Hugh entered the infirmary as soon as the bishop and the others walked out. Simon was at the window, chatting to Baldwin and he scarcely appeared to notice Hugh. There appeared little point in remaining, not with Simon entertaining the knight, so Hugh accepted Constance’s offer of a cup of wine and followed her down the stairs to the frater.
The nuns were so well-used to the sight of men in their cloister by now that they scarcely glanced in his direction, but Hugh felt out of place nonetheless. He wasn’t used to the presence of so many women in religious garb.
Constance was quiet, sipping slowly at her drink. Hugh was confused when he watched her. The infirmarer was sad, and every so often she glanced about her at the other nuns, all of whom appeared keen to avoid meeting her eye.
“I’m sorry Elias has been sent away,” Hugh said kindly.
She toyed miserably with her cup. “It’s as if there’s a hole in my life. Everything I had planned, expected, aimed for – has gone. I was happy as a nun, dedicating my life to God seemed better than some of the alternatives, but when Elias touched me, it was as if I’d been hit by a thunderbolt, and all my life changed. Especially when I found I was pregnant,” she said thoughtfully, looking down at her belly.
“What’ll you do now?”
“Leave.”
Hugh blinked. “But you can’t, can you? You’re here for life now you’ve made your oaths.”
“I made my oaths before I was old enough. The prioress has told me I can leave whenever I want.“
Unaccountably, her eyes filled with tears. Hugh glowered at the table as she snuffled and wiped them with her sleeve. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that last week I had a lover and now I am carrying a murderer’s child.”
“Better than carrying a murderer.”
“I suppose.”
“Or someone like Bishop Bertrand.”
She laughed at that, chuckling drily at first, but then, when Hugh joined her, laughing with sheer pleasure for the first time since Moll’s death.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was a month since the bishop had left the convent, but Luke felt no comfort. He couldn’t remember such irrelevant matters, not when his stomach was close to rebelling again. As the distant horizon rose, circled, swooped and suddenly dived before him, he closed his eyes in anguish. As if in sympathy, the contents of his belly rose and he leaned over the rail to retch.
The master of the boat strolled along to him with a blankly surprised expression on his face. “You all right?”
“When will this storm abate?”
The master eyed him dubiously, then cast a look at the mild swell. “Don’t rightly know, Father,” he answered diplomatically. “But we’m soon in port and safe there.”
Luke gave one more heave and collapsed on the bare boards, wincing from the bile. His mouth was sour, his teeth roughened by acid, and his only desire was to leave this miserable cog before it was wrecked. Death was attractive.
“Damn the bishop!” he groaned, then returned to the side of the ship.
It was all Stapledon’s fault he was here. A new place, he’d said. Somewhere Luke would be safe from fleshly temptations.
In Ireland.
Luke made his way to the barrel of fresh water and rinsed his mouth. He dared not swallow any, for fear of more sickness, but swilling and spitting it out made him feel a little refreshed.
“Will this gale never cease?”
Luke felt another spasm threaten. “Only when we arrive in port,” he grunted.
“Where is this Trim, anyway?”
“Bertrand, if you don’t know where, that’s your trouble.”
Bishop Bertrand sank weakly to the deck. “Stapledon has sent us to our graves,” he lamented.
Luke spat again. The gobbet was caught by a gust, flew along and landed on Bertrand’s shoulder.
This was Stapledon’s sense of humour, Luke knew. Bertrand wanted promotion, and Luke had to be found a place where he would find it difficult to molest women; the answer was to send both to the wild lands of Ireland. Together. Luke would be the vicar to the de Greville family at their castle at Trim, and Bertrand would serve the bishop. Bertrand would have no opportunity for politicking in a new place where he knew no one, and where all his colleagues would distrust him as a foreigner – worse, an Englishman.
And matters would be as bad for Luke. Set down on this grim and forbidding island to see to the miserable garrison of the castle, there would be little opportunity to seek out interesting companions to relieve the monotony.
Although at present, Luke thought, rolling forward to rest his slackly open mouth against the gunwale, a little monotony would be infinitely preferable to this terrible wretchedness.
Baldwin and Simon arrived back at Baldwin’s house just as a carter was setting off. Baldwin gave it an anxious look before glancing suspiciously at his house.
“More furniture?” Simon asked, laughing at his friend’s expression.
“I could swear that was William Lodestone,” Baldwin agreed. “He makes chests. We have enough chests. Why should a chest-maker be here?”
“Perhaps your lady doesn’t think you have enough.”
“Possibly not.”
Simon watched as Baldwin swung his leg over his horse and dismounted carefully. Baldwin was not happy to be helped. “Makes me feel like an old man. Get your hands off,” were his most common comments, but Simon was nervous to see how he was pushing himself.
With his stubbled hair where Godfrey had shaved his scalp and the wicked scar that reached from the top of his scalp to behind his ear and down almost to his shoulder, Baldwin looked like a man who had returned from a vicious battle.
Grooms took their mounts and a falconer took their birds.
“When will he be back?” Baldwin asked.
“I told him he could stay away as long as he wanted, but I don’t think he’ll be very long.”
“He hasn’t left permanently?”
“I don’t think so. Hugh’s a miserable bugger at the best of times. Never really talks much, as you know. But I think he likes the family too much to stay away for long. He’s helping her, that’s all. He won’t marry her.”
Baldwin glanced at his friend. He was about to speak when Edgar appeared in the doorway. Edgar took the heavy satchel of game from Simon before leading the way inside.
At the sight of his wife, Baldwin grinned. Jeanne was sitting innocently at the fire, her hands decorously clasped as if she had never met a carpenter or joiner in her life and never opened his purse to one.
“Husband, I thought you would be out for longer.”
“Aha! I know that well enough. What is it? A new chest, or maybe a table?”
For all his banter she could see he was exhausted. There were dark rings beneath both eyes and although he didn’t teeter, he gave every indication of being close to falling. Yet she knew he hated to be cosseted, or to admit to needing assistance. The nearest he had ever come to losing his temper with her was when she had tried to help him across the hall when he and Simon had first arrived back from Belstone.
Jeanne was not devious, but she was worried for her husband. That was why she was glad to be able to give him something useful. She stood and motioned to Edgar. “Bring it now, please.”
