interested.
She would leave directly for Canterbury. The problems here were created from afar; she could almost smell the politics involved in this affair. She could not believe Bishop Odon could have put her and Therese in such a position. And surely Ursula was wrong: Odon himself could not be involved. The commission for the embroidery was his own. And Archbishop Lanfranc, such a great man. He could not have anything to do with the destruction of the hard work of women working for God – could he? But Canterbury, she resolved, was the place to investigate such matters. Perhaps she could solve the matter before Therese became embroiled here.
She also prayed for the dead nun who’d taken Ursula’s place in the grave and for the misguided girl buried outside of hallowed ground for taking her own life.
* * *
Therese woke. Her first day, yesterday, was a blur but what stood out in her mind was the fact that she had been shown round but had not been shown the sewing room or any of the needlework done by these accomplished stitchers. In the moments before she knew she must rise for Prime she tried to focus on her tasks for the day. Her main aim must be to encourage the other nuns to trust her so that an early entry to the sewing room could be engineered.
The bell rang and she dressed with the others in her dorter. Each woman was involved in arranging their tunics and girdles and paid no attention to any other. This was no different from home. She was used to sharing and these women were the very people she’d come here to observe. But not now. She counted ten nuns as they made for the stairway directly into the church.
The church stood on the north side of the cloister and the dorter ranged along the east side. But the cloister was not yet complete and this, for the present was the only access from the convent to worship even when prayer was not close to sleep time. Therese tried to remember her tour of the priory as the prayers were chanted.
Standing at the corner of what had been finished of the cloister Therese had observed the strange little tower on the south-western corner where Ursula and the Impostor had fallen. So, she assumed, the building on the south side was the sewing room.
Rays from the rising sun flooded through the church windows. So mouthing the words of the prayers and still looking down, she knelt in the choir and scanned the interior of the church. It was plain compared with home. There were some striped stone pillars, but the walls were not yet painted as the builders had not finished making dust. Even shabbier was the temporary back wall put up for the benefit of the nuns. Half way across it a large sheet was pinned. This had been decorated with a scene of St Thomas meeting Christ after the resurrection and doubting that it was He.
As for the nuns she could only see the backs of those in front and the stooped heads of those opposite her and the hands clutched in prayer of those beside her. They all were quite still until the Prioress led the way from the church to the refectory.
After a small breakfast the nuns filed into the chapter house for the daily reading from St Benedict’s book. She found herself placed, as she expected, in the lowliest position by the door. Next to her was a short, broad elderly nun with coarsened hands, and next to her was a tall slim nun, a little younger than Abbess Eleanor and Ursula.
Once Prioress Ethelburga finished reading she closed the book and looked carefully at each of the faces before her. ‘Today, I wish to introduce you all to Sister Therese,’ she said. ‘She has come from Normandy to study our great work. However, this, as you all know, is a great honour and one that has to be earned. Therefore until I say so no one is to speak of such matters to her. Nor has she access to the work or workroom.’
The group looked at Therese with unbridled suspicion.
‘ Sister Hilda, you will take Sisters Sybil and Beatrice with you this morning,’ continued
She would leave directly for Canterbury. The problems here were created from afar; she could almost smell the politics involved in this affair. She could not believe Bishop Odon could have put her and Therese in such a position. And surely Ursula was wrong: Odon himself could not be involved. The commission for the embroidery was his own. And Archbishop Lanfranc, such a great man. He could not have anything to do with the destruction of the hard work of women working for God – could he? But Canterbury, she resolved, was the place to investigate such matters. Perhaps she could solve the matter before Therese became embroiled here.
She also prayed for the dead nun who’d taken Ursula’s place in the grave and for the misguided girl buried outside of hallowed ground for taking her own life.
* * *
Therese woke. Her first day, yesterday, was a blur but what stood out in her mind was the fact that she had been shown round but had not been shown the sewing room or any of the needlework done by these accomplished stitchers. In the moments before she knew she must rise for Prime she tried to focus on her tasks for the day. Her main aim must be to encourage the other nuns to trust her so that an early entry to the sewing room could be engineered.
The bell rang and she dressed with the others in her dorter. Each woman was involved in arranging their tunics and girdles and paid no attention to any other. This was no different from home. She was used to sharing and these women were the very people she’d come here to observe. But not now. She counted ten nuns as they made for the stairway directly into the church.
The church stood on the north side of the cloister and the dorter ranged along the east side. But the cloister was not yet complete and this, for the present was the only access from the convent to worship even when prayer was not close to sleep time. Therese tried to remember her tour of the priory as the prayers were chanted.
Standing at the corner of what had been finished of the cloister Therese had observed the strange little tower on the south-western corner where Ursula and the Impostor had fallen. So, she assumed, the building on the south side was the sewing room.
Rays from the rising sun flooded through the church windows. So mouthing the words of the prayers and still looking down, she knelt in the choir and scanned the interior of the church. It was plain compared with home. There were some striped stone pillars, but the walls were not yet painted as the builders had not finished making dust. Even shabbier was the temporary back wall put up for the benefit of the nuns. Half way across it a large sheet was pinned. This had been decorated with a scene of St Thomas meeting Christ after the resurrection and doubting that it was He.
As for the nuns she could only see the backs of those in front and the stooped heads of those opposite her and the hands clutched in prayer of those beside her. They all were quite still until the Prioress led the way from the church to the refectory.
After a small breakfast the nuns filed into the chapter house for the daily reading from St Benedict’s book. She found herself placed, as she expected, in the lowliest position by the door. Next to her was a short, broad elderly nun with coarsened hands, and next to her was a tall slim nun, a little younger than Abbess Eleanor and Ursula.
Once Prioress Ethelburga finished reading she closed the book and looked carefully at each of the faces before her. ‘Today, I wish to introduce you all to Sister Therese,’ she said. ‘She has come from Normandy to study our great work. However, this, as you all know, is a great honour and one that has to be earned. Therefore until I say so no one is to speak of such matters to her. Nor has she access to the work or workroom.’
The group looked at Therese with unbridled suspicion.
‘ Sister Hilda, you will take Sisters Sybil and Beatrice with you this morning,’ continued
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