Free Faithful Dead by Alys Clare Page A

yes, before either of you says it, I know. He was foreign, or at least according to Erse he was, and he knew about the Shrine and the Abbey.’
    ‘But Augustus may still quite well be right,’ Helewise put in. She could see the disappointment in the eager, intelligent young face. ‘Just because one supposed foreigner knows of our existence, it would be supreme folly to assume that we are known to every single one.’
    ‘That’s what I was getting at, Abbess Helewise!’ Augustus cried. ‘I mean, maybe I shouldn’t speak of it, not here in the Abbey, but’ – his voice dropped to a whisper, as if he did not want to hurt God’s feelings – ‘not every foreigner is a Christian !’
    ‘No indeed,’ she agreed, ‘and – Sir Josse? What ails you?’ Josse’s face had creased into such a scowl of concentration that it almost looked as if he were in pain.
    ‘Nothing, nothing.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s just that I’ve just had one of those moments that young Augustus was describing, when you know there’s something worrying at the back of your mind and you can’t think what it is, or why it’s important . . .’ He trailed off, still frowning. ‘Never mind. It’ll come, in its own good time.’
    ‘Try going through the names and ages of all your relations,’ Augustus advised. ‘That’s what I did, and when I got to my mother’s Auntie Meg’s husband’s mother, who claims to be a hundred, though nobody believes her, I remembered what I was trying to bring to mind.’
    Josse chuckled and, reaching out, ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Happen I don’t have as many relatives as you, lad,’ he said. Then, after a moment, ‘I don’t know, though.’
    Helewise looked from one to the other, affected by their ease in one another’s company. They were almost like father and son. It crossed her mind to wonder briefly why Josse had no family; no sensible, affectionate wife, and no son to follow in his footsteps.
    Then she remembered something. Something she was trying very hard to forget. No, she told herself firmly. Do not dwell on Joanna de Courtenay, and of what may or may not have passed between her and Josse. You do not know for certain, and it is none of your business.
    But, despite herself, she thought: February, it was, when Joanna was hiding out in the Forest. And now it is nearly October. If Sister Euphemia was right . . .
    No.
    Firmly putting the speculation from her, she turned her attention back to Josse and Augustus, who were laughing helplessly at something Josse had said about his sister-in-law’s mother. Helewise cleared her throat and both men jumped; Josse, looking abashed, said quickly, ‘Ah, but I should not make fun at her expense, she means well, I dare say, although––’
    There was another tap on the door. Wondering if it might be Brother Firmin, cutting short his prayers for some reason of his own, again Helewise called out, ‘Come in.’
    It was not Brother Firmin but Sister Anne.
    Round eyes alight with the fascinated interest of someone whose daily round did not include very much excitement or even variety – Sister Anne, none too bright but well-meaning, scrubbed pots in the refectory – the nun said, ‘Ooh, Abbess Helewise, Sister Ursel sent me, she’s busy attending to the man’s horse and didn’t want to leave him, not that there’s anything amiss but––’
    ‘Sister Anne?’ Helewise prompted.
    ‘Yes, sorry.’ Sister Anne shot at Josse a glance that, in any other woman, might have been called flirtatious. Then: ‘It’s another man called d’Acquin, see. Just like Sir Josse here, only this one’s a bit smaller and a bit younger and he says his name is Yves.’
    The Abbess, to Josse’s relief, took the startling announcement in her stride. She must have noticed his amazement – hardly surprising; he felt as if his jaw had dropped at least to his knees – and she said calmly, ‘Sir Josse, what an honour for us to receive a visit from your