Chapter Seventeen
Isabelle was shivering, she’d been out in the rain and was holding a handful of yellow weeds. She dripped water in a corner of the kitchen until Ann chased her out, complaining.
The Prior approached her and took the plants, talking to her in a low voice but Linnet could hear his annoyance from where she was standing outside the Scriptorium. Was he just finding busy-work for the child to do to keep her occupied?
He saw her watching and came over.
‘Can you show me your drawings for the illuminations for the Gospels? Bring them to the parlour.’
Linnet collected her papers together, glad of a chance to go into a warm room. Leaving Luke in the cold Scriptorium, she went straight into the parlour.
The Inspector was there, staring into the fire and evidently unaware of both the Prior and the duck.
The Prior was arranging the various weeds and shells that Isabelle had been collecting into a large, wooden bowl.
As Linnet came in, he pulled a cloth over it all.
She could see Cassian in the corner, grimly studying his lessons.
The Prior liked her pictures, but he suggested a few minor changes.
‘Who is this book of Gospels for?’
‘Bishop Foxe.’ The reply came from the Inspector. He didn’t look impressed with the thought.
‘Yes,’ Prior Richard said, ‘I’ll be sending him an example of our work as a gift and to show how a working scriptorium here could be of use.’
For such an important gift, Linnet would have to pay special care. She wondered if she could thread some small foxes into the initiums, the decorative letters at the beginning of each page. It might help find favour with the Bishop.
She asked if she could stay in the parlour for a little while to make notes on the changes to the work while it was fresh in her mind.
The two men resumed their talk.
‘Father Nicholas, I do understand there is more to see, but how much longer do you think we’ll have the pleasure of your company?’
The Prior was using all his charm, but there was a steely edge in his voice.
Cassian began to speak but the Inspector quelled him with a wave of his hand and replied, ‘As I said before, Prior, this is not something that can be hurried. I am working on my report on your Priory but it is only part of a larger reckoning for His Grace, more than you can understand in such a small, holy house.’
Mocking the size of the Priory must have pained him but the Prior showed no sign of it as the Inspector carried on.
‘I must examine the souls of those monks who are in danger of sinning, as well as making a note of those who have sinned.’
‘What would you like us to change? Are we not following the Rule, Inspector?’
‘Many, many things.’ He sank his chin further into his chest and gazed again at the flames but said nothing more.
The Prior sighed, clearly his guest was not leaving anytime soon. Cassian looked as if he had something to say, but bit it back. He looked at the Prior; Linnet thought he was willing him to catch his eye, but the Prior wasn’t paying attention.
Someone knocked and a messenger, still dirty from the road, came in. He stank of horse but looked well dressed.
‘Father, I bring word from Lady Margaret. She is eager for her prayer book and is lodging at Neasham Abbey.’
The Prior looked at him warily. ‘Have you had food and drink yet, man?’
‘No, Father, I was to come straight to you to deliver my message before any ease for myself.’
Neasham Abbey was a good day’s ride away, or two days’ walk or more. The man looked cowed. His mistress must be harsh if he didn’t even dare to get an ale before delivering his message.
‘She wants you to deliver it to her by hand.’
The Inspector and Prior both looked at him, perplexed. Lady Margaret was not a great lady that should command this kind of respect. Linnet wondered why she wasn’t at the family seat.
The man looked wretched. He must know that this was highly unlikely but it would mean punishment for him if the prayer book did not come to her promptly.
‘Well, man, let me think about it. You go and get yourself washed and to the kitchen. The tide is turning so no one is going anywhere for a good few hours now.’
After the man had left, the Prior was lost in thought for a while. Linnet gathered her things to leave and the noise drew his attention. He muttered something to the Inspector who nodded, and called her over.
‘You are to deliver the prayer book to Lady Margaret, and you can borrow the copy of Juliana Berners’ book of ‘Hawking and Hunting’ while you’re there. I know the Abbess at Neasham has it and she will send it back with you if I give you a note. We can then make a good copy of it for future books.’
Linnet didn’t hear much after the instruction to deliver. She had been safe on this island but now she was being sent out.
‘Would one of the monks riding not be quicker, Father?’
‘You can act for me, Linnet. You can answer her questions about the prayer book and maybe persuade her to ask for another? Anyway, best to go now.’
Of course she couldn’t refuse. It might be good to leave this place anyway.
She set Luke up with the beginnings of the Gospels book. He’d made his own pens and had the rest of her gall ink now so he would be busy for a few days.
Before she left the Scriptorium, Cassian came in with his book of lessons, and took her seat. He didn’t look well, she thought, dark circles under his eyes showing even on his tanned skin.
As she soaked a clothlet in a little ordinary ink so she could write while travelling, and gathered her coloured clothlets, she could hear Cassian whispering to Luke.
She tried to look as if she wasn’t listening, but she could make out the odd word.
Was he asking about which of the monks would sin, trying to find Tom’s lover?
Luke flushed a deep red and shrugged, refusing to answer the questions.
Cassian looked frustrated but not surprised, glancing up at Linnet as if to see if she had heard anything.
She left without catching his eye. If she’d liked the man more, she would have helped him to ask without asking, let conversations wander, not always plough straight in and send the information scattering before it had a chance to settle.
Lady Margaret’s man left for the camp further north, he was going to pass on messages to Lord Edmund and bring supplies.
The Prior gave her some pence for meals and a room on the way.
One of the stable boys guided Linnet across the low tide to the mainland and set her on her way.
The stable boys always took a clear route, unlike the Beale boys.
They followed the stones that showed at low tide, set out years before and still a guide for walkers.
It took skill to find them amongst the natural rocks.
They sometimes went right of the stones, and sometimes left, she tried to keep it all in her head but it was too hard to remember.
She noticed a long stick of cured white ash had been planted in the spot where Tom had been buried and crossed herself as they passed it.
After all the journeying with her father, she was familiar with the main routes and knew she was walking down the coast and Neasham Abbey was near Bothal.
She remembered the story her father used to tell her about the Abbey, the fight they had with the Bishop over their Abbess.
The women’s holy houses always seemed to be at the mercy of the local bishops.
She stood watching the stable boy pick his way back across the wet sands for a while.
The birds looked almost like people walking across at this distance, it was hard to see properly as the winter sun was slanting across the mud.
Holy Island sparkled in the sunlight like a tempting jewel she’d owned but lost. She did feel safe there, safer than elsewhere, despite Jack and his threats.
She started to walk. The prayer book was well wrapped in a linen cloth and she had letters with her.
One was for Lady Margaret offering the Prior’s fulsome apologies for not coming himself and presenting the Holy Island scribe in his stead, the other a demand for the book he wanted from the Abbess.
Neasham did not have a lot of standing, not since the Bishop’s investigations from fifty years ago.
Linnet had heard some stories of the disobedient Abbess Agnes and the nuns’ refusal to heed the Bishop from long ago.
All was quiet with them now but the present Abbess would not be able to refuse the Prior’s request.
The way was rough and Linnet grew tired of picking her way.
She came off into a hollow path, moving more easily through the green paths than on the dirt.
Even in winter, it was more peaceful on the eye and smelt better than the busy roadways.
She could hear birds calling and small creatures rustling. And the harsh note of a raven calling…
She turned around abruptly. Isabelle. That wretched child. There was no sign of her but Linnet sensed a sudden stillness and she waited.
Looking guilty, Isabelle came out from amongst the trees. She looked cold and tired already.
‘I wants to see where you’re going. Is it right about the Lady? I’ve never seen a Lady.’
‘And you’re ready to walk for two days or more – and with you it could be longer? And that’s just to get there.’ Linnet surprised herself by not feeling as angry as she thought she would.
‘I can walk. I do it all the time, don’t I?’
Linnet looked at Isabelle’s feet. Poor felt shoes and worn thin.
‘Where’s the furthest you’ve been?’
Isabelle shrugged. ‘I’ve been off the island twice.’ She was trying to look as if that was not a big thing for her.