CHAPTER SEVEN
The bells tolled for lauds. Viola wiped the sleep from her eyes and sat up on the rush matting. Daybreak returned to the horizon, but no one would retrieve her for prayer. For three days she’d been tucked away in a sparse room on the third floor with a small window for light. Her candle hadn’t been lit since the eve she was placed there.
She was to use the time to meditate on her spiritual future before she took the veil. It was difficult to think with an unemptied chamber pot so near and only a rush mat between her and the cold, stone floor. She actually missed the loathsome straw bed in her cell.
Her stomach rumbled. The last meal she had eaten was after terce, three days ago, with only a bit of water and stale bread. She fell to her knees and gave a quick prayer. She still hadn’t found a way out of the convent, nor the funds to complete her journey home.
The jingle of keys outside her door pulled Viola from her thoughts. Quickly, she stood up and smoothed out her wrinkled tunic—filthy, soiled with sweat—then ran her fingers through her ratted hair.
Sister Anne opened the door, followed by Claire.
Claire stopped suddenly and covered her nose and mouth. “Oh.” She looked at the chamber pot. “Why did you not toss it out?” She shook her head and took it to the window.
Viola hadn’t thought of tossing the contents out the window. She’d grown up having servants tend to such tasks for her and even here, she’d had a lay servant.
Sister Anne clapped her hands and several girls entered the room. One carried a large ceramic basin, another a pitcher filled with water. The third held a bundle of fabric and a cup.
Claire took the cup from the girl and put it to Viola’s lips. “Drink, just a bit to wet your pallet.”
“Mother Superior has sent an invitation to your father, but he has not yet arrived.”
Viola’s eyes shot up. Her father could possibly be arriving this day? He could stop the veiling. He could take her home.
Sister Anne continued: “There shall be a grand meal following the ceremony and the mistress of the robes has completed your new habit. Come now, we must tidy you up.”
With a linen cloth, Viola used the fresh water to cleanse herself. Then she let Claire wash her hair, relishing in the sensation of the cool water Claire slowly poured over it. After, Claire brushed her hair until it dried. Viola ran her finger through the soft strands.
She was dressed anew in a simple white gown, the sleeves decorated with bridal lace. It had been months since she had had such fine, soft fabric caress her skin.
Anne gave her one last look. “You are a beautiful bride.” Then she kissed Viola’s cheek. “I am so very proud of you.”
Viola’s heart felt heavy. She wanted to leave, and yet she didn’t want to disappoint Anne.
She was handed a branch of rosemary; it smelled heavenly, especially compared to the room she’d been hidden away in for three days.
“Come.” Anne grabbed her hand and took her to the courtyard where a lay servant handed Anne an unlit candle.
They crossed the courtyard in silence. Sister Anne opened the large screaking, heavy-hinged doors, behind which the convent’s choir began to hum a heavenly tune. A white cloth covered a small table at the altar, upon which lay a neatly folded white linen habit, a stoup of holy water, a highly polished silver platter, and a beeswax candle in a silver candlestick. Viola searched the room for her father, but to no avail.
With a taper, Anne lit the candle and handed it to Viola. She felt the sisters’ eyes upon her as she made her way to the altar. Each step was more difficult than the one before. This was not what she wanted, to be a bride of Christ, but she had no choice. She felt as if she were walking to the block, to her execution.
She knelt on the stone floor and placed the rosemary branch at the foot of the altar. The choir died down; the priest began his sermon in Latin. Viola pressed her hands together in prayer. The ceremony moved along at a slow, rhythmic pace. Her stomach turned.
“You are to be dead to the world, to your parents, to your friends and to yourself,” the priest intoned in French. He blessed the robes and presented them to her. With his hand, he motioned Viola to leave the altar and step behind a screen. Sister Anne followed.
The gown she’d only donned an hour ago, fell to the floor. A white linen tunic slid in its place, then a knee-length scapular. Anne held a mantle of undyed wool for Viola to slip her arms into, and placed it upon her shoulders. Two wreaths, one made of white roses and the other of thorns, were placed upon her head. Viola resisted moving to keep the sharp points of the thorns from prodding her skin.
Sister Anne stepped around the screen and the choir began to hum again. There was nowhere to run. If only her father were here. Viola squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She returned to the altar with all the poise her had mother taught her and knelt down on the cold stone floor, wishing that she had, at least, a pillow to comfort her aching knees.
The mistress of the novices stepped up and put scissors to her hair. Viola felt the cold metal against her neck. She shuddered. Long locks were placed upon the silver platter. Viola watched intently. Inwardly, she cursed her father for placing her here. Only Sister Anne’s words gave her some comfort; it would grow back.
The priest stepped forward, holding a taper, and tipped the flame to the platter. Viola could hear her hair singe from the heat. Smoke arose with a repugnant scent filling the chapel.
The priest incanted: “Accipe virgo Christi velamen virginitatis.” Mother Superior covered Viola’s head with a wimple and white veil, tucking the remaining strands of hair beneath the fabric. Viola stood and received the Mother Superior's embrace. The ceremony was over. She’d been veiled. Anne handed her the branch of rosemary and the choir sang as they walked toward the doors. Viola was more dead than alive when she exited the chapel. She wanted to rush to her cell and cry. Instead, she was led in a somber state to dine with the sisters. This was a day of celebration.
Viola tugged at the veil around her neck. The celebration meal in front of her was not as grand as she’d had in England, but grander than she’d had since she arrived. The table was spread with leek soup, lavender bread, fresh cheese, stuffed dates, figs, and several types of fish: carp, perch and eel. But Viola had no appetite, though she’d not had a proper meal in days. This was not at all what she had thought her wedding would be. She imagined one with Alexander Dohetry, one King Midas would have approved of.
She thought of the buttons and how she needed more for passage to England. She still hadn’t heard from her father. She thought of writing him of the “joyous” news, how maybe that would soften him. No. He knew about the veiling and refused to attend. He must have thought that she’d changed and that it was her choice to be committed.
Down the table, a sister cleared her throat. Viola kept her head down, pretending not to notice. The cough grew louder. Sister Isabella stood up, knocking over her drinking cup. Sister Lucia, the mistress of the infirmary, caught her before she fell, then escorted her out of the room. A muttering rose around the table. Mother Superior rapped her spoon on the table. Silence.
Claire whispered in Viola’s ear. “At long last, the witch gets hers.” She picked up Viola’s plate and turned toward the kitchens.
Isabella was a power-hungry tyrant, but no witch. Mere months ago, Viola had dealt with one who could truly cast spells and preform magic. Commoners feared her; the wealthy turned a blind eye. Viola knew her secrets and had sought her out to cast a spell when Alexander’s attentions had turned to Rachel Drovere. But Rachel had interfered, and the witch… failed.
Women filtered from the refectory to go about their duties until the bells rang again for prayer. She had yet to be assigned duties and had no desire to study with the mistress of the novices, though the hours she spent in study would be reduced so she could assume other chores which were more in line with the workings of the convent.
There was one room where access had been denied to her, the
tapestry room. The first day she’d arrived, Sister Anne told her she would work on a tapestry once she became a novice. Now that she’d been veiled, she’d make her presence known.
She walked slowly down the hallway toward the tapestry room.
“Novice Viola.”
Anne walked swiftly down the hallway carrying a bundle. “A courier delivered this but a moment ago.” She handed the bundle to Viola.
Viola gave her a simple smile. “I will take it to my room.”
“I will tell the mistress of the novices you will arrive momentarily.”
Viola nodded and walked toward the staircase. Maybe the parcel was from her father. She did her best not to run up the staircase and down the corridor to her cell. The bundle was heavy.
She set it on her bed and untied the twine that bound it. Inside she found a hair brush, a sewing kit, a carpet for her bed, a pair of sturdy leather boots, and satin sheets. On top was a letter. Quickly, she broke the seal.
My dearest Viola,
I think it has been too long since I have set my eyes upon you.
I hope this letter finds you well and in good health, for you have not responded to my many letters. It warms my heart you have decided to commit yourself to God. In time, I hope you can find forgiveness in me. I was advised that once you were accepted as a novice, you could possess a few of your belongings. It is my hope these items will bring you modest comfort. If you find it in your heart, it is my hope you will return a letter to me.
Be in good health.
Your loving father, Joseph Bryant
Viola’s hand fell into her lap. Her mind reeled. The letters she had penned were never delivered to her father. But he knew. He knew she’d been veiled.
She tossed the letter on the bed. With a determined step, she sought out Anne.
“The letters I gave you to send to my father. What did you do with them?”
Anne’s eyes grew wide. “I... I... they were presented to Sister Isabella. She is responsible for accepting and delivering correspondence.”
“Then how was my parcel received this day?”
“Sister Isabella is with Sister Lucia in the infirmary. I was available when the courier arrived and accepted them on her behalf.”
She should have known. Isabella was as evil as a woman could be. She needed to notify her father. “Has the courier departed?”
“Yes. He left as soon as he delivered your parcel. Is all well, Novice Viola? Is there anything in which you need assistance?”
Viola squeezed Anne’s hand. She couldn’t be upset with Anne. The simple woman had no control over the actions of others. “No, Sister Anne. I was merely overwhelmed by the parcel. All will be well.”
“Trust in God, Viola. He will show you the way.”
Reluctantly, Viola walked into the study room and sat at a worn desk. The novices were silently focused on their task with the mistress of the novices sitting in the corner with her embroidery on her lap, watching their every move.
Viola was thankful for the utter quiet; it would give her time to think in peace. Isabella was cruel, the most deceitful of women. What did Isabella have against her? She’d been unruly toward her since the day she’d arrived. How could letters to Viola’s father hurt Isabella? Viola was determined to find the answers.
Chapter EIGHT
Viola kept a wary eye out for the woman. But Isabella didn’t attend vespers or their evening meal. It was said that she was still in the infirmary. Instead of attending the festivities in the recreation room, Viola went down to the infirmary.
The last time she’d been there was the first day she’d arrived at the convent. At the end of the staircase, five doorways lined the wall, at the end, was a beautifully carved archway of stone that led to the storage cellar.
Viola entered the first doorway on the left. On one side of the infirmary, tables were filled with bottles and open books. The fragrance of dried herbs and flowers reminded Viola of the witch who lived in the Forest of a Thousand Whispers, the one who promised to assist Viola with an enchantment to keep Alexander from straying to Rachel and marry her instead.
Curtains were strung across a wooden beam, separating the workspace from the ill resting in beds. Viola cleared her throat. Lucia appeared through a slit in the curtains.
“I would like to inquire about the health of your patients.”
Lucia wiped her hands on her apron. “Sister Colette’s injury will heal, though it shall be a few weeks’ time. I have advised Mother Superior she is not able to go to market. Sister Isabella is resting. She has been given an infusion of lemon and honey to quiet her cough.”
Viola nodded and left the room, disappointed Isabella was not worse off and, yet, relieved she would be attending to her duties shortly. Then she would get the sister to talk and explain herself.
The next morning Viola had a meeting with Mother Superior to be placed in a position. Anne told her that there were many positions and Mother Superior would find one which fitted best with her talents. She needed to find a position that would ensure she could find her way out of the convent. Singing in the choir, though prestigious, would keep her inside, away from the daily functions of the convent.
Viola turned the corner to take the stairs. Sister Isabella stood at the top, her hands clasped together, a tight smile formed on her lips.
“Novice Viola. It was kind of you to visit the infirmary and inquire about my health.”
Viola froze on the step. She was not prepared to confront the woman about the letters at a moment’s notice. She didn’t want a disagreement with Isabella just yet, not within earshot of Mother Superior.
Isabella took a step down. “Who was it that sent you the parcel? Your father? The carpet is of fine quality and will keep you warm this winter.”
Viola bit the inside of her lip. Isabella had been in her room.
With another step, Isabella continued. “I am certain your father holds you in high esteem since you have taken your vows.” She descended the stairs until she was on the same step as Viola. “You best be along your way. You do not want to become lax with your new duties.”
Viola tipped her chin. She’d had enough of this woman’s bantering. “How is it you wish others to perform tasks, whereas you are incapable?”
Isabella stopped and peered over her shoulder. “I do not know what you mean. Everyone is required to complete duties assigned to them.”
“Except you.” Viola took a step up. “From what I gather, you cannot send off a simple letter.”
Isabella smiled. “Oh. Do you mean the letters you penned to your father? Why would I burden your poor father with such foolish whining? Do not worry yourself, your father has been kept abreast of your progress. It appears he is well-pleased, for he made a sizeable donation and promised another if you are accepted as a nun.”
Viola gritted her teeth, trying to keep her composure. Her own father had rewarded the nuns to trap her here? It was a lie. It had to be.
“There, there, Viola. You have yet to become a nun.” She lowered her voice. “No one here likes you. Had we a choice, or had you another place you could go, we would have cast you aside long ago. You were only veiled for the money your father promised. If the council accepts you, it is possible you may be moved to another convent, but only after your father has paid what he has promised.” She smiled again. “Good day, Novice Viola.”
Stunned, Viola watched Isabella walk away.
She didn’t realize how far Isabella’s reach was. She thought that she was keeping the others from speaking with her, associating with her. But no. It was Isabella corrupting the minds of these women... and her father.
Viola made her way to the abbess’s rooms. Mother Superior sat behind her desk, just as she had done the third day when Viola had received a penance for Isabella stealing the buttons on her gown. The abbess seemed pleasant when she first arrived at the convent with her father. Now, Viola wondered of what they had spoken. Did they laugh at her? Did her father tell the abb
ess about the reason he chose to bring her here? Questions filled her mind.
“Novice Viola. You are late.”
Viola bowed her head. “Yes, Mother Superior.”
“It is well past time you are placed.” She picked up a sheet of parchment. “Your father was correct; you are well versed in several languages. Your penmanship is legible and you would make a fair scribe. However, I have Sister Isabella filling that position. Sister Anne believes you can sing and should be placed with the choir. I would like to know what you desire before I make my decision.”
“Mother Superior, though I appreciate Sister Anne’s referral, I believe my talents would best be placed working with the nuns at the market.”
Mother Superior raised her brow.
Viola continued. “With Sister Colette in the infirmary, I could assist until she is well. Then you will not need to disrupt the tasks of others.”
“And once Sister Colette has recovered?”
“Then place me as you will.”
“It is not customary for a novice who has resided here for such a short time to take such a position.” She glanced back at her paper. “We are shorthanded, and your assistance at market would be most welcome. Mind you, you will assist only until Sister Colette has recovered and is able to resume her duties.”
“Yes, Mother Superior.”
She held out a piece of parchment. “Now take this to Sister Dauphine and begin your new duties. And Novice Viola,” she paused. “You will follow Sister Dauphine’s instruction or you will find yourself assigned to the kitchens for the duration of your time here. Which would be thirty, maybe forty years? Am I understood?”
“Yes, Mother Superior.”
Viola smiled. Sister Colette would not be healed for a few weeks. This would give her an opportunity to inspect the layout of the city. Now that she discovered her father’s true intentions, trying to write him would be for naught—unless Isabella had lied to her. She wouldn’t put it past that wretched woman. Viola didn’t understand what she had done to deserve such hatred.
A Perilous Beginning (The Pearl Heirloom Collection Book 4) Page 4