Chapter Fifteen
“Where have you been, Andressa?”
Having barely just returned to St. Blitha under the cover of darkness, Andressa was in the dim corridor leading to her tiny cell, and her uncomfortable bed, when Sister Petronilla had come out of the shadows.
Andressa hadn’t even heard the woman and now, suddenly, she was standing face to face with her.
For a moment, Andressa simply stared at the woman. She’d barely had five words with the old nun in the four years she’d been at St. Blitha, but now it seemed as if they were to have their first real conversation.
And not a comfortable one.
“I delivered garments to Lady Hinkley,” Andressa answered after a moment. “You heard the Mother Abbess give me permission to do so. Lady Hinkley then asked me to remain for a time.”
Sister Petronilla’s gaze lingered on her for a moment as if debating whether or not to believe her.
In fact, she was sizing up the woman altogether.
It was clear that she didn’t like the idea of someone new joining the Mother Abbess’ band of attendants, so her scrutiny was on the young woman that the Mother Abbess seemed to favor.
Everyone at the abbey knew that Andressa had turned their laundry into a business, a business that the Mother Abbess was profiting greatly from, but Sister Petronilla didn’t see anything quite so remarkable in the young woman. She didn’t appear all that special to her.
Her jealousy was rising.
“Why did you stay so long?” she asked. “Did she feed you?”
“She did not,” Andressa replied. “I remained in her servant’s kitchen and warmed myself until she told me to go.”
Sister Petronilla’s gaze remained on her for a few more moments before deciding that interrogating the woman any further would be fruitless.
It wasn’t as if Andressa didn’t already spend a good deal of time going back and forth between noble households, collecting laundry when the household servants were too busy to deliver it.
It was part of her job. Therefore, Sister Petronilla let the subject drop.
For now.
“Our Gracious Mother has plans for you,” she finally said. “As she told you, she feels that our work must be carried on. Unfortunately, we will not live forever.”
Andressa breathed a sigh of relief that Sister Petronilla didn’t press her further about her absence. Still, she received the distinct sense that the older nun was suspicious of her. There was something in the woman’s dark eyes that suggested doubt.
Her guard was up.
“I am honored to carry out God’s work,” she replied steadily. “I am not worthy, but I shall endeavor to do my best. And I am honored to work in the garden with you. You have great skill with the herbs and flowers.”
Sister Petronilla turned away from her, heading back down the corridor and towards the doors that led to the courtyard outside.
“Walk with me,” she said.
“Where are we going?”
“Into the garden.”
“Now? But it is dark outside.”
“Much of what we do is in the shadows, Andressa. Come with me.”
Andressa did. She scooted after the woman, wondering why they were going out to the garden and just the least bit apprehensive about it.
They headed back to a main reception chamber where the front door to the church was located and a second set of doors that led to the courtyard beyond.
It had been those doors that Andressa had just come through as she’d come in from the yard.
The main reception chamber of St. Blitha was a cavernous room, stripped of all furnishings except for a shrine dedicated to St. Blitha.
There was a tapestry of her on the stone wall, the ancient Roman saint who had been martyred by Roman soldiers.
Sister Petronilla collected a bank of yellow tallow tapers from the shrine, candles that were always there lighting the tapestry of the saint, and moved to the doors that led to the courtyard.
Andressa followed.
Once outside again, the temperature was brisk and cold, with moisture heavy in the air. Sister Petronilla headed straight into the garden, turning once to ensure that Andressa was still behind her.
“My father was an apothecary,” she said as they walked. “He knew what to grow and how to grow it. He knew the properties of everything that grew on this earth. What I learned, I learned from him. He was a great man.”
Andressa suspected the best way to deal with Sister Petronilla was to make it seem as if she admired the woman greatly. Perhaps flattery would cause whatever suspicions there might be to fade.
“I am sure he was,” Andressa said. “You must miss him, being so far away from him.”
But Sister Petronilla simply shook her head.
“He was a great and knowledgeable man, but he was also quite wicked,” she said.
“I was beaten every day when I was young, which fed my hatred against him. When I was nine years of age, I put a potion in his soup, a potion he himself had made, and it killed both him and my mother. That is why I was sent to the convent of Santa Giulia.”
It was a shocking confession but, in truth, it wasn’t surprising. After what Andressa had been told yesterday, it seemed that murder wasn’t something outlandish or new to these women.
It was a way of life.
“And now you find yourself here, in London,” Andressa said, truly having no idea what to say after that horrific confession. “I have no parents, either, as you know. Only an aunt who stole my fortune.”
Sister Petronilla glanced at her. “Then mayhap I can teach you something useful,” she said.
“I am sure you have been wondering how we are to accomplish our task for our Holy Father. Our Gracious Mother has asked me to instruct you on our process, and I shall. The king shall be here for the Feast Day of St. Blitha and we intend to have a great feast set out for him, something prepared by our own hands. You, Andressa, shall be in charge of the kitchen that prepares his feast.”
Andressa looked at her with surprise. “But what of Sister Blanche?”
“Sister Blanche has been lost to The Chaos.”
Andressa was horrified by the news but, for her own sake, she knew she had to keep her composure. Guilt swept her; she knew why the woman had ended up there.
“Because… because she struck me yesterday?”
Sister Petronilla glanced at her. “She should not have struck you,” she said. “The Mother Abbess said she would protect you, especially from those who would attack you. Sister Blanche has been punished for her sin. Now, the kitchen shall be your domain and you shall oversee the feast for the king.”
Andressa knew something of the kitchens only because they were right next to her laundry area, so she had seen a good deal of what went on there.
There were other nuns who cooked and prepared the food.
The truth was that Sister Blanche had only ordered them about.
She had been an older nun and she had a sense of self-importance.
But no longer.
Shocked at the cold demise of Sister Blanche, Andressa knew that the only thing she could do was go along with whatever the Mother Abbess and her minions wanted her to do.
Any hint of resistance, or doubt, and she knew they would toss her into The Chaos, too.
It was the ever-present threat hanging over her head.
She was starting to feel sick to her stomach.
“I will do whatever you wish me to do,” she said. “I do not know a great deal about managing the kitchen, but I shall learn quickly. Will you tell me what to prepare for the feast day?”
Sister Petronilla had led her into the heart of the garden by this time, the forbidden garden where no one but the Mother Abbess and those close to her were allowed to walk.
It was damp and dark, only lit by the bank of tapers in Sister Petronilla’s hand, and most of the plants were dormant because of the season.
Still, some things were growing in spite of the cold.
There were shades of green amongst the brown.
“St. Blitha is the patron saint of hunters and wine, so the feast will be simple, as it is every year,” Sister Petronilla said as she came to a halt.
“We will only have meat and wine and bread. There are sisters who will cook these things. All you need to do is ensure it makes it to the Mother Abbess’ table and to the king.
But for the king, we shall have a very special wine meant only for him. ”
With that, she began to pull at the dried leaves of the very tall foxglove stalks.
She pulled off several, then had Andressa hold out her hands.
Into her open palms, Sister Petronilla began to pile more leaves and using the tapers as light, she located even more to strip from the stalks.
The leaves were shriveled up and ready to fall to the ground.
As Andressa looked at the leaves curiously, Sister Petronilla spoke.
“My father taught me that there is great poison in the dying leaves of the foxglove,” she said quietly.
“You will take these leaves and you shall crush them into a powder, and that powder shall be put into the king’s wine pitcher.
Make sure to grind the leaves up terribly fine so that he will not see them or taste them.
Mull the wine a little with cloves and cinnamon to ensure he does not taste any hint of the poison.
You will also make sure that the rest of the wine, that not meant for the king, is mulled with cloves and cinnamon so that it all tastes the same. He must not be suspicious.”
Andressa was looking at the leaves in her hands, feeling the familiar taste of fear upon her tongue. “How… how will I know how much powder to use?” she asked.