Chapter Twenty
‘And the Lady was pleased with her prayer book?’
‘Yes.’ She’d not shown pleasure but Linnet knew she’d made something beautiful. Lady Margaret had said she would send the money back with her man, not trusting Linnet for some reason. With the theft of her purse, this was a relief.
Linnet got out the book of ‘Hawking and Hunting’. The Prior examined it carefully, turning the pages. Marcus strained to catch sight of it but was a bit too far away. He was always in the Prior’s parlour now, puffed up with the importance of finally becoming the Bursar.
‘Is it the first printed book you’ve seen, Linnet?’ the Prior asked.
‘No, I’ve seen some others.’
‘But you can copy this, and make it look printed?’
Of course she could. She could make it look exactly the same, or better if he’d rather. She wondered if someone already wanted a copy or if he just wanted one for the growing Scriptorium library.
He examined it, counting pages, exclaiming at the script.
She told him what the Abbess had said about binding books.
They had done their own for the prayer book but it was just a simple bit of leather that she’d sewn on to the quires, this would get them more money if they were properly bound.
He took her notes and made his own on the margins, adding a word or number here and there but looked very pleased.
She asked him about more monks to help her but he brushed that away, impatiently.
He looked up finally. ‘And you took the child with you? I had need of her here!’ He was not pleased about this at all, it was clear. She felt a stab of fear, she mustn’t make him angry with her.
‘No, she knows the causeway so I think she followed me and the boy over. I couldn’t leave her in the forest and the tide was coming in so she couldn’t get home.’
The Prior went to the door of his parlour and sent a novice to go and find Isabelle. Linnet hadn’t seen her since early that morning, happily playing with Pol who was cawing and almost purring like an eager kitten.
Isabelle came in, the raven hopping behind her, staying close in case she left again, Linnet supposed.
‘So you disobeyed me and went after Linnet and stayed away near a week?’ His voice was dangerously calm.
‘You never said I shouldna,’ she said, pouting.
The slap, when it came, shocked Linnet as much as Isabelle. She’d never seen the Prior hit anything, not even spur his horse that hard.
Isabelle looked at him startled and in horror, still but not crying. By contrast the raven flew into furious action, cawing and pecking at the Prior in retaliation. He waved his arms around to deflect the bird, and over the commotion, continued to scold the child.
‘I have work for you here, Isabelle. You are not to go off. We feed you and clothe you and house you here at the Priory, don’t we?’
She nodded slowly, the red mark on her cheek beginning to bloom. The raven settled down near her but kept a glaring black eye fixed hard on the Prior.
‘Now be gone with you, and I expect you to be here at first light tomorrow morning, I have need of your gathering skills again. You’re old enough to earn your keep properly now, you hear?’
She ran, bird flapping behind her, and vanished into the fog and murk of the day.
‘And why are you still here, Linnet? Go to the Scriptorium and see how Brother Luke has been faring. And I’ll expect your accounts and monies from the trip. If the child cost me anything, you’ll be paying that.’
The fisherman had been right about the Prior’s mood.
Linnet left quickly but not without a quick glance at the hearth.
The cuddy duck was still tucked up on the blankets, looking for all the world like it was carved out of wood.
He was still taking care of her then. Marcus followed her glance and again, she saw that flash of disdain.
If he wanted to be a favourite of the Prior’s, he would need to heed his love of animals, she thought.
The Scriptorium was empty but Linnet could see the Gospel Luke had been working on.
He’d done well. His desk was tidy, the candle stub far enough from the parchment to be safe, his pens arranged and his ink covered.
There were a couple of small errors but she’d teach him how to scrape those out and rewrite them.
She got out the money she’d earned and the scrap of paper she’d written her accounts on. She needed a good story to cover up what had happened, and she had to make certain Isabelle kept quiet when she said they’d stayed a second night in lodgings at Alnmouth, for example.
She made a fair copy, costed the child’s expenses at a couple of pence, which she put separately from the Prior’s money, and brought it all back to him. He looked through it with sharp eyes but nodded, and put it carefully into his money chest.
‘You can give the figures to Brother Marcus,’ he instructed her. For once, Marcus wasn’t in the room. Nor was the Inspector.
‘Is the Inspector still here?’
‘Yes, he’s – unwell.’
She wondered if the Inspector truly did have sores on his backside. He was too big a man to ride lightly if that were the case.
She saw him through the door of the Chapter House that night, but he looked no different from when she’d last seen him. He was preaching with the same fervour as last time too, thundering at the monks, more of whom seemed to be attentive now.
‘What God intends for you, is your duty to obey. He works in ways of mystery, we know, and he will raise up those the worthy. Ask yourself – are you worthy? Do you keep God in your heart as you go about your day? Is God part of your work here in the Priory? Is it God you take to sleep with you and wake with? If not, you will be damned, and you will deserve it!’
Luke was at the front, his eyes alight. She’d not seen him since she had come back, but nothing would take him away from the Inspector’s words.
Cassian was sat at the Inspector’s side, watching him closely.
She wondered, not for the first time, why the Bishop had sent this novice with the Inspector on his travels.
She went back to her room, and stopped in the door, on edge. She’d left it in order, her blankets piled up on the tick, her special things in the box at the end, but something felt amiss.
The blankets were all still there, no one had taken the good one she’d had from Brother Oswyn, but they weren’t folded the same. Had someone been looking for something?
Her box had all her usual things. Her money she always kept with her so that was safe, the pebbles from Tom’s cottage were there, the small twists of paper she’d found in Oswyn’s things and her spare candles. But Oswyn’s household book was gone.
She sat down heavily. Was nowhere her own space?
All those years of living with Guy at his mercy, after fitting into spaces around her father, she’d loved this little room that was all her own.
It felt different now, stripped of something that made it feel safe.
And now the household book. She couldn’t ask anyone about it – she shouldn’t have had it anyway.
She wanted to have another look at it this evening.
She’d had another thought about the paper twists.
After all the walking, she fell into a deep sleep with no trouble for once, dimly aware of the monks’ night-time offices, and of the cat, settling on her. And she slept without dreams.
Luke looked pleased she was back, eager to show her what he’d done.
She praised him, then pointed to the few errors.
He tried to argue they weren’t but gave up after she held his gaze for long enough.
She showed him how to use a sharp stone or a knife to gently scrape ink off, and how long to leave it before writing over.
He had his own knife but it was none too clean so she gave him a sharp stone instead.
She wouldn’t let him use her knife, of course.
He was soon caught up in the process, his earlier objection forgotten.
She started on the first of her illuminated pages with the Gospel of St John, pricking out a rough eagle shape to paint in dark colours. She intended to use a little shell gold on the tips of his wings, perhaps the light of God shining down to pick them out.
It was hours later, and she was cold and stiff, when she saw that Luke had gone. It wasn’t dark yet but soon. Where had he gone? Had he spoken to her before he left?
She put away her inks and her tools, pleased with her work so far. The eagle had a hungry look but still noble, a bird of prey and pray she thought to herself.
The kitchen was full, and Ann almost looked happy to see her.
‘Why did you take the lass with you?’
Inevitably the word had spread around – Isabelle hadn’t just run off, she’d been on an adventure. Linnet would need to tell her firmly what she should and shouldn’t say.
‘She just followed me. I think she was curious.’
Ann shuddered at the idea of travelling off the island. ‘She said she saw a monkey? Do they have flaming eyes like she said?’
Linnet laughed, then regretted it immediately as the older woman looked shamed to be fooled by a child’s unlikely tale.
‘No, but it did have a tail and it did do tricks. And its eyes were red, so that’s probably why Isabelle thought they were flaming.’
Ann nodded, slightly appeased, and put out a bowl of hot soup for her, which Linnet ate gratefully before setting out for the tavern.
Back on the island, Tom’s death was hitting her hard again. When she’d been walking, she could pretend he was still here, fishing and drinking and dicing, but as she walked into the tavern, his absence struck her like a cold blast of wind.
The masons were still there, spreading themselves over the benches and tables.
The islanders were used to visiting craftsmen and other guests crowding them out.
The innkeeper always kept the better ale for them anyway, so they could suffer a few elbows in their faces as they drank.
None of the monks were in here, still staying away with the Inspector on the island.