Page 42 of The Queen’s Witch

“Two of our sisters died, yes. Many left before that, some seduced by the heresy of the new religion; some discovering, as some always do, that the life of a religious demands more than they were willing to give. Bredham Abbey does not tolerate the laxness of which you may have heard in other religious houses.”

I could well believe that. Under her gracious manners, Abbess Cecily Ainley was iron. I could imagine how much fervent prayer, prostrate on her knees, she underwent in bearing a bastard child. In many ways, she reminded me of Queen Katherine: devout, unyielding, but kind.

She said, “Thank you again, Mistress Lond.”

I was dismissed.

I asked Agnes, “Where does Abbess Cecily come from?”

“Seduced ye with her manners, did she, the old whore? Just remember who ye serve!”

“I have no opportunity to forget it. Where does she come from?”

“North.”

Her accent had told me that already. I waited for Agnes’s smirk at my ignorance. “Her sarding graciousness be a daughter of a lord from somewhere in Northumberland, near Morpeth. Better she stayed there, let the Scots have her. But she chose to be a black crow, and her father be not best pleased ’cause he had a marriage arranged for her, so he cut her off and she come to Bredham Abbey. A religious house, and she ends up with a bastard! Hah!”

“Where is the son now?”

“Gone for a king’s soldier. So the whore has naught.”

I was not so convinced. The abbess possessed a sort of sureness, a serenity, that Agnes lacked. As did I. And I had felt Lady Cecily’s protective warmth, a mother’s warmth, toward Elizabeth.

“Now ye be wanting to become a nun! And ye a cunning woman!” That nasty guffaw.

“No, Agnes, I do not want to become a nun. You know what I want.”

“And I be telling ye what I want. Ye and I together will ruin Bredham Abbey, ruin the abbey and its whoring mistress both.”

14

Bredham

Agnes’s plan was simple. She would drive away every remaining nun, leaving Abbess Cecily nothing to preside over. This aim infused her with new energy.

I said, “I will not—”

“Ye will do whatever I tell ye! The pact!”

“—cause anyone grave bodily injury. The pact.”

“Ye be a stubborn scobberlotcher. Get yerself to the abbey and make someone ill. Illness be not grave injury, nor death.”

I hurled a stick of firewood into the hearth so hard that a flame bounced out onto the stone floor. We both watched it die out. Agnes said with horrible sweetness, “Go now, Sarah.”

“I have no reason to go to the abbey.”

“Then invent one.”

I grabbed a handful of feverfew and walked to the abbey. July in Bredham was lush, fields and forest alike bursting with green, heady fragrances wafted on soft air. I barely noticed any of it, and did not care about what I did notice. My task darkened everything.

Seven women at the abbey. Elizabeth Gysbourne and Abbess Cecily, two lay sisters, three full nuns. Having been a scullery maid, I would not sicken either of the lay sisters, whose lives were hard enough already. Nor would I sicken Elizabeth or Cecily. Of the three remaining nuns, two were elderly; one had tottered from chapel on a lay sister’s arm. I did not wish to sicken old women who might die. That left Beatrice, who had treated me with disdain, if not undisguised contempt. I would sicken Beatrice, as I had once sickened Jane Boleyn and Elinor Sedlow. Like them, Beatrice would have a bad time but would recover.

It was not difficult. Beatrice opened the door to my knock and scowled. “None here sent for you. Begone!”

“I have a treatment for Mistress Elizabeth.”

“She needs none of your treatments. She has recovered.”