“My apologies, Novice Viola.” Bonne smiled at her then looked at the closed door. “Curious, what brings you up here?”
Viola tipped her chin. “I do not believe my doings are any of your concern.” She straightened her back and glided away.
She’d been caught by a sniveling, uneducated twit of a girl. Next time, she would have more care reentering the hallways.
Viola found her way back to the manuscript in the scriptorium. None of the women even looked up or appeared to notice her absence.
She picked up the quill and looked at the parchment. She couldn’t focus. What would she do if she had to stay here? If a bishop wouldn’t help her, she needed to contact someone who had power over the clergy. She smiled. She knew exactly to whom she needed to write. Now she just needed to figure out how to send her inquiry.
With a tap, she removed the excess ink and began to copy the manuscript.
A short time later, Sister Anne stepped up next to her. Viola jumped, splattering ink across the parchment. Several days’ worth of work, ruined.
“Such beautiful work you do. I fear I have botched it.”
She sighed and picked up a cloth to wipe her hands. “Apparently, this was practice. The next will be better.”
Anne smiled. “Would you walk with me?”
“Of course.” Viola set the cloth on the table and corked the ink jar. She wondered if Bonne had told Isabella about her visit upstairs. She followed Anne from the room. Instead of walking to the stairs that led to the abbess’s office, she turned toward the staircase leading down.
In silence they walked, side by side, until they were outside, nearing the outer wall of the convent.
Anne broke the silence. “Is it not beautiful here?”
Viola glanced around the court yard. The blue sky was overcast by thick, gray clouds. and the colorful leaves of the trees had dried up and fallen to the ground. Winter was warmer here than in England. The cool breeze brushed against her skin and she could smell the sweet scent of rain in the distance.
“Viola,” Sister Anne began, “each of us has a story about how she happened here. I have yet to tell you mine.” Anne slowly began to walk again, her hands hidden in her sleeves to keep them warm. “Many years ago, I married a nice young man, Charles. He was educated, diligent in his work, and appeared to adore me. We had a son and named him Matthew.”
Anne’s eyes were glazed over in memory. A few moments later, she continued: “After a time, Charles began to drink. Then gambled. His work suffered and we almost lost our home. The debts which he owed increased. He began to drink even more. I did my best not to upset him, to keep our home, to raise our child. I took on small jobs to pay for our most basic needs. Then the sickness came. I did my best to nurse them back to health, to no avail. My son died in my arms. Two days later, my husband. I received word the same had happened to my parents. A lone woman, without family, I could not make it on my own. I had two choices. Remarry or come here.”
“And you did not remarry.”
Anne smiled. “No. After Charles passed, I wished to find peace. I found it here.”
Viola nodded. “I am happy for you.” Out of curiosity, she asked, “What of Sister Isabella?”
“Ah. Her story is sadder than my own. But it is hers to tell. I am certain she would share it with you if you asked.”
Isabella’s sad story didn’t really interest Viola. It didn’t matter what she had gone through to find herself at the convent; she was deceitful and manipulative. But now Viola understood why Anne wanted to speak with her. The abbess must have asked Sister Anne to assist in soothing her troubles and to help her adapt. Viola knew that that wouldn’t happen. The convent was a safe and peaceful place for some, but she, on the other hand, had a higher calling: One that could not be accomplished within these walls.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spring 1565
Leaves on the trees were green and the buds of flowers were beginning to bloom. Viola followed the stone path leading to the chapel and turned the corner, breathing in the intoxicating spring air. A wagon filled with supplies sat next to the church. Several men sat on the green grass, drinking from flasks and talking amongst themselves. She froze.
“It is not appropriate to stare.” Sister Anne had stepped up next to her.
“Of course,” Viola responded.
“Those are the hired hands who are here to fix the chapel roof.”
Mother Superior stood speaking with one of the men who held his hat in his hands, trembling.
“We will not have noise disrupting our prayer service,” the abbess said.
“The task would be completed faster if the men did not have to stop. It will take double the time for the roof to be fixed.” The man gripped his hat.
“Then it shall take twice as long.” The abbess turned.
Viola lifted her chin and avoided eye contact with the men. Maybe she could hire one of these men to forward a letter.
The next several days, Viola discreetly watched the workmen. She wasn’t the only one. While the women worked on a tapestry, several of the sisters sat near the windows, peeking outside and giggling.
Viola needed to find someone whom she could trust, someone who would deliver her letter to Scotland. The man sawing wood kept to himself.
After nones, Viola stayed in the chapel until the sisters left. She gave a silent prayer and went out into the bright sunlight. She walked up to a worker spoke in a low voice, her eyes looking in the direction of the kitchens: “I would like to speak with you privately.”
The man looked at her and then looked around. “Yes, Sister.”
“I have a letter I wish to be delivered.”
He wiped his hands on his apron. “Delivered where?”
“Scotland.”
The man tilted his head back and gave a hearty laugh. “Scotland, you say?”
“Shhh. Keep your voice low.” She looked around; no one had noticed them. She tipped her chin. “I believe that is exactly what I said.”
He became serious. “Correspondence is delivered through these walls often enough. Why do you not go through proper channels?”
Viola kept her face from showing emotion. “I have been watching you. You are not like the others. You keep to yourself.”
He ran his hand through his hair and smiled.
Viola leaned forward. “Do not think for a moment I have watched you for that reason.”
He stiffened. “You would have to pay a tidy sum for me to transport your letter so far away.”
“You do not know of anyone destined across the ocean?”
He thought for a moment and nodded. “I may.”
“What is your price?”
“One half-angel.” He held out his hand.
“This is not the time. I will deliver the letter to you on the morrow, after nones. Be near the doorway when we arrive. I will be the last to exit the chapel.” She walked away, her chin tilted up. She only had the three tiny pearls hidden in her room. She wasn’t sure how she would manage his fee; a half-angel was ten-shillings, but each pearl couldn’t be worth more than two shillings.
Viola turned the corner and heard a young voice call out. “Sister! Sister!”
She turned around. A dirty little boy raced up to her. His grimy little hands removed his filthy, tattered hat. She had more important things to do than speak with a twit of a child. “What is it?” She snapped.
The boy’s eyes went wide and he took a step back. “My apologies, Sister. But I heard you talkin’ to Andry. I did not mean to overhear. But I heard you sayin’ you need a letter delivered.”
“What of it?”
“Well, my cousin is a steward to Master Valmont who is gettin’ ready to sail North, to Edinburgh.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I have already acquired a courier.”
“Yes, Sister. But I heard told not to trust ’em. He owes more than he makes and what he makes, he gambles away.” He lowered his voice. “I even heard told, he is famil
iar with one of the sisters. Sides, I can do it for much less, even fer no charge. My cousin is goin’ there anyway in less than a fortnight.”
“Let me think on it.”
The boy nodded. “I best get back.” He turned and raced back to the chapel.
Viola heard a voice behind her and froze. “It seems that you have made a new friend.”
She turned around. It was Anne. Viola placed her hand on her chest and couldn’t help but give a slight grin. “Yes. It appears so.”
“You are good with children. That may have been your calling.” She began to walk away and motioned Viola to walk with her. “Had we any abandoned children, you would have made a suitable caretaker for them.”
“Yes, Sister.” Viola couldn’t imagine spending her days with dirty, obnoxious children underfoot. She had a higher calling, which did not include the tasks she was presented with, here, within these walls of her prison, and certainly not with children.
“Come to the tapestry room with me. I want to show you my newest design.” She giggled and picked up her pace.
Viola would rather spend the day alone, trying to figure out how to find the money to pay the man to ensure that her letter was sent. But the boy didn’t trust the man. Viola wondered if she should put her faith in the man or the boy.
* * *
Viola sucked in a breath when she heard footsteps outside her door. The watch sisters were doing their rounds. Quickly, she rolled up her rug and placed it at the bottom of her door to keep the ribbon of light showing through. The footsteps faded. She returned to her desk and stared at a blank piece of parchment.
She hadn’t written to the Queen of Scotland since her engagement with Alexander Dohetry. She’d hoped to write another letter once she was married, after Alexander had discovered the riches foretold by the prophecy. She prayed that the Queen would help her now.
She dipped the quill into the ink and began to write, begging to speak with a bishop who would absolve her of her vows and return her to England. There, Viola would do her part to raise an army. If need be, she would sell off her mother’s jewels, for they meant nothing compared to the rewards that she would receive once Mary took her rightful place on the throne.
Again, she heard footsteps outside her door. The watch sisters had already completed their rounds. Viola went back to her letter. Moments later, more footsteps. Something was amiss.
With only the light from her candle, Viola made her way down the dark corridor. She listened intently. She stepped forward with care, unsure if the floors would squeak as they did in her own room. All she could hear was her own footsteps and the beating of her heart. With another careful step, she descended the staircase. No movement on the main floor. The doors were locked. She must not have heard anything; her mind must have been playing tricks. Certain that there was no mischief, she headed back to her cell before the watch sisters could catch her in the halls. She passed the staircase leading to the infirmary and heard a noise.
She descended the second staircase, her steps quiet. Just past the doors to the infirmary, were four small cells used to quarantine the sick.
Viola heard voices and giggling in the distance, followed by a hissing, demanding silence. She neared the last room and paused, waiting for an indication that she had been heard. Another giggle confirmed her suspicions. She held her breath and pressed her ear to the cold, wooden door.
A deep, masculine voice whispered. “Come hither.”
Another giggle, a grunt, followed by a hiss.
Viola reached for the door handle and quickly pulled her hand back, unsure if she wanted to know what was behind the door.
With a deep intake of breath, Viola swung open the door. She gasped. Her eyes widened. Novice Bonne stood naked, bent over, with Andry, bare from the waist down, taking her from behind. She’d never seen a man naked, much less one mounted like an animal in heat.
Sitting on a chair, Sister Margaret massaged her private area between her legs and held a bottle of wine in her other hand, her eyelids half closed.
A sister Viola didn’t recognize the woman who lay on a bed with another woman kneeling between her legs, head beneath her skirt.
Sister Margaret peered up with a daze. “Viola, ‘tis time you came to join us. Come, let me please you, make all that scrubbing of pots worth your misdeed.”
Andry looked directly at Viola, licked his lips and went back to pounding himself against Bonne’s backside. Viola caught her breath and almost gagged. She grasped the door handle and pulled the door shut. Hot wax dripped onto her hand. Never would she have violated her oath as these women had. The display disgusted her; she wanted to bathe from the sight.
She walked back down the hallway at a brisk pace. Her mind reeled. How could this go on inside the convent? What were these women thinking, performing such acts? It was bad enough to witness the man in the room with his pants down to his ankles, but the sisters’ entertaining each other? And Sister Margaret fondling herself, watching the display.
If the abbess found out, there would be hell to pay. Viola stopped. A small grin touched her lips. She lifted her chin and headed for her chambers. They could assist her or she would ensure the wrath of the abbess.
She turned the corner of the staircase, almost colliding with Isabella.
“Viola, why are you sneaking about the corridor’s this late at night. You should be in your cell. Asleep.”
“My apologies, Sister. I thought I heard a noise.” She glanced behind her. “I was mistaken.”
Isabella glanced down the hallway. “Hmm.” She looked back at Viola. “Mother Superior shall hear of your indiscretions in the morn. I am certain that she will provide you with a penitence suitable for your misdoings.”
* * *
All four of the women whom she had discovered last night were already in the chapel for morning prayer. From the corner of her eyes she noticed each one openly staring at her as she walked down the aisle. She took her place next to Sister Anne, who squeezed her hand and smiled. If Anne was witness to the display last eve, she would not be in such high spirits. Viola wondered which other sisters were involved in such corrupted behavior. She knew only one who was truly pure of heart, and that was Sister Anne.
The priest’s voice echoed through the chapel. On her knees, Viola bowed her head. The scripture burned into her mind, then an image of the sisters’ creating a pact with the Devil. She wondered if they would offer him their souls for the worldly pleasures they consumed.
Then she thought of Sister Isabella. Did she catch them? What would their penitence be? Surely, they should be discarded outside the gates with nothing, not even clothes on their backs, to fend for themselves. She only knew that Isabella had plans for Viola’s penitence. She wondered what Mother Superior had in store for her. Scrubbing dishes? Washing floors? Mucking out the stables? It mattered not. Viola was prepared for the worst.
Viola waited until all of the sisters were out of the chapel. She stepped outside the door and passed Bonne without acknowledging her presence.
The girl pulled her arm back. “Novice Viola.” She lowered her voice. “Last night...”
Viola jerked her arm from Bonne’s hand and peered down at her. “If you wish to redeem yourself, ask God for forgiveness.”
The girl rolled her hands, glanced down with a sheepish look, and nodded.
Andry walked up to her with a smirk on his lips.
Viola stared him straight in the eye, without blinking. “I doubt novice Bonne requires your services any longer.”
His face fell. Viola turned and glided away. A small grin touched her lips. At least one of the women knew the power she now wielded. Power indeed. The convent no longer carried the virtuous quality it held when she first arrived. A conflict of good versus evil occurred within the walls, beneath the nose of those most righteous.
* * *
Viola worked on the tapestry, slowly weaving the cotton strands, trying not to miss a warp thread. The minutes trickled by. With all the p
atience she could muster, Viola waited to be summoned by the abbess.
That morning, she attended to her studies with the mistress of the novices. Bonne took her seat in the back of the room, keeping her head down. Viola could hardly keep her attentions on the lecture when Sister Anne interrupted. Viola’s stomach turned. She expected Anne to beckon her. Instead, Bonne was requested to follow her.
Then, during the midday meal, Viola kept an eye on Mother Superior and Sister Isabella, both sitting at the main table in the front of the room. They ate in silence, and not once did Viola catch them glancing her way.
She dropped her hand into her lap and peered out the window. She noticed the overseer speaking to Andry. Andry stood up, threw his tools onto the ground, and stormed toward the gates. Horace and the overseer followed a few feet behind. Viola smiled. She was certain Andry’s actions had been discovered.
The church bells rang for vespers. Viola marked her last stitch in the tapestry with a small wooden dowel and began to wonder if Isabella had forgotten about their conversation in the corridor last eve. Would she receive a penitence for strolling after hours?
In a daze she followed the other sisters to the chapel. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the small boy waving to her. With all that had transpired since last night, Viola had forgotten about her letter. She slowed her steps until the women behind her passed.
The boy smiled. “Did you still want da letter sent to Scotland?”
“Yes.”
His smiled widened. “Does you have it?”
“No. On the morrow, after trece, it shall be ready.”
He nodded. “I am Frederick. If you were wonderin’.”
“My thanks, Frederick.”
He picked up his bag and raced to catch up with the other workmen.
Tonight she would skip recreation and complete her letter. And on the morrow, she would be sure to slip it to Frederick, and, with luck, he would give it to his cousin and it would be transported to Scotland.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mid Summer 1565
A Perilous Beginning (The Pearl Heirloom Collection Book 4) Page 6