On the side of the main entrance, a few dozen baskets filled with produce sat near the wagon. Neither Sister Dauphine nor Horace was in sight. Why couldn’t anyone be where they were supposed to be? When she was delayed, she had to scrub floors for a penance—even though she had never seen anyone but the lay servants cleaning or scrubbing the convent.
She would simply have to wait here until they arrived. She heard a thump and turned around. Claire had set a basket of carrots in the wagon. Viola lifted her brow.
Claire picked up another basket. “These need to be set into the wagon.” She climbed into the wagon and pulled the baskets to the back. “I know of Sister Isabella’s scheme regarding your correspondence.”
“How do you know of this?”
“I know many secrets. Such as behind you, hidden in the shrubs, is a secret door to the infirmary. Sister Lucia holds one of the keys.”
Viola glanced behind her. She couldn’t make out the door with the overgrown shrubbery. Claire smiled and pointed to a basket on the ground. Viola picked it up and screamed, dropping it and its contents. A long, light grey snake slithered on the ground.
“Slowly, back away.”
Claire moved to the edge of the wagon and helped Viola climb into it. Claire moved to the side, jumped over, and picked up a large stick.
“Best have a care when these creatures are ’round.” She poked it with the stick. “The bite from this one may not put you in a grave, but will make you ill for a time.”
Viola watched. The snake lunged at the stick. Claire laughed and picked it up off the ground. “If you hold it like this,” she grabbed it behind its head, “you can slip it into a bag and it will calm down. Then release it far away.”
Viola glanced around. “We do not have a bag.”
Claire shrugged, then walked toward the edge of the grounds and threw the snake over the high stone wall.
“They eat lizards.” Claire said when she returned.
“How do you know what they eat?”
“When you capture snakes for a coin, you learn about ’em. Help me gather these before Horace arrives.”
Viola slid out of the wagon and knelt down next to the carrots. “What other secrets do you know?”
“If I told you, they would no longer be secrets. You must listen and pay attention if you wish to discover what others do not want you to know.”
“You must have overheard our conversation on the stairs a short time ago.”
“Of course. I also know you wish to leave this place.”
Viola stood up. She was no longer interested in speaking with an eavesdropper. She picked up another basket and turned to the wagon, but Claire moved in her way.
“You may think to escape, but be forewarned: Sister Isabella has a mind to keep you here. She will have eyes upon your every move if she fears you will leave.”
Viola pushed her aside with the basket. “What does it matter to you.”
“We have a similar rival, therefore, I have decided to befriend you.”
Claire was a simple servant. There was nothing she could do for her. “I am not interested.”
The girl lowered her voice. “You are stubborn, Novice Viola. If you do not wish to hear how you can leave this place, then so be it. I shall not tell you.” Claire turned and began to walk away.
“Wait!” Viola called out just above a whisper. “Tell me.”
Claire turned around and smiled. “To relieve your vows, write a letter to the bishop. Surely, if you do not want to be a nun, he will release you.”
A letter—a simple letter—was all she needed to leave? But then, if the bishop approved her request, she had no place to go. Then again, if her father were aware of Isabella’s scheme, it was possible he would take her back. And if he had her trunks, she could retrieve her mother’s jewels. But if she were to pen a letter, how would she have it sent without Isabella interfering? If the Bishop relieved her of her vows and her father wouldn’t remove her, she still needed to find passage home.
“Then how would I find transport back to England.”
Claire shrugged. “You must find someone who will pay for your journey or you can find a position in town.”
This time Viola shrugged. She would not stoop so low as to work as a commoner. “Isabella oversees the correspondence. I could not have a letter delivered without her knowledge.”
“I leave for my sister’s home in Paris in two days’ time. I could hire a courier to deliver your letter.”
“I have no money to pay you.” She was not about to reveal the buttons hiding in her cell.
“Do not worry. Someone once did a kind thing for me, and, in return, I shall do a kind thing for you.”
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning Viola met Horace and Dauphine by the wagon after lauds. The sun had barely peeked above the horizon. It was a chilly October morning and the wagon was filled with eggs, carrots, grapes, tomatoes, and freshly baked bread; whatever the nuns could produce would be sold before they shared it with the community.
Horace helped Dauphine and Viola into the wagon, then climbed in and clicked the reins. The horses moved forward out of the gates of the convent at a slow pace. Viola had waited a long time to pass through these gates, but her excitement was tempered by the knowledge that she would have to return later that evening.
Sister Dauphine reached into the back of the wagon and handed Viola a bunch of grapes. “Eat before we arrive. You will have nothing else until we return.”
Viola placed a grape into her mouth and bit down, tasting the sweet juice. Selling at the market had its advantages. It was no wonder both Dauphine and Colette were portly; they had had their fill on the hard work of others.
The wagon ambled down the road. At the edge of town, the roads widened between beautifully kept homes of the well-to-do. The further they went, the narrower the roads became and the closer two-or three-storied, half-timbered houses stood. Horace slowed even more. Pigs and sheep wandered in the streets. They passed a butcher who threw blood and offal into the streets. Viola grimaced, thankful she’d eaten very little. They passed smaller streets and alleyways where the middling and poorer people lived in close, cramped quarters.
The marketplace was packed, filled with vendors setting up their wares: secondhand cloth, fresh fish, leather works, metals, soaps, candles. There were more vendors here than at the market near her father’s estate. People milled around for the best the market could offer, making purchases and filling their baskets with provisions for the week.
Children sat barefoot in the street, dirty, wearing torn clothing and nothing to protect themselves from the chilly air. One boy sat on a small boulder watching them.
Horace stopped the wagon. Dauphine waited for Horace to help her out of the seat, then rounded to the bed and pulled out a basket of tomatoes and set it on a makeshift table. Viola followed Dauphine’s lead with a basket of carrots. She wanted to make a good impression: if she botched this, Dauphine would not let her assist again and she would be sent to the kitchens permanently.
She set a basket of carrots on the table. Immediately, grimy hands reached into the basket to inspect its contents. A man pointed to a loaf of rye bread. “Six deniers,” Dauphine called out.
“Sister, six deniers is half of me day’s pay.”
Dauphine placed her hands on her hips. “The bread is six deniers.”
The man shook his head and purchased carrots instead.
Dauphine continued to call out prices and coins were pressed into Viola’s hands. The baskets emptied faster than Viola could have imagined.
Halfway through the day, a woman touched her arm. “Sister. My child is sick. Could you give her your blessing?”
Viola was taken back and looked at the bundle in the woman’s arms. She glanced at Sister Dauphine, who nodded in approval. Viola grimaced. She’d never given a blessing. And what if the child died? The woman would blame her.
Tentatively, she placed her hand on the child, fearful that
she would catch the disease. She closed her eyes and mouthed a quick prayer.
“Bless you Sister.” The woman smiled.
Viola waited for the woman to disappear into the crowd before she wiped her hand on her robes.
The hours passed. At a steady pace, men and women made their purchases and pressed coins into her hand. She thought to hold back some of the funds for herself, but she knew Sister Dauphine kept a close eye on her.
“Viola. Take the last of those carrots and give them to that boy.” She pointed to the boy on the boulder.
She looked in the basket; two tiny, bruised carrots sat at the bottom. She handed them to the boy, who smiled and took off running.
“Have a care handing out too many. Otherwise all would want handouts and then we could not afford to feed ourselves.”
Viola wanted to laugh. Cabbage soup was a luxury. To Viola, it would make more sense for her to have such drab meals if the convent provided for the old and the poor instead of charging so much for a loaf of rye bread.
She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. The crowd diminished and people began to barter for the remaining goods. Sister Dauphine wouldn’t haggle, saying this was the only income to provide for the convent. Viola smirked. They had the income from the tapestries, dowries, and even family members—like her father. Who knew what other sort of revenues the convent had. Or what they were doing with such wealth.
Across the street, Viola spotted a man with long, curly hair just below his shoulders and a full beard. Her face flushed and she quickly turned to keep him from seeing her. She recognized those dark eyes, those clothes, stained and dirty; that leather satchel over his shoulder. He was walking toward her.
Viola picked up an empty basket at her feet. She placed it in the wagon, stacking and restacking the baskets, praying he wouldn’t stop at the table.
He did. Viola went around the wagon and found Horace sleeping in the front. Her heart raced. She took a deep breath.
“Thank you.” He must have made a purchase. The sound of his voice confirmed her fears. The man was her half-brother, James. He couldn’t see her like this. Did he know that she was here? No. He couldn’t have known. He had disappeared shortly after Rachel was attacked. No wonder he hadn’t been found; he was in France. In Nantes.
Memories flooded back. She had been staying at James’s cottage in Bristol. He had come home late after working at the solicitor’s office. The pitiful soul was sweating and out of breath; it was not becoming of a future Earl. That evening he’d found Rachel Drovere hidden in his office; she was hiding under a desk. James was in a panic; he didn’t know what to do. He was certain she had stolen his journals. If his actions were to be discovered, he would be ruined. Their family, ruined. Embezzlement was a serious crime and one could lose one’s head.
Had James listened to her, Rachel would never have stolen the journals. The girl simply needed to be disposed of. But James was too weak; he wished to marry the chit. Viola took charge of the situation. She hired men to search for Rachel and bring her to a ship bound for the Americas. But just like everyone in her life, the men failed her. Alexander rescued the girl and her hired men were captured by Nicholas Mattingly.
She would never forgive what James had done to her; she would never forget. She had half a mind to charge up to her brother and slap him. Surely he deserved it. After all, he had disappeared. She remembered the night with such clarity.
“There you are, Viola. I had wondered where you went off to.”
“I felt faint and needed a moment.”
“Working the market is not as easy as some like to believe. Come now. Once we pack up we can be on our way.” Sister Dauphine shook Horace’s leg. “Wake up old man. We best head back.”
Viola climbed into the bed of the wagon for their journey home. She wanted to be alone—to think. Her thoughts went back to James. If she had shown herself to him, would he have assisted her? No, he wouldn’t. He had no sense of duty, no sense of loyalty. Besides, it didn’t appear that he had two coins to rub together, nor would she be taken in by his fine words. He was the reason her whole life was a living hell, the reason that she was confined in a convent. She did not want his assistance. She wanted him dead.
The next morning, Viola met Claire at the front gates. Claire had a small bag of her belongings and a woolen cloak. Only a handful of the sisters, novices, and lay servants were present to see her off. Viola clutched the two letters she’d penned last night. One to her father explaining what had happened to the previous letters she’d written him and begging him to let her come home, and the other to the bishop, requesting that he relieve her of her vows.
Claire made her way through the small crowd. Tearful hugs and words of support were exchanged. Viola waited until last, wanting a moment alone with Claire, out of earshot of the others.
“I am glad to see you, Novice Viola.”
She smiled. “It is my hope you have a safe journey.”
Claire nodded toward the letters. “You wish me to have those delivered.”
Viola nodded and handed them to her. “One is addressed to the Bishop of Ross. It is my understanding he is in Paris.”
“Once I arrive, I promise to deliver them.”
“My thanks.”
Claire lowered her voice. “Do you remember the day we washed the floors and I disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“In the room next to Mother Superior’s study, press your ear against the wall. You may hear something interesting.” She turned back and addressed the crowd. “Farewell, my friends.”
They watched, some in tears, holding each other, as Claire walked out of the gates toward the city. When she was a distance away, Horace closed the gates and the crowd departed.
Viola glanced up and noticed Sister Isabella watching from a window, her lips pursed together. Viola smiled. Claire had divulged another of her many secrets.
CHAPTER TEN
Winter 1564
Viola stared at the parchment in front of her, determining the next stroke of the quill. This week, Mother Superior positioned her in the scriptorium to copy manuscripts. Of all the tasks she’d received these past few months, she felt this one utilized her abilities the best.
After her stint at market, Mother Superior had decided to test her skills in other areas. Each week she was assigned a new duty. She’d overseen the gardens, the kitchens, and even the laundry. She picked herbs for Lucia to create a salve for Mother Superior when yet another lay servant who was assisting in the infirmary disappeared. Lucia suspected that the girl had run away after Sister Isabella had chastised her. When Viola had been sent to sing in the choir, she managed to sing quietly and off-key. The mistress of the choir had her removed from the choir box within a few hours. The one duty Viola desired, she hadn’t received again. Both Dauphine and Colette had been perfectly healthy and hadn’t required her assistance at market.
She’d tried to keep a close eye on the gates, watching for a courier to arrive, which wasn’t exactly easy; she was not always able to see the front gates. But when she did see a courier approach, Viola conveniently made her way to the front entrance—much to the dismay of Isabella. Each time, Isabella grimaced and told Viola to return to her duties.
On the occasion she found she had missed one, she patiently waited for Isabella to enter Mother Superior’s chamber, and then she slipped into the room next door. Claire was right: she could hear their discussions, though she had not yet heard anything worthwhile.
Viola tapped the tip of the quill against the ink jar and stared out the open doorway. Isabella slowly walked by with several parcels in her hands, reading a piece of parchment. A courier must have arrived. Carefully, she set her quill down. The others were engrossed in their work.
The hallways were vacant. She quietly stepped across the stone floor into the small room next to the abbess’s study and quietly closed the door. She remembered sleeping here a few months ago when she was locked away to meditate on her future. If Cla
ire had revealed her secret then, Viola could have learned about her father prior to taking her vows. Now she was trapped until the bishop would release hers.
She pressed her ear to the wall.
The abbess spoke. “If we are unable to sooth her troubles, there is scarcely a bishop who would listen to her protest. Has she received word from her father?”
“No letters have been addressed to her. However, he sent word a short time ago inquiring as to her health and studies.”
There was a long pause and Mother Superior spoke again. “Even if the bishop were to agree to her request, I do not believe Lord Bryant would welcome her back.”
“It is just as well her request was denied. We should have tried to convince her father to leave her possessions. I fear this knowledge has given her hope. You have yet to tell me the reasons she was cast aside.”
“Why she is here matters not. Fetch Sister Anne for me.”
“Of course.”
Viola heard the door close and she let out a breath, then clenched her hands. She couldn’t believe what she had heard. Her jewels were safe. She could retrieve them once she returned home. But she couldn’t return. The Bishop of Ross had denied her request and Mother Superior didn’t think another bishop would entertain her appeal.
Viola paced rapidly about the small room. She was certain that any letters received from her father were, in fact, addressed to her. But of course, Isabella had to show the power she wielded. Viola couldn’t send another letter to anyone because Isabella controlled their correspondence.
However, she needed to return to the scriptorium, otherwise, she would find herself scrubbing pots for a week like a common servant. She stepped out and nearly ran into Bonne. Damn, if she only had peeked out before she opened the door.
A Perilous Beginning (The Pearl Heirloom Collection Book 4) Page 5