Viola looked around; Lucia wasn’t in the infirmary. She debated whether to search for her on the grounds or at the laundry. She decided to go to the herb garden; surely Lucia wouldn’t mind a few missing mint leaves.
She almost bumped into Isabella as she exited the room.
“Novice Viola, watch where you are walking!” She looked around. “I believe you were sent to the kitchens, not to the infirmary.”
Viola tipped her chin and looked Isabella square in the eye. She said nothing, nor did she move. This time she would not allow Isabella to intimidate her.
Isabella looked her up and down. “You best attend to your duties.” She turned and left the room.
A thought crossed Viola’s mind. Mother Superior mentioned the bishop may need a scribe. She could write. All she needed to do was get Isabella out of the way.
She went over to the shelf and inspected the bottles. With luck, the infirmary wouldn’t be empty for long.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Bishop of Ross entered the convent with the ceremonious display due his station. A finely crafted black carriage pulled by two magnificent draft horses entered the gates and halted in front of the door. Each nun, novice, and lay servant lined up at the entrance, their attire crisp and neat. An older man with graying hair, a long nose, and long robes stepped from the carriage. Mother Superior stepped up and curtsied in greeting. “Welcome to the Abby of Saint Namadia,” she said in French. “We have prepared accommodations for you and your party. I am certain you are tired from your long journey.”
The bells tolled overhead announcing sext.
The bishop smiled. “It appears I have arrived in time for prayer.”
He glanced, in turn, at each of the women standing outside. The palms of Viola’s hands became damp, and her heart fluttered. He met her eyes; her face flushed.
His voice projected: “Shall we stand here in the trifling sun, or shall you lead me to the chapel?”
Mother Superior’s face fell. She stuttered. “Why yes, of course. This way.”
The abbess led the way to the chapel. Viola followed, lost in thought. After years of correspondence, she might finally have the ability to speak with the Scottish bishop. Her thigh brushed against the letter hidden in the pouch under her skirt. She checked the hem of her sleeve: the potion was secure.
After prayer, everyone not working in the kitchens congregated in the refectory. Viola began to prepare portions for the plates and ladle soup into bowls. A lay servant nearly dropped a platter filled with the soup bowls.
“Nervous?” Viola whispered.
The girl nodded her head.
“Then let me.” She took the platter from the girl with one hand. With her other, she removed from her sleeve, a piece of parchment filled with a powder. Viola unfolded the paper and poured its contents into one of the bowls and swirled it with her finger. Then she carried the platter to the refectory.
Most of the sisters appeared to be out of sorts with such a grand meal. Viola herself hadn’t dined on such a fine meal since she left her father’s home, two summers ago. She set a bowl in front of the bishop, the abbess, then Isabella. She emptied her tray and returned to the kitchens for another platter. When she reentered the refectory, she noticed Isabella drinking deeply from her bowl and averted her eyes; it would take a while for the potion to take effect.
It was time for the next course. Viola removed the bowls from the table and returned to the kitchens. The same lay servant stood stiffly near the doorway. Viola handed her a tray. “It is your turn.”
The girl looked shaken.
“This is not the time to skirt your duties.” Viola handed her the tray and gave a gentle shove. Viola needed to have others serve the sisters before Isabella became ill. She would not have suspicion fall upon her.
Viola took a tray of empty bowls to the back of the kitchens and set them down near the wash bucket. The further away from the refectory the better. Slowly, she emptied the remaining contents of the bowls and stacked them neatly for someone else to clean.
A platter crashed to the floor. Several of the kitchen workers raced to the front. Viola smiled and continued stacking the bowls.
A girl set a tray next to Viola, quickly removing the plates. “Did you see? Isabella has collapsed… then Margaret dropped plates all over the floor. We need to prepare them again.”
Viola wiped her hands on her apron. “I best assist.”
Quickly, they filled more plates and placed them on the large platter. Viola picked it up; it smelled wonderful. She returned to the refectory and began placing the plates where the last lay servant had left off.
She overheard the bishop: “You mentioned you had a scribe. I would like to send a letter to the pope detailing my inspection. I believe you are doing a fine job overseeing the convent.”
The abbess’s eyes went wide.
The bishop pointed to the doorway with his knife. “Was that...?”
The abbess nodded.
Viola removed the bishop’s empty plate. “Is there no one else who can write,” the bishop asked.
The abbess met Viola’s eyes. The connection was not lost on the bishop.
The abbess sat up even straighter and cleared her throat. “May I present Novice Viola. She is fluent in both reading and writing in several languages. Her penmanship is neat and legible.”
Viola gave a slight curtsy.
The bishop nodded.
Her heart fluttered. She took a deep breath and finished serving the fourth course before returning to the kitchens. She was introduced, and quite possibly, would be his scribe during his stay—she would be able to speak with him.
Her mind spun. She wanted to pace. She could barely breathe.
“Viola.” Sister Judith handed her a bucket. “Fetch more water.”
She threw herself into her duties, trying to stay busy without assuming the responsibility of scrubbing pots.
An hour later a sister took the bucket from her. “Mother Superior has requested your presence upstairs, in her chambers.”
Viola let out a deep breath. At long last she was to speak with someone who could relieve her vows and send word to the Queen. She nodded. “My thanks.”
She walked down the long hallway, wiping her damp hands on her skirt, her heart racing. There was no time to retrieve the letter she had written from her cell. She reached the door and took another deep breath. She lifted her chin and gave the door a quick knock with her red knuckles.
“Enter,” the abbess called out.
Viola turned the door handle and stepped into the room. The abbess sat in front of the hearth, her hands carefully placed in her lap. The bishop stood in the middle of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Novice Viola, thank you for coming.”
Viola saw right through the formality. Any other time, the abbess would have announced what she needed and expect a sister to jump at her bidding. But now, Viola understood, the abbess was trying to impress the bishop.
“The Bishop of Ross has need of a scribe.”
The bishop addressed Viola for the first time. “Mother Superior stated that your penmanship is acceptable.”
Viola nodded.
“If you would, please.” He waved his hand toward the desk, which was neatly set with a quill, parchment, an inkwell, and a rather large beeswax candle.
Viola sat down at the desk, scooting the chair into a comfortable position. The scraping sound of the chair against the floor echoed in the small chamber. She situated the supplies left for her and glanced up at the bishop. He gave her a simple nod and paced back and forth in front of her, his long robes trailing every step.
“His Most Holiness, Pope Pius.” He stopped and cleared his throat.
Viola neatly scrawled the words on the page and dipped her quill, waiting for the bishop to continue.
“I have safely arrived...” He cleared his throat again. “My apologies. It appears I have something caught. A drink should ease my discomfort.�
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Viola set her quill down and stood up. “I shall fetch you wine, Your Excellency.” She curtsied and stepped toward the door.
“Wait.” He turned to the abbess. “If you would, please, Mother Superior.”
The Mother Superior darted her eyes to Viola and back to the bishop. “Of course, Your Excellency.”
Viola returned to her seat and picked up the quill. She glanced at the parchment and heard the door close. Her mind raced. Now that she was truly alone with him, she didn’t know how to approach the topic of delivering her letter to the Queen.
“The infamous Lady Viola Bryant.”
Viola’s eyes shot up. He knew her name. The bishop stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, giving her a smug look.
“Your Excellency?” She shook her head; it had been two years since anyone had referred to her as Lady. “I fear my father has disowned me, thus I no longer possess a title. I am simply Novice Viola.”
“Indeed.” He cleared his throat again. “You have written the Queen at least a dozen times over the past several years. Your letters have intrigued me. I am interested in why you believe you can assist the Queen in gaining the English throne.”
He’d read her letters. She’d only sent a few in the past couple of years. How did he know she’d written the Queen prior to her being sent to the convent? He could be an English spy. After all, spies were everywhere. Those closest to the Queen were her enemy. The bishop could be her enemy. But he was certainly her only hope to return to England. “The rightful Queen should be on the throne of England,” she said simply, waiting to hear his response before she revealed any more information.
“Do go on.”
She eyed him. He sat unmoving, watching her. The silence became uncomfortable in his presence. Finally, she said, “A Catholic Queen is needed on the throne of England, not a Protestant pretender.”
The bishop crossed his arms, then lifted one hand to scratch his beard. There was a long pause before he spoke. “You promised the Queen gold and an army. Now you have found yourself here, within these walls, begging for her to have your vows absolved. How do you propose to assist her?”
Viola crossed her arms, her brow creased. How dare he presume that just because she was here meant she couldn’t assist? “I... I...”
The bishop laughed. “It appears, Lady Bryant, you have become flustered.”
The door opened and the abbess entered with a goblet of wine. She glanced at Viola, her brow creased, lips pursed. She turned to the bishop with a smile and handed the goblet to him. “I hope this assists.”
The bishop smiled. I believe it will. He took a long deep drink. “My apologies. I fear I am tired from our journey. We will finish the letter at a later time?” He set down the empty goblet. “Good-den, ladies.”
Viola placed the lid on the ink jar and picked up the parchment. Mother Superior stepped over to her. “You and the bishop seemed to be enjoying yourselves.”
Viola lifted her brow and glanced down to retrieve the quill. “I do not know what you mean.”
“I heard laughter down the hallway. It appears the bishop is quite taken with you.”
Viola shrugged her shoulders. “He found my words humorous. I best put these things away and prepare to retire. Morning prayer comes early.”
She crossed her arms. “Tell me, what did you discuss with the bishop?”
“The Queen. Good den, Mother Superior.” Viola turned and walked from the room.
Viola stepped into her room and opened the shutters. The light from the moon filled the small space. She wanted nothing more than to be back in England with her finery and servants. The bishop didn’t seem to want a scribe, he wanted to speak with her. He knew her–called her by name. He’d read her correspondence. Viola sat down on her bed and rolled her hands. Had her letters been read by the Queen, surely, she would have responded. But the bishop wanted to know her ideas, how she could assist in gaining the throne of England. Did she reveal too much? Not enough? She was not certain if she trusted the bishop. He was too pompous and arrogant for her liking. She would not reveal her course of action until she was removed from the convent. Thankfully, Mother Superior had entered the room before she could respond.
The next time she spoke with him, she would be more prepared. Viola felt his visit was not to inspect the convent, but to examine her. She needed to be removed from the convent and placed back on English soil. Only then could she fulfill her destiny.
* * *
Viola began to think that her evaluation of the situation was inaccurate. The bishop didn’t appear to have the slightest interest in her, other than his amusement at her frustration. He didn’t glance at her during morning prayer or during the morning meal. Maybe she had been too lofty in her letters to the Queen. Being outspoken had hindered her in the past. She resolved if she were to have another opportunity, she would try to determine exactly where he stood on the issues at hand before she made comment.
Viola resumed her penance in the kitchens. She couldn’t wait for the bishop to leave so she could continue her quest to gather information about the medallion and find a way back to England. But he could be the one to relieve her vows... still, if he were to avoid a conversation with her, she couldn’t request his blessing.
She gathered a bucket and set out to the well. There were very few women working in the kitchens that day and the pots and pan wouldn’t wash themselves, and the refectory needed to be cleaned, and the cooks needed to begin preparing the midday meal. A newly veiled novice retrieved her. “Your presence is requested in the abbess’s chambers.”
Viola nodded and wiped her hands on her apron and hung it on the peg next to the door. She wondered if she would be reprimanded for her opinion. Had the bishop confided in Mother Superior about their conversation? Even if he had, there was nothing more they could possibly do to her other than extend her time in the kitchens.
She reached the door and knocked.
“Enter,” she heard a male voice call.
Viola stood stiff and took a deep breath. She turned the handle and opened the door. The bishop sat in front of the hearth where the abbess sat the night before. On the desk were the supplies that she needed to scribe a letter along with the lonely, unlit candle. No one else was in the room.
“Come, child. No harm shall come to you.”
She walked into the room.
“The door, if you would be so kind.”
Viola turned, closing the door. She walked over to the desk and sat down, preparing herself to write. She picked up the quill and glanced at bishop.
“Would you like to continue where we left off, Your Excellency?”
“Yes. I believe I would.”
Viola nodded and waited for the bishop to speak.
“I believe—” he paused and Viola wrote the words. “I believe that you failed to answer my question. How do you propose to assist the Queen gain the throne of England?”
Viola bit her lip to refrain from smiling. She was right. He didn’t want her to scribe, he wanted to speak with her. She composed herself, set down the quill, and placed her hands in her lap. Instead of answering, she wanted more information from him. “Has the Queen read my correspondence?”
“Of course, but the Queen has been a bit preoccupied. On occasion, you would spark her interest; however, her attentions were... diverted.”
“By The Earl of Moray and Lord Darnley, I am certain. They do not have the Queen’s best interest at heart.” She hissed, remembering with whom she was speaking. The bishop may be her only hope of leaving the convent. “My apologies, Your Excellency. At times my words precede my thoughts.”
“No, no.” He glanced at the door then crossed his arms and smiled. “Please continue.”
“The earl is up to no good. I fear he is leading the Queen astray, to lose her credibility, only to gain the power of the throne for himself. And Lord Darnley, he is, quite simply, a halfwit.”
“But you believe the Queen should take
the throne of England?”
“There are many who agree. Elizabeth is a bastard queen, the daughter of a witch. Mary Stuart is the true heir, for she is the great niece of Henry the Eighth.”
“And how do you believe you can accomplish this?”
“I wish to be relieved of my vow and return to England.” There, she made her request. She bit the inside of her mouth, hoping he would agree.
The bishop began to pace again. “As you said, your father has disowned you. Therefore, you have no means to support yourself. Removing you would be expensive. Transport, shelter, clothing.”
“I only need your blessing and transport back to England. From there, I will have the ability to acquire the funds necessary,” if my father has not found and sold off my jewels, she thought to herself.
The bishop shook his head. “Tell me of your intentions and I will relay your information to the Queen.”
“Ah. You wish me to speak of what I know and how to gain the English throne while you leave me here?” Viola leaned back in her chair. “This is not a place of purity or godliness, as they portray. These walls are filled with horrors thinly veiled by a prancing faith.”
He lifted a single brow.
Viola gave him an unwavering stare. “Where do you wish me to begin? Theft? Drunkenness? Sex? Murder? Each of the Ten Commandments have been broken within these walls. This is a place of heathens hiding their sins behind what is righteous and holy.”
“You exaggerate.”
Viola sighed. “If you do not remove me, then relieve me of my vows and I shall find my own way. I will continue to appeal to the Queen.”
“And have your letters intercepted by those who wish harm? You take needless chances with her affairs and, quite possibly, with your own life.”
Viola grimaced. This conversation was not achieving anything other than giving the bishop information to use against her. Just like James. He left her to take the fall. A small smile creased her lips. She picked up the quill and began to write. The bishop was speaking, but she chose not to hear him. With quick strokes she wrote out the alphabet with a correlating character. She finished and glanced up at the bishop. He stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed.
A Perilous Beginning (The Pearl Heirloom Collection Book 4) Page 11