Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3

by Felicity Pulman

  Janna’s first impulse was to run to her, to take her in her arms and comfort her, but she knew that this was not the comfort Ursel sought. Aghast at witnessing such despair, wanting to help yet feeling powerless in the face of such anguish, she hesitated. Should she run for the abbess? The thought was dismissed almost instantly. Ursel needed more comfort than that cold and calculating heart could provide. Who, then, could she find to console Ursel and give her the ease she sought so earnestly? Sister Anne? Sister Grace? Janna touched the box inside her sleeve. Perhaps, after all, she had the means to alleviate some of Ursel’s distress. Even so, she hesitated to interrupt the nun’s desperate communion with the saint. She tiptoed back to the nave. When Ursel felt strong enough to rise and face her life once more, Janna would intercept her without letting her know that her misery had been witnessed.

  It seemed that hours passed. Judging from the sounds of distress that Janna could hear even from a distance, Ursel was neither aware of the time, nor of how very cold it was in the church. Janna shivered, and huddled up into her habit, wishing she had thought to fetch her cloak before going in search of the scribe. Ursel’s sobbing, interspersed with prayers and entreaties to St Edith, indicated a crisis of faith that Janna could not understand. She knew she would be unable to provide counsel, and wondered again if she should rather fetch someone to intervene. She cast about for anyone close to Ursel, someone who cared enough to help her through this catastrophe, but could think of no-one. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever seeing Ursel talk or laugh with anyone, not even in those few periods during the day when conversation was permitted. Perhaps the nuns were too in awe of her great gift to offer friendship? But Janna thought it more likely that Ursel’s stutter turned any conversation with her into a trial. Even she had not sought out Ursel when questioning the other nuns about her mother; the realization made her flinch with shame.

  And she was slowly freezing to death! Janna jumped up, hugged herself and rubbed her arms, then squatted up and down to get her blood flowing freely once more. She began to run on the spot in a vain effort to warm herself. In spite of her care to tread silently, her boots clattered on the stone flagging. She became aware that the sobbing had stopped, along with the murmurs of distress. Suddenly afraid that Ursel had crept out without her noticing, she hastened to the small shrine.

  Ursel was there, standing at the entrance. Her face and eyes were red and swollen with grief. “You g-gave me a fright. I-I thought I was alone.” Her voice was muffled, thick with tears.

  “Forgive me, Sister. I didn’t mean to startle you, but I am glad to find you here.” Janna was quite happy to pretend she’d only just arrived. “I’ve been looking for you, for I have something to show you.” She drew the wooden box out of her sleeve, and proffered it to the nun.

  Ursel frowned, her face hardening with suspicion. “Where…where did you get that?” she asked sternly.

  “Look inside.” Janna opened the box, wanting Ursel to see the contents before she answered the question. “Please,” she added.

  Sister Ursel did as she was told. She saw the sheet of parchment. “Oh!” she breathed. “Oh!” She snatched up the sheet and carefully unfolded it. With reverence, she smoothed the creases, then held it under the light from the cresset candles to examine it more carefully. She exhaled in relief when she saw that her work was undamaged.

  She rounded on Janna. “Did you take this page? And d-did you steal this box?” she demanded angrily. Even through her dismay, Janna noted that the nun hardly stammered at all.

  “No, Sister, I did not!” In spite of knowing that she’d had no choice in the matter, Janna still felt a sense of shame. “I found your missing page inside the box—and yes, I stole the box but I didn’t take your parchment. Not this page, nor any others that have gone missing in the past.”

  Sister Ursel’s eyes went round with horror. “You st-stole the box?” she said slowly. “Why are you telling me this? You should c-confess your misdeeds to our M-Mother.”

  “I wanted to speak to you first. Yes, I know I was wrong to go poking about in everyone’s possessions, but I was sure that whoever was responsible for stealing pages of your manuscript must have hidden them somewhere until she was ready for them to be ‘found’ later on. I couldn’t bear it if another page was defaced and spoiled as the last one was, and so I took a chance and made a search.”

  Ursel shot Janna a glance of pure amazement. “You c-cared enough about my work to dis-dishonor your soul?”

  “No dishonor to my soul. The dishonor belongs to the one who has been acting against you in this way. I don’t know who it is—although I have my suspicions! But I took the box because I hope the writing will tell us who the owner is.” Janna tapped the inscription on the silver band. “See? I cannot read the name inscribed here, but I know you can.”

  “Laudate Dominum,” Sister Ursel read the words aloud. “That means ‘Praise the L-Lord,’ Sister Johanna.”

  “Oh.” Janna felt thoroughly deflated as she faced the scribe. “I’m sorry. I took it thinking it would tell us who has been acting against you in this way.”

  “But it does,” Sister Ursel said slowly. “This b-box belongs to Sister Catherine.”

  “Not Sister Philippa?”

  “No.” Ursel looked surprised. “Why…why would you think that?”

  “Because…” But Janna was too ashamed of her suspicions to continue. “How do you know it belongs to Sister Catherine?” she asked instead.

  “Because I-I once saw her showing it to s-several of our sisters. She is very p-proud of it, but…but of course she is not meant to have any p-personal p-property so she k-keeps it hidden under her mattress—or s-so she said.”

  “And that’s where I found it, with this sheet of parchment inside.”

  Sister Ursel’s face reflected her shock.

  “Why would Sister Catherine do such a thing?” Janna asked.

  “Perhaps…b-because of my mouse and her dog?” Sister Ursel cast her eyes heavenward as if seeking the answer there. “Everyone, at s-some time or another, has c-complained about Sister Catherine’s dog. And for m-many different reasons, b-but I s-suspect she blames me for drawing attention to each in-incident. The d-dog used to bark whenever I came near, you s-see. It could smell Chester, but in making its p-presence known it was imp-impossible for Mother Abbess to ignore its existence. And so…so she would remonstrate with Sister Catherine. And…and I suppose that’s why Catherine t-took vengeance on me and on Chester.” She gazed sadly at the parchment in her hands. “I-I found his…his remains in the cloister late this afternoon,” she said. “S-Sister Catherine and her dog were close by. There was b-blood on his muzzle! I-I could see the triumph in Catherine’s eyes, and I realized then how much she…she h-h-hates me!” Her voice shook. Her eyes were glassy with tears. She squeezed them shut and blotted the tears away with her hand. “It is a j-judgment on me, for my lack of faith,” she whispered.

  Janna remembered the incident in church, and the incident in the cloisters. She wished, now, that she’d paid more attention at the time. Two nuns who both loved their pets, but only one in trouble for it. How the injustice of it must have festered in Catherine’s mind to drive her to such lengths.

  “This is surely nothing to do with God’s judgment, and everything to do with Sister Catherine’s spite,” she said. “You have the parchment safe. What will you do about Sister Catherine?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Janna couldn’t believe her ears.

  Ursel shook her head. Her face was creased with worry as she thought about it. “I-I’ll have to give the box b-back to her. I could tell her that I-I know she took the pages from me, and was r-responsible for their d-destruction. As for…for Chester—I-I d-don’t know how he managed to escape, but I am sure Catherine could have prevented her d-dog from killing him, if she’d only h-had the will to do so. But b-blaming her cannot bring Chester back to life, while the…the fact that he is gone m-means she cannot hold m
e responsible in the future for…for any trouble caused by her animal. S-so I think I’ll j-just tell her I’ll say no more ab-about it.”

  “You could also tell her that if any more pages are taken, you’ll accuse her openly in chapter and tell the abbess what she’s done,” Janna said sharply. “Tell her that you have a witness to vouch for your story.”

  Ursel nodded. “I-I can’t thank you enough for t-taking this risk on my behalf, Johanna. I…thought that G-G-God had abandoned me. This p-page…M-my w-work…”

  “I know.” Janna smiled at her. “I know how much it means to you.”

  “And if there’s anything…anything I can d-do in return?”

  “No, I’m glad to have been of help.” Janna looked at the parchment in Ursel’s hand, at the careful writing and the small illustration beside it: a line drawing of a nun on her knees, with a beautifully decorated cross in her hands and a golden halo around her head.

  Here was the answer to all her prayers! Janna marveled at her stupidity, her slowness in seeing the blindingly obvious. “Actually, there is something you could do for me, Sister Ursel, if you would,” she said carefully. “I cannot read, and my future depends on my learning to do so. Will you teach me?”

  She held her breath, waiting for the same curt refusal she’d received from Sister Grace and the chantress. But Ursel beamed with happiness. “No-one’s ever asked me to…to do anything for them before,” she exclaimed. “I-I’d be happy to share my knowledge with you, Johanna.”

  Janna closed her eyes, and breathed out a silent “Thank you,” knowing that here in this church, if nowhere else, God would be listening, and must surely give His blessing to her search for the truth.

  Chapter 16

  The days passed swiftly; there were barely enough daylight hours for Janna to accomplish all that she wanted to do. She’d told Sister Anne that Sister Ursel had consented to teach her how to read, and had begged time away from her duties. Sister Anne had agreed to give her a few hours off in the afternoon whenever she could be spared, but had warned Janna that she expected her help in the infirmary at all other times. With the abbey shivering through the long, hard winter, Janna was kept busy physicking coughs and colds, the aches of rheumatics, and sundry other complaints suffered by the nuns.

  She knew that Sister Anne was entrusting her to do more and more, and felt a growing sense of confidence as she went about her work. But her greatest enjoyment was to spend time in company with Sister Ursel. The scribe had requested a wax tablet and a metal stylus from Sister Grace, and had told Janna she would learn to read and write through copying from a reader, the Disticha Catonis.

  “But I don’t understand Latin!” Janna cried in dismay.

  Sister Ursel had looked a little taken aback. “That is how the oblates and novices are taught,” she said dubiously.

  “I’d much rather learn how to read the Saxon language.” Janna suddenly recollected that the letter was from her father. “But Norman French would be even better,” she said quickly.

  “You speak our language?” Sister Ursel sounded amazed.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” It was the first time Janna had admitted to it since she’d come to the abbey.

  “Of course. I-I remember now. Your mother spoke to me in the language of the Normans.”

  Janna froze into stillness. “My…my mother? You spoke to her when she came here?” She remembered now that Ursel was the only one she hadn’t interrogated, and mentally gave herself a swift kick. The answer had been here all the time!

  “Yes, I spoke to her. Why, is it important?” Ursel had picked up the tablet to write on it, to show Janna the letters of the alphabet. But she put down the stylus, intrigued by the urgency in Janna’s tone.

  “Did she tell you anything about herself? Where she came from?”

  “She said she…she’d come from Ambresberie. Why? Did you not know that, Johanna?”

  Mute with shock, Janna shook her head. Ursel’s bewilderment increased. “She was a nun at the abbey there. Their infirmarian, or s-so she said. But…but she told me she’d learned her knowledge of herbs and her sk-skill with healing from her own mother. Surely you knew that?”

  “No.” Stricken, Janna stared at Ursel. “Why did she confide in you and no-one else? She never said anything to me!” Her eyes burned. She knew she was about to cry, and blinked furiously.

  “Perhaps she was ashamed? She was p-pregnant when she came here, you know. She begged the abbess for shelter—not that Abbess H-Hawise showed her any sympathy, or even any C-Christian charity! In fact, she told your mother not to…to talk to anyone while she was here. P-perhaps she thought her disgrace was contagious! She…she sent her away just as soon as she could.”

  Perhaps regretting her waspish tone, Ursel’s voice softened. “As to why your mother confided in me, she c-came to ask if I could show her how to write a name. Your name, Johanna. ‘In c-case I have a little girl,’ she said.”

  Janna closed her eyes. “I think she named me after my father. Did she say anything to you about him, about who he is and where he comes from?”

  “No. That is all I know. I’m sorry, Johanna.”

  “She taught me how to write my name.” Janna took the tablet from Ursel and scratched the letters onto the wax tablet. “See?” She held it out. “That’s all I know how to write.”

  “Then let us make haste to remedy that. You already know how to write an A. Let’s b-begin at the beginning of the alphabet.” Ursel’s voice was kind as she encouraged Janna to put her grief behind her and make a start.

  Sister Eadgyth? Or Sister someone else? Janna put the question to Sister Ursel, but she didn’t know the answer.

  “I have also seen this name written down. Can you tell me what it is, please, Sister?” Janna wrote the name that was burned into her memory, the name at the bottom of her mother’s letter.

  “John. That says John,” Ursel confirmed.

  John. Who loved Eadgyth just as she loved him. Or did he? Janna found that her mother was never far from her thoughts while she was with Sister Ursel. The letter seemed to burn a hole in her purse. She longed to bring it out, to ask the sister to read it, but was afraid that the truth it revealed would so shock Ursel that her lessons would come to an end. More than ever now, Janna was determined not to leave the abbey until she could both read and write.

  After Ursel had shown all the letters of the alphabet to Janna, she made her learn the sounds of them. They sat together in the scriptorium during their lessons, for it was too cold to sit out in the cloister. Ursel continued her painstaking illuminations while Janna practiced writing and sounding the letters, and attempted to read the simple words that the scribe wrote on the tablet for her to decipher.

  But the work progressed too slowly for Janna’s patience. Although she sometimes brought out the letter and studied it when no-one was around to see her, most of the words stayed tantalizingly out of her reach. The few she could read were too scattered for her to make much sense of them other than to learn that they seemed to be written in the Saxon language after all. But she was too proud to tell Ursel that she’d changed her mind, and so, laboriously, she sounded out the letters and tried to match the words she could read with their Saxon equivalent. The one thing she was quite sure of now was that the letter had indeed come from her father.

  There was something else she could ask Ursel, and one day she plucked up enough courage to show her the brooch she’d found buried under their cot in her mother’s secret hiding place. “Can you read the inscription for me, please, Sister?” she asked.

  “Amor vincit omnia,” the nun obliged.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s Latin. It means ‘love conquers all.’ It’s a b-beautiful brooch, Johanna. Where did you get it?”

  “It belonged to my mother.”

  “A gift from your f-f-f–?”

  “My father?” Janna closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  Ursel’s difficulty with the w
ord “father” reminded Janna of the nun’s speech impediment. She realized then that, in their conversations, Ursel hardly stuttered at all. It was mostly when she did the readings during the meals. It was when she spoke of God. God, the “father.”

  Janna remembered the nun’s anguish at the shrine of St Edith, how she had prayed for faith. Was a lack of faith at the heart of her difficulty with speech? She reminded herself that it was none of her business. Yet she heard herself asking, “What brought you here to the abbey, Sister Ursel?”

  “I wanted to serve God.” The nun was absorbed in coloring several very small flowers, and answered without thinking. She looked up then, and flushed a deep and painful red. “Th-the truth is, my family p-paid a d-dower for me to be here, to be r-r-rid of me.”

  “Surely not!” Janna was shocked.

  The nun grimaced unhappily. “My…my f-f-father died when I was quite young, and my mother m-married again, and had s-several more children. My half-sister was the b-beauty of the family. My mother knew she could find a husband for her, and my b-brothers were provided for by my…my stepf-f-father. I d-didn’t belong in the new f-family. And so…so I decided to s-serve God instead.”

  “So you’re here because you wanted to come?” Janna asked gently.

  “Y-Yes.” Ursel raised her eyes to Janna. They were suspiciously bright. “I…I s-saw the abbey as a p-place of refuge, you s-see. I was…was clumsy. I f-forgot things, I muddled everything up. My family lost patience with…with me. They s-said I was g-good for nothing, a…a nuisance, so they told me to…to go and be a n-nuisance at the abbey, instead.”