A Dark Night Hidden Read Online Free PDF Page A

use of her at all.
    Sitting there in her chilly corner, a thought occurred to her. Slowly she uncrossed her fingers, muttering aloud a swift apology to God. Then she got up, carefully covered her work and made her way to the Abbey church. Some time spent on her knees was, she knew, a far more suitable way of asking for what she wanted than any amount of finger-crossing.
    In another part of the Abbey, Abbess Helewise presented to her visitor an outward demeanour as serene as that of Sister Phillipa working at her lettering. However, in Helewise’s case a smiling face and calmly folded hands hid an irritation that was swiftly escalating into anger.
    She had been on her knees in the small room reserved for her own use, from which she conducted much of the day-to-day business of the Abbey, deep in thought and about to enter into a fervent prayer. The object of her thoughts had been an earlier visitor, one who was always welcome and whom Helewise wished would spare more time from her busy life to rest in Hawkenlye’s peace . . .
    Queen Eleanor was and always had been deeply involved with Hawkenlye Abbey. Its foundation had occurred at a time when Eleanor, newly married to Henry, had the power to exercise an influence over the determining of its nature. She had urged that it be based on the model of her beloved Fontevraud, the great abbey in the Loire region where nuns and monks served in the same community under the rule of an abbess. Eleanor had watched Hawkenlye grow, had engaged French stonemasons and a French architect to build it and, it was rumoured, had presented to the Abbey the jewel of its treasury: an English-made carving in walrus ivory of the dead Christ supported by Joseph of Arimathea. Her involvement did not cease once the Abbey was functioning. At the very least, she tried to be present each time a new abbess was elected, and she did her best to spend a night or two, or just a few hours, at Hawkenlye whenever practical.
    She was particularly close to Abbess Helewise. It was not uncommon for the Queen to talk to the Abbess of matters close to her heart, and so Helewise had been delighted but not surprised when Eleanor had arrived, several weeks into the New Year, and unburdened herself of her fears for her captive son in the privacy of Helewise’s little room.
    Helewise had already heard a rumour of King Richard’s fate. Hawkenlye was close to the road that ran from London to the coast and travellers calling in at the Abbey frequently brought news from the capital. But she would never have come to hear a detailed account of the business had it not been for the Queen.
    Eleanor was on her way back to Westminster from Robertsbridge. Exhausted, the strain evident in her face, for once the Queen had looked her seventy years; Helewise had instantly ordered food and drink and, as the Queen took refreshment, had sat at her feet and listened to her speaking.
    ‘I knew, Helewise, that something was amiss,’ Eleanor sighed. ‘There should have been news, you see – we knew he had set sail from Acre back in October, and there were reports that the Franche-Nef had put in at Cyprus and Corfu. The ship was sighted near Brindisi and we understood he was making for Marseilles. It seemed only a matter of weeks before he would be back – indeed, all of Normandy was making ready to welcome him home! But then, nothing.’ She reached for her goblet of wine and drank deeply. Then: ‘I feared for his realm.’ There was no need for her to elaborate: Helewise knew full well what she meant. ‘I ordered that the borders of Normandy be strengthened; one cannot be too careful.’
    ‘No, my lady,’ Helewise murmured.
    ‘Then I received the letter.’ Eleanor’s voice was dull, almost expressionless. ‘My good Walter of Coutances’s man had fulfilled his mission – exceeded it, one might say – and managed to obtain a copy of Emperor Henry’s letter to that vile cur, Philip of France. On 21st December, the letter said, the