Dooms Day Book

It was getting late now, and the wind was whistling around the screens. Kivrin ran out to the passage and onto the green.

It was like the day she had tried to find the drop on her own. There was no one on the snow-covered green, and the wind whipped and tore at her clothes as she ran. A bell was ringing somewhere far off to the northeast, slowly, a funeral toll.

Agnes had loved the belltower. Kivrin went in, shouted up the stairs to the rope even though she could see up to the bellrope. She went out and stood looking at the huts, trying to think where Agnes would have gone.

Not the huts, unless she had got cold. Her puppy. She had wanted to go see her puppy’s grave. Kivrin hadn’t told her she’d buried it in the woods. Agnes had told her it had to be buried in the churchyard. Kivrin could see she wasn’t there, but she went through the lychgate.

Agnes had been there. The prints of her little boots led from grave to grave and then off to the north side of the church. Kivrin looked up the hill at the beginning of the woods, thinking What if she went into the woods? We’ll never find her.

She ran around the side of the church. The prints stopped and circled back to the door of the church. Kivrin opened the door. It was nearly dark inside and colder than the wind-whipped churchyard. “Agnes!” she called.

There was no answer, but there was a faint sound up by the altar, like a rat scurrying out of sight. “Agnes?” Kivrin said, peering into the gloom behind the tomb, in the side aisles. “Are you here?” she said.

“Kivrin?” a quavering little voice said.

“Agnes?” she said, and ran in its direction. “Where are you?”

She was by the statue of St. Catherine, huddled among the candles at its base in her red cape and hood. She had pressed herself against the rough stone skirts of the statue, eyes wide and frightened. Her face was red and damp with tears. “Kivrin?” she cried, and flung herself into her arms.

“What are you doing here, Agnes?” Kivrin said, angry with relief. She hugged her tightly. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She buried her wet face against Kivrin’s neck. “Hiding,” she said. “I took Cart to see my hound, and I fell down.” She wiped at her nose with her hand. “I called and called for you, but you didn’t come.”

“I didn’t know where you were, honey,” Kivrin said, stroking her hair. “Why did you come in the church?”

“I was hiding from the wicked man.”

“What wicked man?” Kivrin said, frowning.

The heavy church door opened, and Agnes clasped her little arms in a stranglehold around Kivrin’s neck. “It is the wicked man,” she whispered hysterically.

“Father Roche!” Kivrin called. “I’ve found her. She’s here.” The door shut, and she could hear his footsteps. “It’s Father Roche,” she said to Agnes. “He’s been looking for you, too. We didn’t know where you’d gone.”

She loosened her grip a little. “Maisry said the wicked man would come and get me.”

Roche came up panting, and Agnes buried her head against Kivrin again. “Is she ill?” he asked anxiously.

“I don’t think so,” Kivrin said. “She’s half-frozen. Put my cloak over her.”

Roche clumsily unfastened Kivrin’s cloak and wrapped it around Agnes.

“I hid from the wicked man,” Agnes said to him, turning in Kivrin’s arms.

“What wicked man?” Roche said.

“The wicked man who chased you in the church,” she said. “Maisry said he comes and gets you and gives you the blue sickness.”

“There isn’t any wicked man,” Kivrin said, thinking, I’ll shake Maisry till her teeth rattle when I get home. She stood up. Agnes’s grip tightened.

Roche groped along the wall to the priest’s door, and opened it. Bluish light flooded in.

“Maisry said he got my hound,” Agnes said, shivering. “But he didn’t get me. I hid.”

Kivrin thought of the black puppy, limp in her hands, blood around its mouth. No, she thought, and started rapidly across the snow. She was shivering because she’d been in the icy church so long. Her face felt hot against Kivrin’s neck. It’s only from crying, Kivrin told herself, and asked her if her head ached.

Agnes shook or nodded her head against Kivrin and wouldn’t answer. No, Kivrin thought, and walked faster, Roche close behind her, past the steward’s house and into the courtyard.

“I did not go in the woods,” Agnes said when they got to the house. “The naughty girl did, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Kivrin said, carrying her over to the fire. “But it was all right. The father found her and took her home. And they lived happily ever after.” She sat Agnes down on the bench and untied her cape.

“And she never went in the woods again,” she said.

“She never did.” Kivrin pulled her wet shoes and hose off. “You must lie down,” she said, spreading her cloak next to the fire. “I will bring you some hot soup.” Agnes lay down obediently, and Kivrin pulled the sides of the cloak up over her.

She brought her soup, but Agnes didn’t want any, and she fell asleep almost immediately.