“If there is nothing you require, I would appreciate it if you removed yourself from my space.”
Isabella ignored her and began to flip through the pages. Lucia shut the book and spoke though her teeth. “Leave!”
Isabella snorted and walked from the room with all the grace of a cunning noble woman at court.
“Insolence,” Lucia whispered.
Viola’s head shot up.
“Of course, she will inform Mother Superior. There will be no reason for her to pursue her claim, though she will of her own accord.”
Viola remembered when Bonne recovered and was sent to her cell; she received light duties on Sister Lucia’s order. And when Viola was sent to the abbess after removing the babe from the premises, she was sent to work in the infirmary rather than receiving a harsher sentence—because Lucia had intervened. Viola wondered what influence Lucia had over the abbess.
“You once mentioned Isabella had followers?”
Lucia gave a curt laugh. “Isabella wishes to be the next abbess.”
“But that would only happen if something would happen to Mother Superior.”
“Yes, but... she will not get her way.” Lucia sighed and sat down on a stool. “I doubt Sister Anne has told you how Sister Florence came to be our abbess.”
Viola shook her head. She didn’t really care, but it was nice to listen to something other than instruction, or prayer, for that matter.
“A year prior to your arrival, our abbess left this world. It took weeks to elect a new abbess. Each time the sisters voted, the same number voted for Sister Florence as for Sister Isabella. I believe Sister Isabella’s unwarranted anger was seen and it turned the vote toward Sister Florence, though I could be mistaken as to the reason.”
Lucia paused. “Sister Isabella received her place at Mother Superior’s side. I believe it was forced upon the abbess rather than freely appointed. These past few years she has been extending her rule as if it were the wish of the abbess. I have no fear of the abbess and she knows of Sister Isabella’s transgressions.”
“She has caused so much trouble. Will not Mother Superior punish her?”
“We live in close quarters. Some transgressions must be handled immediately and others ignored, until such time as they are to be dealt with accordingly.”
“And you do not fear her.”
“No, she fears me. Believes that I am a witch. That is the reason that I am unable to keep a lay servant to assist me. Sister Isabella either convinces them to request a new position or they run from the convent, afraid that they will be cursed.”
Viola laughed uncontrollably. She hadn’t laughed so hard in quite some time.
“What is humorous?”
Viola coughed. “You are a healer. Had you been a witch, you would have turned Sister Isabella into a toad.
Lucia erupted in laughter. “Or turned her green.”
Viola could imagine Isabella green, which was even funnier.
Lucia lowered her voice. “You see, it matters not what Sister Isabella reveals to the abbess about me. Her words would not hold influence. We entered the convent on the same day. Sister Isabella arrived a year later.”
Viola sat down on a stool. Had she known the disfavor Lucia held for Isabella, she would have requested to be placed in the infirmary long ago. Now, she wanted to know Isabella’s story. She had to tread carefully, though, for when she asked Anne, the information was concealed from her.
Viola sighed. “Sister Isabella is a troubled soul. It makes me wonder what happened to her before she arrived, for she couldn’t have become this way since taking her vows.”
Viola looked up though her lashes. Lucia held up her head with her hand, lost in thought. The silence became unbearable. Viola didn’t move, fearful that her question would go unanswered.
At long last, Lucia spoke again. “I have heard bits and pieces through the years, though never from Sister Isabella’s lips. Before she entered the convent, she was in service to a wealthy household somewhere in the north, though I do not know for whom or where. She fell in love with a son, who, in turn, set his attention upon her, and she had a child, much to her parent’s dismay. Needless to say, the wealthy family cast her out with a promise to provide Isabella enough to care for the child.
Isabella and her parents lived well for several years until the child became ill. The village healer could do nothing. Isabella’s father went in search of someone who could heal the child. He returned with a witch. Days later the child died. When the boy’s family heard the news, they stopped payment and Isabella’s family cast her out with nothing but the clothes on her back. She was a disgrace to the family, the village, and their lord who owned the lands.
I do not know exactly what happened during her journey, but I am certain it was difficult and unsafe. When she arrived at the gates, she was half starved, bloodied and bruised. I tended to her, and she did not speak for weeks. Mother Superior visited her each day and offered her a place here as a lay servant. Isabella refused. She said she would stay if she were able to take her vows. Though she had no money or dowry, Mother Superior agreed.”
Lucia looked Viola in the eye. “If my words are repeated...”
“We both carry many secrets. Your words will never leave my lips.”
Lucia smiled. “We must finish the salve, otherwise we will not be fed this day.”
Viola returned to the pestle and mortar. It had to be thirty years since Isabella arrived and in all that time she still blamed magic for her undoing. Isabella had no concept of real magic; if she did, she wouldn’t be prancing about making threats. Those who can be made can be unmade, Viola thought. And if Viola had the means, she would unmake Isabella. She shook her head. She couldn’t focus on vengeance; she had a higher calling than worrying about someone as petty as Isabella.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
May 1566
Viola sat in the tapestry room with several other nuns; a wealthy merchant in town had commissioned a large tapestry. He promised to pay double if it was completed before winter. Instead of three days a week, the novices and the sisters were required to work in the tapestry room five days and complete their daily duties. Even the choir nuns took their turn. Mother Superior gave them permission to practice while they worked. It wasn’t easy to pay attention during their studies while the choir nuns sang down the hallway.
With each strand, Viola could see a picture taking shape. Just like her escape. Each time she was able send a message, it was one step closer to disposing of James and finding a way out of here, except she hadn’t found a way into the cellar to finish her review of the books. The keys that she found in Sister Isabella’s cell didn’t unlock the storage cellar’s door. And the few times she tried to sneak into Mother Superior’s chambers, she was almost caught. Once, she stood behind a drape for two hours, barely breathing, while Mother Superior sat at her desk looking over papers. The bells tolling for prayer had never sounded as beautiful as they did that day.
Frederick sent a few of her letters to his cousin in Scotland asking him to deliver them to the Queen. All she could do was wait for her response.
Sister Anne sat down across from Viola and picked up a strand of yarn to weave through the loom. She leaned forward and whispered, “Did you hear the news?”
Viola met her eyes and turned back to the loom. “You know very well that I do not engage in tell-tales.” She may not have engaged, but she did keep a wary ear out for any news which could benefit her, especially since Lucia had divulged Isabella’s past. She had yet to determine how to use this information, but she held it close as she had promised.
“A bishop plans to visit and evaluate the convent. He is on his way from Rome.”
“I am certain that will include more work for the rest of us,” Viola muttered with discontent. She felt her heart beating faster, but tried to keep her voice calm. This may be the opportunity that she prayed for. “When do you suppose he will arrive?”
“A few days, a couple of we
eks.” Anne shook her head. “I am not certain of his arrival, though I am certain we will hear more details this evening.”
Viola turned her attention to the grounds outside the window. From the corner of her eye she saw Sister Isabella speaking with a lay servant; no doubt she was threatening her in some way. Viola turned her attention back to the loom. Her thoughts drifted. She would need to write another letter and she would need to choose her words carefully—unless she were able to speak with the bishop. Then again surely he would be busy with Mother Superior and the cathedral in the city. No matter how she would gain his attentions, she would need to be prepared at a moment’s notice.
* * *
The days passed and the sisters scurried around the convent in preparation for a visit. Viola couldn’t help but engage in the festive nature. Free time was a thing of the past. Anyone seen slacking would be sent to complete some of the more menial tasks, such as scrubbing the floors, or doing laundry with the lay servants.
Viola was adamant about taking her walk around the perimeter. It didn’t matter what tasks they would set upon her. She hadn’t received word from Loys in months. The last communication was the day Bonne delivered a child. Surely Loys had returned from Spain.
She set out the for front doors. Anne stopped her. “Viola. Would you like company this day?”
She couldn’t very well say no. Besides, the chance that a letter would be waiting for her was unlikely. “Of course.”
With an even step, Anne kept up with Viola’s brisk pace. Near the lilac tree, Viola darted her eyes across the grass. She didn’t see a message. For the first time, she was thankful.
“Sister.” She heard a young, male voice call out. “Sister.”
Viola looked up. Frederick sat on top of the wall, grinning. He tossed a small leather bag toward her. “I wrote you a letter.” With a jump, he disappeared to the other side.
“Is that not the boy who you spoke with when the church roof was being repaired?”
Viola rubbed the bag in her hand. “Yes. The same.”
“You do have a way with children. Do you speak with him often?”
Frederick had been found out. If she lied, Anne would surely know. “On occasion.”
Anne squeezed her arm. “You have yet to find how your kind heart will influence this boy. Do not worry, your secret is safe.”
Viola tucked the pouch inside her sleeve. “My thanks, Anne. It is my hope he will grow to be a respectable young man.”
“I am certain he will.”
They walked up to the front doors. Viola wanted to find her way to her room to read the letters. She felt someone watching them. She glanced up; Isabella stood at the window. If she went to her rooms, Isabella would surely tell Mother Superior that she was being idle. And if Isabella suspected anything, she would rifle through Viola’s rooms.
Instead of going upstairs, she went down to the infirmary. It had been months since she’d helped Lucia. Hopefully, Lucia wouldn’t mind her intrusion.
“Viola, are you ill?”
“I wondered if you needed assistance with your preparations?”
Lucia wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Your help would be most appreciated. I have dried herbs to crush, bottles to put away, not to mention scrubbing the floors and replacing the bedding.”
“Did you not have a lay servant assigned to you?”
Lucia sighed. “She disappeared three days hence. I sent her to gather herbs and she did not return.”
Viola wondered if it was the same girl with whom she saw Isabella speaking on the grounds.
“I will begin with the bedding.”
Viola turned her back on Lucia and untied her belt, slipping the rope through the cord loops of the bag. She didn’t know where else to secure it and couldn’t very well hold it while she worked.
She had pulled the bedding from the first bed when Isabella walked into the room. Her eyes swept the room and landed on Viola.
Viola straightened her shoulders, the bedding wound up in a ball against her stomach. “Sister Isabella, are you ill?”
Isabella snorted, and walked out of the room.
Viola looked at Lucia. “I wonder what her issue is.”
Lucia laughed. “She is searching for those who are skirting chores.”
Me, in particular, she thought. She wondered if Isabella had seen her speaking with Frederick. She hoped that Sister Anne would keep her secret; otherwise, there would be hell to pay.
* * *
The taper candle flickered in the gentle breeze from the open window. Viola removed her rope belt and habit, folded it neatly, and sat at the small table. She opened the leather pouch and pulled out two pieces of parchment. The first was a letter from Frederick. It simply stated:
Sister,
I have learned myself to read and write.
You can write me anon.
Good-day,
Frederick
Viola smiled. The boy’s ambition to learn would result in great things. She opened the next letter from Loys. Apparently, when he arrived in Spain, James had suddenly disappeared, again. She almost tore up the letter before she finished reading. Loys went on to say that both he and Frederick had interviewed many of the townsfolk, both in Nantes and on Loys’s journey to Spain for the medallion. From what they gathered, it was not a tell-tale. Lady Margaret Beaufort had sent Henry Tudor a letter along with a medallion before he sailed to Mill Bay. The letter explained that the medallion was enchanted. Whoever possessed the medallion would have the power to rule the kingdom.
Henry understood the repercussions of possessing such an item. Word quickly spread through the camp. To ease his men’s woes, Henry gave a speech stating they did not need magic to conquer Richard and tossed the letter and the medallion into a fire. Weeks later, Henry was seen wearing a medallion around his neck. No one questioned his actions because he prevailed.
An old man in Poitiers swore that the tell-tale was true. He retrieved his father’s old papers where he had written about the account and provided a description of the medallion. “The golden medallion, engraved with a double rose, no bigger than the palm of his hand, hung around Henry Tudor’s neck on the journey to England.” He’d provided an illustration, which Loys had copied at the bottom of the letter.
Goose pimples rose on her skin. She’d seen this before, but couldn’t remember where. Silently, she congratulated herself for discovering Henry’s true ascension to the throne. It wasn’t his great military prowess that defeated King Richard; it was magic.
Loys went on to say that their inquiry had sparked some interest regarding Elizabeth’s claim and wondered if she were in possession of the relic. Deep down, Viola knew that Elizabeth didn’t know about the medallion. The letter closed with an inquiry as to the status of his letter of passage.
She heard the watch sisters making their rounds. Quickly, she folded up the letters and placed them back in the leather bag, blew out her candle, and lay down, clutching the latest information to her chest. Tomorrow, she would write her response to Loys and secure the pouch under her habit, alongside her mother’s prayer bag, which she still kept on her person, lest Isabella discover it when she searched Viola’s rooms.
She closed her eyes and prayed that her latest letter had reached the Queen.
* * *
Viola skipped the morning meal in order to respond to Loys. In her letter, she asked him to inquire about the location of the relic. It was all she could do not to chastise him for his failure in disposing of James—but at the moment, she had no hold over the mercenary and she didn’t want to lose his confidence.
She arrived shortly after the meal had ended and met Isabella at the front door. Isabella perused her lips, then spoke: “Mother Superior requests your presence.”
Of course, she did, Viola thought. Isabella must have notified the abbess of her walk. She sincerely hoped Isabella hadn’t witnessed her tossing the letter over the wall.
Mother Superior sat behind her de
sk, shuffling papers. Viola wondered if she ever read the documents in front of her or simply reorganized them to appear busy. After several minutes she looked up from the desk. “Novice Viola, you missed the morning meal. And yesterday, you missed your tapestry duties. Instead you decided to hide in the infirmary. How am I to keep order when I have a novice who has disregard for the rules?”
Viola kept her face from showing the emotion that she felt. Mother Superior appeared to only notice disobedience when it suited her, or when Sister Isabella informed her.
“You are to help in the kitchens. The bishop will be arriving tomorrow and they are not adequately prepared.”
If the kitchens needed help, surely Mother Superior could have asked, rather than demand a penitence from her. She heard the door open.
“Sister Isabella, have your quill at the ready. The Bishop of Ross may require a scribe.”
Viola froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Her head spun. Their visitor was the Bishop of Ross.
“Novice Viola, you are dismissed.”
Voila nodded. She could barely make her legs move out the door. She didn’t even glance at Isabella whom, she was certain, gave her a bitter look. Closing the door behind her, Viola leaned against it and took a deep breath. Her mind began to work again.
Now, more than ever, she needed to write a letter. Surely, the bishop could deliver it to the Queen and quite possibly relieve her of her vows. Better yet, she needed to figure out how she would gain his attentions for a private audience.
She found her way to the kitchens. Everyone was scurrying about, preparing a grand meal. Viola stepped up to a table where a lay servant was making a pastry. If she could help it, she wanted to avoid scrubbing the pots.
The girl showed Viola how to knead the dough while she rolled it out filled it and prepared it for baking.
Sister Judith spotted her. “Novice Viola. Find Sister Lucia and ask if she could spare a bit of mint from her herb garden.”
Anything to get out of the hot kitchens. Viola slowly walked to the infirmary, her mind still strategizing how to meet the bishop. Surely he hadn’t traveled all this way simply to inspect the convent.
A Perilous Beginning (The Pearl Heirloom Collection Book 4) Page 10