The Crown A Novel

36


I looked down at the hands folded in my lap. I’d learned a few things about concealing emotions since my face had given away too much in the Tower. I fought my exhaustion and struggled to keep my breath regular and my face calm.

“You don’t deny that Bishop Gardiner dispatched you here?” asked Legh.

“Of course not,” said Brother Richard matter-of-factly. “There were vacancies here at Dartford that could be filled by only a Dominican friar; we were most fortunate to be chosen by the Bishop of Winchester for the positions and to come under his protection.” His voice carried the silken promise of a threat.

Legh and Layton exchanged a glance. They were the men of Cromwell, the enemy of Gardiner. I felt as if I were on a chessboard, two sets of opposing pawns sent forward by their ruthless kings.

“The bishop said you would be president and steward of the priory, and Brother Edmund here would supervise the infirmaries?” Legh asked.

“Correct.”

“And what else did he tell you about Dartford? Remember that if you lie to us, the penalties are very grave.”

Brother Edmund leaned forward to answer: “He charged us to be a credit to the Dominican Order.”

Layton’s eyes flashed in anger and he opened his mouth to say something, but there was a sharp rapping at the door.

The ferret-faced man peered in and said, “The prioress is giving us some difficulty, sir.”

“What sort?” snapped Legh.

“She demands to know what we are looking for her in her chamber, why we are removing the carpet and damaging the walls.”

Again, I focused on my lap.

Layton said, “I can never accustom myself to the arrogance of these people. Tell her to stop interfering with the king’s business. We will speak to her again shortly.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

“And has any progress yet been made in that room?” Layton asked.

“No, sir.” The man left.

“She probably wonders what we are looking for,” said Layton. He turned to us, with a chilling smile. “What do you think we could possibly seek in the prioress’s chamber? Any ideas?”

Silence filled the room.

Legh said, “You’ve have never been told of a relic or other object of sacred value that was placed in Dartford Priory by its founder, Edward the Third?”

I felt as if I would vomit from fear. Cromwell’s men knew of the existence of the Athelstan crown, just as Gardiner had feared. Perhaps they had recently confirmed it was hidden at Dartford. Or they had only a vague suspicion, and the murder of Lord Chester had given them the perfect excuse to force their way in and search.

It was Brother Richard who answered. “Bishop Gardiner never spoke of such a thing to me, no.”

Both Brother Edmund and I shook our heads.

Layton tapped his fellow commissioner’s arm. “We’ll not get anything from them.”

Legh glared at us. “It would appear Gardiner chose his people well. There’s just that one remaining matter, then.” He glanced at Layton, who nodded, as if giving permission.

With a slow smile, Legh said, “I would like to explore in more depth the history of Sister Joanna, the novice who spent an interesting interlude in the Tower.”

I looked up, into the face of Legh, who stood directly over me.

“Yes, sir?” I said as calmly as I could.

“Do you know I met Lady Margaret Bulmer at the house of her sister, the Countess of Westmoreland? She was a very beautiful woman.” His face twisted into a leer. “No one could understand why she chose old John Bulmer for a husband. But then a woman’s heart is the greatest mystery of all, eh, Richard?”

Layton shuddered with distaste. “I don’t have the slightest interest in understanding a woman’s heart.”

Legh focused on me once again. “Women understand each other, though, don’t they? Especially women who are related by birth. You felt a strong bond to your cousin, didn’t you, Sister Joanna?”

I said, “We were close as children, yes.”

“Oh, I’d say that closeness extended beyond childhood. After all, you broke the rule of enclosure to go to London for her burning at Smithfield. I’m told you had a Thomas Becket medal you wished to bury with her. Which would be touching, if we were not speaking of one of the leaders of the rebellion against His Majesty. She was a traitor of the very worst order.”

I managed to stay silent—the efforts to bait me were so obvious, I would not allow myself to be crudely manipulated.

“You were charged with interference with king’s justice, along with your father, and bound over to the Tower. Questioned by the Duke of Norfolk personally, who recommended further interrogation. But that is when it all gets rather . . .” He paused, as if searching for the right word.

“Murky?” offered Layton.

“Yes. That’s the perfect word for it. Murky. You were held for four months, questioned by Bishop Gardiner, and then rapidly released.” He slapped his thigh. “How rare is that? To be released from the Tower? And not only that, to be sent back to Dartford Priory, with these two friars, as if nothing were wrong. The order was cosigned by Gardiner and Norfolk. I saw it with my own eyes in the office of Sir William Kingston.”

I couldn’t stop myself from shuddering at the sound of Kingston’s name.

“Oh, yes, Sister Joanna, we made a stop at the Tower on the way to Dartford.” Legh, who noticed my revulsion, smiled. “That is the reason for our preeminence among the king’s commissioners. Our attention to detail. Now, Sister Joanna, you will tell us why Bishop Gardiner had you released and restored here.”

“Because he found me innocent of crime and worthy of redemption,” I said.

“A supporter of rebels against the king’s majesty?” shouted Layton. “A member of a family grossly tainted by high treason? A novice who violated the rules of her order? And you dare to say you are worthy of redemption. You, Joanna Stafford, are the opposite of worthy.”

Brother Richard called out, “That’s enough! You will not abuse her any further.”

Layton said, “Friar, you have no authority here.”

“And you exceed your authority, sir,” said Brother Richard. “This is not a treason trial of Joanna Stafford, nor a tribunal before a Dominican prelate. If report were made of these proceedings, it would not reflect well on you.”

I was astounded that Brother Richard would go so far to defend me.

Layton tugged on Legh’s furred sleeve, “Ah, but we have the other path to take.” He turned on me. “It is within our charge to investigate the chastity and moral soundness of those professed to Dartford, both nun and novice.”

On this front, I had nothing to worry about at all. Relieved, I said, “Yes, sir?”

He shuffled through his papers, until he caught sight of something that refreshed his memory. “And so, Sister Joanna, I ask you about the man Geoffrey Scovill.”

It was too unexpected. I could not help but flinch.

Layton’s eyes sparkled.

“You will now tell us about the young man who was arrested with you at Smithfield. I understand he was freed almost immediately because he was innocent of any treasonous intent—he merely sought to protect you when the king’s guard repelled you from the flames. But I’d like to know how a novice aroused this protective instinct, how you had even made the acquaintance of a man in London.”

I felt dizzy. Now Brother Edmund and Brother Richard would learn that I’d concealed knowing Geoffrey Scovill before I came to Dartford—and they would wonder why.

“H-he was a member of a large crowd at Smithfield, and he . . . came to my aid,” I stammered. “There is nothing more to know.”

“You had not know him before that day?”

“No,” I said.

“And you have not seen him since?”

I had to protect Geoffrey’s secret.

Mother Mary, forgive me.

“No,” I repeated.

But Layton was not satisfied. He sensed something was amiss. “Brother Richard and Brother Edmund,” he said, “do either of you know one Geoffrey Scovill? I understand he is a parish constable of Rochester. That is not far from here.”

Now it would all be over. Just say it and let’s be done with it, I thought.

But Brother Richard said in a clear, calm voice, “No, sir.”

And Brother Edmund shook his head.

Legh made a disgusted noise. “We’ve wasted enough time. We must pursue the other course of action. That shall satisfy.”

And with that Layton and Legh swept out of the locutorium and left us sitting on our long, hard bench.

I could feel Brother Richard’s furious glare before I’d even turned to look at him.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” he said between gritted teeth. “That falsehood could destroy you—and the two of us with you.”

“Why did you lie?” I asked. But he stormed out of the room without answering.

I turned to Brother Edmund. “Let me explain this to you,” I pleaded.

Brother Edmund was on his feet, too, backing away from me. His eyes were clouded with pain and confusion.

“I do not judge you,” he muttered. “We are all of us frail and subject to sin.”

Desperate, I grabbed his arm. “Listen, Brother, I beg you.”

He pulled away. “I must go to Sister Winifred—she needs me.” He followed Brother Richard out the door.

I was alone.

Richard Layton and Thomas Legh left Dartford Priory with all of their men at sundown. I expected an announcement at Vespers, or a special meeting to be called in the chapter house. We’d be closed soon; I had no doubt of it. The tearing apart of the prioress’s chamber was just the first step.

Knowing full well I’d not be welcome there, I decided to go to the infirmary anyway, before the last prayers. I could hear Sister Winifred’s soft, musical voice as soon as I walked in. The cough and the fever were both receding. She sat up, talking to Brother Edmund, who was grinding herbs in a set of bowls.

“Sister Joanna!” she sang out in welcome. “I haven’t seen you since morning. Do you know I shall be able to return to the dormitory soon?”

Brother Edmund did not turn from his bowls.

“Your recovery is God’s work,” I said.

“There is better news than that,” she said. “We are not to be dissolved. Sister Rachel was just here to inform us.”

I was stunned. “Did she say why?”

Brother Edmund said, “Actually, they are postponing a decision until the spring, the original time of the commissioners’ visitation. That is when they’ll be back.”

My heart leaped with relief that Brother Edmund spoke to me, but this development was confusing. Why would they wait?

Sister Winifred said, “What is wrong, Sister? You don’t seem very happy tonight. And neither does my Brother Edmund. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Brother Edmund turned away from me, his shoulders hunched. Tension filled every corner of the infirmary.

I bent down to kiss Sister Winifred’s cheek, now as cool as mine. “I must go to the dormitory to see to Sister Christina,” I said quietly. “God give you a good night.”

I paused, hoping to hear something from Brother Edmund, but there was only silence. I left the room as quickly as possible. I didn’t want Sister Winifred to see me weep.

The next day, after morning Mass, I tucked the letter I’d written to Bishop Gardiner in the sleeve of my cloak and climbed the hill to the cluster of tall trees.

The warm reprieve of yesterday was gone. There was a bright briskness in the air; the ground was hard. Winter was inexorable. And now that the leaves had fallen off all of the trees, the leper hospital looked more exposed than ever. But not so forlorn. Somehow, in the frigid, sunny morning, those same crumbling walls assumed a certain dignity.

I removed the panel and slipped in my letter. It was the most important one yet. Bishop Gardiner must know of the commissioners’ pointed questions hinting at knowledge of the crown, their fruitless dismantling of the prioress’s office, and their promised return come spring.

I was almost to the archway when I heard a snap behind me, like a foot on a dry twig. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow leap back.

Someone else was in the ruins.

I did not start; I did not betray that I’d seen or heard anything. I climbed back to the fringe of trees atop the hill. I was certain that hiding in the ruins was the person Gardiner had arranged to pick up my letters and send them to France.

And today I would discover who that was.

I found a place to wait, just behind the tallest, thickest tree. I could still see the leper hospital, but in my black cloak I’d be hidden from view.

As I waited, it occurred to me that the timing of this was disturbing. How would the stranger who took my letters know that today I’d have a fresh one, not on the appointed day—every fortnight—but an irregular one prompted by yesterday’s visit by the commissioners? Unless it was someone familiar with the doings of Dartford. This couldn’t be a villager, paid for his troubles.

I saw the shadow again in the leper hospital—it was moving. Nervous, I gripped the rough trunk.

Through the gaping window I glimpsed the flash of a dark cloak over a long, white robe. This was a nun, or a friar.

My mind spun. Brother Richard. It had to be him. He was so close to Bishop Gardiner; of course he’d been told why I’d been sent back to Dartford. I’d felt him gnawing at the edges of my mission since I came here.

But then the person who conveyed my messages to Gardiner appeared in the doorway of the leper hospital.

And standing there, with my sealed letter in his hand, was Brother Edmund.