Read Online The Widow's Tale (Sister Frevisse Medieval Mysteries Book 14) by Margaret Frazer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Frazer
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kept silence of her early years as a nun, but even then if the prioress had asked a question, it was answered and after a due moment of thought she made as near to a nothing answer as she could, saying, “She gives no trouble.”
They had reached the foot of the stairs. Beyond the doorway other nuns were hurrying from all sides of the cloister toward the church, but Domina Elisabeth stopped and turned around. “Does that bode good or ill, do you think?”
Frevisse hesitated, not happy to be asked, unsure how to answer, settling finally for, “It’s difficult to say.”
“You mean,” Domina Elisabeth said crisply, “that you can’t tell whether she’s truly penitent or is merely biding her time until she can be done with us.”
Frevisse hesitated, then said, “I can’t tell, no.”
“Neither can I, and it disturbs me.”
Domina Elisabeth turned away and swept toward the church in a fullness of black skirts and long veil. Frevisse, heavy with thought and following more slowly, was among the last to take her place in the choir, and as she took up her prayer book, she looked from the side of her eyes at Cristiana lying in her penitent’s place before the altar. Frevisse knew from experience how uncomfortable she had to be, had seen her sometimes shift a little during an Office but never much. Neither had she ever shown any protest against the long whiles she had to kneel there. In truth, she never showed anything or made any protest. And yet somehow there was no feeling of penitence about her.
“Lam tibi, Domine, Rex aeternae gloriae …” Praise to you, King of eternal glories . . . The familiar words, leading on to the prayers and praise and psalms that were usually Frevisse’s delight, did not catch and hold her mind this morning. She chanted with the others, “Deus caritas est, et qui manet in caritate, in Deo manet, et Deus in eo. “ God is love, and who lives in love, lives in God, and God in him. But Domina Elisabeth’s questions had set further off balance her already unsettled thoughts.
Cristiana was proving to be more than a passing wonder among the nuns. With rarely any scandal among themselves greater than someone falling asleep during an Office or sometimes a sharp word said over something, and such family news as came usually providing no more than talk for a day or two at best, a sinful widow set among them, doing her penance before their very eyes, was like a god-sent gift. At least that was the impression Frevisse had from listening to the talk about her. Domina Elisabeth kept discipline enough that during the day everyone tended mostly to their own work and business, but during the recreation hour between supper and Compline’s prayers before bed, tongues were set free, and even after these few weeks, talk about the woman was still rampant despite they had long ago run out of fresh ground to cover. They had only what Domina Elisabeth had said on the first day—certainly nothing from Cristiana herself, wrapped in her silence—but that did not stop or even slow their speculations. She was a widow who had done something terrible beyond the ordinary, but precisely what she had done had been frustratingly not said, leaving them free to talk over again and again what she might have done; and for women who lived chaste lives apart from the world, they found their way through a surprisingly wide number of possibilities.
Along with Sister Thomasine and, usually, Dame Claire, Frevisse kept aside from the talk. On her own part, she had never repeated to anyone what the woman in the guesthall had said, partly because she did not know the truth or falseness of it, partly because she was certain the woman had viciously meant for her to repeat it, and Frevisse—quite aside from her own unwillingness to such talk—had decided not to oblige her, but wished that Domina Elisabeth, besides forbidding talk with Cristiana, would likewise forbid talk about her.
“Domine, miserere mei. . . ne
They had reached the foot of the stairs. Beyond the doorway other nuns were hurrying from all sides of the cloister toward the church, but Domina Elisabeth stopped and turned around. “Does that bode good or ill, do you think?”
Frevisse hesitated, not happy to be asked, unsure how to answer, settling finally for, “It’s difficult to say.”
“You mean,” Domina Elisabeth said crisply, “that you can’t tell whether she’s truly penitent or is merely biding her time until she can be done with us.”
Frevisse hesitated, then said, “I can’t tell, no.”
“Neither can I, and it disturbs me.”
Domina Elisabeth turned away and swept toward the church in a fullness of black skirts and long veil. Frevisse, heavy with thought and following more slowly, was among the last to take her place in the choir, and as she took up her prayer book, she looked from the side of her eyes at Cristiana lying in her penitent’s place before the altar. Frevisse knew from experience how uncomfortable she had to be, had seen her sometimes shift a little during an Office but never much. Neither had she ever shown any protest against the long whiles she had to kneel there. In truth, she never showed anything or made any protest. And yet somehow there was no feeling of penitence about her.
“Lam tibi, Domine, Rex aeternae gloriae …” Praise to you, King of eternal glories . . . The familiar words, leading on to the prayers and praise and psalms that were usually Frevisse’s delight, did not catch and hold her mind this morning. She chanted with the others, “Deus caritas est, et qui manet in caritate, in Deo manet, et Deus in eo. “ God is love, and who lives in love, lives in God, and God in him. But Domina Elisabeth’s questions had set further off balance her already unsettled thoughts.
Cristiana was proving to be more than a passing wonder among the nuns. With rarely any scandal among themselves greater than someone falling asleep during an Office or sometimes a sharp word said over something, and such family news as came usually providing no more than talk for a day or two at best, a sinful widow set among them, doing her penance before their very eyes, was like a god-sent gift. At least that was the impression Frevisse had from listening to the talk about her. Domina Elisabeth kept discipline enough that during the day everyone tended mostly to their own work and business, but during the recreation hour between supper and Compline’s prayers before bed, tongues were set free, and even after these few weeks, talk about the woman was still rampant despite they had long ago run out of fresh ground to cover. They had only what Domina Elisabeth had said on the first day—certainly nothing from Cristiana herself, wrapped in her silence—but that did not stop or even slow their speculations. She was a widow who had done something terrible beyond the ordinary, but precisely what she had done had been frustratingly not said, leaving them free to talk over again and again what she might have done; and for women who lived chaste lives apart from the world, they found their way through a surprisingly wide number of possibilities.
Along with Sister Thomasine and, usually, Dame Claire, Frevisse kept aside from the talk. On her own part, she had never repeated to anyone what the woman in the guesthall had said, partly because she did not know the truth or falseness of it, partly because she was certain the woman had viciously meant for her to repeat it, and Frevisse—quite aside from her own unwillingness to such talk—had decided not to oblige her, but wished that Domina Elisabeth, besides forbidding talk with Cristiana, would likewise forbid talk about her.
“Domine, miserere mei. . . ne
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