left Longford’s maid in such a vulnerable position? The man had not the wits for his post.
Louth had hung his head. ‘You are right to blame me, Your Grace.’
‘You are not my concern, Sir Nicholas. Whether Dame Joanna Calverley should be accepted back into the convent of St Clement’s and whether her disappearance and return are indicative of an incompetent prioress – those are my concerns. Why should a nun steal a relic, run away, arrange a false burial, then return a year later, seeking to restore herself to the convent? And how are the deaths of Longford’s cook and maid related to Dame Joanna’s misadventure?’ Thoresby had turned away from Louth’s pouty penitence in disgust. He had expected more from someone favoured by the Black Prince. Perhaps it explained Louth’s being here instead of in Gascony with his lord.
Ravenser had entered the conversation with an uneasy clearing of his throat. ‘There is more, Uncle.’
‘What else?’
‘Someone gave Joanna a blue mantle which she believes is the mantle of the Blessed Virgin Mary.’
Sweet Heaven. ‘I suppose the sisters of St Clement’s are kneeling to her?’
Ravenser winced. ‘There was a stir. And the cook believes she has been cured of a rash.’
‘Deus juva me.’
‘But the Reverend Mother has everything under control.’
‘I dare say. Just as she has a tight rein on all of her charges.’
Now Thoresby must speak with the annoying woman herself.
Dame Isobel entered his chambers much subdued. Shadows underlined her pale eyes. ‘Benedicte, Your Grace.’ She handed Thoresby a letter bearing the anchor seal of St Clement’s. ‘Joanna has signed this, Your Grace. She recants her sins and submits to her penance.’
Thoresby made the sign of the cross over Isobel and motioned her to be seated. ‘I understand you have identified the woman as Joanna Calverley of Leeds.’ He tapped the letter against his left palm.
‘I have, Your Grace.’ Isobel did not meet Thoresby’s eyes, but focused on his hands and the letter.
Thoresby noticed, and put down the document. No need to look discomfited. ‘And you are satisfied that she returned and signed this willingly?’
‘Joanna was most anxious to return, Your Grace.’
‘And when she signed it, was she Our Lady risen from the dead or Joanna Calverley?’
Isobel’s pale eyebrows dipped in a puzzled frown. ‘She has not claimed to be the Blessed Virgin, Your Grace, just a virgin.’
‘And is that true?’
Dame Isobel blushed. ‘I think not, Your Grace. She has said things to Dame Prudentia that suggest . . . a loss of innocence.’
‘And God chose to bring this lying Magdalene back from the dead?’
‘Your Grace, there is no logic to her delusion.’
‘Ah. So you agree she is deluded?’
Isobel looked surprised. ‘Of course.’
‘But she was lucid enough to write this letter and understand what it contained?’
Isobel blinked rapidly. ‘I wrote the letter, Your Grace. But she was fully aware of its contents and signed it of her own accord, as God is my witness.’
‘Indeed.’ Thoresby opened the letter, skimmed it. ‘Fully aware, you say?’
Isobel took a kerchief from her sleeve and blotted her upper lip. ‘I think she has moments of clarity.’
Thoresby tossed the letter aside and folded his hands. ‘Can she explain her behaviour?’
Isobel tucked her hands under her scapular. ‘So far she has said little that might be of use, but I shall ask again.’
‘Indeed you shall. And I trust you will not disappoint me.’
The prioress blushed, but she did not drop her head meekly. ‘I shall not, Your Grace.’
Thoresby liked the way her jaw stuck out with determination. ‘How has Joanna been received at St Clement’s?’
Isobel sighed. ‘She has disturbed the peace of our house.’
No doubt. Gossip was ever the bane of a closed community. ‘Her behaviour is disturbing?’
‘Only those caring for her witness her confusion, Your Grace.’
‘She plays
Louth had hung his head. ‘You are right to blame me, Your Grace.’
‘You are not my concern, Sir Nicholas. Whether Dame Joanna Calverley should be accepted back into the convent of St Clement’s and whether her disappearance and return are indicative of an incompetent prioress – those are my concerns. Why should a nun steal a relic, run away, arrange a false burial, then return a year later, seeking to restore herself to the convent? And how are the deaths of Longford’s cook and maid related to Dame Joanna’s misadventure?’ Thoresby had turned away from Louth’s pouty penitence in disgust. He had expected more from someone favoured by the Black Prince. Perhaps it explained Louth’s being here instead of in Gascony with his lord.
Ravenser had entered the conversation with an uneasy clearing of his throat. ‘There is more, Uncle.’
‘What else?’
‘Someone gave Joanna a blue mantle which she believes is the mantle of the Blessed Virgin Mary.’
Sweet Heaven. ‘I suppose the sisters of St Clement’s are kneeling to her?’
Ravenser winced. ‘There was a stir. And the cook believes she has been cured of a rash.’
‘Deus juva me.’
‘But the Reverend Mother has everything under control.’
‘I dare say. Just as she has a tight rein on all of her charges.’
Now Thoresby must speak with the annoying woman herself.
Dame Isobel entered his chambers much subdued. Shadows underlined her pale eyes. ‘Benedicte, Your Grace.’ She handed Thoresby a letter bearing the anchor seal of St Clement’s. ‘Joanna has signed this, Your Grace. She recants her sins and submits to her penance.’
Thoresby made the sign of the cross over Isobel and motioned her to be seated. ‘I understand you have identified the woman as Joanna Calverley of Leeds.’ He tapped the letter against his left palm.
‘I have, Your Grace.’ Isobel did not meet Thoresby’s eyes, but focused on his hands and the letter.
Thoresby noticed, and put down the document. No need to look discomfited. ‘And you are satisfied that she returned and signed this willingly?’
‘Joanna was most anxious to return, Your Grace.’
‘And when she signed it, was she Our Lady risen from the dead or Joanna Calverley?’
Isobel’s pale eyebrows dipped in a puzzled frown. ‘She has not claimed to be the Blessed Virgin, Your Grace, just a virgin.’
‘And is that true?’
Dame Isobel blushed. ‘I think not, Your Grace. She has said things to Dame Prudentia that suggest . . . a loss of innocence.’
‘And God chose to bring this lying Magdalene back from the dead?’
‘Your Grace, there is no logic to her delusion.’
‘Ah. So you agree she is deluded?’
Isobel looked surprised. ‘Of course.’
‘But she was lucid enough to write this letter and understand what it contained?’
Isobel blinked rapidly. ‘I wrote the letter, Your Grace. But she was fully aware of its contents and signed it of her own accord, as God is my witness.’
‘Indeed.’ Thoresby opened the letter, skimmed it. ‘Fully aware, you say?’
Isobel took a kerchief from her sleeve and blotted her upper lip. ‘I think she has moments of clarity.’
Thoresby tossed the letter aside and folded his hands. ‘Can she explain her behaviour?’
Isobel tucked her hands under her scapular. ‘So far she has said little that might be of use, but I shall ask again.’
‘Indeed you shall. And I trust you will not disappoint me.’
The prioress blushed, but she did not drop her head meekly. ‘I shall not, Your Grace.’
Thoresby liked the way her jaw stuck out with determination. ‘How has Joanna been received at St Clement’s?’
Isobel sighed. ‘She has disturbed the peace of our house.’
No doubt. Gossip was ever the bane of a closed community. ‘Her behaviour is disturbing?’
‘Only those caring for her witness her confusion, Your Grace.’
‘She plays
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