The Sumerton Women by Bogdan D.L

Author:Bogdan, D.L. [Bogdan, D.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp
Published: 2012-04-24T00:00:00+00:00

“My lady ...”

A warm hand stroked Mirabella’s forehead. She grimaced, her eyelids fluttering as a strangled whimper stuck in her throat. Images came swirling back to her, merciless, terrible.

“Oh, my dear lady ...” The soft male voice once more.

Mirabella’s eyes opened at last, allowing her to draw into focus the face of the abbey’s new steward, James Reaves, stooping over what she assumed to be her bedside, though how and when she arrived in a bed she never knew. She had the presence of mind to recognize the infirmary, however, and fresh tears stung her eyes at the thought of the many hours she had spent there nursing the sick. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory.

“I didn’t know,” Master Reaves was telling her. “The soldiers ... everything was happening so fast and I was detained. I found you in the chapel unconscious and Sister Julia ... oh, the poor, dear lady ...” He bowed his head, stray locks of blond hair sweeping across his forehead.

“Where is she now?” Mirabella demanded in tones sharper than she intended.

“She has been laid to rest, Sister Mirabella,” Master Reaves assured her. Then softly, “Do you know ... who did it, my lady?”

“It matters not,” Mirabella replied in hoarse tones. “Justice will not find them in the England of Henry VIII.” She rolled on her side, back to the young steward.

“Sister, you cannot mean to keep this quiet!” he cried, resting a hand on her shoulder. She jerked it away, drawing the covers to her neck. He withdrew his hand, backing away. “I am sorry ... I meant no disrespect. It is just that I want to help you. Please.”

Mirabella remained silent.

“Your family,” he said. “They should be informed.”

“I will go to them when I am ready and not before,” Mirabella said in sharp tones, rolling over to face him. “Until then, we will not speak of it to anyone. Please.”

Master Reaves shook his head. “But, dear mistress, why?”

“I am not your dear mistress,” Mirabella hissed. “I am Sister Mirabella, do you hear?”

The bewildered steward nodded. “Yes, of course. But—but you do recall what has come to pass?”

“I do,” Mirabella said. “That changes nothing.” With this she laughed a shrill, joyless sound that caused the steward to shiver. “Do you honestly think I remained to be a mere servant to Lord Morton? No. I stayed to fight for my home, for my calling, for everything holy that King Henry and his—his minions are stripping the land of.” Tears rolled down her cheeks in smooth, slick trails. “But I lost ... I lost.”

He shook his head, this time in sadness. “No, Sister. Any fight for God is won in Heaven, even if we still suffer here.” He leaned closer to her, threading his fingers through hers. She was too exhausted to withdraw. “I will tell you,” he whispered. “I am a convinced Catholic of the old tradition. I abhor the king’s ‘reforms’ and so do a great many others. Even now an army is being raised against His Majesty.

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