembling.
Anne stood as close as she dared to the monk and whispered, “She is well but has some cause for feigning injury. As soon as I have spoken with her in private, I shall send word to you.”
Although he bowed his head quickly, he did not do so fast enough to hide from her the sparkling amusement in his eyes. “I will be lodged with the brothers in the house nearby,” he said with proper solemnity. “The priory steward is to take me there. As soon as I hear from you, I shall return to offer our prioress God’s comfort.”
Giving him a quick wink, Anne watched him return to the dining hall and then went to her prioress’ side. With ease, she and Janeta lifted the tiny prioress, braced her between them, and transported her to the chambers which she and the sub-infirmarian were to share.
***
Once settled on the edge of her bed, Prioress Eleanor submitted with firmly gritted teeth to a more thorough examination of her ankle.
“You were fortunate not to break it, my lady, but I fear you will not be able to stand or ride for several days, perhaps longer. To do so, might cause the bone to shatter.”
Nodding with sadness, Eleanor turned to the maid and first praised Janeta for the gentle strength with which she had helped Sister Anne carry her. “You bear no responsibility in this accident, my child,” she said. “I was clumsy and did not see the uneven stone. Should anyone fault you, they may come to me. I shall declare you free of any blame.”
Color began to return to the maid’s pale face.
“But you must immediately bear a message for me to Prioress Emelyne. Although I had hoped to leave here at daybreak after a night’s rest, I fear we are obliged to now beg the Mynchen Buckland Priory for the kindness of a longer hospitality. I would speak to your gracious prioress about this as soon as possible.”
With an abrupt bow of her head, Janeta fled to obey the request.
***
As she shut the door behind the departing maid, Anne turned with a bemused look to her prioress. “Why have you done this?”
“Because the former prioress, now Sister Amicia, has begged us to prove her innocent of murder.”
“And you believed this new tale? I overheard what the old woman told you before you were admitted to the prioress’ chambers.” Anne put a gentle hand on her friend’s arm. “Please do not think I question your decision, but I confess amazement.”
Eleanor rose from the bed and went to pour some wine that had been left by the priory servants as refreshment for them both.
“I, too, was stunned by this change of plea, but I found her tale oddly credible. Sister Amicia confirmed that she was accused of murdering a widow named Mistress Hursel in the cloister garth after she was discovered with blood staining her hands and bending over the dead woman. At no time did she deny the accusation, although she also did not confess to the crime.”
“Not to confess or deny? The tale grows stranger.” Anne frowned. “But let me ask if you know why anyone thought she would have done this vile thing?”
“When the trial began in Chapter, no one gave a reason why, but she admitted to me that she had known Mistress Hursel before she had taken vows. The dead woman had been in her service.”
“No grounds were given for the crime? That alone should have led many to question the accusation. The logical assumption would have been that the prioress had simply found the body, and someone else was guilty of the murder.”
Eleanor sipped her wine with pleasant surprise. If the priory was not pleased with their visit, they did not show their displeasure in the quality of wine they served. Then she said to Sister Anne, “Here the tale grows more complicated. Sister Amicia told me that because some here knew that she and the murdered woman were known to each other, she admitted at the trial that she had not only known the dead woman but that they had quarreled soon after her own husband’s death. It was over a minor issue, she said, but heated enough that she released Mistress Hursel from her service.”
“Had I been in Chapter, I would have wanted to know more about the quarrel. That confession does not argue well for innocence, yet it does not condemn her. She voluntarily spoke of it. Were she guilty, she would not have been so inclined.”
“I do not think anyone asked for more details during the trial, but I did. She would only repeat that Mistress Hursel had once been in her service, offended her, and she had then let her go. But she also claimed she had set the quarrel aside long ago, forgiven her, and thus had no cause to kill her. All sins she had committed before she took vows were confessed to a priest, after which she performed the penance required. Since that time, she has tried to banish any ill will from her heart and concentrate on God’s forgiving love.” Eleanor put down her cup. “Those were Sister Amicia’s words, not mine.”
Anne shook her head. “Why even tell the story of the quarrel and why refuse to defend herself at the Chapter trial?”
“The answer to your first question was that she did not wish to hide her sin of anger against Mistress Hursel.”
“An ill-advised statement to make in a murder trial, but I respect her candor.”
“The answer to your second is far less credible. She refused to give me any details when I asked. Her only response was to say her purpose was irrelevant and would not make any difference in reopening the verdict.”
“That explanation is absolutely implausible. If she were innocent, I can think of no reason not to say so at the time. Yes, I have known some who were so shaken by an event that they could not speak or act with sense for a while, but her senses should have returned in time to deny guilt at the trial.” She shook her head. “The evidence against her was weak, yet her own behavior screams of guilt.”
“You are right. The nuns might have come to a different verdict if she had denied guilt and made any effort to defend herself, but she utterly refused to do so. I fear that, plus her willingness to admit to a quarrel with Mistress Hursel, led to the verdict.” Eleanor picked up her cup and stared into it as if seeking solutions. “If we set her strange behavior aside, however, the verdict troubles me too. Is there more to her condemnation than she knew or has she failed to tell me something? Neither, can I answer.”
Anne finished her wine and rubbed the mazer between her hands as she thought. “Why change her mind and now beg to be proven innocent?”
“Her decision came after hearing of my brother’s gift and reading his letter.”
Anne raised an eyebrow in question. She didn’t need to explain. They both knew Hugh’s fondness for bedding married women.
Eleanor shook her head. “I think not, or at least nothing in what she said suggested they had been lovers. She mentioned briefly that my brother and her husband had been friends, both going on pilgrimage to fight in Outremer, albeit at different times. After she became a widow, Hugh showed her great kindness and supported her when she chose to take vows. An old and loyal friendship with the dead spouse might well explain why he wrote to her and the reason for the gift.”
“So your brother revealed only a fondness based in his friendship with the husband?” Anne was not absolutely convinced.
“My brother is the definition of the virtue of discretion. He has never mentioned her, and I have learned of some of his favored women.” She smiled. “I have also learned to look beyond his words and even count the number of times he blinks when he speaks of certain women.”
The sub-infirmarian laughed. “Then what could have been in the letter that made her change her mind?”
“She said that, although his generous gift had profoundly moved her, the mention of the Wynethorpe family reminded her that he had a sister with some reputation in the search for justice. When she realized that the sister now stood before her, she felt hope that we three could help her.”
“I must go back to the question of why she allowed herself to be condemned for an atrocity she did not commit. She gives no details to explain why, although the reason must be more important than she now maintains. For some time, she has had occasion to face her likely expulsion from the Order and resultant severe hardship in the world, yet she has remained silent and accepted her fate. Now, quite suddenly, she talks of hope?”
“She offered only one excuse for changing her plea. After her trial, she began to comprehend that she had erred in accepting guilt. It was a sin. I find this sudden realization as questionable as you clearly do.”
Anne drank her wine in silence, and then gestured to the ewer.
Eleanor nodded, and the sub-infirmarian poured more for them both.
“There is much I should have liked to question her about, but I did not have the time to do so,” the prioress said. “Perhaps she accepted guilt to protect someone else? If so, has that person since escaped so any revelation of her own innocence no longer offers a threat to the guilty one?” She raised her hands in question. “Although she will not hang for the murder, she will not survive long in the world once she is cast forth. Because of that, I even wondered if this was the means for her to commit self-murder, but I think it unlikely. Her demeanor overall suggested a sad resignation but, her brief tears aside, not profound melancholy.
“Why did you believe her?”
Wild Justice Page 3