The Crown (30 page)

Campion was inquiring about the tapestry again. “So he asked you, all of you who were in the room, ‘How could you know?’ when he looked at that tapestry, the one woven by the sisters last year.”

“That is correct,” said Brother Richard.

“What was he referring to?”

Brother Richard and the prioress looked at each other; they both shrugged. “He was very drunk, I fear,” said the prioress.

“And that was the last thing he said before he collapsed?”

“No,” I said. “He said one thing more.”

All eyes turned to me. Campion, justice of the peace, beamed as he said, “Ah, our novice, our most attentive novice. And what were the last words of Lord Chester?”

“He said, ‘How could you know? How could you know about her?’ ”

Geoffrey said, “About Sister Winifred?”

“No, he was looking at the tapestry when he said that.” I realized one thing more. “He was looking at the figure of the girl in the middle of the tapestry.”

The coroner spoke up. “He was not of right mind due to excessive wine.”

“Most likely,” said Justice Campion, “but the tapestry should be seen. Is that possible, Prioress?”

“It has not yet been taken
down from the wall of the chapter house,” she answered.

“Geoffrey, why don’t you do that now?” asked the older man. “Could someone escort him to the chapter house?”

I said quickly, “I will.”

Justice Campion squinted at me. “Yes, I suppose I am finished with you, Sister Joanna. For now.”

I turned to Geoffrey, “Master Scovill, if you will follow me?”

He bowed, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. “I appreciate your assistance.”

And with that, I led Geoffrey Scovill out of the room.

30

W
e’d
made it only a short distance down the passageway when Sister Eleanor called out to me, “Halt, Sister Joanna.”

She hurried to catch up to us.

“Prioress asked me to accompany you.” She looked Geoffrey up and down, barely concealing her distaste. Fighting a smile, Geoffrey bowed to her.

Sister Eleanor now led the way to the chapter house. I followed a respectful distance, with Geoffrey right behind me. I could feel his breath on the back of my head. His steps were loud on the stone floor.

When we reached the open passageway running along the cloister garden, I no longer heard those steps. I turned to see why. Geoffrey stood next to a column, staring at our garden. The sunlight flickered on the delicate leaves of the quince trees and the neatly tended herbs that flowered in autumn.

“This is so beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen the like.”

“Master Scovill, if you please?” Sister Eleanor snapped. “We are very busy at the priory.”

I edged into the chapter house, reluctant to return to this room. But all signs of the feast had been removed, except for the tapestry. There were no tables, no candlesticks, no cloths or silver. The stench of meat had evaporated. Geoffrey walked in just as slowly as I did, his eyes tracking every inch, as if he was re-creating the evening’s mayhem.

Indifferent to his need to concentrate, Sister Eleanor said, “Master Scovill, how much longer will you and the other men from Rochester be here at the priory?”

Geoffrey was now taking in the details of the tapestry. Without looking away from it,
he explained, “The coroner is bound to hold an inquest within three days of arriving on the scene of a suspicious death. A jury of twelve local men must hear the evidence, must decide if murder has been committed. A coroner may indict a suspect, and if the jury agrees, a justice of the peace may then bind that accused person over for trial.”

Only two days remained before the inquiry would need to take place, I realized.

“This tapestry is based on a story?” Geoffrey asked.

“It’s a story taken from ancient Greece,” answered Sister Eleanor. “The tale of Daphne, the nymph. She was turned into a tree by her father, a river god.”

“Why did he turn her into a tree?”

Sister Eleanor laughed scornfully. “I hardly think this is based on something that really happened, Master Scovill.”

“I understand that, Sister,” he said, still patient. “But there could be deeper meaning to these figures.” He pointed at the figure of Daphne. “She looks frightened to me.” He turned to examine the three hunters to the left of Daphne. “Is she meant to be frightened of them?”

“I have no idea,” Sister Eleanor said.

“There is more of a story to this,” I said. “I heard that a couple of days ago.”

Geoffrey turned to me. “From whom?”

Too late, I remembered who it had been. “Brother Edmund,” I muttered.

Geoffrey nodded. “Ah, of course. Brother Edmund.”

I did not like the way he said it. “Why do you not speak to him then?” I asked. “You will soon see what kind of person he is.”

“We shall be speaking to Brother Edmund, be assured. He is last on our list.”

Sister Eleanor murmured, “Actually, now that you make mention of it, there is something about this tapestry.” She squinted hard. “The girl, Daphne, she looks like someone I’ve seen. But I can’t think of who.”

“Do you use models for the figures in your tapestries?” asked Geoffrey.

She shook her head.

“Sister Agatha also said she looked
familiar,” I recalled.

Geoffrey brightened. “Sister Eleanor, please go and find this Sister Agatha and bring her here.”

She looked at me, unsure.

Geoffrey waved his hand. “Sister Joanna will be fine. I may have more questions about the tapestry for her to answer, so she must remain. Please make haste. As you said, we are all busy people.”

In a moment she was gone and we were, finally, alone.

I cleared my throat and said, “I am pleased to see that you are healthy and well.” How awkward it came out.

Geoffrey said cautiously, “And you, Sister Joanna.” He paused. “The last time I saw you, you did not look at all healthy and well.”

“That’s true. But all is mended.”

He asked, “How did you manage that?”

“I was cleared of all suspicion and released to Dartford,” I said.

“How fortunate.”

I did not know what else to say. I’d arranged for this opportunity, to speak to Geoffrey, and now I’d turned mute.

He was the one who broke the silence.

“They don’t know I was held two nights in the Tower,” Geoffrey said in a low voice. “Sir William Kingston checked my name on the rolls of constabulary office for Rochester—the records were in London—and that, along with my sworn statement, was enough. I was never officially arrested. So when he released me, I went home and told the chief constable I’d stayed at a London inn. I feared for many weeks that someone would come, that a letter would be sent. It never happened.”

“I see.”

He bit his lip. “I would appreciate it if you would not expose my involvement in your case. It could ruin me.”

“But you nearly exposed that I was the one who left Dartford without permission,” I pointed out, still angry.

“I have a duty to perform here,” Geoffrey said. “My loyalty is to Justice Campion, to assist with this inquiry. I owe him a very great deal.”

“Oh?”

Geoffrey looked uncomfortable but continued. “He pays most of my monthly wages from
his own private accounts. The job of constable is unpaid—I don’t know if you are aware of that. The chief constable of Rochester is a man of means. But I am not. If it weren’t for Master Campion, I certainly could not hold this position.”

There was the sound of women talking outside, in the passageway. I thought it was Sister Eleanor, returning with Sister Agatha, but the chatter died away.

“Geoffrey, I have something to say,” I began.

His eyes widened at my use of his name.

“What I said about you, in the Tower, when you were brought in—it wasn’t true.” There, at last I had managed it. But Geoffrey still looked dissatisfied.

“Then why did you say it?” he asked.

“The Duke of Norfolk—you don’t know him as I do. I couldn’t speak up for you; it would have set him off.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “But you spoke up for Brother Edmund—there was no impediment to that.”

“There are far different circumstances,” I protested.

“What is he doing in the middle of a priory? That’s what I want to find out,” Geoffrey said. “My understanding is that nuns are supposed to be kept very separate from friars and monks.”

“We don’t pray together or work together or eat together,” I said.

“Or sleep together?”

Fast as a whip, my hand shot out. The cracking sound of a slap rang out across the chapter house. I stared at my reddened palm, horrified.

Geoffrey held his cheek. “I wager I deserved that.” He laughed. “For a religious house, you all hand out a fair number of blows.”

Before I could respond, Sister Eleanor led in a nervous, flustered Sister Agatha.

“I don’t know how I can be of assistance,” protested the novice mistress.

Geoffrey pointed at the tapestry. “Who is that girl?”

Sister Agatha looked confused. “Daphne. The girl from the fable. She was turned into a tree by her father to save her.”

“Save her from what?” Geoffrey asked.

She pointed at the three hunters. “Them. The men who were hunting her.” She glanced at me and lowered
her voice. “We do not discuss why.”

“And the girl was modeled on someone real?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” said Sister Agatha. “We don’t work that way.”

“But you and Sister Eleanor have both said she looks familiar,” he pressed.

Sister Agatha looked at the beautiful blond girl in the tapestry, her legs winding into a trunk, her arms sprouting leaves. “I didn’t see it when we were weaving the tapestry, but now, these months later, when I look at her, I see . . . Sister Beatrice.”

“Yes,” Sister Eleanor gasped. “That’s it.”

His voice hard, Geoffrey said, “Who is Sister Beatrice?”

“She left the priory in 1535,” said Sister Agatha. “When the king’s commissioners came, they brought us all together. They said anyone younger than twenty-five years of age must be released. No one was. Then the commissioners asked if anyone wanted to leave. They said that question was being posed at every priory and abbey, and Sister Beatrice came forward. She was a novice, and she said she wanted to go. She didn’t give any reasons. Once she—”

“That’s enough,” Sister Eleanor hissed.

“Did Sister Beatrice know Lord Chester?”

“Of course not,” said Sister Eleanor.

“Where is she now?” asked Geoffrey.

“I don’t know. With her family, I assume. They had a home near Canterbury.”

Sister Agatha gave a cry and pointed, not at the girl this time but at the corner of the tapestry, where the head of the old river god peered out of the weeds. “Do you know who that looks like? Prioress Elizabeth.”

“Who?” asked Geoffrey.

“Our former prioress, who died last month,” said Sister Eleanor. “But that’s ludicrous. She was my aunt, and I should know that . . . Her voice trailed away. I peered at the figure. And suddenly, to my shock, I saw it: white hair, hooked nose, large blue eyes. There was no denying it: the river god resembled Prioress Elizabeth Croessner.

“Who is in charge of the tapestries?” asked Geoffrey.

We all looked at one another.

Reluctantly, Sister Eleanor said, “Sister Helen. She plans the designs and personally weaves
the faces of the figures. I will fetch her and bring her here, although she—”

Geoffrey broke in. “No, you will take me to her now.”

“That would not be appropriate, Master Scovill.”

“We were told we would have all your cooperation, Sister,” he said. “I don’t want any of you to speak to her about this before I do. Where is she right now?”

Sister Eleanor said, “The tapestry room.”

“And is that far?”

She shook her head.

“Then let’s go.”

It was past the usual hour in the tapestry room. We didn’t do our work after the natural light had gone. Loom work by candlelight ruins eyes; moreover, the light makes it impossible to consistently match colors. But the bells still hadn’t rung for prayers, most likely because these men were here, asking their questions, occupying the prioress. And so Sister Helen must have remained. This was the room, after all, that she felt safest in.

Indeed, Sister Helen was alone, behind the loom, when we all walked in. She stood up, confused, her hands full of the exquisite silk and woolen thread bundles we sent for from Brussels.

“Sister Helen, I have questions for you about the tapestry hung at the requiem feast,” Geoffrey said.

She moaned—an awful, guttural noise—and backed into the corner, dropping all of her threads.

Sister Eleanor moved in first. “Don’t be alarmed, Sister. Please. It will be fine.”

Sister Helen bent over, clutching her chest.

“She’s sick,” shouted Sister Agatha, as Sister Helen toppled to the floor. “Get Brother Edmund,” Sister Eleanor ordered the novice mistress.

I knelt next to her, as Sister Helen writhed in pain. She panted, her eyes wild with fear as she looked at Sister Eleanor and me. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably just a minute, she grew quiet and her eyes slid shut. I placed her head in my lap, stroked her damp forehead. “Oh, Sister Helen,” I said, tearful. There was no response.

Brother Edmund ran into the room. He felt her wrists and her throat, and then pulled
up her eyelids. Geoffrey watched him from the doorway, wary.

“We must take her to the infirmary,” the friar said. “She must be carried.”

“I’ll help you,” Geoffrey announced. The two of them took their measure of each other, and Brother Edmund nodded. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

They carried her together, each man gripping an opposite end of the long table they lifted her onto. It was a most upsetting sight, the conveying of a deathly ill Sister Helen through the passageways. The sisters cried out and crossed themselves as we passed, and many of them gathered in the infirmary, to be near her. Some of them said they’d noticed Sister Helen earlier, agitated, not herself, moving around the priory. Brother Edmund finally had to plead for quiet because their talk was too distracting. From her corner, Sister Winifred watched all, distraught.