‘What is this?’ Lucie asked.
‘Mistress Sandrine cried out in her sleep, frightening the little ones,’ said Kate. ‘So Dame Magda brought them down here. A warm, welcoming kitchen with hot drinks and a few tales soon calmed them.’
‘Did you hear her cry out?’
‘No. Too far away, I think. But Gwen asked me if her Da knew that woman killed a man.’
Killed a man. Poor Gwen. A house of healing was no place for such fears to arise. Lucie closed her eyes and whispered a Hail Mary, then joined Magda and the children.
‘Dame Magda nursed a fox cub,’ Hugh lisped through the space where a baby tooth had recently fallen out.
‘And a wounded eagle,’ said Gwen. ‘Come. Sit and hear her stories.’
‘I cannot at the moment, my love,’ said Lucie. She kissed each child in turn, then signaled to Alisoun to take over while she talked to Magda.
Lifting Emma from Magda’s arms, Alisoun began to sing a silly tune the children loved. As Lucie led Magda out into the hall Gwen and Hugh joined in.
‘So our guest is disruptive despite the medicine?’
‘She refuses all food and drink,’ said Magda. ‘To appease her god, or so she says. Penance.’
‘Penance for what?’
‘She cried to her god for forgiveness, she had not meant to kill him.’ Magda held Lucie in her keen gaze. ‘A confession? Or an overwrought sense of remorse for an injury to the heart? That is for thee to discover.’
‘I will go to her. If she wishes to stay, she must accept our healing drafts.’
Magda pressed Lucie’s shoulder. ‘Thou canst see that thy children are out of danger. Since morning Hugh has gained strength.’
He did look and sound so much more himself. ‘I do see it. Yet too much excitement …’
‘Magda agrees. Whether or not she has taken a life, thy family needs rest. Peace. If she will not abide by thy rules, she cannot stay.’
But where to send her? In a city soon to be crowded with visitors, and Owen doubtless wanting to keep watch on her, where might Sandrine go? Perhaps she might trade places with Ambrose. Or – as Lucie reached the landing she thought of the appropriate lodging for Sandrine. Though she would need to convince the prioress to allow guards access.
Knocking on the door of the guest chamber, Lucie waited for a moment, then went in. Sandrine sat on the edge of the bed, hugging herself, pulling the covers round her when Lucie stepped in as if embarrassed to be seen in but a shift.
‘Benedicite, Dame Lucie,’ she whispered. ‘Mistress Alisoun said that is what I should call you.’
Lucie touched her forehead. Cool now. ‘You frightened my children when you cried out in your sleep. Dame Magda took them down to the kitchen to calm them.’ She lifted the young woman’s chin so that she might meet Lucie’s gaze.
‘I regret frightening them. I will endeavor—’
‘You will agree to consume all that Dame Magda and I prepare so that you stay calm and recover your health. If you refuse, you cannot remain in my home. My children are recovering from illness and must not be excited.’
The jaw tightened. ‘I cannot. I must do penance.’
‘I am convent-raised,’ said Lucie. ‘I know the power, and the challenge, of obedience. To humble yourself before God, surrendering to the path on which He has set you – that can be a powerful penance.’
Silence.
‘But if you refuse, I will find another place for you. I—’
Sandrine suddenly straightened, staring past Lucie toward the door. ‘Oh!’
Lucie turned to discover Owen in the doorway. ‘This is my husband, Owen. Captain Archer, as he is known.’
A deep blush as Sandrine clutched the covers higher. ‘Benedicite, Captain Archer.’
‘Owen, this is Sandrine.’
He nodded, but said nothing as Lucie joined him at the door. He carried the scent of snow and cold though he’d removed his cloak, boots, hat. His curly hair was wild as if he’d run his hands through it.
‘I must speak with our guest.’ His tone was sharp. ‘If you would stay with us?’ Leaning close so that only Lucie could hear, Owen warned her that he must be harsh with the young woman. He must know what she knew, whether she was a danger to the household. ‘I will tell you everything when we leave her.’
‘Of course.’
He plucked up the stool that Lucie had used and moved it closer to Sandrine.
‘Tell me what happened in the chapter house last night.’
Pressing her lips together, the young woman shook her head. ‘I know nothing. I was so frightened I – I prayed for sleep and God granted it. When I woke, I was so cold. I thought if I sang, someone would hear. Help would come. And it did.’
‘You were up in the masons’ chambers.’
She glanced at Lucie, back to Owen, shaking her head. ‘Where?’
‘The masons’ chambers are up above the ceiling of the main chamber in the chapter house,’ said Owen.
Lucie watched the woman’s eyes as she devised a response.
‘Why do you say that?’
From his scrip Owen drew out two strands of beads – a short strand of coral beads and a much longer strand of coral and jet, the jets at ten-bead intervals, suggesting a broken set of paternoster beads. Lucie noticed that the smaller strand had ten beads and extra knots at one end as if it had become a bracelet, albeit for the slender wrist of a child. Or their guest’s, she realized, noticing her unusually narrow wrists. It was the same coral as the longer strand.
Sandrine recoiled, her pale skin flushed, eyes filling with tears.
‘I have spoken to a man who witnessed the man’s fall from the chapter-house roof,’ said Owen. ‘He says there was at least one shout from the roof, and a scuffle. You must have heard something. If it was a chase, they would have passed through the
