Belladonna at Belstone

Chapter Eighteen

After divesting himself of his robes Luke walked slowly to the door that connected the nuns’ side of the church to the canons’ cloister. He had enjoyed himself here so often, it was always difficult to return to the men’s side.

Agnes had been an enthusiastic bedfellow for many weeks now. At first she had appeared to believe his repeated assurances that his absolution was enough to protect her, but it was obvious that her own enjoyment was the spur to her continuing assignations with him. The only time there had been any difficulties between them had been when she had seen him with Katerine.

It had not been a pleasant meeting. Katerine had taken him almost as if she was testing herself in some way, pushing herself to see how far she dared go. She had lain there with her eyes closed, silent. Not at all like Agnes. And while he was idly comparing the two, Agnes had walked in.

There had been no screaming, just an awful silence as she stood staring at them, her face working, and then she had spun on her heel and walked out. Luke was in no position to chase after her through the cloister, and Katerine showed no inclination to follow. In fact she seemed delighted that Agnes had seen them, and pulled Luke back on top of her.

Afterwards he had not seen Agnes for some days except at services, and gradually Katerine became more willing and less self-absorbed. She laughed when she talked about Agnes, saying, “She doesn’t like to share. Maybe she won’t suit a communal life!”

Yet Luke found he missed the blonde novice. He gazed at her secretly when he conducted the nuns’ services, and couldn’t help but measure her beauty against that of Katerine. The latter was attractive, but there was an inner fire to Agnes that was more exciting. At last he managed to speak to her, and she said she would forgive him, but only if he left Katerine alone. He had made his promise, safe in the knowledge that Agnes and Kate never mentioned him in the other’s presence. And he had made sure that whoever he saw, the other was busy about her duties.

His happy reflections ended when he put his hand to the door and lifted the latch. A puzzled expression came to his face when it failed to give, and he glanced at the frame to see if it had somehow jammed.

“It is locked, Luke.”

“Lady Elizabeth, I didn’t see you there,” he said, turning and smiling. “But why have you locked it?”

“Oh, I think you know the answer well enough,” she said.

Her mood hadn’t improved since seeing Elias. She felt a curious guilt about hurting him so badly, and about sentencing Constance to a life of service in the priory. She might have escaped, but not now. Elias would run.

There was more than a touch of ice in her voice as she stalked towards Luke with the deliberation of a cat approaching its prey. Instinctively Luke wanted to retreat, but forced himself to keep still wearing a faintly surprised, slightly hurt expression.

“It won’t do, Luke. Ah, no! You try to look offended, as if I have insulted you, yet the insult truly is offered by you to me – and to God! You’ve ravaged your way through my novices like a French pirate, caring nothing for them or the reputation of the convent, and it will stop.”

She jerked her head at the painting on the wall opposite the altar. “Look at that! Christ in Judgement. He sits above Moses, who is holding the Ten Commandments; the godly soul surrounded by the seven works of mercy is being accepted into heaven by an angel; but look on the left there, Luke. There is the sinner being cast down by another angel. Can you see the roundels about that evil man? Can you see the one depicting lust?”

“My Lady, I don’t know what you…”

“Don’t think to deny it, fool!” she snapped, turning to face him. “Do you think I’m blind? That I don’t know about Agnes? Where my room is, Luke, I can hear the footsteps of the novices when they go to pee, or when they go to meet their lover, and in your interests she has been passing my chamber too often of late.”

“Surely if Agnes was, as you say, going to meet a lover,” Luke said coolly, “then you would have followed her and accosted them both. I am afraid I have never been found with any of your novices or nuns.”

“No, you haven’t. But there is no one else in the canons’ cloister who would attract her. The others are too old.”

“I am afraid you should look to one of the lay brothers,” Luke said sadly, shaking his head. “I think there is one there who has regularly enjoyed the young women in the nunnery.“

“A lay brother?”

“I fear so,“ Luke said. He took a pace forward, leaned conspiratorially and whispered, ”That man in the smithy. I think he is the one.“

“Fascinating.”

Luke glanced at her. The prioress didn’t seem as surprised as she should, and even as he caught sight of her expression, he saw it harden.

“Luke, you are a liar and a charlatan. I shall demand that you be removed from here. I know about the lay brother, and have already spoken to him, and I must confess I was more impressed by his attitude than I am by yours. At least he didn’t attempt to put the blame upon another. You sicken me, Luke, and the sooner you are removed, the better, I feel, for the whole community.”

He allowed his face to relax slightly, just enough to permit his amusement to show. “So you think it would be useful for someone to investigate the level of moral laxity and corruption in the convent? It would be a most interesting study, wouldn’t it?”

“Your meaning?”

“No need for such asperity, my Lady. No, I was merely thinking about the young wench in the frater. Comely lass, she is. She’s been seen lying with various men, mostly canons and lay brothers, but never with me, of course. No. I’m sure that if you ask her, she’d deny sleeping with me.”

There was a gleam in the prioress’s eyes, but her voice showed no emotion, only ice, deadly chill, and as she spoke, Luke felt the freezing certainty sink into his bowels.

“Luke, you are a fool. The girl is my daughter, and I have received absolution for my sin in giving birth to her. As to her sins, they are between her and God. But since the good Bishop of Exeter confessed me when I admitted to my grievous sin, I hardly think there is anything you could report which could harm me. However, the fact you have attempted to blackmail me will be reported to the bishop, together with the news of your affairs.”

Simon slipped inside the forge and crossed the floor to the far side, which lay in comparative darkness without candles or braziers to illuminate the gloom. There was a movement ahead, and he stepped backwards so that a shaft of light lit his face, smiling to reassure his quarry.

“It’s all right, I mean no harm, I just wanted to chat.”

The noise stopped – he could see no one, but was convinced that he was the subject of a detailed study. Just when he was beginning to think that he was alone and had imagined things, he heard her speak. “What would a bailiff want to talk to me about?”

He grinned. “The ale in your tavern, Rose? But perhaps better would be how you rate the men here: your mother wants me to find out who was the murderer of the two novices and wishes you to help.”

“Who is my mother?”

“Prioress Elizabeth. You see, I already know much and now I must find out who killed the novices.”

She stepped into a low glimmering light that came from a tiny window high in the wall, and stood still, surveying him with a serious expression. “Why should I trust you?”

“Why should you not trust me?”

“Two are dead already. A third might not matter to the person who could kill twice.”

“But why should anyone hurt you?” Simon asked with genuine surprise. “Surely the person who killed these two was someone within the cloister, and the reason for their deaths must lie within the convent itself. You aren’t part of it, are you?”

“Me a part of this?” she asked, a smile pulling at her mouth. She gazed at him dubiously. “You know who my mother is, you know what I do here. Of course I am a part of the place, and one of the worst parts to many minds. Think of it: fornicating with the canons, perverting them and making them break their vows of chastity. I am thought evil by the godly here. Don’t you think me evil?”

As she spoke, she approached nearer Simon, head slightly to one side, arms hanging still at her sides. Her hair was long, and hung over her shoulders in a shamelessly wanton manner, but her behaviour was most decorous, and she walked so smoothly it was like watching a ghost drift over the stones. She was an odd mixture of child, whore, and lady.

Simon laughed. “Rose, there’s no need to try to tempt me. All I seek is a murderer.” He strode to a bench and motioned to his side. She gave a brief nod.

“Very well, but if you don’t like what I’ve got to say, don’t blame me.”

“The girls who died – did you know them?”

“I tend to meet all the novices,“ she said. ”They come to me out of interest, I think, and from a desire to get into my mother’s good books. Not that talking to me is likely to help them much!“

She chuckled then, and Simon had to grin at the sight. Rose gave herself up to the pleasure, leaning back and gazing up at the rafters as she chortled. For the rest of their conversation she often did that; breaking off in the middle to give a delighted and delightful belly laugh, her hair dancing all down her back, arms straight, elbows locked, hands resting on the bench. When she was finished, she turned to eye Simon directly, without shame or embarrassment. “Moll wasn’t a very nice girl, you know.”

“No?”

“She was very religious, I reckon, and that made her difficult to get on with. It was all right for me, but the others found her tiring. She would keep on at them.”

“You found her easier to deal with?”

“Oh yes. I found her no difficulty at all. She thought I was the lowest of the low, but as such I merited some attention, and she often tried to persuade me from my ”path of dishonour“ as she liked to term it.”

Simon pulled a face. “Just what you needed to hear.”

“It was hardly novel to me,” she agreed, then chuckled. “My mother has spoken the odd word to me on occasion.”

“With a mother like yours, a woman so steeped in the religious life, what made you choose your profession?” Simon asked.

She grinned. “If you wanted to rebel, how would you go about it? I didn’t know she was my mother until I was fifteen. All that time I thought I was the daughter of someone lowly – just a cottager from a local vill who had got herself impregnated and passed her illegitimate daughter – me – to the local nuns to look after. But then I discovered whose daughter I was.”

“How did you find that out?”

This time there was no mirth in the grin. “It was dear Margherita who let it slip. Oh, I expect it was partly by accident – but not entirely. All along she wanted to get back at Mother for being elected when Margherita wanted the top job for herself. She thought I would create a scene – I don’t know, maybe go to Mother and scratch her face, accuse her, scream abuse at her – anything! But I didn’t. I stored it up, just like a good little nun, and thought about it until I felt I would explode.”

She was staring out over the top of the forge now, but her eyes appeared to be staring out over an unimaginable distance. “Then one day I had to know whether it was true, and I went to see her in the cloister. I was going to speak but she started crying. Not making a noise, just weeping, with tears rolling down both cheeks. She’d guessed what I’d learned, and I didn’t need to ask her then. I just told her I was leaving.”

“Up to then you were a novice?”

She gave him a sharp glance. “Of course. But not now. And I never took even the lower vows, so I can’t be forced to return against my will. Not like a real nun running from the place,” she added as an afterthought.

“Are you thinking of someone in particular?”

“You’ll know who I mean soon enough.”

“Do you mean that this person could be the murderer?”

“Oh no!” she laughed again.

“How did your mother feel about Katerine?”

Rose thought. “Katerine was enthusiastic about the place. She always kept her ear to the ground and figured out which way a vote might go, who would say what and why. Katerine would have been an invaluable assistant to my mother. Intelligent and well-informed about how the other nuns felt. And ruthless.”

Simon fell silent. “You said that you thought you could be in danger, that the person who killed twice may not hesitate to do so again. Why should you be in any danger?”

“Like I said, Bailiff, some here look down on me because I bring an ill reputation to the convent. They think I’m dishonouring the place. Some might be willing to remove me and my wrongdoing.”

“Who?”

“Well, Margherita, for one.”

Elias felt his mouth fall open with dismay as the suffragan bishop inched his way to his feet with regal slowness. His finger shot out and pointed from the bottle in his claw-like left hand to the smith himself. “You, Elias, planned to run away with these pitiful rags so that you could escape the evil of your deeds.”

“What?” Elias squeaked.

“You murdered the two girls because otherwise they would have told the prioress about your unchastity.”

“I couldn’t have – I was with the infirmarer.”

“When?” Bertrand sneered. “You dare suggest that you were with the infirmarer when these girls were killed?”

“Yes, when Moll died, at any rate.”

Bertrand was silent a moment, then his voice dropped to a hushed horror. “At night? You went and ravished the poor child in her own bed? Is there no end to your hideous concupiscence? You dared to take a holy child, a…”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, it wasn’t like that,” Elias said, holding out both hands in appeal. “I wouldn’t have touched her if she hadn’t wanted…”

“Silence!” Bertrand roared. “Your assertions of her unchaste behaviour are no protection to you, and your attempt to throw the blame on her shows only a contemptible cowardice on your part. What of the second murder this morning? Do you declare that you were with your lover when Katerine died?”

“No, but I was waiting for her – at the grille between the cloisters.”

Paul whispered to the bishop. “I saw him there, my Lord.”

Bertrand ignored him, his voice hardly altering. “Who saw you there? Who can confirm your innocence?”

“Well, the prioress – she saw me there.”

“Bishop…” Paul said, and Bertrand angrily motioned him to be silent. “While the novice was being killed?”

“I don’t know, I…”

That was better, for Elias’s voice betrayed his nervousness. Although it was quite possible that the man’s damned concubine would affirm his innocence of Moll’s murder, and Bertrand himself knew Elias was innocent of Katerine’s death, Bertrand knew he had Elias by the balls. “So you have no witness to corroborate your stories? I congratulate you, Paul, it seems you have indeed found the murderer.”

“I’m no murderer.”

“So you say, but the evidence is overwhelming.”

“You must believe me, Bishop. I had no reason to want to harm either of those girls.”

Bertrand sneered. “I don’t presume to understand the murderous instincts of a madman.“

“How can I convince you I’m innocent?” Elias threw himself on the ground before the priest and grabbed at his feet, missing the left one, but catching hold of the right. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life!”

His voice was muffled, for his face was in the straw of the chamber’s floor, but Bertrand heard his words clearly enough. He turned to Paul. “You may leave us, my son. I wish to speak to this man alone.”

It was difficult to keep the glee from his voice. Looking down upon the bedraggled brother, Bertrand saw only the man who would destroy Lady Elizabeth.

Simon pulled a splinter from the bench, played with it, then tossed it away. Finally he faced Rose. “What possible reason could Margherita have to want to hurt either of those girls? She seems the woman most determined to protect the name and reputation of the convent, come what may.”

“You think so?” Rose said. “Margherita is certainly determined to have a convent to run. To make certain of it, she’s prepared to do anything to harm Lady Elizabeth, my mother.”

Simon lifted his leg so that he sat straddling the bench, facing the young girl. She spoke with an easy assurance based upon certainty, and Simon was experienced enough in interrogating felons to recognise the truth in her voice. All his life he had held priests, monks, nuns, canons, canonesses and all the other confusing clerical folk in high esteem, thinking them somehow above such foolery and pettiness. Now he saw that all men and women were alike: if they wanted power, they would fight for it, and those who sought power over other people were by definition the very men and women who should never be allowed it.

Naturally he excluded himself from this calculation.

Rose added, “Margherita has dropped poison into the ears of all the nuns at every opportunity. That my mother killed the first novice is only the latest lie.”

“How did you hear that?”

“You spoke loudly in the tavern.”

He had to grin in mute recognition of her skill as a spy while she laughed aloud once more. Then a faint creasing of her brow made him give her an enquiring look.

She glanced away, almost coquettishly “I just wonder whether Margherita has told any other stories,” she said.

“Forgive me, but you appear very attached to your mother for a girl who left this place to rebel.”

“Is it any surprise? I was terribly upset when I found she was my mother, and tried to hurt her as cruelly as I could. I whored for pennies, when all my mother wanted was for me to be happy and safe. She was trying to protect me from shame and save me embarrassment, but all I saw was that she had hidden herself from me – rejected me, if you like.”

“Although in reality she had managed to keep you with her all your life, instead of being sent away to another convent, and presumably she made sure you were educated.”

“Educated? Oh, yes. I could read to you from any book in the convent, or add up any of the figures on any of the account rolls. Not many here can do so well as me. I think I even made Margherita nervous.”

“Why so?”

“Oh, when I went too near, she’d cover up her accounts before she’d talk to me, as though she was hiding them in case she’d made a mistake. The last treasurer often messed things up. In fact, Margherita had to correct many of the older account rolls when she took on the job.”

“I’ve heard so much about money here,” Simon mused. “It seems the most important thing in the life of this convent.”

“Of course it is. Without money the place would collapse. Haven’t you heard about Polsloe? Bishop Stapledon himself has had to order them to keep better control of their accounts, keeping records of what the bailiffs and reeves bring in, and making sure that everything is noted down. That’s the only way to prevent the lazy buggers thieving all the convent’s money.”

“You don’t have a very high regard for the men,” Simon observed with a smile.

She didn’t return it. In a cold voice, she said, “When you sell your body to a man you lose respect for him. You soon learn that one man is much like another when his tunic is lifted and his hose are down.”

Simon cleared his throat with swift embarrassment, but she grinned and widened her eyes at him. “Mind, I’d be happy to keep an open mind with you, Bailiff.”