outside for us?” Brother Richard asked accusingly, as if I were responsible.
Brother Edmund said, “It will be an easy matter to make him aware we’ve arrived.” We climbed out of the wagon. With a loud sigh, Brother Richard dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to the wagon driver.
The entrance to Dartford Priory struck most people dumb. Even the two friars seemed impressed.
One entered the priory through a soaring, near-pointed archway. On each side the statue of a king stared forward—our founder, King Edward the Third. Across the top of the archway was carving stone celebrating the ascension of the Virgin.
Brother Richard knocked on the thick wooden door. He waited less than a minute, and knocked again. No one answered.
“I can think of no excuse for this,” Brother Richard said.
Finally, the door creaked open. To my relief, Jacob, the elderly porter, shuffled outside. He frowned as he looked at the friars; when he saw me, his expression changed to shock. “Sister Joanna, is that you?” he quavered.
“Yes, Jacob,” I answered.
“Didn’t your prioress inform you of our arrival?” demanded Brother Richard.
Jacob shook his head.
Brother Edmund said in his gentler voice: “Was there no messenger from London today?”
“Yes, Brother, there was a messenger.”
“What did the prioress say to you after reading it?”
Jacob looked at Brother Richard, and his eyes widened. His mouth flapped open and shut. I’d never seen our porter like this—so at a loss.
“Jacob, what is wrong?” I asked.
But he would not answer me, either.
“Take us to your prioress,” said Brother Richard.
Jacob backed away from him. “No, no.”
“Take us to your prioress—now!” the friar thundered.
With a final flap of his mouth, Jacob turned and led us into the priory.
The ivory statue of the Virgin Mary on her throne gleamed in the front antechamber. I expected Jacob to bear left and take us to the locutorium, the room where nuns could meet with visitors, while he fetched Prioress Elizabeth. The men were Dominican friars, yes, but chapter rules dictated that no men, religious or otherwise, were allowed access to where the sisters served, unless it was sanctioned in advance by a prioress.
But to my shock, Jacob turned away from the locutorium and the other rooms where outsiders were permitted—the prioress’s front office chamber, the lodging rooms for boarders and overnight guests—and headed for the heart of the priory.
He took out his keys at the door leading to the cloister, chapter house, church, refectory, kitchens, and dormitories.
“Jacob, what are you doing?” I asked.
He opened the door without answering.
“So far I have seen rules broken—first of hospitality, and now the strictest one of all, enclosure,” Brother Richard fumed. “The good report I had of this priory was much mistaken.”
I glanced at Brother Edmund, hoping he would calm his agitated fellow friar. But he stayed silent, wrapped in his own thoughts.
Jacob looked only at me. “Go to the church,” he whispered, holding open the door.
The three of us stepped over the threshold, and Jacob locked the door behind us.
It must be time for Compline, a sacred Dominican office, a deeply inappropriate moment to reappear, and with two friars in tow. But I didn’t know what else to do—Jacob had plainly lost his senses. He had always been so dedicated to the prioress. I couldn’t imagine what had happened to him.
“Follow me,” I said.
We moved toward the cloister: the open courtyard and garden in the center of the priory. Columned passageways squared off on each side. In moments we reached the far corridor leading to the church. My joy at being in the priory again was tamped down by confusion. I couldn’t hear a thing: neither singing nor chanting nor spoken responses. Compline was not a silent gathering.
From the minute we’d arrived I sensed something was wrong. Now I was overwhelmed by fear.
We reached the archway opening to Dartford’s exquisite church. We bowed, and then dipped our fingers in the holy water in the stoup and made the sign of the cross. But I couldn’t see much of anything. A burst of thick incense enveloped me, filling my nose, throat, eyes. I’d never smelled so much at one time. It was not just lavender, either; I detected rosemary afloat in the air. Candles flickered at the apse, creating points of light that shimmered through the fragrant cloud. I felt slightly woozy.
The sisters of Dartford were indeed all there. The two dozen women stood in their assigned stalls. And now that I was in the same room as them, I realized they were not silent.