Chapter Five #4
It was the first time she’d had a chance to look at him in the light.
He was a broad man, pale with dark hair.
He sat awkwardly in the chair, as if at any moment he would get up and pace about.
He was looking at the papers but didn’t have a quill in his hand so was tapping them absently as he read silently.
‘Can you take dictee?’ he asked finally.
She nodded and sat down at the other small table with her quill ready. He began to speak quickly and she scribbled fast to keep up. He was doing his dictee in English; she wondered if he would change it into Latin for the Bishop later.
The words flowed through her and she wrote without listening to the sense of what he was saying. Finally he stood up abruptly and left the parlour, telling her to wait there.
She flexed her wrist as she waited, then looked back at the words. Nothing stood out as an immediate danger for the Prior. The Inspector had noticed some of the monks were wearing the wrong habits, but that wouldn’t cause too many problems, very few houses had pristine linen for all the Brothers.
Since his arrival, the prayers had been observed for most offices (they never seemed to sing Vespers) so, as far as he knew, the Brothers were pious and observant.
It was lucky he’d not been here before she’d come, when the scribe monk had been caught once again drunk and half naked in the village square, his misfortune leading to her fortune.
Perhaps they would get a good report. Perhaps Durham would send more monks here again but she didn’t think so.
The Cathedral needed all the monks they had to manage the pilgrims who swarmed around the city every day.
The Holy Island Priory was no longer important.
A pilgrim might come once a season but no more than that.
Her legs were stiff and numb now, so she got up to stretch and went to the doorway to look for the Inspector but there was no sign of him. Perhaps she should go back to scribing her prayer book. Or would he get angry to come back and find her gone?
As she hesitated, the Prior came into his parlour.
‘Ah, Linnet, the Inspector has gone to pray and will not be needing you for the rest of the day. He says to put his papers in order.’
She began stacking the papers on the table, careful to spread out the ones where the ink was still wet. As she moved them, she saw Oswyn’s account book underneath, and stopped.
The Prior looked over and saw what she was looking at. He sighed. ‘He was foolish not to fear the sea.’
Linnet feared it. Not least when it came in fast over the sands.
She’d not got caught so far, although that first night she’d come onto the island, she knew she’d been but a step away from drowning.
The Beale boys were most people’s safest way on and off the island, or the boy who lived and worked in the Priory stables.
There were pale stones placed to help see the route, but finding them amongst the rocks and the seaweed was no easy task.
She wondered too if the islanders would move them sometimes, keep their hand in to show what they knew and invite danger to those who wouldn’t pay for their safe guidance.
‘Where did Isabelle go?’
Linnet shrugged. ‘I’ve not seen her since we came away from the beach.’
‘Well if you see her, send her to me.’
She nodded and left, eager to get back to her prayer book. Why did the Prior want to see Isabelle? Maybe to scare her further into keeping the secret of Oswyn’s death.
As she came out, she heard groaning from the guest room above.
Unable to resist her curiosity, she crept up the short flight of stairs above the Prior’s parlour quietly and glanced through the knotholes in the door frame.
The Inspector was kneeling on the floor, beating his bare chest with a thorn branch, praying loudly as it caught his flesh.
Little beads of dark blood were forming in thin lines on his pasty, white skin.
She could smell the sweat off him as he moved, mingling with the iron tang of blood in the air.
Shuddering, she backed away, bumping into Cassian.
‘Are ye spying on the Inspector?’ His voice was angry but quiet, careful not to disturb his master.
‘No, no I was just – I came from scribing for him and didn’t know if he wanted me to wait longer.’
‘He’ll send me to fetch you if he does. I don’t hold with women writing, t’ain’t right.’
Linnet felt the sting of the insult but kept her face still. ‘Why’s that then?’
‘Men do that. Women keep house.’
No new notions here. Just the usual she’d heard many times before.
‘But he asked me, not you,’ she couldn’t resist biting back.
‘It’s only while I’m learning. I’ll be right with my letters soon and he can use me for all he needs.’
‘Did you want me to help you?’ The offer slipped out before she thought better of it. Something about the man had sparked her pity, trying to learn something new at his age.
‘You? I dinna think so, lass!’ He was laughing at her now, his anger gone as quickly as it had come, and he walked away, back to Father Thomas and the gardens.