Thomasine turned, her hands clasped imploringly, to Frevisse. “Please give me leave to stay. I’ve been angry at Lady Ermentrude. And at Martha. My staying will be penance for all of that.”
“Otherwise you’ll spend the night in church on your knees,” Frevisse said dryly. Thomasine looked surprised, and a little abashed, at being so well understood, and nodded. “Then you might as well pray here as there, and be of some use in the bargain. My lady Maryon, can you find some of Lady Ermentrude’s ladies to keep the watch in turns with you?”
“I can do it alone. I don’t mean to sleep!” Thomasine cried out earnestly as Maryon nodded.
“I did not think you did. But I doubt Maryon or any other of your aunt’s ladies will make the same sacrifice. They’ll take their turns while you keep your watch. And your silence,” she added as Thomasine opened her mouth to protest. “Go to your praying.”
Frevisse ate her belated supper alone in the refectory ..The lay workers’ silence and long looks as they served her told they knew all there was to know about Martha’s death and were feeling it, even if they knew better than to ask her questions.
When she had finished, Frevisse went to the church in search of Dame Claire. Martha’s body, already washed, wrapped in its shroud, and placed in a plain coffin, was resting on a bier before the altar, candled at head and feet, with Father Henry too deep in prayer beside it to notice her. At Compline Domina Edith would divide the night into watches and set the nuns in turn in pairs to praying in the choir for the salvation of Martha’s soul.
But Dame Claire was not there, and after a brief prayer for Martha’s repose, Frevisse went out to the garden, where the nuns would be taking the last of their evening recreation before Compline and bed.
Dame Claire was not among them. Frevisse, pausing in the gateway to look for her, supposed she must be with Domina Edith and was thinking of going to join them when she noticed that the other nuns were not walking or sitting as usual but standing in little groups along the paths, their low talking—allowed during this one time of the day— underrun with excitement and pleasurable agitation. She knew Martha had never mattered enough to any of them for there to be much grieving for her loss. It was simply that so sudden a dying provided eager gossip for an evening, even better than Lady Ermentrude’s regrettable behavior. Better that they gossip about someone beyond caring what they said, than about someone still able to be offended.
Then, before she could withdraw, Sister Amicia, among the nearest cluster of nuns, saw her and called out excitedly, “Dame Frevisse!”
Heads turned, and they all began to move toward her eagerly, Sister Amicia first. With resignation, Frevisse waited where she was.
Sister Amicia, still the most eager, exclaimed, “Dame Frevisse, you were there! Nobody knows anything except she’s dead. Tell us please, was it awful?”
With a quelling edge to her voice, Frevisse answered, “She was already dead when Dame Claire and I came in. Her struggle was over; she was only lying there. It was her heart, Dame Claire thinks. Have you seen her?”
“No, she hasn’t been into the garden yet today.”
The nuns crowding behind Sister Amicia nodded, making hypocritical murmurs of sympathy. Martha had been a fine cook, but fat, and not young, they agreed. A greedy stomach was bad for the heart.
But Sister Amicia, with widened eyes, leaned nearer to Frevisse and whispered in awed, carrying tones, the question they all wanted answered. “She saw demons, didn’t she, come to torment Lady Ermentrude? Isn’t that what stopped her heart, truly?”
Aware that everyone around them had heard that “whisper,” Frevisse let her impatience show. “I doubt it,” she said crisply. “There was distinctly no smell of brimstone in the
“Otherwise you’ll spend the night in church on your knees,” Frevisse said dryly. Thomasine looked surprised, and a little abashed, at being so well understood, and nodded. “Then you might as well pray here as there, and be of some use in the bargain. My lady Maryon, can you find some of Lady Ermentrude’s ladies to keep the watch in turns with you?”
“I can do it alone. I don’t mean to sleep!” Thomasine cried out earnestly as Maryon nodded.
“I did not think you did. But I doubt Maryon or any other of your aunt’s ladies will make the same sacrifice. They’ll take their turns while you keep your watch. And your silence,” she added as Thomasine opened her mouth to protest. “Go to your praying.”
Frevisse ate her belated supper alone in the refectory ..The lay workers’ silence and long looks as they served her told they knew all there was to know about Martha’s death and were feeling it, even if they knew better than to ask her questions.
When she had finished, Frevisse went to the church in search of Dame Claire. Martha’s body, already washed, wrapped in its shroud, and placed in a plain coffin, was resting on a bier before the altar, candled at head and feet, with Father Henry too deep in prayer beside it to notice her. At Compline Domina Edith would divide the night into watches and set the nuns in turn in pairs to praying in the choir for the salvation of Martha’s soul.
But Dame Claire was not there, and after a brief prayer for Martha’s repose, Frevisse went out to the garden, where the nuns would be taking the last of their evening recreation before Compline and bed.
Dame Claire was not among them. Frevisse, pausing in the gateway to look for her, supposed she must be with Domina Edith and was thinking of going to join them when she noticed that the other nuns were not walking or sitting as usual but standing in little groups along the paths, their low talking—allowed during this one time of the day— underrun with excitement and pleasurable agitation. She knew Martha had never mattered enough to any of them for there to be much grieving for her loss. It was simply that so sudden a dying provided eager gossip for an evening, even better than Lady Ermentrude’s regrettable behavior. Better that they gossip about someone beyond caring what they said, than about someone still able to be offended.
Then, before she could withdraw, Sister Amicia, among the nearest cluster of nuns, saw her and called out excitedly, “Dame Frevisse!”
Heads turned, and they all began to move toward her eagerly, Sister Amicia first. With resignation, Frevisse waited where she was.
Sister Amicia, still the most eager, exclaimed, “Dame Frevisse, you were there! Nobody knows anything except she’s dead. Tell us please, was it awful?”
With a quelling edge to her voice, Frevisse answered, “She was already dead when Dame Claire and I came in. Her struggle was over; she was only lying there. It was her heart, Dame Claire thinks. Have you seen her?”
“No, she hasn’t been into the garden yet today.”
The nuns crowding behind Sister Amicia nodded, making hypocritical murmurs of sympathy. Martha had been a fine cook, but fat, and not young, they agreed. A greedy stomach was bad for the heart.
But Sister Amicia, with widened eyes, leaned nearer to Frevisse and whispered in awed, carrying tones, the question they all wanted answered. “She saw demons, didn’t she, come to torment Lady Ermentrude? Isn’t that what stopped her heart, truly?”
Aware that everyone around them had heard that “whisper,” Frevisse let her impatience show. “I doubt it,” she said crisply. “There was distinctly no smell of brimstone in the
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