Chapter Four
She needed egg whites and stale vinegar to set her inks, and she was in luck. Ann was making nun’s kisses, those little custardy tarts that the Prior loved so much. Linnet could see the jug of egg whites at her side, but she didn’t want to ask while Ann was busy beating the custard.
As she stood nearby, waiting for the right time, Brother Oswyn came in, full of his own importance, waving his ledger book at Ann.
‘What’s this cinnamon, Ann? Have you used all that was brought last time the pedlar was here? I can’t see the need for this and long pepper both.’
Startled from her baking, Ann stared at Oswyn with almost open insolence. She’d no time for any of the monks bar the Prior.
‘Brother Oswyn, cinnamon and long pepper are not the same. You’d be sure to notice if these nun’s kisses had long pepper in them – and the Prior wouldn’t be pleased, or his guests.’
Before Ann could stop him, Oswyn dipped a fat finger in her custard and tasted it. The kitchen fell into a shocked silence.
‘I taste no spices in this, but it is fine, I’m sure you could cook as well without the expense. I’ve a mind to tell the Prior we’ve no need of spices when the pedlar comes next.’
Ann’s chin and her sagging neck were scarlet and blotched, like an angry chicken, Linnet couldn’t help thinking, as she slapped Oswyn’s hand away from her bowl.
‘It tastes good, as you say, because it has the cinnamon in it! Without it, it would be naught but a posset and fit for no decent table. I’ll be talking to the Prior mysel – he’ll be hearing from me.
If my kitchen canna have spices, you’ll be the one cooking as I’ll be gone, do ya ken?
And ev’n the bairns here wouldn’t be putting their dirty fingers in my pudding, I’ll not be having it. ’
Oswyn took a swift step back as the angry woman advanced on him, which took him backing into Linnet, standing so far unobserved by the wall. She felt his weight on her foot as he stumbled backwards and then suddenly he was inches from her face.
‘And you, what are you doing in here? Are you not in the Scriptorium? The Prior doesn’t pay you to gossip in here with, with…’ He stuttered a little and she could see he was rethinking whatever words he had been about to use about Ann and the others in the kitchen.
‘I’m here to ask for egg whites for the ink.’ She was answering him but also talking to Ann whose fury seemed to have ebbed a little. She’d get the vinegar another time, better to be off.
Ann nodded silently and handed over the jug.
‘I’ll be wanting that jug back this afternoon, mind,’ she said before turning her back on the pair of them.
Ann’s tempers were legendary. Linnet wondered how long this one would last. She could hear Ann muttering loudly about Oswyn as she left the room, how he messed up her kitchen by coming in wet after his early morning swims, and what a stupid idea it was to swim in any case, especially now, in the dark and cold of winter.
Linnet had seen him coming back from those swims, and seen him sidle into the kitchen to steal freshly baked bread before the proper time, too hungry and cold from the water to wait. She couldn’t imagine going into that dark, muddy water from choice.
Outside the kitchen, she tried to leave without catching any more of Oswyn’s attention but she couldn’t move fast enough, keeping the jug steady in her hands. He pinched at her arm and she had to twist to stop the jug falling.
‘I’ve not forgotten your secret, Linnet. You’re not here waiting for your father, are you? I happen to know John-the-Lies isn’t in England, is he?’
Linnet fought to keep her face still and the jug upright.
Her father had never spoken to her of which side he backed in the Cousins’ War, and she had never known which king the men who tasked him with spying were working for.
Had Henry’s reign meant he needed to stay away, or was he working for him?
And the real question was, what did Oswyn know about it and what would it mean for her?
Before she could think what to answer, someone interrupted.
‘Do you have the ledger there, Brother Oswyn? I must see this today for my report.’
It was the Inspector. Linnet watched as Oswyn changed himself once again, one minute haranguing Ann, the next retreating and blustering and threatening her, and now –what was his air now?
‘Yes, yes, I’ll bring it to you, you’ll find all in order. I am, of course, at your service to help with any questions you may have.’
Obsequious, certainly. That was the Oswyn she often saw with the Prior and any guests of importance, but something else too. Something with a different balance of power, something watchful, something reminding her of Pol and his cruel eyes when he spied a prey.
‘Have you been long at Durham, Inspector? Did the Bishop bring him with you or were you there already?’
‘We met when he was conducting affairs of state in France, so I came to Durham with him. He’s chosen me to be his Inspector, to see to it that all the daughter houses are fully compliant with the Rules and the monies are in order. The monies being what I am asking you to show me, of course.’
It was a pompous little speech, which came with a flash of insincere teeth in a half-smile. Linnet was sure he’d made it before at other monasteries and priories, a shutting down of any other talk so that the other would know the seriousness of his purpose.
‘Quite so, Inspector.’ The tone was mild but Oswyn’s eyes had sharpened still further. He gave the Inspector a long and frank searching look, quite out of place for his position. It wasn’t a pleasant look.
To Linnet’s surprise, the Inspector took a step backwards, and hurried away, throwing a hand up in thanks as he went, nothing more to say.
Linnet took that as her moment to leave too, carefully carrying her egg whites while her mind flitted about wondering what Oswyn could know about her father, and how dangerous that knowledge might be.
Back in her Scriptorium, she strained the egg whites into a wooden bowl through a thin piece of cloth, and whisked them hard with a small tied bunch of thin twigs she kept for this. Ann had an excellent whisk she coveted but she didn’t dare ask for that too. Her own would do.
Once she had the thick clouds of the egg whites done to her liking, she covered the bowl with a cloth.
She would use the drainings tomorrow to make her colour inks secure.
She began pounding the dried honeysuckle seeds she had in her stores, she would start by making a vivid leaf-green.
She still had a bit of the rusted iron powder she could add to it too.
The Prior came in suddenly as she was looking through her receipts for her inks to remember how much iron rust she would need.
‘Linnet, I’ve had Ann in my parlour talking my ear off about Brother Oswyn. Something about his fingers in the custard? Can you tell me what you saw?’
He looked annoyed and more than a little confused. Linnet couldn’t suppress a smile.
‘I think Brother Oswyn wanted to know that Ann wasn’t using spices recklessly, he had his ledger with him.’
The Prior sighed, and she didn’t envy him, caught between the fussiness of the Bursar and the fury of the Cook.
He loved his food and Ann’s skill with herbs and spices.
If it came to a choice, Linnet would say the Cook would stay.
She’d noticed he got on best with the villagers who worked for the Priory, much better than the monks.
She wondered what his family had been like, he didn’t seem as polished as some of the noblemen’s sons who were now in orders.
His eyes caught on what she was doing.
‘What colour ink are you making there?’
‘A deep green, good for leaves.’
‘And what plant are you using?’
She explained it in obscure terms, she was not one to give away her receipts, not even to the Prior.
‘What do you mix in first, the powders or the liquids?’
‘It’s different for the different inks, and sometimes I have to make the powders finer or blend it when it’s warm.’
Their talk came to a halt while he stared hard at her bowls and powders for a long while, before frowning and leaving the room again.
She worked on the seeds until it was too dark to see, covering it all with a cloth to start again the next day.