An elbow nudged my rib, and I jumped on my stool. It was Brother Edmund. He pointed at the doorway with his chin.
A couple, dressed entirely in black, stood just over the threshold of the chapter house. Lord and Lady Chester had arrived at last. I had no choice but to push aside my thoughts of the crown and to endure the requiem feast.
Lord Chester entered the room first. He appeared a handsome man, just past his prime. He towered a full head’s length above the porter, who now backed away, deferential, from our guest of honor. He wore a long black doublet elaborately stitched with silver thread, a costly piece of fashion. As he came closer, I noticed the doublet strained at its buttons because it was too small for him; he was just starting to spread to fat and either did not know it or did not wish to know it. Our neighbor had lost half his hair; his pate shone beneath the thinning chestnut strands. Large jeweled rings gleamed on both hands.
His steps were heavy; it took a long time for him to reach the center of the table and the chair that he assumed—correctly—was reserved for him.
Prioress Joan rose to her feet. “Dartford Priory welcomes you to our requiem feast in honor of All Souls’ Day, Lord Chester,” she said.
He bowed and said in a deep voice, “I thank you, Prioress.” Without looking back, he beckoned carelessly with one hand. “My lady, attend.”
Lady Chester, pale, thin, and short in stature, made her way to the chair next to his. Her black bodice and skirt, her gable hood, made for an ensemble so severe she looked more like one of us than a lady. Not a single jewel, not even a slender ring, adorned her body. These were the clothes of strict mourning, which I realized was only fitting, since Queen Jane died a week ago and her husband served the king.
Lord Chester turned to examine my corner of the room. Now that he was closer, he appeared not so hale. His eyes were bloodshot; his neck was loose. A faint spider’s web of broken red veins mottled his nose.
He smiled with approval at the sight of the musical instruments: my vihuela and the others’ lutes. Lord Chester had requested music; we were ready to perform it.
And then he belched. The stench of wine hit me like a puff of wind.
Lord Chester, it seemed, was quite drunk.
26
Where’s my daughter?” asked Lord Chester loudly. He squinted as he examined the nuns sitting on their stone benches carved from the walls.
My eyes found Sister Christina, across the room. The late-afternoon light stretched across her lap; her face was in shadow. Unreadable.
“Ah, there she is,” Lord Chester said. “Have you no greeting for me, child?”
Sister Christina did not move or speak.
Lady Chester leaned forward in her chair. “Sister Christina, I greet you on this day of remembrance,” she called out, nervous.
“I greet you, Lady Chester,” Sister Christina responded formally. A few seconds later, she added: “And you, sir.”
Prioress Joan broke in: “We all greet you, Lord and Lady Chester. We are honored to have you as our guests at Dartford Priory.”
“Ah, that’s what I like to have said.” Lord Chester nodded at all the nuns, novices, and friars assembled before him. “That’s what I like. Yes. Very good. The beginning of a new era.”
He held up his goblet of wine, as if toasting the prioress, and then took a long, thirsty sip, as if he’d drunk nothing before it this day.
“Prioress, we are behind the appointed time, and for that I apologize,” Lady Chester said. “We first paid a visit to the grave of our son.”
Lord Chester slammed down his goblet and glared at his wife. She looked away. One of the sisters coughed, then another. The air hummed with nervous tension.
Prioress Joan spoke up again.
“Lord and Lady Chester, you have not met our new friar, who comes to us from the Dominican friary of Cambridge. I give you Brother Richard, our new president.” She gestured toward the friar who sat at the end of the table. “In the absence of Brother Philip, I’ve asked him to say a few words before our feast commences.”
Brother Richard got to his feet, and I sat up straighter on my stool.
“We are here,” he began, “to think about the faithfully departed, those who have gone on before us, to enjoy eternal life.”