the north-east.’ Josse waved a hand behind him. ‘The fellow was hawking. Said it was good land there, where the trees give way to fields and hedgerows. Plenty of small game, for the training of a new bird.’
‘Oh!’ Helewise was faintly surprised, since she had understood from Queen Eleanor that Tobias and Petronilla lived quite close to the coast. It seemed unnecessary, to come all the way to this particular stretch of the Wealden Forest, when there must surely be good hawking to be had nearer to home.
Still, it was none of her business.
‘Perhaps Tobias will pay us a call,’ she said.
‘Not today, he won’t.’ Josse turned his horse. ‘Said he was off home when I saw him.’
‘But I thought you said you met him this morning?’
‘Aye, I did.’ He steadied the horse, who was impatient to be, away. ‘Wait, Horace! We’ll be off directly!’
Then Tobias must have left his home very early, Helewise thought, still puzzled. Unless he had been staying with friends hereabouts? Yes! That must be it!
‘Was he alone? Tobias, I mean?’ she asked Josse. ‘Or with a company?’
‘What?’ Josse, clearly, wasn’t really interested. ‘Oh, quite alone. Now, Abbess, I must be on my way. Good day to you!’
‘Good day, Sir Josse. Come to see us again.’
‘I will.’ Josse grinned. ‘Apart from the pleasure of your company, Abbess, I’m intrigued by this poor dead body you trod on.’
‘I didn’t—’ she began. But, with a wave of his hand, he was gone.
Yes, she thought, walking back towards the cloister and her room. I might have known. Mention the words ‘suspicious death’ to Josse d’Acquin, and you ensure yourself of the pleasure of his company. At least, until the murder is solved.
* * *
The new arrangements were put into effect straight away and, as far as Helewise could tell, seemed to work well. Esyllt, who had a strong and melodious singing voice, which she liked to use as she worked, quickly became a favourite with the old monks and nuns living out their retirement at Hawkenlye Abbey. True, one or two of the more straight-laced old people expressed shock, that a young woman who wasn’t of the community should be allowed to tend them, and one old monk in particular took exception to Esyllt’s song about the young lad and his lass, and what they got up to on a moonlit harvest night. But the dissenters were overruled by the majority, who grew to cherish Esyllt for her brimming happiness and her loving touch on ancient, painful bodies.
Quite what it was that made Esyllt so cheerful, nobody knew or thought to enquire. Everybody worked hard at Hawkenlye Abbey; to have someone among them who had a pleasant word for all, who sang as she went about even the most crude of tasks, seemed like a gift from a thoughtful God, to brighten the long days.
Sister Caliste settled down too, in the infirmary. Sister Beata had at first confessed to Helewise that she was afraid the remarks of the infirmary patients might affect Caliste; most of those cared for by the nuns were from the outside world, and many didn’t know about convent etiquette, that forbade the making of personal remarks. Caliste, whose beauty shone like a beacon, was, in Sister Beata’s opinion, the recipient of far too many compliments.
But even Sister Beata had to admit that the girl hardly seemed to hear. ‘In fact, Abbess,’ Sister Beata went on, ‘sometimes it’s quite hard to make her hear anything! It’s as if—’ Sister Beata’s face crumpled into an uncharacteristic frown as she sought the words. ‘As if she’s listening to inner voices. Or music, perhaps, since, quite often, she starts to hum softly, as if she’s joining in.’
‘I see.’ Helewise did see, all too clearly; it was that strange humming of Caliste’s that had so disturbed the Abbess, the night she had found the girl sleepwalking.
Caliste might appear settled in her new work. But Helewise was very afraid that there were currents
‘Oh!’ Helewise was faintly surprised, since she had understood from Queen Eleanor that Tobias and Petronilla lived quite close to the coast. It seemed unnecessary, to come all the way to this particular stretch of the Wealden Forest, when there must surely be good hawking to be had nearer to home.
Still, it was none of her business.
‘Perhaps Tobias will pay us a call,’ she said.
‘Not today, he won’t.’ Josse turned his horse. ‘Said he was off home when I saw him.’
‘But I thought you said you met him this morning?’
‘Aye, I did.’ He steadied the horse, who was impatient to be, away. ‘Wait, Horace! We’ll be off directly!’
Then Tobias must have left his home very early, Helewise thought, still puzzled. Unless he had been staying with friends hereabouts? Yes! That must be it!
‘Was he alone? Tobias, I mean?’ she asked Josse. ‘Or with a company?’
‘What?’ Josse, clearly, wasn’t really interested. ‘Oh, quite alone. Now, Abbess, I must be on my way. Good day to you!’
‘Good day, Sir Josse. Come to see us again.’
‘I will.’ Josse grinned. ‘Apart from the pleasure of your company, Abbess, I’m intrigued by this poor dead body you trod on.’
‘I didn’t—’ she began. But, with a wave of his hand, he was gone.
Yes, she thought, walking back towards the cloister and her room. I might have known. Mention the words ‘suspicious death’ to Josse d’Acquin, and you ensure yourself of the pleasure of his company. At least, until the murder is solved.
* * *
The new arrangements were put into effect straight away and, as far as Helewise could tell, seemed to work well. Esyllt, who had a strong and melodious singing voice, which she liked to use as she worked, quickly became a favourite with the old monks and nuns living out their retirement at Hawkenlye Abbey. True, one or two of the more straight-laced old people expressed shock, that a young woman who wasn’t of the community should be allowed to tend them, and one old monk in particular took exception to Esyllt’s song about the young lad and his lass, and what they got up to on a moonlit harvest night. But the dissenters were overruled by the majority, who grew to cherish Esyllt for her brimming happiness and her loving touch on ancient, painful bodies.
Quite what it was that made Esyllt so cheerful, nobody knew or thought to enquire. Everybody worked hard at Hawkenlye Abbey; to have someone among them who had a pleasant word for all, who sang as she went about even the most crude of tasks, seemed like a gift from a thoughtful God, to brighten the long days.
Sister Caliste settled down too, in the infirmary. Sister Beata had at first confessed to Helewise that she was afraid the remarks of the infirmary patients might affect Caliste; most of those cared for by the nuns were from the outside world, and many didn’t know about convent etiquette, that forbade the making of personal remarks. Caliste, whose beauty shone like a beacon, was, in Sister Beata’s opinion, the recipient of far too many compliments.
But even Sister Beata had to admit that the girl hardly seemed to hear. ‘In fact, Abbess,’ Sister Beata went on, ‘sometimes it’s quite hard to make her hear anything! It’s as if—’ Sister Beata’s face crumpled into an uncharacteristic frown as she sought the words. ‘As if she’s listening to inner voices. Or music, perhaps, since, quite often, she starts to hum softly, as if she’s joining in.’
‘I see.’ Helewise did see, all too clearly; it was that strange humming of Caliste’s that had so disturbed the Abbess, the night she had found the girl sleepwalking.
Caliste might appear settled in her new work. But Helewise was very afraid that there were currents
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