“Benedict.”
He looked around again.
“Are they all dead? Did Fitzurse and le Bret go the way of de Tracy?”
He faced forward again. “My wits tell me yes. But we still have to ride as fast as we can.”
Her wits remembered that Benedict had made her hide, be quiet in the woods. Theodosia tightened her hold on the reins. You did not hide from ghosts, keep quiet from corpses, hasten from spirits. The knight feared just as she did. But she kept her silence. Her loose tongue would do no more harm.
EPISODE 4
CHAPTER 16
“We seek an audience with the Abbess.” Benedict spoke through a small metal grille set in the closed wooden doors of the gatehouse to Polesworth Abbey.
Theodosia scanned the tall, square tower, fashioned of huge blocks of moss-coated gray stone soaring into the blue winter sky. They were finally here. Clustered around the tower, the pitched roofs and high walls promised their journey’s end. Mama would be safe in there, safe with the answers she and Benedict sought. The exhaustion of the last days and nights threatened to overwhelm her. They’d stopped only for the horses’ sake, but even then she could tell Benedict stayed fully alert, watching out, listening out for any pursuers. That Fitzurse might find her while she slept had meant she’d not dared to. But no one had disturbed their travels.
With a long, shuddering sigh of relief, she turned her attention back to Benedict. He was locked in argument with whomever was within.
“No, she isn’t expecting me,” he said, his exasperation clear.
Another softly spoken question, inaudible to Theodosia’s ears.
“I could give you my name,” he said. “But it would mean nothing to her.”
A reply.
“Look,” he said, his tone ever more forceful. “If you could let me speak with her, then I could explain everything. But I can’t explain unless I see her. Can’t you understand?”
The response this time was the snap of the shutter behind the grille.
Benedict turned to her, face ruddy at being so thwarted. “She shut it. Can you believe it?”
She took in his broad frame, his mud-spattered clothes, his unshaven skin. “Unfortunately, I can. The sister who refused you entry judged you as parlous.”
He spread his hands in disbelief. “How could I look risky? You told me I looked like a respectable townsman.”
“That was a few days ago. It didn’t last long; you can’t help looking like a knight. Now are you going to allow me to try?”
Before he could disagree, she stepped past him to tap on the door and bring back whomever guarded the entrance. As she waited for an answer, she met his annoyed glance. “I am not doing anything rash,” she said. “I am of the church, I have a far better chance of gaining our admittance. Whereas you are something that makes the sisters instantly suspicious.”
“A knight?”
“A man.”
The shutter slid open, and a shadowy veiled figure appeared behind the close-knit metal mesh.
“Yes?” came the nun’s cool tone, ready for Benedict again.
“God and Mary be with you, Sister,” said Theodosia.
“To you too, my lady.” Recognition of a holy greeting slightly warmed the voice from within. “What can I help you with this day?”
“My husband and I need to speak with the Abbess. On an urgent and private matter.”
“Your husband is the man I spoke to?”
“Indeed, Sister. He’s overcome with fatigue, so my apologies if he came across as rude.” She shot him a glance.
“Rude?” he mouthed, out of sight of the little window.
“I can speak with her and convey your message,” said the nun. “She is, however, extremely busy, and it might well be tomorrow when she has time.”
Aghast, Theodosia pressed on. “It really is very, very urgent.”
“I will pass on your message.” A hand came up to close the shutter again.
“Please! It concerns Amélie,” said Theodosia, her palms pressed to the grille.
The hand paused, then slid the shutter closed.
Theodosia faced the blank barrier, sealed against the world. Against her too, though she was not of the world.
“Good to see your plan worked so well,” said Benedict.
The clack of a key turning in the lock was accompanied by a turn of the cast-iron handle. With a low creak, the door swung open and a stooped, elderly nun, clothed in the black robes of the Benedictines, stood there. “Amélie, you say?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Those are your animals?” The nun pointed to their mounts, tethered to nearby hitching posts.
“They are, Sister.”
The nun nodded. “I’ll send word for them to be brought round to the stables.” She stood to one side and beckoned. “You had both better come in.”