"Blessed is one who takes refuge in the Lord."
Location: St. Etheldreda's/Ely House
"Heathens! Hiding among heathens and their... their strawberries, like some Roman... heathen!" Obviously, the good Reverend was less than thrilled at his accommodations. She could hear him continuing to mutter that which was obviously his favorite word, the one which snuck into almost every conversation that she had with the man. They had many such conversations in the recent past; like it or not they were colleagues, after a fashion. Both trained in places of spiritual authority. Both living symbols of their faith. Further, both with differing but complementary skill sets. She didn't like the man very much, any more than he liked Mary. It did give her some concern that he habitually misused his favorite slander, though. They were both monotheists and followers of the One True God. "Heathen" just wasn't appropriate.
From Mary's perspective, Clerc's people turned their backs on Vatican authority. His loyalty was to the Crown as much as the Lord. This distinction meant that they would never really be anything more than allies, and allies in hard times only. An angry mob of average citizens of the realm (that they couldn't actually engage physically without massive repercussion) might count. For the meantime, it served well enough for the pair to take refuge at St. Etheldreda's.
The visiting Presbyter was offered the culinary hospitality of the Church; light stew and brown bread, if the smells from the kitchens earlier were any indication. Also, the opportunity to clean up the mess that had formed all over him, thanks to the efforts of the mob. Mary declined. She had already changed and had no thoughts of food at the moment. Instead, she decided to do as the Bishop suggested and spend some time in contemplation in the courtyard. For Mary, contemplation involved controlled breathing in a low stance, moving her halberd around her in slow, practiced drills designed to reinforce her training with the Swiss Guard.
She had practiced this routine many, many times before. Her footwork was flawless, her attacks flowing and powerful. It gave her an opportunity to listen to the relative quiet of the Church. Or at least, what should have been relative quiet. Instead, the people of St. Etheldreda's were milling about, whispers spreading about the "mob" outside and the boy Mary had brought in. Eyes were on her, she could tell. But she kept on working her routine. Curiously, walking along the archways were a trio of more venerable Nuns speaking about something other than the fiasco with Mary and their temporary ward. Mary tuned her senses upon them, trying to catch the moving conversation.
Was eavesdropping something to confess and atone for later on? Or was this an act of vigilance on the part of the young Venator? She preferred vigilance. But she'd likely confess to the Bishop later on, anyway.
As best she could tell (taken from what snatches of conversation she heard clearly), a woman with blonde hair had arrived unannounced, prior to the church going on lockdown. After having a word with the Bishop, he had cleared the chapel and allowed this mystery woman private access for prayer in solitude. Needless to say, this was highly irregular. Mary continued her practice until the Nuns were out of sight, then wrapped things up in lieu of a quick walk.
The entrance to chapel was just around the corner from the Quadrangle, just out of Mary's sight by mere steps. It would be nothing to give a quick check to see what the fuss was about. Surely the cloistered women of St. Etheldreda's knew, with this being one of two Catholic churches anywhere nearby, any fellow Papist traveling through London might likely visit. So what made this woman special enough to warrant gossip?
Mary took a second to compose herself, allowing a visage of serenity to blanket her features. She smoothed her black, gilt cassock and used her Swiss halberd as a walking staff, striding up to the chapel entrance nearest the Quadrangle. To Mary's surprise, it was guarded by two men in the green and red double breasted uniforms of Imperial Russia. Now
this was irregular. Granted, she had been gone for a bit, but Bishop Mansfield should have informed her of a military presence inside of her assigned Church immediately. She
was the one who pledged a Knightly Order of the Papacy, and given assignment to this location. Even if the cloistered Sisters paid her no mind, the Bishop should have.
Mary decided to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, for now. Perhaps His Excellency had forgotten in the hustle of the moment. Or perhaps suggesting that she contemplate quietly in a place where the information would make itself available to her was his way of letting her know. Or it could just be a coincidence and Mary should
seriously reconsider the nature of her assignment here. Between Nuns ignoring their oath of Obedience and the Bishop's memory lapse... well, benefit of the doubt. Mary had her own Oath to keep.
The young Apostolic walked confidently up to the soldiery at the interior doors, stopping outside of striking range. In a polite voice, she greeted the Church's visitors.
"Good afternoon, sirs. I am Sister Mary Hale, Venator of the Order of St. Sylvester and resident Dame here at Ely." She paused briefly, just to see if they were going to willing to respond in any way.
"The doors behind you are the only unblocked path to the chapel undercroft at this time. Are you here to prevent my entry?" She expected a possible linguistic barrier. While she didn't speak Russian, Mary was fluent in other languages and was ready to repeat herself, if needed.
It was likely paranoia, but Mary felt compelled to examine these men through the intuitive training of
Tanter, extending her senses to ascertain their status among the Souled.
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