After several days, marked by several unsuccessful escape attempts, (her legs not functioning quite as strongly as she expected), Juniper began to focus her energy on ignoring the kind solicitousness constantly buzzing about her. From matin chimes to vespers, there were nuns all about her, tending to her still persistent fevers and insisting, despite all discouragement, on reading her scripture until she was forced to feign sleep and bear the indignity of hearing them cluck to one another about her infirmity and the “Lord’s graciousness.”
Juniper, as a rule, attended only whatever god happened to be presenting her with a natural disaster, Poseidon still reigning as the most fearsome from her days on the Atlantic, but she surprised herself by saying a prayer of thanks to this milquetoast God of the Christians whenever the bells would ring for hourly prayers.
“God,” she said quietly. “I thank you humbly for giving me a rest from these wretched nuns for a few moments. I pray that some sort of calamity causes the archway to the chapel to crumble, trapping them all within. Amen.”
When it became clear that Juniper had not amassed enough absolution points, or whatever they called them, to make this transpire, she came up with an alternate solution. When Sister Rose entered, her face aglow with the light of piety, or perhaps the communion wine from the pantry, Juniper sat up, a practiced meek smile on her face.
“Dear Sister,” she said, bowing her head penintently. “You have all been so kind to me this fortnight, and I thank God that he sent his angels to my assistance.” (Sister Rose’s mouth fell open a little, then closed in a tidy smile as she recovered from her shock.) “However, it is becoming quite clear that my recovery is in the hands of a higher power. I think that I derive rather too much pleasure from the warm company of you sisters!”
Here Sister Louisa and Sister Timpania entered from eavesdropping in the next room and cried “No dear!” “You need the company of the chaste in such a time as this!” “However will you learn godliness without us?”
Juniper swallowed a sudden spurt of bile and continued.
“I fear…it may be my country superstition, but as my fevers have only slightly abated, it seems that God is displeased with our communing. Perhaps,” she sighed, a ready tear rolling down her cheek, “I must undertake to spend some time in the hermitage.”
Sister Rose crossed her arms.
“How do we know, silly little goose, that you won’t try to run off again before you’ve healed?” The three nuns laughed, their heads bobbing without the starched wimples moving. Juniper gritted her teeth and willed her flush to appear frail rather than enraged.
“I accept that I cannot,” she said quietly. “I must make my peace with God. Surely you would not deny me this?” The nuns still looked a bit skeptical. Juniper sighed and continued with a glint in her eye. “For I feel the presence of the dark lord every hour, truly nigh, truly nigh. I have sinned and Satan has me in his sights for his bride, and if he cannot take me…he’ll surely find a fetching alternative here!” She rocked back and forth murmuring to herself.
An hour later, she was alone in the hermitage with a week’s worth of rations and no prospect of visitors. She sighed happily for a half second before her mind turned to Emerald. Craquelin was off delivering a missive to the Duke, imploring his help in saving Emerald from whatever dire plot was brewing among his men. Well, perhaps the tone was more one of ordering than imploring, but it was the best that Juniper could muster, and she prayed (truly prayed!) that he would soon arrive here with a horse to bear her back to Lanolin. Until that time, she would enjoy the quiet immensely.
Three days later, Juniper lay in a sulk, staring up at the ceiling, bored out of her lovely gourd.
“I’ve nothing to do, I’ve nothing to do, I’m no one at all, I’m no one at all,” she sang, then turned over on her side. “Talking aloud to one’s self is a sure sign of dementia. Perhaps I have contracted syphillis despite all my precautions!” She laughed mirthlessly, then began throwing things around the small room, as she had done for the past day.
She went to the window and looked out, pouting.
“I never thought I’d say it,” she sighed. “But I need company!”
Just as she said it, as if sent by the Holy Spirit, Craquelin alighted on the windowsill, a message in her sharp talons. With a mutual squawk of joy, Juniper lifted the falcon onto her shoulder and prised open the message. It read:
“Miss Juniper, I am afraid the Duke has taken ill. He asks me to tell you that there is no need to fear, as it is the usual malady, but he shall be ensconced within his room for at least the next week, and thus, unable to aid you in any way. He wishes you good luck. Signed, Guttaud, Ducal Attache.”
Juniper read it, then read it again, then paused to stare out the window, before crying out.
“BASTARD!!!!!!!!!” The sound rang out all the way down the field into the cloisters, where knowing nuns shivered in fear for Juniper’s soul.
Craquelin fluttered to the other edge of the room, well acquainted with her mistress’s rages. To both of their surprise, Juniper recovered quickly and began to laugh.
“Well,” she said to the bird. “Henri certainly picked another fine time to have one of his ‘fits’! There’s only one thing to be done.” Craquelin cocked his head, then flew to her outstretched arm, as if in agreement. Juniper opened the door to a bright, cool day. “Steal a horse from the Sisters of Mercy.”
