above the petty niggles of daily routine, but the mood and her patience never lasted beyond a few days of Euphemia's persecution.
'Well, daughter, have you nothing to say?'
Miriel continued to gnaw her lip. The problem was that she had too much to say and all of it stoppered up inside her, churning and fermenting.
Mother Hillary sighed again. 'What am I going to do with you, child? If you cannot fit into our community, then you must leave it. I know that you came to us without vocation, but I had hoped that one would grow.'
Miriel raised her head at the word 'leave', and a spark lit in her brown eyes.
The Abbess was not slow to see it. She pursed her lips and shook her head. 'I have my duty to God and I am not prepared to relinquish you so soon. Your family has entrusted me with your welfare and I must do my best for all concerned.'
Her family had also entrusted Mother Abbess with a considerable amount of silver in payment of her dowry to Christ, Miriel thought cynically. St Catherine's would not be prepared to relinquish that too soon either. Strict and fair Mother Hillary might be, but she was also a woman of shrewd business sense.
'Then take me away from Sister Euphemia,' Miriel said. 'We are each a thorn in the other's side.'
Mother Hillary arched her thin, silvery brows. 'Sister Euphemia has charge of all the novices. It is her duty to ensure that they learn obedience to the rules of our house.'
'Then she appears to be failing,' Miriel retorted with a toss of her head, then compressed her lips as the Abbess's brows remained aloft and the blue eyes grew cold.
'Do you answer me with your quick tongue also?'
Miriel clenched her fists in the coarse cloth of her habit. The pressure of tears gathered at the back of her eyes. 'No, mother, I did not mean . . .'
'No, you did not mean,' said the Abbess, emphasising each word to make her point. 'And that in turn makes your life meaningless, does it not?'
Miriel said nothing because Mother Hillary was right. Her life was meaningless and only the fight gave her some faded sense of being alive.
The nun clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 'I doubt that shutting you in a cell to contemplate the error of your ways on rations of bread and water for a month will make the slightest morsel of difference. Your spirit will break before it bends and I have no wish to see that happen.'
'Nor I, mother.' Miriel's voice was tight. She sniffed hard and swallowed.
The cat woke, stretched, and curled up again. Abbess Hillary reached to stroke the rich blue-grey fur and a rumbling purr filled the chamber.
'For the good of both yourself and St Catherine's, I will grant you a month's leave from Sister Euphemia's care. But' - she raised and wagged an admonishing forefinger as Miriel's expression blazed on the instant from despair to utter joy - 'you will still sit with the other novices for the services in church and receive instruction as appropriate.'
Well, that was a penance, but at least it was bearable. 'Yes, mother, thank you!'
The Abbess's lips twitched, then with effort straightened. 'At the end of the month we will review your position. Despite your reluctance, your family harbour firm hopes that you will make your life with us.'
'They do not want me back, that much is true,' Miriel said with contempt. 'They would have to arrange a marriage for me and that would mean yet more expense. If I stayed at home, there would be no peace. I hate my stepfather and he hates me. That's why he put me here.'
Mother Hillary looked at her thoughtfully. Having negotiated the terms of the girl's entry into St Catherine's with Nigel Fuller, she could imagine the friction between the two . . . indeed, more than friction on the man's part. She had recognised, even if he did not, the violence of suppressed lust. The girl irked his loins as much as his temper.
'I did try to be dutiful.' Miriel's voice was filled with grievance. 'But he wouldn't let me near the workshops, let alone
'Well, daughter, have you nothing to say?'
Miriel continued to gnaw her lip. The problem was that she had too much to say and all of it stoppered up inside her, churning and fermenting.
Mother Hillary sighed again. 'What am I going to do with you, child? If you cannot fit into our community, then you must leave it. I know that you came to us without vocation, but I had hoped that one would grow.'
Miriel raised her head at the word 'leave', and a spark lit in her brown eyes.
The Abbess was not slow to see it. She pursed her lips and shook her head. 'I have my duty to God and I am not prepared to relinquish you so soon. Your family has entrusted me with your welfare and I must do my best for all concerned.'
Her family had also entrusted Mother Abbess with a considerable amount of silver in payment of her dowry to Christ, Miriel thought cynically. St Catherine's would not be prepared to relinquish that too soon either. Strict and fair Mother Hillary might be, but she was also a woman of shrewd business sense.
'Then take me away from Sister Euphemia,' Miriel said. 'We are each a thorn in the other's side.'
Mother Hillary arched her thin, silvery brows. 'Sister Euphemia has charge of all the novices. It is her duty to ensure that they learn obedience to the rules of our house.'
'Then she appears to be failing,' Miriel retorted with a toss of her head, then compressed her lips as the Abbess's brows remained aloft and the blue eyes grew cold.
'Do you answer me with your quick tongue also?'
Miriel clenched her fists in the coarse cloth of her habit. The pressure of tears gathered at the back of her eyes. 'No, mother, I did not mean . . .'
'No, you did not mean,' said the Abbess, emphasising each word to make her point. 'And that in turn makes your life meaningless, does it not?'
Miriel said nothing because Mother Hillary was right. Her life was meaningless and only the fight gave her some faded sense of being alive.
The nun clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 'I doubt that shutting you in a cell to contemplate the error of your ways on rations of bread and water for a month will make the slightest morsel of difference. Your spirit will break before it bends and I have no wish to see that happen.'
'Nor I, mother.' Miriel's voice was tight. She sniffed hard and swallowed.
The cat woke, stretched, and curled up again. Abbess Hillary reached to stroke the rich blue-grey fur and a rumbling purr filled the chamber.
'For the good of both yourself and St Catherine's, I will grant you a month's leave from Sister Euphemia's care. But' - she raised and wagged an admonishing forefinger as Miriel's expression blazed on the instant from despair to utter joy - 'you will still sit with the other novices for the services in church and receive instruction as appropriate.'
Well, that was a penance, but at least it was bearable. 'Yes, mother, thank you!'
The Abbess's lips twitched, then with effort straightened. 'At the end of the month we will review your position. Despite your reluctance, your family harbour firm hopes that you will make your life with us.'
'They do not want me back, that much is true,' Miriel said with contempt. 'They would have to arrange a marriage for me and that would mean yet more expense. If I stayed at home, there would be no peace. I hate my stepfather and he hates me. That's why he put me here.'
Mother Hillary looked at her thoughtfully. Having negotiated the terms of the girl's entry into St Catherine's with Nigel Fuller, she could imagine the friction between the two . . . indeed, more than friction on the man's part. She had recognised, even if he did not, the violence of suppressed lust. The girl irked his loins as much as his temper.
'I did try to be dutiful.' Miriel's voice was filled with grievance. 'But he wouldn't let me near the workshops, let alone
Similar Books
Undeniable (The Druids Book 1)
S. A. Archer, S. Ravynheart
the Prostitutes' Ball (2010)
Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell
In This Mountain
Jan Karon
If She Should Die
Carlene Thompson
Escaping Salem: The Other Witch Hunt of 1692
Richard Godbeer
Rancid Pansies
James Hamilton-Paterson
The Remaining Voice
Angela Elliott
Unknown
Unknown
Too Wilde to Tame
Janelle Denison