Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3

by Felicity Pulman

  Janna often slipped away from the infirmary to join them, for it was an opportunity to talk, to question the sisters about the scenes painted on the walls of the church. They were shocked at her ignorance, but for the most part they delighted in recounting the stories of Jesus, Mary and the saints. And Janna enjoyed hearing them, for she knew little of stories, especially the ones from the Bible. She reveled in the drama of Jesus’ life. Some of it she already knew, but now she heard about His temptation by Satan in the desert, His confrontation with the moneylenders in the temple, His encounters with the Romans and the Pharisees. She loved to hear of His friendship with the disciples and how they had forsaken all they knew to follow Him, although she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the families they left behind. She marveled at the miracles, although she couldn’t help doubting some of them. She wept over the account of His betrayal in the Garden of Gethsemane, His trial and cruel death by crucifixion.

  She began to look about the church with new eyes, understanding at last what she was seeing. Yet at the same time she couldn’t help remembering how Eadgyth had dragged her out of the small church at Berford. She could still hear her mother’s impassioned cry: “You don’t need to go to church when God’s great cathedral is all around you,” she’d said, as she pointed at the beauty that surrounded them: the bright flowers in their garden, the dancing butterflies and bumblebees, and the green forest beyond.

  Who was right? Her mother, or this convent of women who believed so implicitly in Christ, in the Bible, and in their vocation? Yet her mother had once been a nun herself; Janna was as sure of that as she was sure that winter would eventually give way to spring, and then to summer. She ached to find out more about her family, but resigned herself to patience, for she could not leave the abbey until winter was over. She’d thought the abbey would provide the answers she sought. Now, Janna knew that she would have to look elsewhere. She had no idea where to begin, but decided that the new year should mark the time for a new beginning and a new plan.

  *

  “…m-my m-manuscript, M-Mother Abbess.” The stutter, the distress in the voice, told Janna who was speaking. She looked up at Sister Ursel, feeling desperately sorry for the nun and, at the same time, curious as to what lay behind this seeming run of bad luck. She listened as the nun stammered her way through an explanation of the latest calamity: another sheet of her manuscript had gone missing.

  It had happened too often to be chance, Janna thought, as she recalled other instances related by the unfortunate sister. The first, she remembered, was when two pages had gone missing, only to be found later under a bush, supposedly blown by the wind into the cloister garth. It hadn’t seemed likely at the time. It seemed even less likely now, especially in the light of what had happened since. Another page had gone missing. It had also been found, but this time it was torn into several pieces. It was too damaged to be repaired, and Sister Ursel had carefully lettered and illuminated the page all over again. The pieces of parchment had been kept and scraped back so that they might be reused for practice by one or other of Sister Maria’s students, but Janna had seen the page when it was whole, and could imagine Sister Ursel’s grief and rage at having her beautiful work destroyed in such a way.

  The next occurrence was even worse. This time the missing page had turned up crumpled, torn and smeared with dog feces. The bishop had been visiting at the time, to celebrate the Mass of the birth of the Christ Child. He had stayed on as a guest at the abbey until after the new year, but his visit had been marred by several incidents involving the sisters’ pets that had invoked his wrath and called down his censure.

  While most of the nuns had ignored his instructions to get rid of their animals forthwith, nevertheless they kept close watch on their pets and made sure that all animals were kept from the bishop’s sight. Because of the need for secrecy, little was said about the missing page, but the consensus was that one of the animals must have got hold of it, must have worried and played with the piece of parchment until it was torn and spoiled. It seemed an obvious conclusion, but Janna had looked at the sheet of parchment, had flinched on Sister Ursel’s behalf, and had also noted that there were no teeth marks to be seen. But she had held her tongue in face of Sister Ursel’s distress for this, more than anything, expressed such contempt for the beautiful work that it was beyond Janna’s powers to imagine anyone spiteful enough to do such a thing.

  Now it seemed that yet another page had gone missing. Before the abbess could respond to Sister Ursel’s confession, Sister Philippa stood up.

  Janna wondered what she had to say about the matter. She had come to know the nuns quite well by now, and knew that, as a scribe, Sister Philippa stood very much in the shadow of Sister Ursel. While Sister Ursel had been entrusted with the sacred task of writing and illuminating the life of St Edith, Sister Philippa and several other nuns had been set to copying, as best they may, some of the manuscripts held by the abbey. These were kept under the fierce guardianship of Sister Maria, the chantress, who was also in charge of the abbey’s library.

  “It seems to me that we can no longer entrust Sister Ursel with the sacred task of recording the life of our dear and revered St Edith,” Sister Philippa began. Before the abbess could voice a protest, the nun went on to detail, as Janna had just done in her own mind, the various calamities that had occurred. “It shows a lack of care on the part of Sister Ursel,” Sister Philippa concluded. “All the manuscripts are locked away every night. Only Sister Maria has the key, and I am sure she would have confessed its loss if it had gone missing at any time?”

  All eyes turned to the chantress, who shook her head and jingled the bunch of keys hanging from her girdle in proof that she had them still.

  “So the pages must have gone missing at some time during the day, while the work was under the care of Sister Ursel,” the scribe persisted.

  “But I h-have to leave it sometimes to…to attend services. I-I cannot move the pages while the inks are wet.”

  Janna was intrigued to notice that the nun’s stutter was not nearly so bad while she defended herself. Was it indignation that freed her tongue, or did she only stutter while she was reading the words of God or St Benedict, or addressing her superiors in the abbey? She listened intently as the argument raged about her.

  “Are you sure it is not mere laziness, a carelessness for your work that you don’t keep it locked away at all times when you are not actually working on the manuscript?” Sister Philippa queried.

  “I must protest, Mother Abbess,” the chantress cut in. Her voice was low and musical, for it was Sister Maria who guided the nuns in their singing, and who kept them on time and in tune. “If I’m not busy teaching the children and novices to read and to write, I’m either in the library or organizing the singing of the Mass. I am not always available to lock away Sister Ursel’s manuscript whenever she has to leave it. Besides, she speaks true; it is best not to move the pages until the inks are dry. More than that, I know how punctilious and careful Sister Ursel is of her work, how heavily this sacred trust rests on her shoulders, and how anxious she is to honor our saint by crafting for her the most beautiful work of which she is capable. To call Sister Ursel careless and lazy is a calumny that I cannot permit.”

  Janna waited to hear Sister Philippa defend her remarks, but the nun said nothing, instead bowing her head in sober contemplation of the stone flagging on the floor. Her bid to take over the hagiography had failed. Janna wondered if she would try again. Was it Sister Philippa, in fact, who was stealing and destroying pages in order to create this very situation in the hope of using it to her advantage? Janna resolved to watch the nun carefully in the future.

  “Once again I ask all of you to search the abbey for the missing parchment, and to search your hearts for the truth,” Abbess Hawise said sternly. “This has happened too often to be mere chance. It seems that whoever is behind this will not confess her crime, but someone must know something, or have seen something out of the way. If you have
, I beg you to come to me and tell me what you know. And let me warn whoever is doing this: the longer you compound your error by keeping it a secret, the worse it will be for you when the truth finally comes to light—as you can be sure it will.”

  Full of indignation on Sister Ursel’s behalf, Janna came out of chapter into a cold, blustery wind that threw spatters of rain into her face. She shivered, and wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. She’d been given permission to leave the abbey, along with Sister Anne, to visit the market in Wiltune. Their mission was to purchase an array of spices imported from warmer climes across the sea from the spice merchants. They were needed by the infirmarian for her various medicaments, and by the cook to season the meat that had been salted and preserved after the late autumn slaying of the beasts, as well as to flavor the fish and vegetables that were their usual fare. Instead of having a spice merchant call at the abbey, Janna had persuaded Sister Anne to visit the marketplace. “We’ll find a wider variety there, and a better choice,” she’d said. “It’ll also give us a chance to bargain over prices as well as seeing if there’s anything new, or if we’ve forgotten something,” she’d added, smiling openly at Sister Anne’s reproving frown.

  Janna noticed Agnes and hurried over to have a word with her friend. “Will you come with us to market?” she urged. As Agnes began to protest, she interrupted. “No, hear me out. It will be very different from the fair. No travelers and few merchants, for at this time of the year there is little fresh produce to sell. And see how dreadful the day is!” Janna flung out a hand to illustrate her point. “No-one will venture out in this, unless they absolutely have to. Do come, Agnes. I’m sure Sister Anne won’t make any objection to it.” She took her friend’s arm to lead her to the gate.

  “No. No!” Agnes jerked away from Janna’s grasp, and put both her hands behind her back.

  “It’s a chance to see what it’s like outside the abbey. Don’t you want to visit the town, Agnes?” She held her breath, hoping her friend would change her mind. It would make up, in some part, for the last disastrous outing for which Janna still felt responsible.

  There was a short silence. Janna wondered what other argument she might use to persuade Agnes. “We may even see Master Will,” she coaxed. “He asked after you last time I saw him, Agnes. He is very fond of you, you know. Very fond.”

  Agnes took another step backward. “I am happy here at the abbey,” she said tightly. “I have no wish to see the town, or Master Will.”

  Silently, Janna berated herself. It seemed she’d come up with the worst inducement possible. “You don’t have to talk to him, or even see him if you don’t want to,” she said hurriedly. “Just come and look at the stalls with me. There are such things to buy, Agnes, as you’ve never seen before or dreamed about!”

  “I thought you said there’d be hardly anyone there?”

  Janna sighed as she looked at the suspicion on her friend’s face. Truly, Agnes had changed these past few months. It seemed also true that there was little Janna could do about it. If Agnes was to regain her sunny disposition, she would have to bring about the change herself. Still, for the bailiff’s sake, she couldn’t give up quite yet.

  “If I should see Master Will, is there any message you would like me to give him?”

  “No.” Agnes turned away.

  Janna was reluctant to part from her friend on bad terms. She looked about, seeking a diversion. Sister Ursel’s downcast face as she trudged past provided her with a good excuse to change the subject and bring ease between them once more.

  She nudged Agnes. “Do you know anything of Sister Ursel’s troubles? Have you seen anything, heard anything, that might explain why sheets from her manuscript are being stolen and destroyed?”

  Agnes stopped, her ready sympathy already engaged by the problem. “No, I’ve seen nothing,” she said slowly. “Truly, Ursel has much to vex and distress her. Do you know that Chester has gone missing?”

  “Gone missing? Or has the mouse been stolen, just like the sheets of her manuscript?”

  Agnes’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. I never thought of that.”

  “There are quite a few dogs kept here in the abbey. Do you think one of them might have eaten Chester?”

  “Oh, I hope not!” Agnes put a hand to her heart. “A mouse seems an odd pet to have, but I do believe Ursel is very fond of him. Actually, she keeps him so close always, I’m surprised he managed to escape. But you’re right; he wouldn’t last long if any of the dogs found him.”

  “Or one of the cats. You don’t see so much of them, they’re quite private creatures. But there are some about. In fact…” Janna paused, searching her memory. “There was a great commotion here in the cloister not so long ago, I remember. One of the dogs cornered a cat and was going to savage it, but Sister Ursel got hold of the animal and managed to drag it off its prey.”

  “Sister Martha told me that the abbess reprimanded the owners of both the cat and the dog. She’s become very fierce about pet-keeping since the bishop’s visit.”

  “The incident wasn’t mentioned in chapter,” Janna said slowly, wondering how the gnat had come to hear about it.

  “The abbess is afraid the bishop will hear of it, and will know that his edict has been disobeyed,” Agnes said promptly. “But she won’t insist that his orders be carried out, for she knows there will be outright defiance if she tries. But Sister Martha says that the abbess has put Sister Catherine on notice: if anything like this happens again, both she and the dog will be thrown out of the abbey.”

  “Sister Catherine?” Janna’s ears pricked up.

  “It was her dog. He’s the worst of them.”

  “But all dogs hate cats,” Janna said, trying to be fair.

  “True, but Sister Catherine doesn’t do the right thing with her dog. I’ve seen her out in the cloister. When it makes a mess, she’ll leave the mess lying if she thinks no-one has noticed. She’s been here for so long, she seems to believe that the rules don’t apply to her anymore.”

  Janna remembered the scene she had witnessed, the shrieking nun who had stepped into the dog’s excrement. Had Sister Catherine been there with her pet? She couldn’t remember.

  “I stepped in some once,” Agnes said. “It’s disgusting. Even though I cleaned my sandals, the smell stayed on them for ages.”

  “You’ve been here longer than I have, Agnes,” Janna said, anxious to get the lay sister back on the subject that most interested her. “How do Ursel and Philippa get on together?”

  “I don’t know.” Agnes pulled a face. “We lay sisters live on the outside of the convent. You’d be the one to find that out, Janna.” There was a slight edge to her voice that Janna couldn’t miss. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I wondered—” She had only suspicion regarding Sister Philippa’s resentment of Ursel’s skill, and where it might have led her. She could be wrong. The last thing she wanted was to start a rumor that might have no basis in the truth. “No reason, really,” she said. With a sigh, she said goodbye to Agnes and walked on toward the gate, where Sister Anne awaited her.

  “And will you be having any more tête-à-têtes with Master Will today?” Sister Anne asked Janna as they left the abbey and entered the marketplace.

  Janna wasn’t quite sure how to answer. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “He is fond of Agnes, is he not?”

  Janna hesitated. In the months of working with Sister Anne, she’d come to like and respect the nun. She knew that Sister Anne was not easily shocked; in fact, she wondered if the nun had lived some of her early life outside the abbey, for she seemed to have more of an understanding of the world and its ways than many of the other sisters, judging by some of the complaints they raised in chapter. She decided to trust the nun with the truth, for the truth could not hurt Agnes, who had done nothing wrong, while the infirmarian might well be in more of a position than Janna to help ease the situation, if help was possible.

  �
��He wishes to wed Agnes, but Agnes will not hear of it.” Janna stepped closer to Sister Anne. The marketplace was more crowded than she’d expected, and she didn’t want anyone to overhear what she was about to say. “It is my belief that fear keeps Agnes in the abbey, for I recall she once confided in me that she would like to marry, to bear children. But that was before Master Will made his intentions plain, before she had any real choice in the matter, and before she came out to the fair with us and saw for herself what life is like outside the abbey.” She looked at Sister Anne. “And I do blame myself for that,” she said.

  “The timing was ill-judged, perhaps, but the decision to retreat was Agnes’s, not yours, Johanna. You had no way of knowing how she would react. Indeed, I suspect Agnes didn’t know it either until she put herself to the test.”

  “It’s such a shame. Such a waste!”

  “Serving our Lord Jesus Christ can never be said to be a waste.”

  Janna smarted under Sister Anne’s reproof, yet memory of her mother bid her go on, even at the risk of making matters worse. “But surely it is possible to serve the Lord in other ways too? Other people can live good lives as well as nuns. Sometimes they may do even better!” she added, thinking of how hard a life they’d lived, and how her mother had always treated the sick and helped those less fortunate whenever her skills were called upon.

  “Watch your tongue lest it get you into trouble, Johanna.” Sister Anne strode on, making her displeasure plain by the set of her back and the tilt of her chin.

  Janna was about to follow when she noticed the bailiff in the distance. She was sure he’d seen her, but he made no sign, nor did he come toward her. Even as she debated leaving Sister Anne to go to him, he turned and hurried away. Had he given up on Agnes so soon then? Dismayed, Janna quickened her pace to catch up with the infirmarian.

  The nun’s disapproval abated somewhat in the face of Janna’s excitement when they reached the stalls of the spice merchants. They were expected to pinch and prod, to sniff and taste before selecting their purchases, and Janna took full advantage of the opportunity. Her head swam with giddy delight as she sampled cinnamon, licorice and sweet white powder, sneezed over freshly ground pepper, and danced about in agony while spitting out a burning mouthful of ginger.