Chapter Twenty-Five - Unfurling

Anne and Winifred conspired to collect evidence against the groping priest. Anne, even though she didn’t have to, would make one more confession before she next took communion,. Winifred would stay in the church near the confessionals, helping Sister Geneviève clean the silver plate. Anne would cry out if there were any further touching.

Beyond that, they made a pact that Winifred would always stay near Anne. They’d always look out for each other. Anne was so pleased and relieved to have such a friend in the convent she reached out and hugged the English girl. When she pulled away, smiling, she was surprised to find her own face was wet. She reached out and gently touched Winifred’s poor sore skin. By the light of the gold moon, she could see there were tears around Win’s misshapen eyes.

‘But you’re weeping?’

‘You’re the first person to touch me since my grandmother,’ Winifred was shy, but she managed to smile at Anne. ‘It’s only happiness.’

The two girls made their way back to the nuns’ sleeping quarters, warmed by the light of the slender moon, and a sense of finding each other. They couldn’t stop talking about teaching each other their languages, and things they might make and paint and before they even arrived at the cell door, the bells for Prime went. Back the two of them went to the choir, and this time the waxing moon high in the sky saw their steps jaunty and their hearts light.

They talked and talked, whenever they could, exchanging language like songs. Winifred told Anne stories about her family, about society in Surrey, and the court in London. Winifred was educated mainly by her grandmother and her staff. It was her grandmother who had rescued her, giving her enough money to send her over the seas. It had been a stormy passage.

Anne found it difficult to imagine the sea, much less travelling over it by boat. She asked for more and more descriptions and Winifred promised she would paint it. Words were cumbersome where paint could show the truth.

Winifred felt herself blessed that she had been able to make her way to the Priory, still with her belongings.

Anne could hardly believe such luck, ‘What good fortune that you should stumble across Templemars!’

Winifred nodded and smiled, ‘In our blindness and ignorance we say that this is accident or luck, but to Our Lord God it is not so.’

Winifred had had to give the Mother everything when she came to the convent. She had some clothes, some jewels from her grandmother and, of course, Anne had already met her doll, Charlotte. The Mother held everything in safekeeping, for she had told her, if she ever wanted to leave the convent, before she took final vows, of course, she would be able to take them all back with her. Anne knew there were no jewels left, but said nothing. She thought it unlikely Winifred would ever want to leave the priory, and even more unlikely the Mother would want to forego those jewels. Perhaps it was a high price for a dowry but if both parties agreed the value? Winifred had no need of jewels now.

Anne took Winifred to see Sister Agnes’s grave, explaining that nun had been the closest, kindest mother she could have known as a child. It was a cool, grey day. The air was still and soft and cushioned the sheep calling to each other through the damp mist. The two postulants were solemn as they walked through the herb garden, focusing on the gravel in front of their feet. Anne reminisced about Sister Agnes and told Winifred how difficult it used to be to find a place on that good woman’s lap whenever she sat down, such was her popularity with small orphans.

Once, when Anne was hurt (her younger brother Claude had stolen her apple and she had bitten him in return and he had tripped her, making her fall) Sister Agnes heaved her up onto her big cushiony lap and hugged her. She told Anne she must make the best of things. It would be easier to agree with other children and the nuns because she was small. She was surrounded by big people who might step on her, was that not right, ma petite chou? Sister Agnes had looked at her and chucked her under her chin. ‘Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself, ma petite, and all shall be well.’

Anne yearned for Sister Agnes now, when she felt so confused about the intentions of Father Cornelis. Winifred reiterated her own experience with lechers. She believed that his attentions were not personal, but opportunistic.

Anne suspected some of her confusion stemmed from vanity, a feeling of being chosen, of being special and desirable. Understanding her weakness lay in her powerful pride once more, she vowed to do more to help others. And that was just what Winifred was telling her. There were bound to be other girls that attracted his eye, and possibly more than just his eye too. They needed to do something to stop him or at least warn the others. Winifred put her hand out and took Anne’s to hold her back. She said, ‘Do unto others … ‘

Anne had no inkling of an idea how they could stop the priest.

Winifred patted her hand, smiled her crooked smile, and said, ‘You’ll think of something, Anne.’

Anne felt emboldened and determined that, yes, she would think of something. Only, where could she find inspiration?

When they reached the place where Sister Agnes was buried, Anne was startled to find a new wooden cross marking the grave. It was simple and dignified, with a name carved on the cross piece. It featured a relief sculpture of a lamb on the top part of the upright and a curving martyr’s palm decorating the lower leg. It must have been Maynard’s work. Or, realised Anne, perhaps Pierre, the young apprentice, once her brother’s best friend. For a few years Anne had blamed Pierre for being alive when Claude had died but now, she understood Pierre was simply a friend. The work must have been by Pierre for Maynard would have worked it better. This was rough although it clearly depicted the saint’s symbols. She said as much out loud.

Winifred thought so, if he were the young man who brought the wooden swords for the Roman soldiers. She explained that, as she was now the person in charge of props for the play about Saint Cecilia, two of the young orphans had told her about their woodworking friend.

Anne felt miserable that she hadn’t been able to see Pierre but supposed he would attend the performance. Winifred agreed, he knew the time and date. Anne wondered if he would bring the whole family, for that might upset Sister Thecla. Anne was not particularly happy about being watched by Maynard, remembering Sara’s suggestion of marriage. Anne had not seen Sara and her child for many months, feeling the woodworker’s family to be a loss in her life. She missed them. As she missed Sister Agnes.

Anne traced her fingers around the lamb, remembering that Saint Agnes was the patron of young girls and chastity. She too had been burned, or not burned, and finally beheaded for her devout unwillingness to give up her virginity. Anne and Winifred both knelt on the damp grass beside the grave. They prayed. Winifred said,

‘O glorious Saint Agnes, you served God in humility and confidence on earth and are now in the enjoyment of His beatific Vision in heaven because you gained the crown of eternal life. Remember now the dangers that surround me in the vale of tears, and intercede for me in my needs and troubles. Amen.’

As they knelt Anne reached over and took hold of Winifred’s arm, below the elbow. She intended to comfort her friend, but she had some urgency to know the answer. She looked into Winifred’s eyes, no longer seeing the ragged scarring, and asked, ‘You’ve prayed to Saint Agnes many times?’

‘Oh, Dear Lord, yes. Many. When I was struggling with my mother’s greedy need to marry me off, I think Saint Agnes did help me. Do you know, Anne, I believe, in the end, she led me here.’

‘In that case, we must ask for her assistance in stopping Father Cornelis.’

Winifred nodded. Assured, Anne released the arm, and the two girls stayed in their devout attitude and prayed, not only with the soft caring nun, but also with her name saint who had died at the much the same age as these girls.

Anne opened her eyes, clutched Winifred’s arm once more, hard enough to make that girl wince, and said in English, ‘I got idea. We go.’

Winifred obeyed at once, correcting the pronunciation gently as Anne was in the throes of learning English, ‘I have an idea. I have … you have … ’

But Anne was too preoccupied for language lessons and rushed Winifred back through the garden and around towards the front gate. She searched for the porter nun she expected there. She found her in the stables, helping a group of servants prepare the winter bedding for the sheep, goats, and chickens who’d soon be moving indoors. Anne asked if they might talk privately with Magdalene.

The older woman looked annoyed to be taken away from her work. The three walked down to the sheep paddock, watching the ewes looking for their young, bleating and calling to them every now and then. In the other field, Doudou saw them, ran to the fence and Anne could not resist giving him a handful of the greener grass from the human side. On her return, she asked Magdalene what she thought of Father Cornelis?

Magdalene, who oversaw all the young servants of the house, unexpectedly looked as though she had suffered a severe bout of indigestion, groaned, and blessed herself. ‘That man … ’ Some bitterness rose and twisted her mouth into disapproval, ‘He’s no priest, to my mind.’

‘There,’ said stern Winifred, to Anne. ‘I told you.’

Magdalene was mystified, ‘Told her what?’

Anne sighed, acknowledging that Winifred was right. ‘That there’d be others.’ She looked at Winifred, at Doudou, and then back to Magdalene. ‘What have you heard?’

‘What have I seen, do you mean?’

Anne was growing impatient, ‘Magdalene, what do you know?’

‘He is … Oh, my Sweet Lord, I worry for my girls.’

Winifred, speaking in Latin, tried to be gentle, ‘Magdalene, we want to protect them from the lupus in vestimentis ovium.’

Anne looked askance at Winifred at this analogy, but Magdalene concurred. ‘The wolf certainly is amongst the lambs. I can’t be sure exactly what’s going on, I told her to stay away from him, I warned her, but you know what girls are like. She goes her own way, Anne, I heard her leaving the dorter in the night. More than once. And, I saw her with him, just talking, you know, but in that way that women have when they’ve known a man closer than they ought. Especially when that man is a priest.’

Winifred could not help echoing and looked at Anne directly, ‘Especially.’

‘Why do you ask?’ Magdalene looked worried.

Anne hung her head, ‘Because I discovered, to my discomfort, he’s not trustworthy.’

‘Not you, Anne. Surely not! Never go near him! Give me your word.’

‘Oh, you have my word, but we have to do more than that …’

‘We think he must be prevented from entering the priory.’ Winifred stood beside Anne, defending her.

Magdalene thought the answer simple, ‘Tell the Mother, then.’

Anne shook her head, ‘I don’t think I can.’

Magdalene was surprised, ‘Surely, she’d listen to you, Anne?’

‘I don’t know,’ Anne felt too aware of her youth and ignorance. ‘It’s my word against a priest of Saint Benedict. I may ask you the same. Why have you not told her?’

‘Oh, Anne, to protect the child, of course. She could easily be dismissed.’

‘Well then, you understand our position.’

Winifred concurred, saying, ‘We think we need evidence.’

Anne was more impatient to move. ‘Who’s the girl? Can you tell us that?’

Magdalene sighed and reluctantly spoke, ‘Clementia.’

Winifred realised which servant she was and nodded, ‘Yes, she’s very pretty.’

Anne frowned, ‘Do you think she’d talk to us?’

‘I can’t imagine,’ said Magdalene. ‘We could try, I s’pose, but supposing she defends him and denies everything, we’re no better than if we did press her into shameful admissions.’

‘Worse,’ thought Anne.

‘And it’s possible I’m mistaken, and she gets up to use the privy,’ added Magdalene. ‘Perhaps she has some troublesome condition we’d be better talking to Sister Matildé about.’

Anne and Winifred conceded this was possible – unlikely but ... They looked at each other before Anne asked, ‘How often do you think she goes out?’

Winifred asked almost at the same time, ‘Do you think we can follow her?’

Magdalene rubbed her hands over her face. ‘Oh, Blessed Virgin, I am unhappy with this skulduggery. But, I am most unhappy with the fate of that young girl. For she is but young.’

Anne and Winifred looked at each other as the older lay nun worried and twisted her hands together. ‘When, if, I hear her rise in the night again, I’ll come to the church and find you.’

Anne asked, ‘Do you have any idea what time it might be?’

‘It would have to be after the prayers there, maybe Night or Lauds, I guess, when he could venture out unnoticed to some secluded spot in the convent, mayhap even the very stable I am to clean now. Oh, what a sorry state of affairs.’

The entire community of the priory did not need to attend the Vigils, called Night Office, nor the Morning prayers at Dawn called Lauds, in the church. If they rose and prayed in their cells at their own prie-dieu it was a voluntary system so that those who were needed for work could rest and have attention and strength enough during the day. The senior religious nuns kept Vigils, of course, but the postulants were not necessarily expected. Sometimes the priests took the service but mostly it was the Mother, Sister Gertrude or Sister Beatrix who led the prayers. To Anne’s knowledge, Father Cornelis had only occasionally been present.

The three left the sheep bleating to each other and made their way back to the buildings.

As they parted ways, so the servant could return to her work in the wintering stables, Anne said, ‘Thank you, Magdalene.’

‘Be careful, young ladies. He’s an older man, a dangerous man, and we must suppose, has much to lose. Tread warily.’

Winifred nodded, ‘We’ll take care.’

Anne turned to Magdalene and hugged her. ‘You take care, too, my friend.’

Later that day, in the afternoon rehearsals, Winifred found time to whisper, ‘Anne, have you looked at Sister Geneviève?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just watch her and tell me what you think.’

Then Winifred was called away to fix the top of the maypole, which had become knotted after the angels had danced the wrong ways with their heavenly yellow ribbons, and Anne was required to practice being beheaded, and she forgot all about Sister Geneviève who was tenderly playing her lute.