Viola nodded and wiped a tear from her eye. The doors to the chapel opened. She received several scrutinizing looks from the others as they filtered into the church. Viola kept her chin up and avoided their eyes. True to her word, Anne stood with her during prayer.
After nones, Viola took confession with the priest. She didn’t confess to the undue blame placed upon her; she only divulged anger toward her father. Either the priest was unaware of the gossip or he simply didn’t care. He told her to give her heart to the Lord and she would find forgiveness in Him. Even with the Lord’s help, she doubted she would find forgiveness for her father.
In silence, Anne walked Viola toward the kitchens on the other side of the convent. Viola wasn’t exactly sure why Sister Isabella had lied, though she was certain it was jealousy. After all, Viola assumed, Isabella did not know how to treat her betters. Though Mother Superior insisted that they were all the same, Viola knew better. She was still an Earl’s daughter and a distant cousin to the Queen.
When they reached the kitchens, Anne squeezed her hand, gave her a tight smile and approached a large woman with a round face and beady eyes. The room was filled with half-a-dozen women preparing the evening meal. The woman motioned Viola closer.
“This is Sister Judith,” Anne said. “She will oversee your duties.”
Sister Judith handed Viola an apron and pointed toward pots from the afternoon meal.
Viola lifted a pot with her finger and thumb. A slimy substance with bits of dried green cabbage stuck to the edges. The afternoon meal turned in her stomach.
A young girl set down a bucket of water next to a pile of dirty dishes. The water sloshed on the hem of Viola’s kirtle. She leaned over and whispered, “There is talk of buttons found in your cell.”
Viola gave the girl a curt look.
The girl looked around and leaned back in. “I am Claire. Whatever you do, do not cross Sister Isabella. She will not make your life here simple.”
Before Viola could respond, Claire picked up an empty bucket and walked away.
* * *
The sky was dark when Viola entered her cell, holding a single tallow candle to light her way. Her cell was in disarray. The lay servant had not returned to put it back in order. The bedding was tossed on the floor, and her chair and small table were on their sides. Viola reached down and picked up her mother’s prayer book from the floor, hugging it to her chest.
It took a bit, but she was able to restore some order to her room, and then began to undress. The day had been exhausting. Two meals worth of pots and pans scrubbed, and, in between, attended prayer. She suspected that her meal was smaller due to her penance. After Claire first spoke to her, the girl had kept her distance, but on occasion, Viola had caught the girl casting looks in her direction.
She now had the hands of a servant: red, swollen. She carefully unbound herself, not wanting her three remaining pearls to fall to the floor. She still needed a safe place to hide them. Sister Isabella made it quite obvious that her entire room would be searched, including the bedding.
There was no drawer in the desk, no cupboard for clothing, nothing. She peered up at the wooden crucifix above her bed and wondered why she had been placed here. What did she do wrong? Her eyes drifted to the flame of the candle, then back to the crucifix. It was hung with a rusty nail. Her eyes went back to the flame shining brightly above the melting wax.
A smile met Viola’s lips. Quickly, she set the buttons on the desk and climbed upon her bed and removed the cross. With several pulls, she removed the nail in the wall. With its point she tested the wood. It was soft enough.
For the next hour, Viola managed to create three small groves in the back of the cross where the pearls would lie flush. She laid the cross on the desk, picked up the candle, and with the utmost care, dripped the wax onto the buttons. After it cooled, she inspected her work. The wax was not level with the wood. With the side of the nail, she scraped at the wax until she was satisfied.
The shavings of wax and wood would be noticed. She wiped the desk of its debris into her hand. Where to hide the scraps? She spotted her shoe and tucked them inside. After checking her bed, she knelt down to the floor and swept up more shavings with her hand.
For the first time since she arrived, Viola finally felt she had completed a task to remove herself from this place.
She heard footsteps outside her door and then an adjacent door open and close. The watch sisters were doing their rounds. She replaced the nail and cross and jumped from her bed just as the door opened.
“Mistress Viola,” a watch sister whispered. “Have you not slept?”
“No, Sister. I was praying.”
The sister sighed. “Do not let your candle burn low or you may receive another penance for staying awake all night.”
“Yes, Sister.” Viola leaned over and blew out her candle.
She heard the door close, then breathed in deeply and let it out slowly before lying down for the night.
CHAPTER FOUR
The chapel bells rang for terce. Viola removed her apron and hung it on a wooden peg. Her duties were finished from their morning meal and the others were preparing the midday meal. She stepped outside into the warm sun and looked up; a few clouds floated in the otherwise clear, blue sky.
Her mother had told her that nuns were the most respectable of women. But her mother had not known Sister Isabella.
After prayer, Viola held back and waited patiently for the sisters to leave the chapel. She climbed the back staircase of the bell tower. The ascent burned her thighs and calves—a worthy sacrifice for solace. At least going back down would be simpler, she thought, and took a deep breath, continuing her way up.
The higher she got, the more she felt the warmth of the sun. A flock of birds flew across the sky. Viola wished that she was one of those bird—free as the wind upon which they sailed.
The road down the hill ventured into a grove of trees. Further down, it entered the small town. She knew the few precious gems that she had hidden in her crucifix would not bring enough to gain passage back to England. Even if she were to manage to get back home, she would not have enough to feed or clothe herself, let alone assist the Queen.
“Viola, I suspected you would be here.” Sister Anne panted heavily. “You are needed in the kitchens.”
“Yes, Sister Anne. The view is so beautiful; I simply wanted to witness it again.”
Sister Anne’s face lit up with a smile. “Come. As soon as your penance is completed, I will show you more wonderful places which will soothe your soul. But for now, I left a small token in your cell. A quill and parchment to scribe a letter to your father.”
Viola smiled and this time, her feelings for Anne were genuine. “You are very kind.” Viola glanced back at the sky; a lonely bird flew past. Soon, she, too, would have the ability to soar free.
Viola worked with more fervor than she had the day before. She went to prayer, ate, returned to the kitchens, then to prayer again before the nuns gathered in the recreation room. The kitchen supervisor, impressed with her ability, asked if Viola wished to stay in the kitchens to assist after each meal. Viola graciously turned down the offer, not wanting to upset yet another member of the convent. Who knew if this woman would complain about her performance only to keep her there.
Instead of joining the others in the recreation room, Viola found her way to her cell. As promised, Anne had left a quill and a piece of parchment on her table with a small bottle of ink. The open window let in the last of the day’s light.
Viola sat down and arranged her newly acquired supplies, rubbed her stiff hands, then dipped the quill into the ink and began to write:
My dearest father,
It is my hope this letter finds you well and safely returned home.
She dipped the quill again, then paused. What should she say to him? Apologize? Beg him to retrieve her? No, she would not bow down. She had nothing to apologize for. Everything she had done was to fulfill her mother’s last
request. Besides, she was certain that he was still angry with her. It would be best to build his trust.
She tapped the edge of the jar to remove the ink which threatened to drip. She described her days in the convent and explained how her isolation made her realize how important her family was to her. She wished him well and requested he write her soon.
Viola blew on the parchment, waiting for the ink to dry. When she was satisfied, she folded the parchment and glanced at her unlit candle. It wouldn’t be lit until the watch sisters came around with a taper. She would need a seal, but that, too, had been hiding in her trunks and had been taken away from her. She stood up and began to pace and her mother’s rosary bounced against her leg. She knew then what she would use—an impression of the crucifix would show the strength of her faith.
The next morning, Sister Anne promised to have the letter sent out. A courier was expected in two days’ time and Anne was certain her father would receive the letter within a fortnight.
CHAPTER FIVE
It had been a couple of months since Viola had sent her first letter to her father. She was certain that he’d received her letter. At least, she hoped he had. She was anxious for word, wondering if his anger had subsided and if he would allow her to return home.
After the midday meal, the sisters went to their daily duties, but Viola walked the long way around toward the main entrance where she had walked in with her father. She had no interest in her studies where she was required to sit in a hot room with the other novices and candidates with the mistress of the novices’ watching their every move. It was a beautiful afternoon and she wanted to walk.
Horace opened the front gate and a young man on a black charger galloped onto the grounds and headed to the front entrance. Viola quickened her pace.
Sister Isabella stood at the entrance when Viola approached. She held a bundle of papers.
“Should you not be seeing to your duties?”
“Yes, Sister. I noticed a courier approach.”
Isabella glanced down at the papers in her hand. “There is nothing for you here.” She turned and walked away.
Could the woman possibly be any more ill-mannered? Viola sighed and stepped inside.
In the study room, the women looked up when she walked in the door, causing the mistress of the novices to stop reading and glance over. Viola ignored her piercing gaze and found a seat near a window. When she was settled in a chair, the reading from the text continued. Novice Bonne watched her intently, until Viola’s unwavering stare made her turn away and focus on a hornbook. Viola laughed inwardly. The chit was still learning her letters.
She stared out the window and thought again about the letter she had sent her father. She imagined his reaction to the words she had penned. Would he be pleased and call for his carriage to be readied? Or was her letter too stern? Did he believe what she said about her family?
“Mistress Viola!”
The sound of her name startled her. The mistress of the novices scribbled on a sheet of parchment. “Take this to Mother Superior.” She handed the folded paper to Viola.
Viola was happy to leave the room, but an uneasy feeling churned in her stomach. The last person she wanted to see was the abbess.
She knocked on the door.
“Enter,” a familiar voice called out.
Viola pulled the heavy door open, surprised that the hinges didn’t creak like those of the chapel. Oddly, the lack of sound sent a chill up her spine.
She handed the parchment to the abbess and watched her open it.
“It appears, Mistress Viola, that you have issue paying attention to your lessons. And you have decided to begin study when it is convenient for you, and not for all. I believe we have discussed this on a prior occasion.”
Stunned, Viola opened her mouth to speak, then closed it immediately. What she wanted to say would not benefit her while she was under this woman’s control. She sent up a silent prayer that her father would retrieve her from this vile place.
“This is the day the floors are washed. Claire!” The abbess called out. Viola turned around to the open door. The girl from the kitchens stopped and peered into the room. “Yes, Mother Superior?”
“I wish you to instruct and oversee Mistress Viola in her duties for the day. I believe it is time for the floors to be washed.”
Claire glanced at Viola. “Yes, Mother Superior, it is.” She curtsied and waited for Viola to follow.
Viola grimaced. Now she was to have this simple servant scrutinize and order her. She’d never been so insulted in her life—at least not since the time her brother James had returned home, when their father paid him more attention than her.
Within a quarter hour, Claire had acquired buckets, scrub brushes, and towels. Viola carried a bucket full of water up the stairs, being careful to not slosh it on her kirtle.
Claire set her bucket outside of the abbess’s rooms. Viola wondered if she could be degraded any more than to have Mother Superior watch her bow down on her knees and work.
“Now, be certain to wipe the floor until it is dry and ring the extra water into the bucket.” Claire said. “When wet, the floors are slick. You do not want one of the sisters to slip and hurt themselves.”
They were halfway done when Isabella walked by. Apparently, she could be degraded even more. The woman stopped, glanced down at Viola, and smirked before she entered the abbess’s chambers. Moments later, Claire disappeared too.
Incredible. Now the chit has pushed the task upon her. If Father knew of this, he would surely have taken pity on her.
She continued to scrub, wishing the abbess would see that she had been abandoned and would punish Claire as she was being punished.
She heard a sloshing sound behind her; Claire was on her knees near the doorway to the next room. She heard the door open, Isabella walked from the room and gave her another smirk as she walked away.
Claire tossed her brush into the bucket. “Come. We are done here.”
Viola looked at the half clean floor. “We are not done.”
Claire gave a small chuckle. “These floors were cleaned only a few hours ago. They will be washed again on the morrow.”
She threw her towel into the bucket. So now they were fabricating chores, purposely degrading her. She would not let them reduce her to a simpleton.
CHAPTER SIX
The trees’ colors darkened, the weather cooled, the days shortened. Viola fell into the daily routine of the convent. She spent her time in prayer and study with the mistress of the novices, who kept reminding her that she needed to be certain before she was to declare herself and to stay on good terms with the other nuns. Apparently, there were still a few who were unsure about Viola’s presence in the convent. It was obvious who they were: when Viola went into the courtyard, they would see her and conveniently walk to the other side. For now, Viola would lift her chin and pretend their actions went unnoticed.
This morning, Viola had penned her sixth letter to her father and had yet to receive a response. He must have been more displeased with her than she had previously thought. His previous actions had shown that he was furious, that he thought her actions unforgivable; but she thought, at the very least, he would come to his senses. She was, after all, his only daughter.
After prayer, Viola handed her most recent letter to Anne and set out to resume her studies, but found the beautiful September day enticing. She was tired of the stuffy room with the mistress’s beady eyes staring at her as if she were to turn into a dragon—just about to grow scales and breathe fire.
She breathed in the musky scent of wet leaves after the morning mist. It wouldn’t be long before the grounds were wet and soggy with rain, unlike the harsh, snowy winters of England. With a slow lingering step, Viola managed to waste enough time and decided she best return to the study room before she was summoned to the abbess for being tardy yet again.
A lay servant was on her knees scrubbing the stairs. Viola retreated to one side, careful not to sli
p. She gave a small nod to a group of nuns who were heading down. One frowned at her and quickly turned away. Viola had no use for those who couldn’t even show the simplest of courtesy. She turned at the top of the staircase and heard a scream, a series of thumps, then a solid thud echoing through the chambers. Tentatively, she glanced below. The lay servant scurried down to a sister lying on the floor, her red face and disheveled black robe looking very much to Viola like a wounded vulture spread out on the floor.
Viola smirked. Nuns came flocking from the corridors. She lifted her chin. The injured nun got what she deserved. Besides, Viola had more pressing matters to attend. Inwardly, she chastised the lay servant too; the girl should have known to wipe the floors dry.
She reached for the door handle of the study room when she heard someone call her name. Anne walked toward her with a determined step. Had Viola been caught walking away from the accident or did Mother Superior know she was tardy again for her lecture?
“Viola,” Anne whispered. “I should wait to tell you, but I have the most joyous news. They have accepted you.”
“Accepted me?”
Anne raised her clasped hands to her chin and smiled. “Yes. To receive the veil. You are to become a novice. And now you can be placed. You could sing with the choir. I am so very proud of you.”
Viola felt her heart sink, a knot form in her stomach. Veiled? She would serve the church in other ways, but not as a bride to Christ.
Anne’s eyes grew wide and she clasped Viola’s hand. “It will be all right, Viola. Your hair will grow back.”
The mistress of the novices opened the door and gave Viola a stern look. Then she turned to Sister Anne and softened her manner. She nodded and stepped back for Viola to enter.
Anne squeezed Viola’s hand. “God will guide you.”
Viola nodded. Poor Anne. The simple, foolish, old woman truly believed that sheared hair was the only reason she didn’t want to be a novice. Did she not realize? There was more to the world than this tiny convent.
A Perilous Beginning (The Pearl Heirloom Collection Book 4) Page 3