The Law of Angels

by Cassandra Clark

  She opened her eyes and saw the same little group approaching along the river bank. This time the boy-bishop was leading a girl of about eight by the hand.

  They walked with great ceremony through the grass and drew to a halt not far off. The boy-bishop was intoning some gobbledygook as before and waving a hand in an approximation of a blessing, but suddenly the girl threw herself to the ground and started screaming and writhing in what was a passable imitation of someone in religious ecstasy. It reminded Hildegard of a particular novice during her own training.

  The child continued to writhe and sob. After a while it became alarming. The others were standing around, eyeing her with some curiosity, forgetting their parts in the charade.

  When the girl didn’t get up, Hildegard went over.

  “She’s gone crazy in the head,” one of the boys said when he saw her. “Ever since she saw the Virgin in a bush.”

  “She says she saw the Virgin, does she?”

  A small girl slipped her hand into Hildegard’s. “I’m frightened of her. She does this all the time, sister.”

  “Let her be,” said the boy-bishop. “She’s got to let the devils out.”

  “Who told you there were devils in her?” asked Hildegard.

  “She did. She says Our Lady came to her in angel meadows and told her to set the devils free or she would go to hell and burn forever.”

  “I doubt whether Our Lady would say a thing like that to a child,” observed Hildegard.

  Suddenly the girl stood up and pointed across the meadow and in a terrified voice cried, “See! The angel of the Lord! See his firey sword! He comes to bring punishment to those who don’t repent! Praise the Virgin and all her angels! Repent! Repent!” Then she fell forward again, clawing at the ground, burying her face in the hot grass and sobbing as if in genuine terror.

  Hildegard went over. She knelt down. “Dear child, get up. You are forgiven.”

  The girl lifted her head and seeing that Hildegard was a nun flung herself into her arms, sobbing. “I saw her, sister. She came to me in the meadow and asked me to help her. And she was covered in the blood of the devil. And she screamed in agony. I saw her. But I refused her. I was in fear for myself. She is our Holy Mother, the Virgin, Queen of Heaven. The Mother of God. I have to speak though they rip out my tongue! Save me!” Then she cried out, her terror so convincing it sent shivers up Hildegard’s spine. Suddenly the girl sprang away and ran a few steps with one arm flung out. “See! There she comes again in her robes of glory! Save me, Blessed Mother!” She fell to her knees.

  All the children turned but the only thing that met their gaze was the softly blowing meadow grass, rippling in a gentle breeze that ran far along the river bank towards the woods. The children, nonetheless, started to run screaming in all directions. The more the girl intoned and pointed, the more they allowed themselves the luxury of panic.

  Hildegard stepped forward. “I think that’s enough, all of you. There is nothing there. This child needs to be taken home now.” Her matter-of-fact tones brought some order to their hysteria and she asked, “Can any of you tell me where she lives?”

  “She doesn’t have a home,” one of the girls said in an important voice, breaking off her hysterical cries in mid flow. “She’s staying with an aunty.”

  “Then let’s take her there.”

  One by one the little troop came to accept the idea of a grown-up taking charge and they followed randomly through the meadow towards a row of cottages on the edge of the open land in the shelter of the city walls.

  When the child appeared accompanied by a nun, a harassed-looking woman came rushing out of one of the houses. “Has she been causing trouble again, sister? I am sorry. I can’t say how much I regret it, putting you to all this inconvenience, having to bring her back. I don’t know what to do with her.”

  “She seems troubled by something she’s seen.”

  “All nonsense. What can she have seen that others haven’t? She’s causing a disturbance because she’s having to stay with me. She will not settle.”

  “Has something happened to her mother?” asked Hildegard.

  “Died this year past, so she’s been sent to me. Poor little morsel, pushed from pillar to post. Who wouldn’t invent a vision or two, eh?”

  The woman picked the child up in her arms and held her tight. “Come in now, Lucy, do. It’s all over. We love you fondly. And we’ll always keep you safe.”

  Several of the group peeled off into the house and Hildegard realised that the woman already had a large brood of her own. She felt sorry for her but there was little she could do to sort out another family’s domestic arrangements.

  As the woman followed the children she turned briefly at the door. “It’s the old story. Her dad’s been beguiled by the witchcraft of another woman.”

  The boy-bishop stood by. “We’ll go back into angel meadows, sister, and see if we can catch sight of the Virgin ourselves. Maybe we can offer a prayer and she’ll take the devils out and make Lucy happy again.”

  He gathered the remnants of his little troop. They struck up their dirge-like hymn once more as they wound solemnly through the camps.

  * * *

  And then she saw him. Gilbert. She had scarcely left the row of houses when she glimpsed his bright hair.

  He was sitting on the bank of the river with his back against a tree, a pad of some sort on his knees and a drawing instrument in his hand As she approached she saw he was making a sketch of the people sitting close by. She went up to him as it seemed the natural thing to do. Her hounds followed.

  “Taking advantage of a break in work?” she called. He didn’t show any surprise at seeing her. His expression could only be described as innocent.

  “May I have a look?”

  He held up a page of drawings. Somehow he had managed to catch the exact look of the family sitting nearby under the tree. Mother, father, a toddler and a babe in arms. Without distortion he revealed them in all their pride and poverty. She looked at it with admiration. “You draw like an angel, Gilbert. Are you going to give this to them?”

  He shook his head. “It’s for my pattern book. They’ll maybe see themselves in a church window one of these days. The Holy Family. Flight into Egypt.”

  “So you’re working, even in this hot weather?”

  “I always work.” He showed her the book. Its pages were protected by two boards of wood, the whole thing held together by leather straps. He turned over the page he was working on and on the other side, the wool side of the vellum, was a drawing of herself with Duchess and Bermonda beside her. So that’s how he saw her. She gave him a quick glance.

  “When did you draw this?”

  “Earlier on. I saw you walk past and go to sit near the river.”

  “You’ve been watching me?”

  “I’m not the only one.” He turned to the next page. There was a drawing of a man with familiar brutal features. He was unmistakable. It was the servant from the convent of the Holy Wounds, Matthias, the one she suspected had held a knife to her throat a few nights ago.

  She gave a hurried glance over her shoulder.

  “It’s all right. He made himself scarce when those children turned up. Do you know him?”

  “He works for the nuns. He’s a sort of handyman.”

  “Is it something to do with those two girls you brought with you?”

  She agreed it was. “How did you know about them?”

  Gilbert smiled. “Everybody knows you snatched them free. You made yourself popular. He’s gone anyway. Time for vespers I expect.” His lip curled in disdain. He closed up his pattern book and put it carefully inside a leather bag on the grass beside him and then gave her a careful look. “If you wait here long enough you’ll see someone else of interest.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Wait and see.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The representatives of the holy family had packed up and left by now and Gil
bert and Hildegard were alone under the oak tree.

  The sun had fallen like a ball of fire to the distant edge of the cleared land on the other side of the river. Its light was slanted, sending long fingers of shadow across the meadow. The little campfires stood out brightly as pinpricks of light and their brightness made the shadows seem deeper.

  It was still light enough to recognise someone at several paces. And yet, under their tree, in the shadow of its spreading branches weighted with summer leaf, they were probably hidden well unless someone came right up to them and walked in to where they sat.

  “What is this about, Gilbert?” she asked. Danby’s suspicions were uppermost in her thoughts.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. See what you make of it. I haven’t made sense of it myself yet.”

  “Is it something to do with your master?”

  He nodded. “Actions always have consequences. He will discover this soon enough. His sorrow is not ended yet.” He put a sudden hand on her arm to stop her reply. “See?” he breathed. “Look there, along the path. He’s on time.”

  Hildegard peered in the direction he was pointing and drew in a breath. She was mystified by Gilbert’s air of secrecy. “But it’s Baldwin.”

  “Every night for three nights he has walked along this path in the same direction. If you watch you’ll see he goes along the river to the woods.”

  “And then?”

  “I haven’t had the courage to follow him.”

  “He’s going for a walk. Taking the evening air. That’s all.”

  “Is he?”

  “Why should you think otherwise?”

  Baldwin—it was definitely him—was approaching along the path and Gilbert lowered his voice to a whisper. “You don’t know what happened just before Dorelia disappeared. I was there the night the master was out searching for you.” His face was a pale oval in the twilight. It was turned towards her. His eyes were dark hollows reflecting no light. It was like looking into a void. “I was there all the time,” he whispered. “They don’t know what I heard. They assume my leg makes me deaf as well. Or stupid.”

  “I’m sure they—”

  “Don’t waste your breath with your compassion. It’s unwanted. Just know that I was there unheeded all that night.”

  “And?”

  “There was a visitor.”

  “To your master’s workshop?”

  “Indeed.”

  “He must get many visitors. He’s a well-known guildsman—”

  Baldwin was now level with them. Gilbert put a warning hand on her arm and they waited in silence until he walked past. The glazier carried on along the river bank just as Gilbert had predicted.

  “This was a visitor the master would not have welcomed,” he continued in an undertone. “It was John Gisburne.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Dorelia.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He must have thought: If master Baldwin can sell Dorelia to his own brother he can certainly sell her to me.”

  Hildegard could not believe what he was saying. “Did he go into the house?”

  “Of course he did. Baldwin let him in. Dorelia was alone. The old cook of the master’s is as deaf as a post and the two little servants would be asleep. There was nobody else there, apart from me, whom they discounted, and Jankin, whose presence they rather objected to until Baldwin suggested he go out in the town with a wad of money. He was reluctant to do that. He’s fond of Dorelia. He knew what they were up to. But he went. He went all right.”

  Gilbert rubbed a hand over his brow. Without thinking he unloosed his hair and it fell in a flood of light to his shoulders. As if he knew it could be seen in the darkness he pulled up his hood to conceal it. “Gisburne,” he said, “left towards dawn.”

  “You didn’t do anything?”

  “With Gisburne’s armed thugs standing guard all night? I did think of causing a diversion but I couldn’t get out. They locked the door of the small workshop where I sleep, maybe not realising anybody was in there. I weighed up the chances of getting my throat slit if I shouted to be let out and decided against. Besides, I didn’t know how amenable Dorelia was—she’d taken Baldwin’s money before.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  He gave a disparaging laugh. “I forget you’re a nun. My apologies, sister. I hope I haven’t shocked you—”

  As he had said to her earlier, she now said to him, “Don’t waste your breath. Do you mean Baldwin sold her to other men?”

  “He sold her to his brother. Other men have come into the picture. It’s been difficult for them. The master hates to let her out of his sight he’s so besotted. But Baldwin has found ways of keeping him occupied while he turns a profit for himself.”

  “Are you serious about this?”

  His silence was affirmation enough.

  “How can you go on living there?” Hildegard frowned into the darkness.

  He paused. “The very question I ask myself a thousand times a day.”

  It was dark now, or at least as dark as it ever gets in mid-summer. Baldwin had disappeared into the woods. The trees on the distant boundary of the meadow were like a smudge of charcoal.

  “The thing is … the thing is,” he continued, “I fear something worse might happen if I leave. At least, that was my fear.” He paused again. “Now my fear is it’s too late to think like that.”

  “Too late?”

  “I fear the worst has already happened.”

  “Gilbert, you must tell me everything. What is the worst: that Dorelia and Jankin absconded?”

  He gave a raw laugh. “He was mad enough to do it, but I doubt whether it would have occurred to him. And certainly Dorelia wasn’t going to swap a golden goose for a mere apprentice. I haven’t put all the pieces together yet but I’m convinced they didn’t abscond.”

  He got up. His limp seemed more pronounced for a moment and he pretended to have found necessary some minor adjustment to his leather bag. It gave him a chance to balance himself on the rough ground before hoisting the bag over his shoulder and setting off towards the path.

  “Wait!” she called. “What is out there in the woods?”

  “Trees.” He turned to look back. “And then it comes out in Two Mills Dale.”

  Baldwin must be going to visit the miller at Low Mill, she decided. The fact that he had procured a wife for his brother meant little. Girls were bought and sold for their dowries every day. The question of Dorelia’s alleged fortune, however, remained unanswered and, she realised, the doubt already voiced by Theophilus echoed what Gilbert seemed to be hinting.

  Dorelia had been bought and sold at least once.

  Remembering the pimp in the stews the other night and what he had shouted to Baldwin made her pause. “Have you come for your money already, Baldwin?” the man had called out. What had that been about? Payment for some glazing work the man had done? Or something else?

  Uncertainly, she peered into the darkness towards the woods. If there was an innocent explanation she would have a hard time excusing her presence should she turn up at the mill, and if there was something going on she could do nothing about it by herself. She would have to fetch help. She followed Gilbert in the direction of the town and when they reached the busy streets she put a hand on his arm. “What is the worst you fear?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say.”

  Her grip tightened. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t.”

  “Did you see Dorelia again, after that night?”

  He nodded. “After I heard Gisburne leave I called out to her to unlock the door. At first she didn’t seem to hear me so I started to bang on it. That brought her down and she took the latch off. ‘What are you doing locked in?’ she asked. I said, ‘Ask your customer.’ She didn’t like that. I think she believed nobody else knew. I just walked past her. I couldn’t be bothered with her. I went for a walk.”

  “Where to?”

  He look
ed startled. “Just through the town. Nowhere special. It was early. The vendors were getting their stalls ready for another day. I just walked about the streets.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “Late. It was after noon. I heard that big bell in the minster tolling the midday. It was after that. I had nowhere else to go. When I came in the master had already returned. Dorelia had gone. The master assumed she was out somewhere watching the jongleurs. He clung to the belief that she would come back until it started to get dark. Then it came over him. The truth. That she had left him and Jankin was also missing, therefore … they must have left together.”

  “Did they take anything with them?”

  “That’s the strange thing. Jankin’s sleeping chamber was cleared out, floor swept, nothing left but his bed. Or so the master said. I don’t go up there. The stairs,” he explained, “but Dorelia hadn’t taken a thing. The master came to the landing outside their chamber and just stood there with one of her gowns in his hands. ‘She left this behind.’ It was a green brocade he had given her and really liked her in.”

  “How do you explain the fact that she didn’t take anything?”

  “I told you, all the pieces aren’t in place yet.”

  “But she and Jankin had been lovers for—?”

  “It’d been going on for weeks. I don’t know how they got away with it. Jankin liked sailing close to the wind—a kiss behind the master’s back, a hand touching her breasts moments before the master walked into the workshop. Jankin was a devil that way. Dorelia encouraged him. They thought it a great joke to make a fool of the master.”

  “Do you believe she’s gone back to Wakefield?”

  “Why should she? She had no one there.”

  “What about her betrothed?”

  “Her what?”

  “Didn’t you know?”

  His expression changed and his eyes narrowed.

  “I wonder if Danby knew?” She watched him closely, trying to make out what that change of expression meant.

  “He wouldn’t mention it to me even if he did,” said Gilbert after a pause. “There was never a word about anybody else, not in Wakefield nor anywhere.”