Threads of Treason by Mary Bale Page B

of St Thomas the Apostle. The stone walls were surrounded and topped by wooden scaffolding and lifting gear. Therese caught the salty smell of the sea but could not see it as the mules were reined off to the right onto a track, which approached the priory from the north. The wagon went down a hillside. To the east there was an encampment.
    ‘ Builders,’ explained Alfred with a catch of exasperation in his voice. That sound people made when ants got in the honey pot. ‘I will make my camp on the south side, beyond the woodland. You cannot see it from here. I will be out of the way of all the traffic.’
    Therese wondered briefly if the whole of England was a building site. All these people, yet she would be alone with her secret inside the convent. Contact with Sister Agnes would be difficult, and probably inadvisable with so many prying eyes and ears.
    At the bottom of the hill they forded a stream and started to rise again to the priory. The incomplete building dedicated to St Thomas The Apostle seemed to be being constructed on the site of an old fort as it was on a hill with a valley all about it with rising ground beyond the valley like a protective embankment. The church, she noted, was foreshortened. The front end had been created for the use of the nuns, but the nave was a skeleton of piled stones and partly built walls. The gatehouse on the northwest corner was complete. And as they went under it Therese felt chilled from the sun being cut out by the stonework above her.
    She smiled at Abbess Eleanor whom she realised was now driving. Alfred was no longer with them. The Abbess smiled back reassuringly and drove the mules into the courtyard.
    ‘ Wait here in silence,’ she said climbing down from the driving seat. ‘I will tell them I am here on a private visit as they will be suspicious of my arrival being unattended by the usual retinue. However, this is less likely to make tongues wag than turning up with Norman knights.’ Her mouth twitched with a little conspiratorial smile.
    Panic started to rise inside Therese’s ribs and clutch at her throat. She wanted to run. Instead she steadied herself and picked up her rosary. She would pray not to be so jumpy. After a while she felt her mind start to think. The only way to serve Bishop Odon in this matter was to be a free agent; to be able to observe without concern for others. She had to become self-reliant.
    She still had her eyes tight shut when Abbess Eleanor touched her elbow.
    ‘ You have been accepted,’ whispered the older nun.
    Therese opened her eyes. A movement attracted her and she looked up at a window overlooking the courtyard. They were being observed by a nun whom she took to be Prioress Ethelburga. Therese hid her face with her veil as she asked Abbess Eleanor, ‘How?’ She wondered if her boldness at coming here to spy on the nuns had only been bravado after all. She found that part of her had hoped that Prioress Ethelburga would not take her in.
    ‘ I told them that you were one of the best needle-women in Normandy.’
    ‘ But I’m not that good,’ protested Therese. England was renowned across Europe for its standard of needlework, she knew she could not match that.
    ‘ Don’t worry,’ said the Abbess. ‘They won’t want you to stitch the embroidery straight away. By the time they let you touch it, hopefully, your work will be done. Prioress Ethelburga thinks you will be an ideal person to clean the embroidery room each day after work is over. It could not have gone better, Sister.’
    ‘ So why is she watching us?’ asked Therese. She looked up at the window, but the figure had gone.
    * * *
    Abbess Eleanor stood over Prioress Ursula’s grave and prayed for forgiveness for the deceit she and little Therese were now involved in, and for Ursula. Wicked Ursula. Funny Ursula.
    She’d avoided watching Therese enter the convent and had asked no questions regarding the arrangements for her. She had not wanted to appear too