Chapter Twenty-Six - Unfurling

Late that night Magdalene came out of the shadows as the two postulants walked from the church after Morning prayers. They had intended to walk around the cloisters but welcomed her softly. She waved at them and indicated they should follow her. Walking on the grass verges to avoid crunching on the gravel, they went past the stables and into the pressing shed. She looked at them sternly and admonished them with hand gestures to keep with her and stay quiet. They obeyed and stood near the walls behind the press and store of tools there, next to the rear of the stables, where a man’s rumbling voice and the girl’s more timid responses could be heard. There were murmurings and noises that made Anne feel extremely uncomfortable. Once they had established they could not see through the wall, they backed away and walked back to the cloisters. Although she was sure she could recognise his voice, Anne asked Magdalene if she’d seen the priest. Magdalene replied in the affirmative and added, ‘God smite him.’

‘We need to have a senior woman discover them,’ said Anne. ‘Marie Therese would make the most noise.’

Winifred wondered, ‘Would she go where we want her to go?’

‘No. And I can’t bring myself to ask her,’ said Anne. ‘I don’t understand his power. How much freedom does he have in the convent?’

Magdalene knew, ‘Someone let him in.’

‘But who?’

‘Not the porter nuns - for I’m one and the other is Adriaene, and she would let no man in at night.’

‘Then it must be through the church. He stays after prayers and the grille is opened for him. He must get the key from Sister Geneviève.’

‘And that, I fear … ’ said Winifred, ‘ … is not all Sister Geneviève surrenders.’

Friends and families of the nuns, together with rich and important nobles of the province, had gathered with anticipation to see the annual play of Sainte Scholastique. Everyone was comfortably (or sadly, uncomfortably in some instances) seated. The Mother had already given her welcoming speech and introduction to the feast day of Saint Cecilia. Anne had noted how the Abbott appeared to expand like dough around his red chair in the middle of the room. Anne was disgusted to see his accompanying monks this time included Father Cornelis. He sat with his back straight, looking down his nose at the people surrounding him as though he thought he was the best person in the room. Anne thought to herself, you should not be here, Mijnheer Wolf.

The public were lulled by the delicate tones of Mijnheer Gustav’s bravura harpsichord, while Sister Geneviève and Sister Beatrix harmonised on flute and lute. One of the orphan boys, whose name Anne knew to be Charles, played lyre. As it was the instrument with which Saint Cecilia was most often depicted in devotional art, Mijnheer Gustav had auditioned all the orphans until he found a likely student. Charles proved adept and after nearly a year of study was able to take up his solo moments with stunning clarity. At other times, Sister Geneviève’s lute gathered him up into dulcet string interweaving of most elegant nature before the four instruments found cadence and the play commenced.

As Winifred suggested, Anne studied Sister Geneviève, and realised she had not just been eating too much porridge. There was a round belly under her lute, enough that the nun even had difficulty balancing her instrument. How had the Mother not noticed? In her favourite audience viewing spot by the red curtain, Anne looked at the Mother, seated and greeting the public with friendly waves. She saw no sign on that plump face of concern as she prepared to enjoy the play. Now Anne had seen the bump of pregnancy, it was as obvious, and as rounded, as the lute itself. The Mother must have noticed. How could she not?

Sister Catherine, as the narrator, introduced Cecilia, Saint of Music, and Sister Thecla, simply dressed in white, came to the centre of the playing area. Behind her, unfurled and wonderful, hung Winifred’s painting of the heavens. Trying to look calm and devout, Sister Thecla held one of Winifred’s lilies and a small lyre. She stood quietly with her head bowed. She avoided looking at the audience.

Sisters Colette and Matildé, playing Cecilia’s Roman noble family, came to stand on either side of Anne and ceremoniously lifted a fine golden cloth, once an altar cloth, over her head like a golden veil.

Anne came to stand beside Cecilia. She played Valerian, dressed in men’s clothes with the style of a Roman toga. Together, with straight backs, they stood in front of Sister Blandine, dressed as a priest. Anne looked offstage and smiled to see Winifred, standing with props and silver trays ready to reflect the candlelight. She nodded encouragingly, her scarred face bare and agonised.

Sister Blandine, as the priest, said some words of marriage. His words were taken up by the nuns’ chorus whose voices rose in heavenly harmony so that all those seated in the public part of the parlour were moved to tears. Except the Abbot and Father Cornelis who both looked hungry. ‘Glory to God in the highest Glory, Hallelujah to the Lord, Amen, Amen, Amen, Glory to God in the highest.’

The happy couple remained where they were. Sister Catherine, as the Narrator, said, ‘Cecilia and Valerian, after the marriage ceremonies and celebrations were over, retired to their chamber.’

They stood facing each other. Valerian (Anne) took a step forward, holding out his arms to his gorgeous new wife.

Cecilia (Sister Thecla) held up her hand in prohibition. She said, ‘Husband. I have taken a vow of chastity.’ She took Anne’s hand and the two looked into each other’s eyes. Anne knew that Maynard and his family were watching. She wondered if Sister Thecla knew too.

Cecilia, smiling, continued, ‘I have a secret to tell you.’

Anne, filled with cold anger and righteous indignation toward Father Cornelis, could not help herself and, as she stared into her sister’s eyes, strayed away from the scripted lines to say, ‘There are too many secrets in this place.’

If Sister Thecla was shocked by Anne’s abandonment of the script, she made a show of continuing as if there were nothing untoward. ‘You cannot tell another soul.’

‘Some secrets must be uncovered.’ Anne looked meaningfully at the Mother. The Mother gazed at her, mystified.

Sister Thecla looked terrified and looked at Anne with horror in her eyes. Anne understood she was praying that she would return to the script and when Sister Thecla added, pleading in a whisper, ‘Please, Valerian!’ Anne nodded so that Sister Thecla felt brave enough to continue loudly once more, ‘Do you promise?’

Valerian (Anne) realising how much she had frightened her sister, replied as the script dictated, ‘I promise.’

Cecilia said, ‘I have an avenging angel here who loves me and protects my honour.’

Valerian said, ‘Where? Show me the angel.’

Cecilia said, ‘You have to be baptised before you can see.’

Anne risked a long-suffering look at the audience and won a small chuckle with her raised eyebrow. They sympathised with her. Valerian had to endure the wedding ceremony. Now he had to get baptised as well?

Cecilia and Valerian bowed together and exited to opposite sides and the play proceeded to the bitter Roman execution of both. Even the beheading went smoothly.

Sister Thecla smiled in her agony, a red silk scarf wound around her neck to signify the bleeding gaping wound and blessed a procession of well-wishers from the orphan community. They helped her wrap her head and lie face down with her hands at her front in classic depiction of her death.

Sister Catherine said, ‘And then, finally, at the end of three days suffering she slept in our Lord.’

Everyone said, ‘Amen.’

The nuns’ chorus sang, ‘“Let all mortal flesh keep silent, and stand with fear and trembling, and in itself consider nothing earthly; for the King of kings and Lord of lords cometh forth to be sacrificed, and given as food to the believers; Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.”’

Anne thought the responsibility of praising the Saint of music was a heavy weight upon Mijnheer Gustav who brought his orchestra to a close with sombre and heartfelt beauty.

The whole Lauryn family had come to the priory; Pierre, Sara and Lucy, Jan and even Maynard after receiving the Mother’s pardon. Sister Thecla disappeared but Anne went immediately to greet them. Little Lucy was particularly pleased to see Anne. She didn’t understand the grille at first, but when she saw that other families had pulled up chairs and sat talking with their daughters and aunts, she was happy to sit on her mother’s lap and chat to Anne.

Sara remarked that Valerian’s short life was sad. She said, ‘Even though he believed in Cecilia and obeyed her every command, he had no choice, did he? If he did not believe, the angel would kill him. If he did believe, the Romans would.’

Anne, conscious of Maynard’s own struggles with the angel protecting Jeanette’s virtue, told Sara she was happy never to have to be Valerian again. Changing the subject, she was proud to tell them about her friend Winifred, and how she felt happier about her decision to join the convent.

Sara and Jan said they’d come to see her become a novice at the feast of the Immaculate Conception in two weeks. Each said farewell quietly, finishing with Maynard who reached out his hand to the grille. ‘You played well, little urchin.’ He looked at her seriously and, without words, looked, rather than said, should he ask a question? Anne looked him in the eye and shook her head. No matter what his question was, if it was about Sister Thecla, it should not be asked. As she watched Maynard leave the parlour to join his family, she noticed Father Cornelis by the door. He had seen everything. She suddenly smiled at him. She was safe behind the grille.

When she went out to help the players cleaning and sorting, Winifred looked up from stacking fabric flames and greeted her with, ‘Tread carefully, Anne.’

And then Sister Catherine and Sister Thecla stood before her. Anne could see they were both angry and Sister Thecla looked scared too. Sister Catherine asked Anne what she meant by changing the script? What secrets? Anne looked at the tense faces around her and said, ‘Come with me.’

Sister Catherine said, ‘Now? But we have things to do!’

Sister Thecla asked, ‘What’s this about, Anne?’

But Anne just shook her head and led the procession, including Winifred, to the wintering stables. Magdalene saw them and joined the meeting. They moved away from the buildings, back down to the sheep field.

Anne looked around at her expectant audience and said, ‘Father Cornelis.’

Sister Thecla flushed red.

Sister Catherine looked confused and said, ‘What about him?’

Magdalene shook her head and muttered, ‘That man … ’

Winifred said, ‘Tell them, Anne.’

So, Anne did. She explained how dreadful she’d felt after the priest had propositioned her and how she’d told Winifred.

Magdalene took up the tale, explaining how Clementia was in the priest’s thrall.

Anne explained how they’d realised Sister Geneviève must have been opening the grille for him at night at the same time they saw that she was pregnant.

Sister Catherine gasped at that.

Sister Thecla stood with her head bent and admitted, in a whisper, that the same thing happened to her. Not the pregnancy, but he had touched her, and spoken to her with words of lust.

Anne asked her why she didn’t speak out?

Sister Thecla said she was ashamed and told no one.

Winifred asked Anne what she thought should happen next.

Anne looked at Sister Catherine who said, ‘You must tell the Mother. I will bring Geneviève.’

‘To the Chapter House?’ Anne asked.

‘Yes,’ said Sister Catherine and she departed the little group standing in the afternoon sun.

Anne said to Magdalene, ‘Will you please interrupt the Mother and bring her?’

And so, the Mother, half leaning on her walking stick and half on Magdalene, arrived in the Chapter House to find Anne and Winifred standing by the door.

The Mother looked at Anne and said, ‘This had best be important, Anne. I have a Viscount with a heavy purse waiting to make sure his soul is saved by our prayers.’

Anne waved her inside and gestured to Sister Geneviève, who held by Sister Catherine, stood in profile, lit by a beam of afternoon sun, and backed by the image of Miriam looking after the baby Moses.

The Mother gasped. Anne felt reassured she wasn’t acting and couldn’t have known that the poor young nun was pregnant. The Mother went at once to sit down, crossed herself and took a moment to pray. Then she looked up at the circle of young women around her. ‘Tell me.’

So, Anne did.

After she had finished, the Mother turned to Geneviève, ‘Why would you keep unlocking the grille?’

Sister Geneviève could no longer stop the brimming tears from running down her cheeks. Sister Catherine led her to one of the benches nearby. She sat tall and straight and wept. Her hands embraced her belly. ‘Forgive me, Mother.’

‘Of course, I forgive you, you’re not the one at fault, Sister. And God will forgive you too. You’ll confess everything, and all shall be well.’ Watching the tears still falling, the Mother added, ‘Can it be you still have hopes of him?’

Sister Geneviève cried out then and admitted that she still hoped he would embrace her. She said, ‘And he does, nearly every day.’

‘But, child, you must know he does not come here solely to see you?’

Sister Geneviève could only weep.

The Mother said, ‘Do you have the key to the grille here?’

Sister Geneviève pulled it from her pocket and gave it to Sister Catherine.

The Mother nodded and said, ‘Do not worry, Sister Geneviève, you’re safe here. You and the babe will stay. You will find Our Lord Jesus Christ’s love again and know he is the only man you ever need in your life.’ She turned to the others in the group. ‘Her heart must be breaking, poor child. With whom else does he dally?’

Magdalene stood and pulled a young girl, about twelve years of age, to her feet. She had sweeping brown hair, a wide sullen mouth, and dark blue eyes. She was indeed a pretty girl but right now she was obviously threatened and looked angry rather than hurt.

The Mother, with one hand on her walking stick, held her other hand out to Clementia, saying, ‘Come near, child. We will not hurt you. We cannot think you’ve done anything wrong.’

At that Anne saw Clementia’s resolve to deny, for that had been apparent, disappear and the tears came to her eyes also. ‘I know not what to do, Mother.’

She approached the Mother and fell to her knees in front of her. The Mother put her hand tenderly on the weeping girl’s head. ‘Of course, you do not. You are but a child. This priest is a mature man. He has no business in the priory at all, much less toying with you. You will confess all when you can, and God will be sure to forgive you. You have my word that we at the Priory will look after you no matter what happens.’ The Mother reached down and raised Clementia’s face to look directly at her. ‘Do you understand me, daughter?’

Anne thought Clementia did not look as if she understood anything, but Magdalene came and helped her stand. She drew her close, and hugged the confused girl, looking over the swirl of loose hair to ask the Mother, ‘What will happen to the priest?’

Winifred muttered to Anne, ‘The wolf.’

Anne nodded at her. Exactly.

The Mother said, ‘I expect he’ll endure a long, long, pilgrimage to Rome. And then perhaps to Jerusalem. On foot. To find Father Vincent and confess his sins. Trust me, children. He’ll not come here again. Now, go about your business for Vespers will be soon.’

The small group got to their feet and made their way to the entry. The Mother was still seated when she called Anne back. ‘You’ve always been direct in your dealings with me. Why did you not tell me what happened with Father Cornelis?’

Anne looked at the powerful and wealthy woman in front of her. ‘It was … difficult.’

The Mother nodded. ‘I imagine you felt ashamed?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘It’s a trying time, Anne. You’re about to join a community of enclosed nuns for the rest of your life. I hope you never have to encounter such a man again. But, if in the next two years you do make changes in your life, well, things could be different. You do understand that, don’t you, daughter?’

‘I’m not sure, Mother.’ She stared at the Prioress. What could she mean? What did the Mother want her to do?

‘Anne. I am trying to say to you that not all men are predators. Some men are closer to angels. I know because … ,’ Here the Mother appeared to search for something in the walls around her. ‘You may not believe this but … ’ She made a deep inhalation and said, ‘ … before I made my final profession I was engaged to be married.’

Anne had never heard this story. She could see it cost the Prioress to speak of her past. She waited but the Mother seemed to marshal her thoughts. Anne grew impatient to hear more and broke the silence. ‘What happened, Mother?’

‘He died in the war.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘God called me, daughter, and my way was clear.’ The Mother shook herself and smiled at Anne. ‘I hope your way remains so.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’

‘And there are the bells for Vespers. Will you lend me your shoulder?’

The Mother stood up, relying on her stick, and on the strength of Anne who held her hand and took her weight, as she groaned and heaved herself up. The Mother was more than a match for Father Cornelis. Anne had absolute faith the priory would never see that man after that day. And they never did.

And what of his replacement? Who would that be?