Kingmaker: Broken Faith by Toby Clements Page A

you see, when this Lady Margaret was brought here, under constraint, in a cart, with no maid or servant, it was discovered a most surprising thing. Can you guess? No? Well, it was discovered that she was not Lady Margaret at all, but another girl entirely, someone else altogether.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Well, this is it. The strangest thing! The Prioress recognised her as being a girl who was once in her flock. A girl who made herself apostate on the very same day as you! Do you see? She was the selfsame girl as you allowed on your stolen punt!’
    And now Thomas feels his mind slant, like a table being tipped, and all his thoughts rush to one side. His heart lurches, thumps, and it is hard to breathe. He presses his eyes with the heels of his palms, and sees stars within the darkness, and when he takes them away his wrists are slick with tears again.
    ‘Ah! She means something to you now,’ Barnaby says.
    ‘Tell me about her,’ Thomas manages. ‘Who is she? Please. For the love of God.’
    ‘I cannot say,’ Barnaby tells him, ‘for I do not know.’
    ‘You must!’
    ‘But I don’t. There is a further, deeper mystery to her, you see. The Prioress knows who she is, her real identity, if you like, but is sworn to secrecy, and will tell me nothing. When I sent message to the Prior of All, to enquire as to the girl’s identity, instead of enlightenment, he sent a messenger by return to say he is coming to see the girl in person, for there are, he says, divers matters at stake. Can you imagine? Did you know that neither he, nor his predecessor, nor his predecessor’s predecessor, ever thought to seek us out here in our muddy little world since the third year of King Henry the Sixth’s reign? That was nearly forty years ago now! Before you or I were even thought of!’
    ‘Does she have a name?’
    ‘Katherine.’
    My God, Thomas thinks, and he whispers her name. ‘Katherine.’
    But now Barnaby leans forward, staring and intent, the line of his mouth short and hard.
    ‘Do you really remember nothing of her?’ he asks.
    And Thomas tries to think, but after a while he has to shake his head.
    ‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘I cannot even remember what she looks like.’
    ‘Nor how she came to pass herself off as Lady Margaret Cornford?’
    ‘No,’ Thomas says. ‘I remember nothing. If I ever knew.’
    And Barnaby sits back frustrated.
    ‘Well,’ he says. ‘Then that must remain a mystery until the Prior of All honours us with his presence. Then we will be allowed at the truth.’
    ‘Where is she?’ Thomas asks. ‘Where is she now?’
    ‘She is with the Prioress, well cared for.’
    ‘Can I see her?’ Thomas asks.
    Barnaby laughs.
    ‘Of course not,’ he says. ‘She is in cloister.’
    ‘Please,’ Thomas begs again. ‘Please.’
    He finds himself on his feet, looming over Barnaby who shrinks before him, but then as if on some unseen signal, the door opens with a clap and a man with a staff strides in and stands before Thomas. He is broad-chested, red-bearded, a head taller than Thomas, and the quarterstaff looks like a twig in his meaty hands. He looks at Thomas almost sadly; as if he might be a farmer about to reluctantly slaughter a favoured pig.
    ‘Please, Thomas,’ Barnaby says from behind him. ‘You know we cannot allow it.’
    And Thomas subsides. He knows Barnaby is right.
    ‘So we must just be patient,’ Barnaby goes on. ‘And wait on the Prior of All, and then when he comes, all shall be known. All shall be revealed, and God willing, perhaps you shall see your Katherine once more.’
    And now the bell rings in the church tower, summoning the lay brothers in for prayer from the fields and woods and riverbanks. It will soon be time for Vespers.
    ‘Will you join us to observe the hour, Brother Thomas?’
    Thomas agrees to, because there is for the moment nothing else to do.
    ‘It will be good to have you back,’ Barnaby says. ‘We will find you a cassock, and Brother Blethyn will cut your