Free A Dark Night Hidden by Alys Clare

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    Father Micah, it was immediately apparent, did not agree. The home was fairly quiet just then and, as he stalked into the low room, divided into one section for those who were pregnant and another for those who had given birth, only five women and two babies looked up to watch him.
    ‘Come to lead us in our prayers, Father?’ one of the recently delivered women asked cheerfully. She was a street woman from Tonbridge, known to the nuns because she had earlier brought a younger colleague to Hawkenlye. They had been surprised to see her present herself into their care; as Sister Tiphaine had remarked, she had been engaged in her trade for so long without mishap that they had imagined she could take care of herself.
    Now, a first-time mother at the advanced age of twenty-nine, she held up her chubby and gurgling baby girl for the priest to bless.
    He did no such thing. Instead, drawing his robes aside as if he feared that contact with a whore would pollute them, he said, ‘Begone from my sight, harlot! And take that spawn of Satan with you.’
    Then he spun round and marched out of the room.
    Helewise heard the noisy sobs of the woman, the angry cries of her fellow-patients and, as an inevitable aftermath, the crying of their babies, frightened and upset by the disturbance. Above the babble a single female voice shouted out, making a suggestion as to what Father Micah ought to do with himself that was highly imaginative, if biologically impossible.
    Helewise hardly heard. Racing after the priest, she caught up with him on the threshold.
    ‘Father Micah, I must protest!’ she said, as quietly as she could manage. ‘In the name of Christ and his charity, I—’
    He turned on her a face like thunder. ‘Do not dare to speak Our Lord’s name in such a context!’ he commanded. ‘That woman is shameless! Shameless! Holding up her bastard to receive the blessing of a man of God, with her cronies simpering around her, displaying their foul flesh, polluting God’s pure air with the stench of their rottenness, the smell of the disgusting, putrid substance that seeps from their swollen breasts! How dare she! They should be flogged, the lot of them, aye, and branded with the mark of their shame!’
    His thin face had turned almost purple in his fury. His breathing came very fast and small bubbles of sweat were appearing on his brow and upper lip.
    Helewise, observing him, feared for his health. And, in the midst of that detached thought, she suddenly felt sorry for him.
    ‘Let us return to my room,’ she said calmly. ‘Perhaps you will take a restorative glass of cool water, Father.’
    He turned on her. ‘Not from you,’ he replied rudely. ‘I shall visit the holy brethren in the Vale.’
    ‘As you wish.’ She kept her tone neutral.
    ‘I expect there to be changes here.’ He was gazing out towards the Abbey church. ‘I want to see less flippancy and wasteful profligacy and more evidence of devotion.’ He turned to stare at Helewise. ‘And those filthy whores are to be gone when next I visit.’
    He is mad, Helewise thought as she watched him stride away. That, surely, is the only answer. Walking back to the precious sanctuary of her little room, she wondered what on earth she was to do.
    Some time later, there was a timid knock on her door and Brother Firmin came in. He was in tears. Father Micah, he said, had ordered him to stop being so generous with the Holy Water and to be sure to give it only to those who led a devout life and prayed several times a day for forgiveness. ‘But how am I to tell , my lady?’ the old monk sobbed. ‘He didn’t think to explain that!’
    Trying to comfort him – which was not easy – Helewise told him to continue as he had always done for the time being, and promised that she would take the matter up with Father Gilbert.
    ‘He said he would be back,’ Brother Firmin said dully. ‘He told us he had other calls to make – he mentioned some noble lord who has to be