The suspicion of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, believe me, I heard it from you.”
She opened her mouth to deny his ridiculous assertion, but he cut across her.
“Heard it while your mind was addled from the cold. Now spit it out — every moment is a risk.”
She’d no memory of what she’d said, done, while the cold had gripped her, no way of testing if he told the truth. She had to trust him; she had no choice. “The only time I heard it mentioned was the day Mama left Canterbury.”
She was ten years old, had been for just over a month. She was still Laeticia, her baptized name, her name of childhood, of innocence. The early-summer sun warmed her arms, her face, as she sat in the bright cloister garden at Canterbury, Mama next to her on a low bench. She had an open manuscript of verses from the Bible on her lap, reading quietly. Mama sat with her lips moving wordlessly as she held her own tiny Book of Hours.
“Sister Amélie.”
Laeticia looked to the source of the serious-sounding male voice. A tall, dark-haired man stood in the shade of the cloisters. His deep blue robes were far, far finer than any of those she had seen the monks wear. Next to him stood a black-robed monk, her Brother Edward, though she didn’t know it then.
“Chancellor Becket.” Mama’s questioning gaze was locked on his.
He gave a rueful grin. “Not chancellor anymore. Archbishop.”
Mama gasped. “You mean?”
He nodded. “Of Canterbury.”
“Oh, my dear Thomas.” Mama tucked her little book away in her pocket, got to her feet, and hurried to him. She fell before him on her knees and kissed the ring on his left hand with deep reverence.
His straightly featured face showed some discomfiture. “Please rise, Sister A-Amélie.”
Laeticia wondered at the little trip he gave over his words.
Becket nodded in her direction. “We need to talk,” he said to Mama.
“Of course, my lord.” Mama raised a warning finger. “Leave us be, Laeticia.”
Becket turned to the strange monk. “Brother Edward. Why don’t you converse with little Laeticia?”
“Yes, my lord.” Brother Edward made his way over to her as Mama and Archbishop Becket set off at a slow walk down the east cloister, engaged in low-voiced conversation. Brother Edward took Mama’s place on the bench. He was tall too, not as tall as Becket, with shiny black tonsured hair and eyes as green as the early-summer leaves.
He gestured to the manuscript. “You like the pictures?”
She gave a copy of the short sigh Mama would give when her childish ways exasperated her.
“No?” The monk’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“I prefer the words, Brother.”
“Goodness.” His eyebrows remained up. “A little bird that can read. How remarkable.”
She curled her bottom lip in. She shouldn’t have prattled so. Mama had always told her it wasn’t very ladylike to read.
But the monk didn’t seem to mind. He gave a disbelieving frown and shake of his head. “I think you tell me a tale.”
She couldn’t tell a lie. “I do not, Brother Edward.” Laeticia pointed to the words on the open page and read them to him steadily.
“My, my.” He gave her an astonished look.
A muffled cry came from the cloisters. She looked over to see Mama, face in her hands.
She shoved the book into Brother Edward’s hands and jumped from the seat.
“Stop, child.”
She took no notice of the monk, made for the shaded cloister. Briefly blinded from its contrast with the brilliant sunshine, she cried out, “Mama, what’s wrong?” Her vision adjusted to see her mother drop her hands, face deathly pale.
“Theodosia.” Her tone was sharp. “I told you to leave us be.”
“I am sorry, my lord.” Brother Edward had followed after and went to take her hand.
“No, leave her.” Thomas sounded kind as he addressed Mama. “You have to tell her, Amélie. Now.”
Mama knelt before her and took her by the shoulders. “Thomas is a very important man. He has had to bring me some very important news.”
“Amélie, you must be brief,” said the important man.
Laeticia shot him a look. His eyes looked sad.
“My dear girl, Mama has to go away.”
Terror clutched her heart at Mama’s words. Away? “Where?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you where, because it’s a secret. Somewhere very special.”
“But it’s special here in Canterbury. You’ve told me so. Lots of times.”
“I know, I know. But I cannot stay here.”
“Can I come too?”