Remember Me by Penelope Wilcock Page A

for another day.
    â€œWould you close the door, Brother?” asked John. “It doesn’t matter if we are interrupted, but I would rather not be unknowingly overheard.”
    Cormac went back and closed the door and came to sit on the bench on the other side of the table from John, braced for a scolding. He had no idea what he might have done wrong, but he couldn’t think of any other reason his abbot might want to speak with him in private.
    â€œTell me what you think of Father William.”
    Brother Cormac looked at him, startled. He hadn’t been expecting that.
    â€œUm… in general? Or with regard to anything in particular?”
    The caution in Cormac’s voice alerted John. He felt glad he’d asked.
    â€œIn general. Though if there’s anything in particular you’ve seen, you might tell me.”
    John was surprised by Cormac’s reaction to this. He had imagined this interview would be easy and short. He would say, What do you think of Father William? And Brother Cormac would say, Efficient but fairly hard work or some such thing, because this was simply the preamble to what he really wanted to ask him. But the unexpected reticence in Cormac’s eyes told him he’d stumbled on more that he’d been looking for.
    â€œHe… Father William fulfills his work meticulously.” Brother Cormac was finding his way with a puzzling degree of caution. “He can be… well, he is… Father William can be brusque on occasion.”
    John looked hard at his kitchener, who met his eyes with his own level gaze that gave nothing away.
    â€œIs something the matter? Have you had some kind of altercation with Father William?” John probed further and was even more puzzled to see a look of relief enter Brother Cormac’s eyes.
    â€œNo,” he said with conviction. “Never. No, I haven’t.”
    â€œAnd there is nothing else you want to tell me about him?”
    â€œNo, Father, there is not.”
    What? thought John. What is it? He was not set at ease by the look of helpful innocence that Cormac’s face now wore. But whatever it was his kitchener felt was better left unsaid, John thought he stood very little chance of prying it out of him. Brother Cormac was not that kind of man.
    â€œIs he courteous with the men in the kitchen? Is he helpful? Is he pleasant?”
    Cormac’s face lit up in a grin of pure merriment at that. “Father William? Those would not have been the first words I’d have picked to describe him, if I’m honest. But he’s not exactly discourteous or unhelpful or unpleasant—he just does his job. He comes in here and we’re glad when he’s gone, but there’s no harm in him.”
    John nodded. “I understand. And tell me now—how would you describe Brother Conradus?”
    Again Cormac smiled. “A godsend, I should think. He is… now let me think. I was going to say the word that comes to my mind when I think of Brother Conradus is ‘enthusiasm,’ but that’s not quite right. He certainly has more enthusiasm for almost anything than anyone else I know, but the word that sums him up best is ‘kind’. Brother Conradus is a soul of pure kindness. It’s a pleasure to work with him, and I hope he decides to make full profession here and stay with us always.”
    â€œAnd can I ask you—there is no guile in Brother Conradus? He would never in your view try to manipulate anyone?”
    This made Brother Cormac laugh. “No,” he said. “He would not.”
    â€œThank you.” His abbot looked satisfied with this. “That’s all I wanted to know. And you yourself? All is well with you?”
    Brother Cormac assured him that it was, and they rose each to go about his own business, Cormac in the kitchen garden where he wanted to take the pea haulm down to be threshed, and John to the checker—his conversation with Cormac