Belladonna at Belstone

Chapter Twenty

After her meal late in the afternoon, Agnes was sent to the prioress’s chamber to fetch a cushion for Lady Elizabeth’s chair. She found it as instructed, but once outside the room, standing on the small landing, she hesitated, then walked to the infirmary.

The room was dark, the interior lit only by guttering candles and the flickering flames of the fire. Clutching the cushion to her breast, she went to where Baldwin lay, breathing stertorously, his mouth open.

Agnes hadn’t seen him from close to before, and she studied him with interest. He was not so good-looking as Luke, she reckoned. Luke was slender and fair, with his golden hair and bright blue eyes, while this knight had the thicker body of an older man, muscled and powerful, certainly, but too old, too worn. Knackered. She shook her head. This man wasn’t someone she could fancy; she was much happier with a younger lover.

“What’re you doing here?” Hugh demanded. He entered the room belligerently, his brows black.

Immediately the curtain to Constance’s chamber twitched aside, and the infirmarer herself hurried into the room. “Agnes? How long have you been in here?”

The novice retreated at the appearance of Hugh. He shoved past her rudely to stand staring at the sleeping knight, who mumbled and gave a vague groan before snuffling and settling himself once more. Sniffing suspiciously at the jug and pot at Baldwin’s side, Hugh looked back at Agnes again, who stared uncomprehendingly at him.

Constance cleared her throat. “I shall replace it with a clean one and fresh water.”

Hugh nodded, but still eyed the quailing novice with a truculent glower. “Well? What were you doing snooping around in here?”

“I just wanted to see the knight – make sure he’s all right,” she wailed. “The prioress sent me to get a cushion, and I thought I’d look in. That’s all.”

“Did you touch him?” Hugh demanded.

Agnes felt the tears spring and run down both cheeks. “No!”

“It’s true, Master Hugh. She didn’t touch him. I was watching,” said a voice from behind her, and when Agnes spun around, she saw old Joan sitting near the fire.

“Nor put anything in the jug?” Hugh demanded.

“She did nothing, master. Stop scaring the girl with your fury. It won’t do her any good to be weeping when she delivers the cushion to the prioress, will it? Agnes, come here, and sit for a moment. You need to calm yourself.”

Nothing loath, Agnes gratefully walked to Joan’s side. The old woman patted her hand, and motioned to a seat. Sniffling, Agnes dropped upon it, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“He’s a good-looking fellow, isn’t he?” Joan said with a twinkle in her eye. “I once came up here to see a man who had fallen from a horse. It was Sir Rodney – such a fine-looking lad. We all wanted to see what men were wearing and how they had their hair cut and so on, and my friend Bridget was here before me; we both studied him and it was a bit sad really.” Her gaze was unfocused as she reached back through her memory. “Nothing had changed. All was the same as when I entered the convent. But then the last King, Edward the First, was a stickler. Never let his men wear beards, never let them wear any finery. Said that fashionable clothes like the French wore were for pansies or women, not for the men he commanded. He always was a stern old devil.”

“You met the King?”

Joan shook her head. “No. Only Sir Rodney.”

“Was Bridget a nun?” Agnes asked.

“Yes. Many years before your time. But then she went off with Sir Rodney – to the shame of the convent. Now, wipe your face. Don’t worry – we won’t tell anyone, and it wouldn’t matter if we did. Everyone knows what it’s like to want a little taste of what the world outside is like. What did you think of the good knight?”

“I…” Agnes hung her head. “He’s ancient – and I don’t like his beard,” she confessed.

Joan chuckled and took the novice’s hand, patting it gently. “It’s all right, dear. I never liked beards either. Now help me up, and I’ll come down with you. I daresay this good servant would like to be alone to protect his master’s friend.”

Hugh couldn’t help feeling relieved when he was alone in the infirmary once more. He glanced at the sleeping knight and muttered, “For the love of God, get better quickly. I can’t stand this dump much longer.”

After several pints of ale Bertrand was in a cheerful mood. He had demanded the convent’s accounts from Jonathan, and now sat in the guestroom studying the large roll which detailed all transactions for the last two years. The accounts had not been ready when he had arrived on his official visitation earlier, and now they made interesting – and sorry reading.

The roll showed that the nuns had not enough grain or hay to feed their cattle, and the land was unfit for much other than pasture. There were foreign lands, way off towards Exford and Crediton, but these never seemed to bring in what even Bertrand, who was no expert in such matters, would have expected after viewing accounts from other priories, especially since he had seen money from Iddesleigh’s bailiff passed to the treasurer while he was last here, a healthy sum.

In terms of money, it was obvious that the priory couldn’t survive. The prioress had been accused of paying her vicar too much, but there were few sums going to him according to the rolls. Perhaps the place was investing too heavily in wine and other foods, Bertrand wondered, and ran his finger along some of the columns, reading off the numbers. Even this area looked no worse than he would have expected. Then he came to a point far down, near the bottom of a page. It made him stop, blink, and peer again.

“God’s bollocks!” he shouted, appalled. Then clapped a hand over his mouth and blushed deeply when he caught sight of Paul’s scandalised face.

Carrying the cushion, Agnes walked down the stairs with Joan and was about to open the door to the cloister when the old nun stopped her. “Come, child, what is it? It’s clear enough that you’re depressed.”

There was a tradition in the convent that novices and young nuns could confide in the very ancient ones. The latter could advise the younger ones without anything necessarily being mentioned in chapter, thus saving embarrassment, whilst ensuring that the girl made penance of some form if necessary. Agnes was wondering how to answer when Joan chuckled fruitily, giving the astonished girl a look full of kindness.

“I daresay you’re going to tell me it’s a man. It usually is. My friend Bridget told me about her own man many years ago. Lovely woman, Bridget was. Confident, tall and willowy. Not at all like her daughter, Margherita.“

Agnes felt the hammer blow hit her breast. She gasped. “What happened to her?”

“My Bridget? Ah, the poor girl couldn’t stay here. She was too full of life and enjoyment of the sweeter things to be able to bind herself up in here with all the dreadful, crabbed old dragons!” Joan laughed. “She left the first time with… let’s just say it was a young man. And later when she was caught and returned, she had a child in tow, her Margherita. But the convent couldn’t hold her, and off she went. I doubt not that she’s a great lady now.”

“How come she was allowed to run away? And why wasn’t she punished for her misbehaviour?”

Joan gave her a very old-fashioned look. “Dear, when you get to my age, you’ll realise that most people fail at one time or another during their lives. Even the best of us. Now – is it a man?”

Agnes nodded.

“Then you have done something very wrong. But under the Church’s laws you won’t be hanged! And you will be here within the convent for many years. You haven’t taken the threefold oaths yet, you’re too young, and you will be a nun for many years. If you are not a virgin now, you never will be again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll try to speak more plainly,” Joan said gently. “All I mean is, most of the nuns here who behave so reverently have also done as you have. You will have to give up the man at some point, but you might as well enjoy him while you can.”

And with that she left the astonished novice and, chuckling, went back up the stairs.

When Constance came back into the room, Hugh pointedly picked up the jug and cup. The infirmarer removed them from his grasp, taking them out to her chamber, where she poured the water away and filled the jug from a fresh stoup, adding a small amount of dwale. If Sir Baldwin should wake, it would be better for him to have a draught to help him sleep.

When she returned, Hugh was standing defensively at Sir Baldwin’s side while Joan cackled hoarsely. When she saw Constance, Joan coughed, hawked, and spat a gobbet of phlegm into the fire. “This fine fellow has no sense of humour,” she said, wheezing still with humour.

Hugh was not amused. “I was told to stay here and protect my master’s friend, and that I’ll do.”

“How did Agnes get in?” Constance asked, setting the jug down with a wiped pot. “Didn’t you see her?”

Reddening, Hugh muttered, “I had to go out.“

“He needed a piss!” Joan burst out, and then almost choked as the laughter threatened to throttle her.

“I was only gone a few minutes,” Hugh said sulkily. It was true. He had been as quick as he possibly could be, but in the nunnery he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go, and finally had slipped between two buildings at the northernmost end of the cloister, well away from the church itself. It had taken some time to find the place, and he’d felt ready to explode by the time he stood at the wall, and then the pressure was so strong, he’d found it hard to relax and empty his bladder. As if to add insult, when he’d left the little alley and returned to the cloisters, a small dog snapped at his ankles. When Hugh almost tripped, several nuns laughed. Only a moment later he heard the prioress calling to the mutt.

Lucky really, he thought. If he’d not heard Lady Elizabeth, he would have swung his foot at the little sod.

“Don’t mind Princess,” she had said as the terrier trotted back to her. “She likes people. It’s just that she will have her little joke when she hears men. Never has liked them much – I suppose she hardly ever sees one in here.”

Hugh had made no comment, but slipped straight back up to the infirmary where he saw Agnes at Baldwin’s side.

Constance glanced at him, and her voice was kindly. “Hugh, if you need to leave the room again, let me know and I’ll stand watch over him. And if you are nervous about me, make sure that Joan is awake, and she and I can look after Sir Baldwin together. You should feel secure knowing that there are two nuns looking after him.”

Hugh said nothing, but his scowling countenance eased a little, and then he gave a faint nod of his head.

Agnes delivered the cushion and walked to her desk near the church, but her mind wasn’t in her work, and soon she slipped along the alley which led from the cloister to the garden beyond.

She’d only gone a few yards when her wrist was gripped, and the startled girl was pulled behind a tall bush. A voice whispered in her ear, “Hello, little lady – would you take pity on a poor man with a broken heart?”

“Luke!” She turned and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him through her veil. “Luke… Ah, Luke, it’s so good to see you.”

“Wasn’t easy.”

She pulled away. “You’ll never guess what I just learned. My sister is here!”

“Your sister?”

“Margherita! She’s Sir Rodney’s daughter as well. He met her mother and got her pregnant years before he met mine.” It was incredible to think that the hard-faced treasurer could be a half-sister.

Luke thought the same. “Will you speak to her about it?”

“Margherita?” Agnes pulled a face. “Would you? Anyway, how did you get here? I heard the prioress was going to lock you out.”

He grinned, his teeth flashing. “I climbed over the roof of the church just to be with you,” he stated solemnly.

She pulled away, studying him with a serious expression. “You came over the roof? That’s where Katerine died… You weren’t up there with her, were you?”

He felt as if his heart had stopped. “What, you think I could have thrown her from the roof? Little Kate? I couldn’t do something like that!”

She looked up at his wide, shocked eyes, and was impressed. If she didn’t know him so well, she’d have automatically and unhesitatingly believed him; but she knew that whatever else he might be, he was a good liar. She’d seen that when he’d denied sleeping with Katerine just before she’d found him in her arms.

The distrust was in her eyes, and he put his hands on her shoulders, shaking his head with apparent stupefaction. “You couldn’t believe I’d have chucked her off the roof, could you?”

“She was a pain, wasn’t she?” Agnes pointed out sharply. “She couldn’t stand you dumping her for me. What if she’d threatened to tell the prioress about us?”

“If she had, I’d have reminded my Lady Elizabeth that her own little bastard was screwing the canons, and she’d have shut up. What sort of trouble could Katerine have given us even if she’d wanted to?” He smiled, secure in the knowledge that Agnes didn’t know he had carried on with Kate even after Agnes had found them together. Of course, she never would find out now…

“The prioress might’ve sent you away,” Agnes said quietly.

Luke gave a grimace. “She might anyway,” he said drily, and told Agnes about his conversation with her.

Agnes’s response was predictable. Her arms slipped around his neck again, and she sniffed back the tears as she held him close. Breathily she whispered into his ear while she nuzzled the angle between his neck and shoulder. “Luke, I can’t see you go without just one more time…”

Margherita stalked along the cloister, evading the prioress with that contemplative expression on her stupid face. There was no point in the old woman trying to gain her sympathy. Margherita knew what she had been up to, and now the ridiculous baggage wanted to try to make Margherita regret her actions. Well, she wouldn’t. Prioress Elizabeth had to go, and that was that.

She couldn’t help casting Elizabeth a quick look, and almost immediately she regretted it. The prioress was watching her, and as Margherita glanced up, she saw the prioress lift her chin imperiously and beckon.

Margherita had to obey. Obedience was one of the cardinal virtues of a nun. She slowly made her way along the cloister, observing Agnes appearing with a cushion, which she passed to Lady Elizabeth, before retreating. The prioress shoved it down between her and the chair’s back.

“Always was a problem, my back,” she said brightly when Margherita was before her. “My mother had the same trouble.”

It was so small a comment, and yet so perfectly selected for impact, Margherita thought. The great lady had known her mother only too well, while Margherita, born a bastard, had not known hers. She couldn’t tell whether her mother had a bad back or any other ailments. Not that she cared.

They were quite alone. Elizabeth leaned forward. “I wanted to have a chat with you, Margherita. In part about your accusation that I murdered the novice Moll, but also because I needed to warn you about the risks you are running.“

“Risks, Elizabeth? I see none.”

“Perhaps you don’t. But there are so many things that could happen in the near future, and I thought you should be quite certain of the sequence.”

Margherita gave a small sigh of boredom and bent her head in vague and disrespectful assent.

Lady Elizabeth eyed her with irritation. “Margherita, I know what you wrote to the suffragan bishop, Bishop Bertrand. I know you accused me of having an affair with the priest, that you accused me of wishing to murder Moll, and that I killed her.”

Margherita felt the first cold, clammy suspicion that something was wrong. There was a positive tone in Elizabeth’s voice that struck like a dagger into Margherita’s vitals.

“It’s nonsense, Margherita. I’ve not had an affair with Luke. The idea is ludicrous in the extreme. Apart from anything else, even if I were to wish a liaison with him, I feel it hardly likely that so youthful and attractive a man would look at me.”

“I heard you.”

“Pardon?” Elizabeth enquired, momentarily off-balance.

“I heard you. With him – in your room. I heard you the night that Moll died. The man went up to your room. I saw someone while I was outside, and he darted into the dorter’s stairway. He wasn’t up with the nuns, so where was he if not with you?”

“Are you sure of this?” Elizabeth asked, but internally she was cursing the foolishness of men.

“You ask me whether I am sure?” Margherita demanded haughtily. “Then who was it who panted and made you sigh and weep? Who was it who made you call quietly to your love? Who was it, if not Luke? If some other man was with you, I’d be content to declare his guilt instead of Luke’s.”

Lady Elizabeth sat back in her chair dumbfounded, and Margherita allowed herself a small sneer of pleasure. Except that it was wiped away almost immediately by the prioress’s bellow of laughter.