The Crown A Novel

17


Sister Joan Vane saw me first. She eased out of her stall and rushed down the center aisle.

“Why are you in here?” she asked, her voice sharp. “You should be in the locutorium. And to bring these friars in here?” She frowned at the sight of Brother Richard and Brother Edmund.

I was too full of shock at the sight of the prioress to answer her. I couldn’t take it in. I had been thinking of what I would say to Prioress Elizabeth, imagined her words to me, heard her soft, cultured voice.

Sister Joan grabbed my arm and propelled me toward the friars, who were waiting at the back of the chapel. It did not surprise me that Sister Joan had taken charge. She was always a diligent circator, ensuring that rules were followed.

Brother Richard asked her: “Is that your prioress?”

“Yes,” said Sister Joan. “God has taken her to Him.”

The friars crossed themselves. I did the same, my right hand shaking.

“When?” asked Brother Edmund.

“This morning,” she said. “I knew of your arrival, but I did not think you’d come so soon after the messenger from London. I have not had an opportunity to tell the sisters anything. I wanted to give them time with Prioress Elizabeth before she is taken for burial.”

At the mention of burial, a low moan escaped from my lips. Tears bubbled up and coursed down my cheeks. Sister Joan ignored me.

“It is good that I am here,” announced Brother Richard, “for there is much to do. I am familiar with the procedure for selection of a new prioress. Letters must be written and sent at once.”

Sister Joan raised her pointed chin. She was already a tall woman—suddenly, she seemed even taller. “There is no need for that.”

“No need?” he repeated.

“I am the next Prioress of Dartford,” she said proudly.

Brother Richard stared at her as if she were mad. “On whose authority?” he finally asked.

There was a stir behind us. A trio of nuns stood a few feet away, staring. It was my fellow novices, Sister Winifred and Sister Christina, and between them the stout novice mistress, Sister Agatha. Other nuns clustered behind, straining to see us.

“Edmund, is that you?” quavered Sister Winifred, blinking with confusion.

Brother Edmund took a step toward her, his face lit up with a gentle smile. How much they resembled each other. “Yes, dear sister,” he said.

Sister Winifred’s eyes flitted uncertainly from his face to mine. “And Sister Joanna?” she gasped. “We were told you were in the Tower.”

“Enough!” said Sister Joan. “We will speak outside of the church. Sister Agatha, come with us.” She raised her voice so she could be heard by all the nuns. “Please, Sisters, the rest of you remain here. You have your turns assigned to you, for the nightly vigil of watching over our leader. At dawn, she will be cleaned and wound in her sheet.”

A fresh burst of sobs erupted.

Her voice rising louder, Sister Joan cried, “I will return shortly. For now, you must respect our beloved prioress, even if others do not.” She glared at me.

I saw Sister Winifred turn to her fellow novice, upset and overwhelmed. Sister Christina hugged her; over the smaller woman’s shoulders, she shot me a furious, suspicious look.

I followed Sister Joan and Sister Agatha out of the chapel, the friars coming last. I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

In a moment we were all inside the chapter house, next to the church. Sister Agatha nervously lit candles.

Brother Richard spoke first. “I need to know on whose authority you have assumed the position of prioress,” he said briskly. “Was it the Bishop of Rochester?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What is your name?” she asked.

“I am Brother Richard.”

“Then, Brother Richard, I must tell you first that I am not answerable to you in any way,” she said smoothly. “But neither do I wish to conceal anything, for all has been done properly. The members of the priory elected me this day, following a recommendation. And no, it was not from the Bishop of Rochester, though arguably we do fall under his jurisdiction. As you must be aware, I did not approach your patron, either—the Bishop of Winchester. My authority comes direct from the second man in the land, from the Lord Privy Seal and Vice Regent of Spiritual Affairs, Thomas Cromwell.”

Brother Richard shrank from her, as if she had conjured up Satan. His voice hoarse, he stammered, “But . . . but . . . Cromwell is the man who seeks to destroy the monasteries.”

A flush spread over Prioress Joan’s face. “While monasteries stand in this land—and, Brother, we all pray that the dissolution will proceed no further—Cromwell is the authority we report to. That is according to the Oath of Supremacy.”

“How did he even become aware that a new prioress would be needed here?” Brother Richard demanded.

“My predecessor, Prioress Elizabeth, took ill this summer. By September it was clear she would not recover. I wrote to Cromwell personally and made him aware of the situation and of my qualifications for the position. His approval was sent by letter last week. You may examine it if you wish.”

Brother Richard and Brother Edmund exchanged a look of dismay. I knew little of the procedures involved in selecting a new prioress while one lay dying, and whether she had flouted any rules. But I suspected their alarm had more to do with the direct involvement of Cromwell.

“Now, on to the business at hand,” she said briskly. “Bishop Gardiner has arranged for the two of you to be transferred from the Cambridge friary to Dartford. I have no objection. Brother Richard, I will see that all of the account books are passed to you tomorrow.” She glanced at the fair-haired friar. “You must be Brother Edmund.”

He bowed his head.

“The priory’s infirmary in the hamlet of Stanham has been lacking for many years, and the one here, within our walls, is inadequate as well. If you possess half the skills that Bishop Gardiner claims, then it will be worth the cost of feeding and sheltering you.”

Brother Richard grimaced. It was not the most gracious way to welcome new members to a religious house. But Brother Edmund himself showed no emotion.

“Yes, Prioress,” he said.

Brother Richard said, “I have a trunk that needs to be brought to the friars’ quarters and a horse that requires stabling. Our party came by wagon; those horses need to be fed and watered before the return journey, and the driver given sup as well.”

Prioress Joan shrugged. “Those are matters for the porter to arrange.”

“Your porter proved himself inept when we arrived.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, he was indulged by Prioress Elizabeth for years and is now next to useless. One of my first actions after her burial will be to pension him off and get a younger man.”

I felt chilled by the prioress’s judgment, but I detected a glint of grudging respect in Brother Richard’s eyes.

“As for you, Joanna Stafford.”

My insides churned.

“I am ordered by Bishop Gardiner to accept you back into the priory. He said the investigation against you has been dropped and you are not guilty of any crime.”

She paused for a moment.

“But in my eyes, you are guilty of a great deal. You broke your vows of obedience and honesty and violated the sacred rule of enclosure. You brought censure and suspicion upon us—that a novice of Dartford would behave such—at a critical time for all English nuns. Bishop Gardiner says that you are not to be questioned about your confinement in the Tower, that it is to be put into the past. But I tell you, I shall never put my trust and faith in you. As you stand before me today, I question whether you should be allowed to profess your full vows and become a bride of Christ.”

I stared at the floor. My whole body ached, as if I were a dog that had been kicked and whipped.

“Sister Agatha, take her to be changed into a habit before she is permitted inside the novice dormitory.”

“Yes, Prioress,” said Sister Agatha meekly.

My face burning, I followed Sister Agatha out into the passageway. I longed to break away from her, to run from Dartford Priory. I couldn’t face the novices or nuns; it was impossible to remain here, so loathed. Begging my bread on the open road would be preferable.

We reached the closet room, and she found me a novice’s habit. I put it on, felt the rough cloth on my arms and legs again. It had been so long; now, finally, I wore the white habit and brown belt of a Dominican novice.

But I felt so unworthy. I covered my face with my hands.

Sister Agatha patted my arm, awkwardly. “It must have been a shock to you, the death of Prioress Elizabeth. You were close to her, weren’t you?”

I nodded, grateful for sympathetic words.

“I am glad you have returned to us well and safe,” she said.

My throat tightened. “I fear that Prioress Joan is not glad.”

“Our prioress is a determined woman, but she comes into her new responsibilities at a difficult time,” Sister Agatha said. “She is beset by challenges. And she does not even have the letter of Prioress Elizabeth to guide her.”

“Letter?” I gasped.

“Yes, it is a sacred tradition at Dartford Priory that each prioress write a letter of instruction and pass it on to her successor, for her eyes alone. Prioress Elizabeth wrote a letter. I saw her composing it myself. But this morning, when it was first discovered that our holy leader had passed into God’s hands, the letter was nowhere to be found. Prioress Joan ordered the room searched repeatedly. But the letter was gone.”