her credit how long Isobel held on to it. But at last she sighed and raised her eyes to his.
‘I did not go to her family. When she entered St Clement’s we agreed that she was dead to her family from that day.’
‘It is a symbolic death.’
Isobel shook her head. ‘It was a condition of payment, Your Grace.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘They paid handsomely?’
‘I was not then prioress.’
‘But the Council of Oxford forbade this.’
‘St Clement’s is poor, Your Grace, and Joanna’s family were keen to be rid of her.’
‘Did they explain why?’
‘Her mother said she was impossible to rule.’
‘As Benedictines you take a vow of poverty.’
Isobel bristled. ‘The money did not make our lives soft. It patched the roof and kept us warm in winter.’
‘Still, it is simony.’ Thoresby stood, clasped his hands behind him and, frowning, turned from her. ‘I am increasingly uneasy about the state of St Clement’s, Dame Isobel. I depend on you to watch over the sisters and rule them wisely. You have failed me.’ He stayed there a moment, letting her study his back, then spun round with a stern frown. ‘If you fail me again I must think what to do.’
Isobel looked sufficiently disgraced. ‘Your Grace, please, it is an unfortunate –’
‘Yes, it is unfortunate. This entire situation is unfortunate. And to prevent more misfortune, I want Dame Joanna taken to St Mary’s Abbey guest house. The abbey walls are better fortified than St Clement’s, the gates are more secure.’
Dame Isobel’s expression warred between shame and relief. ‘Considering the watcher and the rumours, I would be most grateful for such an arrangement.’
‘This does not relieve you of your duties. You will speak with Dame Joanna at St Mary’s. Find a way to inspire trust. I want to know what she knows of Jaro, the man in her grave, and Maddy, the maid who was murdered. I want to know why someone is following her and who it is. I want to know with whom she left Beverley. Sir Nicholas de Louth will tell you more. Speak with him.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘You may go.’
She bowed to him. ‘Peace be the Lord my God.’
‘God go with you.’
Thoresby thanked the messenger who had just ridden in from Knaresborough and bade him leave the door ajar as he quit the parlour.
‘Michaelo!’ Thoresby bellowed a few moments later.
Thoresby’s secretary presented his elegant self. ‘Your Grace?’
‘Send Alfred and Colin to me. Captain Archer recommends them. I think they might manage to track down a man who is watching the nunnery.’
‘They might do,’ Michaelo said, ‘though you must not expect them to take him alive. They are thirsty for blood, those two.’
Thoresby stared at his secretary. It was the most astute comment Michaelo had ever made to him. ‘I shall impress upon them that I wish to speak to the man.’
Michaelo bowed and hurried off on his mission.
Thoresby drummed his fingers on the polished wooden table and considered his departed secretary. He had appointed Michaelo to the post more to keep an eye on him than to make use of him. As a monk of St Mary’s, Michaelo had been led seriously astray by the former Archdeacon of York. But of late Michaelo had shown improvement. He was reliable, and kept his own counsel. Thoresby even detected some likeable qualities in him – an amusing sense of humour. A quite unexpected development.
Dame Isobel paced her chamber. Her interview with the Archbishop had mortified her. It was plain he considered her incompetent. As well he might. But it pained her. She respected Archbishop Thoresby, admired his combination of worldliness and spirituality. She had read the lay catechism he had directed a monk at St Mary’s to write, It was an inspiration of elegant simplicity. And the Lady Chapel he was building in the minster promised to be a magnificent monument to Our Lady. Isobel must prove to Thoresby that she was worthy of her position.
But how? He wanted
‘I did not go to her family. When she entered St Clement’s we agreed that she was dead to her family from that day.’
‘It is a symbolic death.’
Isobel shook her head. ‘It was a condition of payment, Your Grace.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘They paid handsomely?’
‘I was not then prioress.’
‘But the Council of Oxford forbade this.’
‘St Clement’s is poor, Your Grace, and Joanna’s family were keen to be rid of her.’
‘Did they explain why?’
‘Her mother said she was impossible to rule.’
‘As Benedictines you take a vow of poverty.’
Isobel bristled. ‘The money did not make our lives soft. It patched the roof and kept us warm in winter.’
‘Still, it is simony.’ Thoresby stood, clasped his hands behind him and, frowning, turned from her. ‘I am increasingly uneasy about the state of St Clement’s, Dame Isobel. I depend on you to watch over the sisters and rule them wisely. You have failed me.’ He stayed there a moment, letting her study his back, then spun round with a stern frown. ‘If you fail me again I must think what to do.’
Isobel looked sufficiently disgraced. ‘Your Grace, please, it is an unfortunate –’
‘Yes, it is unfortunate. This entire situation is unfortunate. And to prevent more misfortune, I want Dame Joanna taken to St Mary’s Abbey guest house. The abbey walls are better fortified than St Clement’s, the gates are more secure.’
Dame Isobel’s expression warred between shame and relief. ‘Considering the watcher and the rumours, I would be most grateful for such an arrangement.’
‘This does not relieve you of your duties. You will speak with Dame Joanna at St Mary’s. Find a way to inspire trust. I want to know what she knows of Jaro, the man in her grave, and Maddy, the maid who was murdered. I want to know why someone is following her and who it is. I want to know with whom she left Beverley. Sir Nicholas de Louth will tell you more. Speak with him.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘You may go.’
She bowed to him. ‘Peace be the Lord my God.’
‘God go with you.’
Thoresby thanked the messenger who had just ridden in from Knaresborough and bade him leave the door ajar as he quit the parlour.
‘Michaelo!’ Thoresby bellowed a few moments later.
Thoresby’s secretary presented his elegant self. ‘Your Grace?’
‘Send Alfred and Colin to me. Captain Archer recommends them. I think they might manage to track down a man who is watching the nunnery.’
‘They might do,’ Michaelo said, ‘though you must not expect them to take him alive. They are thirsty for blood, those two.’
Thoresby stared at his secretary. It was the most astute comment Michaelo had ever made to him. ‘I shall impress upon them that I wish to speak to the man.’
Michaelo bowed and hurried off on his mission.
Thoresby drummed his fingers on the polished wooden table and considered his departed secretary. He had appointed Michaelo to the post more to keep an eye on him than to make use of him. As a monk of St Mary’s, Michaelo had been led seriously astray by the former Archdeacon of York. But of late Michaelo had shown improvement. He was reliable, and kept his own counsel. Thoresby even detected some likeable qualities in him – an amusing sense of humour. A quite unexpected development.
Dame Isobel paced her chamber. Her interview with the Archbishop had mortified her. It was plain he considered her incompetent. As well he might. But it pained her. She respected Archbishop Thoresby, admired his combination of worldliness and spirituality. She had read the lay catechism he had directed a monk at St Mary’s to write, It was an inspiration of elegant simplicity. And the Lady Chapel he was building in the minster promised to be a magnificent monument to Our Lady. Isobel must prove to Thoresby that she was worthy of her position.
But how? He wanted
Similar Books
