Elizabeth stared at Lady Reynolds in surprise; this was not what she had expected to hear. ‘What if the world came looking?’ she asked.
‘We buried their names,’ said Lady Reynolds simply. ‘Erased them from our rolls; while they remained within these walls, they were no one’s to claim – no angry father, husband, suitor or male relative could hurt them – even royalty was turned away.’
Elizabeth felt the words settle on her skin like a balm. A place beyond the reach of kings.
‘I was one of the children hidden here,’ said Lady Reynolds.
‘You were?’
‘Yes, which is why it was important to me to save this house,’ she said. ‘There is a sense of sanctuary here. Cerensthorpe chooses its own and I did not want its protection to end with me.’
The words made a shiver prickle down Elizabeth’s back.
‘My mother was the village cunning woman,’ continued Lady Reynolds. ‘When I was a baby, she was burned as a witch. My father was behind her death; he was the priest of the church in the next village. After I was born, he feared retribution if it was discovered he had forced himself upon her more than once. He brought the accusation of witchcraft when she reported his behaviour to her cousin, who was a respected man in the village. There was a scandal, but, in the end, who would believe my mother over a powerful priest?
‘My aunt saved me, taking me from my mother’s cottage to stop me from being flung into the flames alongside her. When questioned by the priest and the magistrates afterwards, my aunt swore I had died in the night and she had buried me in unconsecrated ground, the daughter of a witch. In fact, she smuggled me here where the abbess took me in. My aunt and the abbess had both long known about the dark acts of the priest. I was not his only offspring to seek sanctuary.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Elizabeth, horrified by the story.
‘He ate a stew cooked by several of the village women which contained a plant that disagreed with him,’ replied Lady Reynolds. ‘It was an accident. No one was brought to trial.’
There was a finality to her words that Elizabeth did not challenge. Whether accidentally or not, she felt the man deserved his punishment.
‘The abbess was kind to me,’ said Lady Reynolds. ‘She encouraged me to become a nun, teaching me to read and write. The scriptorium was always my special place, though, and when I became Abbess, it was a wrench to pass my books and inks to Mistress Ellyn. She is, however, my superior in every way in the art of illumination and the library is in safe hands with her.’
She stood, shaking out her skirts.
‘Shall we?’ she said and moved towards the door without waiting for an answer.
They descended the spiral staircase and walked through the old chapter house, an octagonal stone chamber off the East Walk which was now used as a space for the inhabitants to relax, along a winding corridor towards the south cloister and a set of wide stone steps.
‘This part of the abbey has changed very little,’ said Lady Reynolds as they climbed. ‘The scriptorium has been the main source of income for many years; therefore, it was always maintained above other areas.’
They entered a short corridor with a vast wooden door at the end. Lady Reynolds hurried towards it and Elizabeth could feel her eagerness to return to her beloved books. She turned the iron handle and they entered a space of brightness and colour. Tall, arched windows flooded the room with sunshine, the green tint to the glass creating a watery quality to the light as it flowed over the long trestle desks. Each was angled like a lectern to support the heavy vellum sheets. The air held a tang of sweet beeswax and bitter iron gall ink, overlaid with the muskiness of old parchment.
The walls were lined with oak presses and book cupboards, the doors carved with faded saints’ faces, each with a lock, to protect its precious treasure. Elizabeth jumped as two cats wound past her: the first was a ginger and white cat, sinuous in her movements, the second was a glossy black with an imperious expression.
‘Mistress Ellyn has several cat apprentices,’ said Lady Reynolds, bending down to stroke the two elegant creatures.
‘Apprentices?’
‘They are very serious and diligent members of our household,’ said Lady Reynolds. ‘It is their job to ensure mice don’t eat our manuscripts. Come, let me show you around.’
Elizabeth followed Lady Reynolds to one of the empty trestles.
‘This is Isabel’s desk,’ Lady Reynolds explained. ‘She is a novice, but the tools of her trade are the same as Mistress Ellyn’s.’
Elizabeth listened as Lady Reynolds pointed to each item, explaining its use and value – the cut quills made from feathers from geese, crows and swans, sharpened to different widths, kept upright in horn pots filled with sand. Lidded inkhorns held oak gall ink, glistening violet-black, even though it turned brown as it dried, beside this were pigment shells containing crushed azurite, malachite, cinnabar, red lead, verdigris, ochre and rare ultramarine, which would be mixed with egg glair or gum Arabic.
Stacked in small leather folders were sheets of beaten gold leaf which would be applied with a squirrel-hair tip and burnished with a dogtooth tool. Other more specific tools were lined up on the other side: pounce powder made from ground cuttlefish bone to prepare the vellum’s surface; penknives and pumice stones for scraping errors and polishing away roughness; styluses and compasses for ruling neat lines; andslender rulers of ivory or bone. These all shone bright under the illuminators’ lamps, with wide glass shades to focus steady light on dull days or through the dark hours of winter.
‘It’s breathtaking,’ said Elizabeth, gazing around.
‘Let me show you our finest treasure, which is now yours, Lady Boleyn.’
They walked the full length of the room to where Mistress Ellyn’s vast trestle table dominated the space. Beside her work desk was a table of equal dimensions where a number of books were positioned, each open to reveal beautiful, illuminated designs. At the end nearest to Mistress Ellyn’s desk, Mary, Anne and Isabel were gathered around Ellyn, gazing in wonder at a book, safely secured on a padded lectern.
‘Mama, come, you must see this,’ exclaimed Anne, her eyes shining with excitement.
