Page 39 of The Queen’s Witch

“You seem troubled, my child.”

I said nothing.

“Would you like to come inside and talk about it?”

The priest was riding away on a sorry-looking horse. I would not be asked to undergo confession, which of course I would not do. Attending church was one thing; their sacred rites were quite another.

I said, “I am confused, my lady. The sermon, on heresy . . . I am confused.”

“Come inside, my child. We will discuss it.”

“Hurrah!” Elizabeth cried, clapping her hands. “Company!” And then, “If Roger will come, it will be perfect!”

Elizabeth was disappointed. Roger, whoever he might be, did not appear, and Elizabeth was shut out firmly from the small, bare room where Abbess Cecily led me. A lay nun brought mugs of ale.

Three intentions warred in that privy closet. Agnes wished me to ingratiate myself with the abbey. Abbess Cecily wished to bring me into the arms of the Church. And I wished to leave. Failing that, I wished to satisfy my curiosity.

“The abbey is very old,” I began, sipping my ale.

“Not as old as many,” the abbess said. “It was founded by Richard, Earl of Cornwall, in 1262 and endowed with land and manors to support it. Including the manor which your cousin falsely claims, Galey Hall.”

I had not expected such directness. Abbess Cecily watched me closely as she continued. “Her claim is baseless, Mistress Lond. A hundred years ago the matter was settled in a court of law. But Mistress Snayth does not, or refuses to, understand.”

I nodded. It was as fair a judgment of Agnes as I myself could make. I wondered, did the abbess suspect that Agnes was a thrice-braided Sister?

She said, “I fear your cousin may not be right in her wits. And, of course, she is very old. I am glad that she has some small revenue from the manor her family does still own, and that you have arrived to care for her.”

So, no, she knew nothing about Agnes, considered her merely a misguided, cantankerous old woman. Abbess Cecily Ainley was, in her own way, as innocent as Elizabeth. But now I understood why Agnes had no one coming to her for magickal aid. Not only did she dislike people, but she also had income from rents permitting her to indulge her dislike.

Cecily said, “But you wished to discuss your attendance at Mass, did you not? Why have you stayed away?”

Curse Agnes. But I was forced to try. “I . . . I have been reading William Tyndale and I am confused about . . .” About what? “. . . his attacks on the Church.”

“Attacks is the correct word. I am happy that you realize it. Tyndale seeks to undermine faith in Rome, to destroy the true religion, while pretending to merely call for reforms. He is dangerous and heretical. You must stop reading that book immediately, Mistress Lond.”

“I think that I . . . It is sometimes hard for me to . . . I will stop. I am grateful to you, my lady. My thanks.” I hoped my stammering would put an end to it, but in case it did not, I added, “My cousin says the same thing. That Tyndale is misguided.” That was probably true; Agnes thought everyone but she was misguided.

“I am happy to hear that Mistress Snayth directs your beliefs so well. I would not presume to interfere with her wardship of you.” To women such as Cecily, all unmarried young women must be under the wardship of someone. She continued, “You speak very well, Mistress Lond. May I ask where your family lives?”

“Norfolk, my lady.” I did not want to discuss my family. Once again, as at court, the speech Grandmother had taught me made me a shade more acceptable to gentry and nobility, but it also made me stand out when I wished to blend in. I sought to divert the conversation. “Elizabeth seems . . . an unusual novice.”

“You were kind to her,” Cecily said. “Not everyone is. Elizabeth wears the garb of a novice because it pleases her, but she can never profess as a religious. She does not expect it, nor does her family. They placed her in the abbey for safekeeping, and she is happy here.”

“I understand,” I said. Beautiful, feeble-witted, probably from a rich family, she would be easy prey beyond the abbey. At court, I had heard of such girls lured or forced or even abducted into disastrous marriages by men hunting their fortunes.

I said, “She seems happy. And the ‘Roger’ that she hopes to see is her brother or cousin?”

Abbess Cecily said, “No. Roger is my son.”

Abruptly, she rose. The interview was over, especially since I had no idea what to say. I stood, trying to hide my surprise.

“I must go now,” the abbess said, “but I hope to talk further when I have more time. Please come to Mass again, Mistress Lond. Our Lord welcomes all who have strayed, whether it be briefly or long.”

“I thank you,” I said, and was led to the door with a gracious, well-mannered smile.

“So?” Agnes demanded.

I told her what had transpired. Had I done enough? I could not tell from her expression. And I had questions of my own. “Why are there so few nuns at the abbey?”