for a fleeting instant; they brimmed with pain, with guilt, with regret.
In a thick voice, he said, “If we had been able to gain hold of the Athelstan crown, it could all have been stopped.” He pointed at the graves of my father and Brother Richard. “Was the quest not worth some sacrifice and hardship?”
I was so angry I blurted the question that had tormented me since Malmesbury: “What would you have done with it if I’d found it for you? Would you have used the crown as a weapon in your private war with Cromwell? Or retained it for other purposes?”
He stared at me, a nerve quivering on the side of his throat, and then said, “Take me to the leper hospital.”
I stalked ahead of him, tears of impotent rage rolling down my cheeks. I pushed through the grove of trees, fragrant with new growth, and went down the hill.
I waited for him at the open door. A burst of yellow and white flowers lined the front wall, under the crumbling window where I had left my letters to him.
The bishop hovered just outside the ruins. He did not seem to want to enter. “I wonder,” he said, “if years from now, people will walk among the ruins of our abbeys and wonder about those who lived within their walls.”
I was startled that he would have a thought so like my own.
He took a step toward me, a fierce purpose in his eyes. “You have made a great champion of the Lady Mary. She keeps bringing you up in her letters to me, to everyone. It will not be easy, but we should be able to make you one of her ladies-in-waiting, and then you can be of great use to us. I think you should marry first; I have several well-trusted candidates in mind.”
“No, no, no—stop,” I cried, putting my hands over my ears.
“Your chastity will be honored; it can be a marriage in name only,” he said soothingly, as if that were what offended me most. “Marriage will put some distance between your vows as a novice and your service to the princess. You will arouse less suspicion if you carry a husband’s name and title.”
“Why would you go to such lengths to arrange this, to place me in her service?” I demanded. “You believe me to be a wretched failure.”
He hesitated, and then admitted, “It is possible that the crown was destroyed by that accursed mad girl in the very first days you were back in the priory.”
I winced at his description of Sister Christina.
The bishop studied me even more closely. “You are headstrong and difficult, yes, but the way you maneuvered yourself out of danger in Norfolk House . . . I had not seen the likes of it before. You are exceptional, Sister Joanna; I knew that before I ever came to your cell in the Tower. You cannot spend the rest of your life in Stafford Castle, an insignificant member of a fallen house. And I don’t believe it is what you truly desire, either. Or why would you have left the family home to take vows in Dartford Priory at all? You wished a more meaningful role for yourself. A spiritual existence.”
I swallowed. I had no answer to that.
“And then, while you were here, why did you go to such lengths to learn about the crown, about all that had happened in the priory? That was not what you were charged with. But you sought to learn all, to gain knowledge and experience.” His voice was loud, almost thundering. I had never heard him speak this way—as if we were not in an abandoned hollow but a cathedral pulpit. “You wanted to infuse your life with meaning, Sister Joanna. And now, that need not end. It is just beginning. The forces that have massed against us are strong and devious. With my guidance, you can still serve God and the righteous cause of restoration of our faith.”
“But not through political machinations,” I insisted. “I have no interest in politics.”
“No?” He circled me. “You went to Smithfield to pray for and to comfort your cousin, the rebel Lady Bulmer. You risked much for family feeling, but I have long been convinced it was more than that. You believed in what she believed—and you do now. If you will not become involved in our cause for your own sake, then do it for hers, for the memory of your cousin, who suffered and died