The Salbine Sisters (36 page)

“Will I have to nick things?”

“No. But you will have to put in a hard day’s work.”

“When do I have to go?” Emmey’s voice quavered, defying her brave face.

“Wednesday. So we still have some time together.”

“And then you’ll visit me, right?”

She couldn’t say it. For the first time she wondered if it would have been better if she hadn’t been thrown into Emmey’s cell. Lillian’s words at the inn in Pinewood came back to haunt her:
“All that talk about leaving with her clothes and releasing you because you’ve fulfilled your promise is her way of rejecting you before you reject her. Because that’s what she’s expecting. Another rejection.”

Emmey’s eyes welled. “You don’t want me no more.”

“No! That’s not it at all.” Her voice was trembling; Maddy took a moment to breathe. “It’s just that . . . you see, I’m a sister. I came here to serve Salbine, and that’s what I have to do. I have to be here. I’d love it if you could be here too, but you can’t. And that makes me very sad. Because I’ll miss you very much.” Salbine preserve her! She thought she’d already cried herself dry.

“Don’t cry, Miss.” Emmey brushed away her own tears. “You saved me.”

“We saved each other.” She pulled the handkerchief from her robe pocket and wiped Emmey’s face, then her own. Tears threatened again when Emmey’s little hand slipped into hers.

Emmey met Maddy’s eyes. “I wish you were my ma.”

Maddy struggled to get her words out. “Children weren’t meant for me, but if they were, I’d be proud to have a daughter as bright and as brave as you.” When Emmey climbed into her lap and hugged her, she didn’t protest and held her tightly. “You know I love you. If I wasn’t a sister . . .” She couldn’t go on.

“When I’m older, I’ll come visit you,” Emmey said.

Maddy doubted that, but still visualized herself an older woman, greeting a younger woman named Emmey at the gates. She pushed the fantasy away. She had to let go. Absolutely. “We’ll both have to be brave on Wednesday. It’s something we’ll do together.” The last thing they’d ever do together, sadly.

Emmey drew back. “I’ll miss Lillian too.”

Maddy tapped Emmey’s nose. “And Lillian will miss you.” She wasn’t fibbing. Lillian’s affection for Emmey didn’t run as deep as Maddy’s, but she made the effort to see her every day. Maddy was certain Lillian’s motives for doing so went beyond pleasing her.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

“Yes.” For Emmey’s sake, she wouldn’t be maudlin. “Let’s make the best of our time together, all right?” Her forced smile probably made her look ghoulish.

“Yes, Miss.” Emmey’s voice lacked conviction.

Maddy swallowed. “It’s almost suppertime. Shall we see if Lillian wants to have supper with us?”

Emmey nodded.

“Down you go, then. I’ll take you to Sister Rose’s and then get Lillian. We’ll bring supper back with us.”

“I want to show Lillian my stitches,” Emmey said, picking up the cloth.

“We’ll have supper here, so you don’t have to bring it with you.”

“Maybe you should take it, in case Lillian says no.”

“She won’t.” Maddy would tell her the abbess’s news, if her face didn’t do it for her. Lillian wouldn’t shrug and turn away.

She’d need Lillian’s shoulder a lot in the coming weeks. Who would Emmey have? The best Maddy could do was pray for her, and she would, every time she knelt. But for once, she agreed with Lillian. She’d rather do something practical. She’d rather be there for Emmey, in body as well as spirit.

*****

Maddy blew her nose and pocketed the handkerchief. They were on their fourth circuit around the Initiates Tower, the torch in Lillian’s left hand illuminating the cobblestones, and the breeze nipping at their ears. Emmey had been fast asleep when Maddy had left her chambers. Rose and Nora were across the hall with Nora’s door open, in case Emmey woke.

She gripped Lillian’s arm. “I don’t know why you haven’t told me to go in. I can’t stop crying.”

“I’ve expected this ever since Pinewood,” Lillian said. “And I knew Sophia would be quick.” She turned to Maddy, her face gentle. “You’ve always known she couldn’t stay. If word got around that we’re taking in orphans, we’d be inundated. Folk would leave babes at the gates. That’s not what we do.”

“I know Emmey can’t stay.” Maddy drew a shaky breath. “But it’s one of those things you don’t let yourself believe until it actually happens. It’s the only way you can bear it.”

Lillian grunted.

“I told her you’ll miss her. Will you?”

“It will seem odd not having her around. I’ve grown used to her. I suppose I will miss her, but not half as much as you will,” Lillian admitted.

Maddy sighed. “I foolishly got too involved.”

“You were in prison with her. And you’re not the sort to hold folk at arm’s length. Even if you were, you would have forged a bond with her under those conditions. Anyone would have.” Lillian’s tone lost its gentleness. “I’d like us to pledge soon. I’ll worry about you, in your chambers on your own.”

“What do you mean?” Maddy said, bristling.

“Emmey’s been there for you, to help you . . . do things. Now you’ll be on your own.”

Maddy opened her mouth to insist that she could manage by herself, then clamped it shut. She wasn’t helpless, but did require aid with a few tasks. Nora had been coming across and lighting the fire in the mornings, a task too dangerous for Emmey. Truth be told, anything involving the fire frightened Maddy. She hadn’t made tea since returning, petrified of burning her remaining hand. Fortunately Lillian had dropped in on them every evening and had lit the fire while there; otherwise her and Emmey’s nights would have been chillier. Maddy gave Lillian a sidelong glance. Was that the reason she’d made a point to come to see them every evening? To light the fire? Maddy had been too embarrassed to ask Nora to do it in the evenings, as well.

It wasn’t just the fire; it was the myriad little things that popped up during the day. One of the shutters had always been temperamental, easy to hook closed but difficult to open. She’d always had to push it against the window while unhooking it, an impossible task now. She’d tried leaning on it, but that had meant grappling with the cord from an awkward angle that hadn’t worked. In the end, Emmey had stood on a chair and done the pushing. The heavy lid on Maddy’s chest was more difficult to open with one hand. She’d always needed two hands to pull open the door to the Community Tower; now she had to hang around outside until someone else came along. She’d written a letter to her parents—probably illegible!—and had made a right mess of folding and sealing the paper. The tax collector who received it would wonder if she’d been drunk.

Emmey always helped when she could, and Maddy didn’t feel embarrassed or humiliated when she did, perhaps because they were dependent on each other. But now Emmey would be gone. Maddy would have to ask others for help with those tasks that absolutely required two hands, and relearn how to do those that didn’t. The prospect frightened her. What if she couldn’t learn how to do things for herself? Would she be like a babe, always dependent on others? “I don’t want to be dependent on you, Lillian.”

“I don’t want you to be dependent on me, either. And you won’t be. But that doesn’t mean you won’t need a little help every once in a while, especially in the coming weeks.”

“I’ll hate every minute of it.”

Lillian nodded. “I would too.”

“But I want to pledge soon. To be with you.” Though when they pledged, guilt would temper her happiness. How could it not, with Emmey on that farm?

They reached the entrance to the Tower once again. “Another round?” Lillian asked.

“One more. I won’t sleep tonight, so there’s no point rushing to bed.”

“I thought perhaps we could all spend the day together tomorrow, since it’ll be Emmey’s last full day here. Perhaps ride the horses out to the river and have a picnic lunch?”

“I’d like that, and I know she would too. Don’t let me get weepy.”

Lillian chuckled. “And just how am I supposed to do that?”

Maddy’s silence was ample answer.

S
ophia breathed a sigh of relief when Lillian stopped on the path ahead of her and surveyed the sky. She’d been trying to catch up to her since leaving the chapel after early morning prayers.

“Looks like we might get a shower or two,” Lillian said when Sophia reached her. “Maddy and I planned to take Emmey for a picnic lunch.”

“The sun’s trying to break through. The showers won’t last long.”

Elizabeth joined them. “You can shelter under the trees.”

Lillian lowered her eyes. “I suppose.”

“You look a bit ragged this morning.” It was the reason Sophia had chased after Lillian. “Everything all right?”

“I was up late with Maddy last night.”

“I see.” She could guess why, and felt awful. But she’d had no choice, despite knowing that parting Maddy and Emmey would deeply hurt both of them. Sometimes she wished she wasn’t the abbess. “It had to be done.”

“She’ll be all right,” Lillian muttered. “She knew it was coming.”

“Even so, I don’t think you can prepare yourself for that sort of loss,” Elizabeth said.

“A strange turn of events, for sure,” Sophia murmured. “Normally a sister wouldn’t have the opportunity to become so attached to someone outside the Order, especially a child.”

“And now she has to deal with losing Emmey on top of everything else,” Lillian said, her face etched with worry.

Sophia patted Lillian’s arm, still marvelling that Lillian cared for Maddy so much. Yet another unexpected turn, though this one pleased her immensely. “We’ll all be here for her.”

Lillian changed the subject. “She’s having trouble with the Community Tower’s main door. I don’t think she can open it on her own, because she always waits for me to do it. I don’t know what she does when I’m not with her.”

“That door’s always been stubborn,” Elizabeth said.

Sophia nodded. “I’ll have one of the men look at it. Anything else?”

“Probably, but don’t expect her to tell me,” Lillian said.

So Maddy’s pride was getting in the way. “Perhaps I’ll have a chat with her next week, ask her if there’s anything—”

“Abbess!” Barnabus strode up to them and bowed. “One of Merrin’s guards has brought word that a noble is on his way to the monastery. Apparently he’s quite angry with us, claims we’re harbouring a criminal.”

“Harbouring a—You don’t think he means the girl, do you?” Sophia asked.

“She’s not a bloody criminal!” Lillian snapped.

Sophia held up her hand. “How did the guard come by this information?”

“A couple of travellers passed the noble’s camp on the way to Merrin, enjoyed the comforts of his fire for a while. Apparently he’s camped a few miles from the southwest gate, or at least he was yesterday. According to the guard, he planned to break camp this morning.”

“Which means he could be here in mere hours. Does he have men with him?”

Barnabus nodded. “About twenty, though that’s based on the travellers’ estimate and could be erroneous. I doubt they did a head count.”

Sophia turned to Lillian. “Do you know anything about this noble?”

“Emmey tried to steal a noble’s purse. If it’s him, he’s the one who threw her into prison. But you can’t give her to him, Sophia. She’s just a child.”

“That may be true, but if he has the appropriate documents, he’s right. We are harbouring a criminal, and he’s legally entitled to her.”

Lillian’s face reddened. “You can’t possibly give her to him!”

“What type of man throws an eight-year-old into prison for trying to steal his purse and then rides after her when she gets out?” Elizabeth said.

“A proud one who won’t go away empty-handed,” Sophia said.

Lillian frowned. “Maddy thought he’d forgotten about her.”

“He probably had, until he heard about the trouble at the prison. Then it suddenly became important for him to personally ensure his little prisoner was dead, or still rotting away in a cell. As I said, he won’t go away empty-handed.” Sophia’s mind raced.

“Do you know the man’s name or from where he hails, Mistress Lillian?” Barnabus asked.

“No. Arthur seemed frightened of him, to the point that he wouldn’t tell Maddy the man’s name. Just said he was very powerful.”

Barnabus grunted. “According to the travellers, this noble is from County Bradford.”

“That’s where the prison is!”

“Yes, Mistress, so it’s not surprising the governor would know of him.”

“And probably told him about Emmey leaving the prison and Maddy’s intention to take her home,” Lillian added. Arthur had always been the weak point in Maddy’s hastily devised escape plan for Emmey. In truth, the success of the plan had always rested on whether anyone would come looking for the “master thief.” Everyone had assumed nobody would.

“I agree,” Barnabus said. “He wouldn’t have held his silence when faced with the man he feared. Once this noble knew Emmey was gone, it would have been a simple matter of determining that she’d left Reedwick in the company of sisters from Merrin. Any guard would have told him.”

“So he followed us to Pinewood and then here,” Lillian said.

“He’s probably been days behind you the entire way.”

Lillian turned to Sophia. “We’ll meet him at the gates and see him off.”

“You won’t, Lillian. I don’t want you and your mouth anywhere near the gates.”

“He has men with him! You need me.”

“You’re not the only mage here. Elizabeth and I can handle twenty men on our own, but I’ll greet him with at least five mistresses. We’ll end any conflict before they’re off their horses, but I don’t want it to come to that, especially since, strictly speaking, we’re in the wrong.”

“She’s eight!”

“I know, and I agree that she never should have been sent to prison. But she was. And strictly speaking, she escaped.”

Lillian glared at her. “Don’t give her to him, Sophia. It doesn’t matter what you think of Emmey, you know it would be wrong.”

“Of course it would be wrong!” she shouted, then exhaled sharply when she felt Elizabeth’s hand on her arm. Two passing sisters stopped to look, then bobbed and quickly moved on. Sophia took a deep breath and reminded herself that Lillian cared about Emmey, whether she’d admit it or not. She softened her voice. “You have to trust me, Lillian. I trusted you and let you go after Maddy. Now it’s your turn to trust me. This is a proud man who may have documents entitling him to Emmey. As I said before, he’s not the sort who’ll go away empty-handed. We’ll have to negotiate, give him something else.”