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Lillian set her journals on the desk. “I...I hope I did these right.”
“Let’s see.” Morwen opened the top one and scanned down the long rows of figures. “Looks like you did.” She tried not to let the surprise show in her voice. There was no doubt Lillian was getting better at accounting. As deputy treasurer, she was also the almoner of the abbey, which meant she kept track of everything that was given to the poor. Or to the sick and injured, which included the dwindling number of wounded men in the hospital.
It was the day after the Equinox, so it was time to settle the quarterly accounts. Sister Joyce, the prioress, had asked for a special report on what the abbey had spent on the hospital. Her hope was that some generous benefactor could be found to defray at least part of that cost. She didn’t have anyone particular in mind, though. In the past, Morwen’s mother would have been the obvious person to ask, but now the Byrnes were waiting to find out which of their estates would be forfeit to the crown. They probably weren’t in a giving mood.
No one was blaming Morwen for setting up the hospital. Or at least they weren’t saying it out loud. Sister Catherine Foster had given Morwen some pretty dirty looks, though. If they ended up having to sell some land to make it through the winter, Catherine probably wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore. Morwen could imagine the snotty things she would say in Chapter: “It’s such a shame. Our finances have really gone downhill since our new treasurer took over.”
But what was Morwen supposed to have done? What were any of them supposed to have done? Just sit around and pray while men lay there and died? That hardly seemed like the will of Earstien. And in any case, it was nearly over and done with now. There was no point in worrying about something that couldn’t be changed.
She started copying out Lillian’s figures into her report for Sister Joyce, and was just getting down to the truly phenomenal amounts of linen they had consumed for bandages, when Sister Joyce herself came rushing into the treasury.
“Sister Morwen, you’re needed at the abbess’s residence. It’s most urgent. Oh, and you might want to bring the accounts ledgers.”
A shiver ran up Morwen’s neck under her wimple. “The ledgers? Oh, dear. What’s wrong?” She had visions of some terrible financial disaster, like a fire in their wool warehouse, or some kind of blight that had killed all their cattle.
“It’s the Duke of Severn. He’s here with that natural son of his, Sir Halvor. They say they’re thinking of confiscating the whole abbey and all its lands!”
Morwen ran to the lower reception parlor, with Joyce and Lillian in her wake. When she got there, she found the abbess sitting near the window, still wearing a look of shock and confusion that looked entirely out of place on her. Lukas was lounging on one of the settees, gazing calmly around him, as if already measuring for new drapes. Sir Halvor stood beside his father, arms crossed, grinning.
There was a fourth person in the room, too: Molly Coburn, Lukas’s mistress. Morwen had no idea why the girl had been brought along. It looked as if Molly didn’t know, either. She looked very ill at ease, seated off to the side and staring at her hands.
“Why, if it isn’t Sister Morwen,” said Sir Halvor. “It’s always such a pleasure. My father and I were discussing the fate of this abbey with Sister Alberta here.”
“What you have proposed is outrageous,” said the abbess, in a low, furious tone. “This abbey is an independent religious community. We are not part of the Byrne family lands, so you have no right to take any of our property.”
Morwen stepped forward with the books. “If you gentlemen would care to examine these accounts, you will see—as the lord high treasurer did—that everything is perfectly in order.”
“Oh, that,” said Sir Halvor, with an idle wave of a hand, “yes, that was worth a try, but we don’t care about financial improprieties anymore. My father isn’t taking your land because you hid money for your family. We’re taking your land because you’re complicit in treason.”
“Complicit in treason?” cried Sister Alberta. “How on earth do you imagine we are complicit?”
Duke Lukas spoke up. “Did you, or did you not, permit Andras Byrne to use your visitors’ dormitory as his headquarters?”
“Yes,” said the abbess. “Exactly as we are permitting you to do, your grace.”
“And my brother Andras is now the son-in-law of the king,” said Morwen.
“True. His crimes have been pardoned.” The duke shrugged. “But yours have not been. There must be a reckoning, I’m afraid. Besides, my son here deserves some reward for his services to the crown, and I believe this would be a suitable estate for him.”
The nuns all gasped. “Do you mean...to simply turn the abbey into a manor house?” demanded Sister Joyce.
“Precisely,” said Duke Lukas. “There was a vogue for converting abbeys into homes in Annenstruk some centuries ago. A Trofast church council held that monasticism was heresy, as I’m sure you know, and all the religious houses were closed.”
“It was a brilliant idea,” said Sir Halvor, “and I think we should borrow it here.”
“But what will happen to the people of this area?” asked Sister Alberta. “What will they do without us?”
“Own their own land for once,” said Sir Halvor with a sneer. “I intend only to keep what I need to maintain myself. The rest, I’ll sell off at fair prices.”
It was utterly appalling, like hearing someone threaten to murder a dear friend and dismember the body. Morwen felt sick.
“The sisters here do a lot of good work.” Everyone looked around and saw the speaker was Molly Coburn. “Think of how they helped all your wounded men, Lukas. You can ask your daughter Penny. She can tell you—”
Both father and son burst out laughing at Penny’s name. “My daughter is one of the silliest girls in Myrcia,” said Duke Lukas. “My horse has more sense than she does. The fact that she thinks this place is worth preserving is not, in my opinion, a point in its favor.”
“You shouldn’t say that about Penny,” said Molly. “She’s really very smart.”
“She certainly is,” said Morwen.
“No. She is a fool,” said Sir Halvor, with a sneering smile. “A well-read fool, to be sure, but still a fool. Thankfully, she’ll soon be married and she will be her husband’s problem. Earstien help him.”
Duke Lukas turned to his son, chuckling. “Did I ever tell you how she wrote me a letter once suggesting Myrcia should be a republic? A duke’s daughter, asking for a republic. Can you imagine anything stupider?” He looked back at Sister Alberta. “It’s like an abbey—voting for your leaders, voting in chapter for what you want to do. That’s probably where Penny got the idea. Earstien, I really despair for that girl.”
Morwen thought of how her own mother had treated her academic interests. She knew how it felt to be misunderstood by one’s own family. Poor Penny. And poor Morwen. And all the poor girls who didn’t want to be society ladies and wanted to read and think and do a little good in the world. That was why keeping the abbey alive was so important.
Apparently, Molly Coburn thought so, too. “I think what Penny did here was wonderful. And I think what the sisters do here is wonderful, too. In fact,” she stood and glared at Duke Lukas, “in fact, until we leave, I think I’ll come help the sisters in the hospital every day.” She walked over to stand next to Morwen. “Assuming you’ll have me, of course.”
Morwen wanted to say yes, but she hesitated. If the abbey was going to war with Duke Lukas, then did she really want to do something that annoyed him even more?
But Lillian had no such qualms. She rushed over and took Molly by the arm. “Of course we’ll have you. Won’t we, Sister Morwen?”
Morwen looked at Sister Alberta, who shrugged her shoulder half an inch and then nodded.
“Yes,” said Morwen. “Your help would be most welcome.”
“Suit yourself,” said Duke Lukas. “We’ll be here a while. I want to survey these estates personally.”