Mama glanced up at Becket, then back at her. “No, my dearest.” Her tone was firm, the tone that Laeticia knew would never budge or shift.
Tears pooled in her eyes as the terror clutched harder.
“You must stay here, with Archbishop Becket and Brother Edward,” said Mama.
Laeticia cast a doubtful glance at these two tall strangers as her tears spilled over. “But they are not my family. Only you. Papa’s in heaven. There’s no one else.”
Mama took her face in her hands and gripped it tightly. “But they will be your family soon, my dearest. For I am gifting you to Canterbury, to learn the ways of a woman of God.”
The tears came faster. “I am not a woman, Mama.”
“But you will be. You will be a great woman of God: noble, contained, pure. It is a terrible, terrible sacrifice for me, yet I give you as an act of gratitude to God, for He is our Savior, giving His life for us.”
Laeticia shook her head, Mama’s words far above her ten-year-old understanding. “Stay here, Mama.”
“It is time, Amélie.” Becket was gentle but firm.
Mama reached behind her neck to undo her crucifix. She held it out to her. “You see this, Laeticia?”
She nodded, still without speech. She’d admired the beautiful golden cross, with the rich glow from the little red stones, so many times.
“I give this to you to mark this special day.” Mama placed it round her neck and adjusted it against the lace bib of her dress. “Whenever you get lonely, touch it and ask God to comfort you.” She stood up and bent once more to kiss her cheek. “And He will, my love, He will, because you are my gift from Him. I return that gift, with all the grace you have and will acquire.”
“Mama. You can’t go.” She reached out, but Mama already walked away, head down. Becket went with her and spoke to her in low tones as they made their way down the cloister.
Brother Edward stood with her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “An oblate, eh?” he said. “God be praised for you and the talents you will bring to the office. And your mama is Sister Amélie. It’s most important you call her that. The Archbishop himself says so.”
“She’s not, she’s not. She’s my mama.” She shook him off, to a displeased exclamation from him. She raced after Mama, her calf-skinned feet silent from years of practice on the smooth stone. They all called her special, holy. But she couldn’t be — Mama was leaving her. She must have done something very wrong, have sinned very greatly. Be so very, very bad. As she almost caught up, she heard Becket’s words.
“Polesworth Abbey is Benedictine, a place of great devotion.” He opened a heavy door that led outside and ushered Mama through.
As he did so, he saw Theodosia. He shook his head sadly, and the door thudded closed to prevent her coming too.
Its echo mirrored that of a loud drum, beaten by the jester back up on the ladder.
“Are you all right?” said Benedict. “You’ve lost your color.”
A roar of laughter came from the crowd as the jester began a lewd song about the joys of a woman with no teeth.
Theodosia looked back at Benedict. “It wasn’t Posewore,” she said. “It was Polesworth. Polesworth Abbey. That’s where my mother went.” When she left me.
“Then that is where we’re going.”
She caught her breath. “We cannot. I was never supposed to go with her. My lord Becket, Brother Edward. Mama herself. They were absolutely clear I could not. I cannot disobey them.”
Benedict started to walk her along, faster this time. He bent his neck to bring his mouth close to Theodosia’s ear. “Could not. But everything’s changed. Archbishop Becket’s dead because of your mother. I’ve drowned de Morville in his own river, that poor furrier has lost his life, the knights have tried to kill me. All this, because of you and your precious mama. Fitzurse wants to roast you over an open fire to find out where she is. Our only chance to stop this is to find her first.”
To find Mama. After all this time. “Do you know where it is?” The feeble question masked the huge longing, painful as deep hunger, that surged within her.
“No. But I’ll find out.” He craned his neck over the crowds. “First, we need a horse.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Sir Reginald Fitzurse listened to the thumps and clatters from the furrier’s home above the shop and sighed in frustration. “How much longer is she going to be?” he asked de Tracy.
De Tracy shrugged in return. “I say we set off after them. I don’t think the woman’s much use to us after what’s happened.” He nodded to the furrier lying dead on the floor.