Chapter 26
Avice
Avice stared daggers at John’s back as he brought Epona to a stop outside the church of Lamorna.
“You did not tell me that he was in there,” she hissed.
John slipped from her iron grip and dismounted the mare effortlessly.
He squinted up at her, breath misting as he scoffed. “I did not think it was important where Benjamin was, just that I should bring you to him.”
“I am not going in after what happened last time.”
A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Nell insisted on not waiting for you, she practically bullied me into taking her home under your orders. So, what happened?”
“Father Peter grabbed me, and there is this noise—”
George Courier threw open the church door and dashed over to them, followed by a stableboy who went to attend to Epona. “Thanks be to God you are here; I do not think Ben is long for this land. Midwife Avice, he needs you.”
John offered her a gloved palm. “Please.”
She kept her shivering hands under her cloak for a moment more. The cold penetrated, despite the many layers of clothing she wore, as though the frost had settled on her very bones.
“Where is Nell?” Avice asked.
“Goodwife Beatrice is looking after her, she is happy to watch her for a fish or two whenever I go out,” John replied. “Do not change the subject. Will you please come and help Benjamin?”
Avice bit back the desire to enquire whether Beatrice knew about John’s former dalliance with her husband. “I was not changing the subject.” She took the fisherman’s hand. “I just wanted to make sure that she was out of this weather.”
He helped her slip down from Epona’s back, placing a steadying hand behind her.
Avice readjusted her cloak and skirts, painfully aware that under her hood she was not wearing her coif and wimple.
She had abandoned them in the frost on the day she went to rescue Trewoofe.
She had no intention of wearing one again.
If they want my help, they will just have to bear it. She stuck her chin out. “Mister George, please lead the way.”
“Of course, follow me,” he replied, turning on his heel and marching through the arched doorway of the church.
John offered his arm. Avice paused to study him before taking it. He looked upset, and of course the situation was distressing, but it seemed deeper than that for him. His face was lined with worry, and jaw tightly clenched.
Is Benjamin the fisherman who he is having a dalliance with?
She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow, gripping there for support. Every single instinct bucked at her to turn away and leave. Her last experience in the church meant she never wanted to return. Yet here she was mere days later, putting her own wellbeing aside for the good of a patient.
Bramble flickered in her periphery. I am here too. Nothing like that will happen again, I promise.
She nodded and swallowed her nerves, grateful for her familiar’s support. Their boots echoed loudly throughout the empty square, reverberating on the frozen cobbles. They crossed over the threshold, and the noise hit Avice with the force of a tidal wave.
She froze. Gone was the previous irritating, needling buzz; she refused to move a sliver more as screams penetrated her ears.
She squinted down the nave. At the sanctuary stood George and Father Peter. A man lay on the floor at their feet, covered in blankets. The new cross loomed over him, and she could barely make out the sound of muttered prayers over the screeching.
John prodded her. “Avice?”
“I cannot.” She dug her heels in. “Do you not hear the screams?”
He frowned down at her. “What screams?”
She released him and threw back her hood. “The screams!” She pointed towards the cross. “There is a torturous noise in here. I will not be able to work.”
“Avice, you—”
“I said no.” She scowled down the aisle between the pews, focusing on the two men who stilled, dumbstruck at her disobedience.
“You hear me? No. If you want me to treat him, it will not be in here. I will go mad before I can even assess him.” She sucked in through her teeth and pressed her hands to her ears. “God’s cock, it hurts!”
Invisible talons clawed the inside of her skull, and she dashed out of the church.
Scalding hot blood streamed from her eyes and ears.
She moved away from the door and leant back against the wall.
Her breath steamed into the air as she panted.
She turned her bleeding eyes to the sky as the shrieking ebbed.
Using her sleeve, she wiped away the crimson rivers that ran down her face and neck.
She opened her eyes to Bramble nosing at her. I am here. Are you alright?
“I am now.” She scratched the top of his head. “Did you hear it too?”
He whimpered. I did; it hurt my ears.
“Please tell me that I am not going mad, but does it seem colder to you?”
The Grim tilted his nose to the sky and let out an exaggerated exhale. His breath misted thickly and slowly dissipated.
I do not feel the cold the way you do, but it does seem like the air is more frigid, he replied. Perhaps a storm is coming?
The stomp of boots drew her attention, and she wiped her face again.
John approached her, a scowl on his face. “What happened?”
She stuck her chin out. “I cannot work inside, tell them to bring Mister Benjamin out.” She pointed at the home closest to the church. “I can treat him in there.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Alright,” he huffed. “Let me speak to Father Peter and George.”
John returned inside. Time crawled as she waited for the outcome of her demand.
Curiosity rampant, Avice peeked around the open door of the church.
She watched as Father Peter, scowling, stood to the side as John and George lifted the wooden board Benjamin lay on.
She could hear nothing – absolutely nothing – as she watched the men shuffle awkwardly down the central aisle of the nave, followed by the glowering priest. No noise of laboured breath, footfalls, or the words said between the three men reached her ears as they headed towards the door.
Avice frowned. What is happening?
She chanced sticking her head over the threshold and was met only with the sound of ear-piercing screams. She quickly wrenched herself back out again. Avice stood to the side as the men came out and made their way to the closest house.
Her eyes met with the priest’s. As usual, he was well dressed in a fur-trimmed cloak and tunic with highly polished boots on his feet. She scrunched her nose. He reeked of iron and the oil she smelt on Trewoofe, and it was all she could do not to reach up and slap his glaring face.
“You got your way, this time,” he smiled, baring his teeth. “Do not get used to it.”
Avice watched as he turned away, feeling a stab of resentment in her chest. His thick cloak swirled in the air as he marched away from her. With a scowl, she trailed after him.
They paused outside of the rectory – Father Peter’s residence – Avice had been there in the past, when it belonged to Father Richard.
It was the only double-storey home in Lamorna and was made of the same grey stone as the church.
The roof was thatched, and a steady stream of woodsmoke spilled from the chimney.
Peter took the lead and drew the bright iron key from somewhere within his cloak.
With a flourish, he unlocked his home and gestured them in.
Avice followed the men inside and saw the maid recoiling from sight as Father Peter swept into the central room.
She studied the space. While Richard had kept the house sparce – living with the bare necessities – the younger priest did not.
The fire blazed, the polished mantel was full of gold-coloured trinkets, and she wrinkled her nose at that same oily smell.
A gleaming cross crowned the fireplace, and hearth-keeping equipment flanked the sides.
It was completely free of soot despite its proximity to the flames; the midwife knew it was the maid who kept it all spotless.
The grand table was set with polished eating ware, and a bottle of wine was uncorked and airing. Avice eyed the placement. It was near to the fireplace for warmth and well-lit from the candle holder that dangled from the beam above.
She pointed her finger to the spot. “Clear the table – I will work on him there,” she ordered, stepping out from behind the father and reaching for the refined items.
He rounded on her. “You will not.”
John frowned. “Midwife Avice came to aid Mister Benjamin. We must follow her instructions now to give him the best outcome.”
Avice slipped her hand up to her pendant as the two men stared each other down.
The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and she fought the urge to bolt from the room.
In his special way, that only she could see, Bramble appeared beside her.
He peeled his lips back in a silent snarl, ready to pounce if violence spilled out.
She dangled her free hand down and rested it on the spot between her familiar’s muscular shoulders.
“Enough!” George growled, dipping with the weight of holding his brother. His eyes snapped to Avice. “Midwife! Clear the table.”
She bristled at being barked at, but quickly did so, placing the items on the closest shelf.
She nodded at the two men holding the third between them.
With grunts, they lifted him onto the table and placed him with a dull thud.
It was stifling in the room, and she pulled off her cloak and gloves, dropping them over the back of an ornate chair.
Father Peter watched her every move. She prickled under his gaze, sensing his disapproval at her uncovered head. She turned away from him. John and George stepped back from the table, allowing her to study her patient.
“When did this happen?” she asked, unwrapping the shivering man from his cocoon of blankets.
John’s brow furrowed. “Not long after Sunrise. Mister Benjamin and I went out early to make the most of the calmer waves.”