'They make me dress like this,' Alys said swiftly. 'I have no other clothes. And I thought it right not to endanger Lord Hugh, who protects me, by insisting on a dark gown.'

Mother Hildebrande shook her head, unconvinced. 'Very well,' she said. 'You have had to make compromises. But now we can make our own lives again. Here, in this little cottage, we will start. We will make a new nunnery here. Just the two of us for now, but perhaps there will be more later on. You and I will keep our vows and lead the life that is appointed to us. We shall be a little light in the darkness of the moorland. We will be a little light for the world.'

'Here?' Alys said, bemused. 'Here?' Mother Hildebrande laughed her old laugh, full of joy. 'Why not?' she said. 'Did you think that serving Our Lady was all rich vestments and silver and candles, Sister Ann? You know better than that! Our Lady was a simple woman, She probably lived in a home no better than this! Her son was a carpenter. Why should we want more than Her?'

Alys felt she was gaping. She tried to gather her thoughts together. 'But, Mother Hildebrande,' she said, 'we cannot live here. In summer it is well enough but in winter it is dreadfully hard. We have no money, we have no food. And people will talk about us and then the soldiers will come…'

Mother Hildebrande was smiling. 'God will provide, Sister Ann,' she said gently. 'I have prayed and prayed for you, and I have prayed and prayed to live once more under the rules of our Order, and now, see, my prayers are answered.'

Alys shook her head. 'They are not answered,' she said desperately. 'This is not the answer to your prayers. I know what it is like here! It is dirty and cold. The garden grows nothing fit to eat, in winter the snow banks up to the door. God does not want us to be here!' Mother Hildebrande laughed, her old, confident laugh. 'You seem to be deep in His counsels that you speak so certainly!' she said gently. 'Do not fret so, Sister Ann. Let us take what He gives us. He has given us each other and this roof over our heads. Surely He is good!'

'No! It's not possible…' Alys urged. 'We must go away. We must go to France or Spain. There is no place for us in England any more. We court disaster if we stay here and try to practise our faith.'

The old abbess smiled and shook her head. ‘I have sworn to practise my faith here,' she said gently. 'I was commanded to lead an order here, in England. No one ever said that if it became hard I should run away.'

'We would not be running!' Alys urged. 'We would find another nunnery, they would accept us. We would be obeying our vows, living the life we should lead.'

The abbess smiled at Alys and shook her head. 'No,' she said softly. 'God gave me thirty years of wealth and comfort, serving Him in luxury. Now He has called me to hardship. How should I refuse Him?'

'Mother Hildebrande, you cannot live here!' Alys raised her voice in exasperation. 'You know nothing about the life here. You do not understand. You will die here in wintertime. This is folly!'

There was a moment's shocked silence at Alys' rudeness. Then Mother Hildebrande spoke with gentle finality.

‘I believe that this is the will of the Lord,' she said. 'And I am bound by my vows of obedience to do His will.' She paused for a moment. 'As are you,' she said. 'But it's not possible…' Alys muttered mutinously.

'As are you,' Mother Hildebrande said again more slowly, her voice warning.

Alys sighed and said nothing.

There was a silence between the two women. Alys, glancing up from where she knelt at her mother's feet, saw that the abbess' eyes were filled with tears.

'I…' she started.

'When can you join me here?' Mother Hildebrande demanded. 'We should start our new life at once. And there are many things we need which you can provide.'

Alys' moment of penitence was brief. 'I don't know when I can come,' she said distractedly. 'My life at the castle is so uncertain…' She broke off, thinking of Hugo and Catherine, and her own baby growing in her belly. 'I could come next week perhaps,' she said. 'I could come for a few days next week.'

Mother Hildebrande shook her head. 'That is not enough, Sister Ann,' she said gently. 'You have been away from our holy Order for many months, but before then you lived with us for many years. You cannot have forgotten our discipline so soon. You may go now, but you must come back tomorrow, wearing a plain dark gown and bringing with you whatever Lord Hugh is prepared to give gladly. For the rest, we will grow our own food and weave our own cloth. We will make our own rushlights and write our own books from memory. We will make bread and sell it in the market, we will fish, and sell what we catch. And we will make simple medicines and remedies and sell or give them to people who are in need.' Alys kept her eyes down so Mother Hildebrande could not see her panic and her immediate utter refusal. 'It looks very dark for our Church,' Mother Hildebrande said. 'But this is how it was for Saint Paul himself, or for Saint Cuthbert when the English Church was nearly destroyed before, by the pagans. Then, as now, the Lord called His people to serve Him in darkness and secrecy and want. Then, as now, their faith triumphed. God has called us for a special mission, Sister Ann, only He knows how great our work will be.' Alys said nothing. Mother Hildebrande no longer looked like a weary old lady. Her face was radiant with her joy, her voice strong with certainty. She broke off and smiled at Alys, her familiar, loving smile.

'Go now,' the abbess said gently. 'It must be near the time for sext. Pray as you ride back to the castle and I will pray here. You have not forgotten the offices of the day, Sister Ann?'

Alys shook her head. She could not remember one word of them. 'I remember them all,' she said.

The abbess smiled. 'Say them at the appointed hours,' she said. 'The Lord will forgive us that we are not on our knees in His chapel. He will understand. And tomorrow, when you come, you will confess to me your sins and we will start afresh.' Alys nodded dumbly.

The abbess rose from the stool. Alys saw she walked very stiffly, as if her back and her hip bones and legs all ached.

‘I am a little weary,' she said, as she caught Alys' look. 'But once I start working in the garden I shall grow fit and strong again.'

Alys nodded and went out of the door. The abbess stood on the threshold. Alys untied the pony's bridle and then remembered her bag of food.

'Here,' she said. ‘I brought this for my dinner, but you can have it.'

The abbess' wise old face lit up with a smile. 'There, my child!' she said delightedly. 'The Lord has provided for us, and He will provide for us over and over again. Don't be faint-hearted, Sister Ann! Trust in Him, and He will bring us to great joy.'

Alys nodded dumbly and climbed up the step of the sheep gate and stepped into the saddle.

That's a very fine horse,' the abbess observed. 'Too good for a cleric, I would have thought.'

'It's Lady Catherine's horse,' Alys said quickly. 'She is carrying the young lord's child and cannot ride. They like me to ride her mare to keep it in exercise.'

The abbess nodded slowly, looking from the horse to Alys. For one moment Alys was gripped with a chilling certainty that the old woman understood everything, could see everything. The lies, the witchcraft, the walking wax dolls, the murder of Morach, and the bed with three writhing, greedy bodies. Hugo's laugh when he called her his wanton whore echoed in the sunny afternoon air around them.

Mother Hildebrande looked into Alys' face, unsmiling. 'Come tomorrow,' she said gently. ‘I think you have been very near to very grave sin, my daughter. Come tomorrow and you can confess to me and with the guidance of God I will absolve you.'

'I have not been near sin,' Alys said breathlessly. She managed a clear honest smile. 'Nowhere near, praise God!' she said lightly.