Belladonna at Belstone

Chapter Twenty-Three

In her small chamber, Constance slept fitfully. She was absolutely exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t switch off and she kept returning to thoughts of Elias. If Simon and Hugh hadn’t been snoring in her infirmary, she would have stolen downstairs, as she had done so often before, and walked to the grille to gaze out at the canons’ area, hoping for a glimpse of him.

Elias was in every way the sort of man she would have married, had she been able to wed, and not only because of his physical attractions. It was more because of his kindness, his gentle manners, his generosity of spirit – and the way he could make her laugh even when she was feeling low.

Knowing that she had let him down was awful. She could see with her mind’s eye how his face would have fallen when the prioress spoke to him, how his soul would have been filled with misery on hearing that he could never see Constance again. There was no need for a great leap of her imagination, for it was how she herself felt about never seeing him again, and she had to cover her face with her pillow to smother the sound of her sobs.

That was why, although she was awake, she didn’t hear the quiet steps going down the stairs outside.

Agnes crept past the door to the prioress’s room. Fortunately, Princess remained silent. Holding her breath, Agnes tiptoed down the rest of the stairs to the cloister, then hurried along to the frater. Denise was sitting in her favourite place, drinking from a large pot. Her eyes were dulled and bloodshot, and when she saw Agnes, she gave a leery smile. Dropping her elbows to the table-top, threatening her pot and jug with being overturned, she sniggered. “Looking for him, dear?”

Agnes ignored her and walked on past to the buttery. As far as Agnes was concerned, there was little point in talking to Denise when she’d been enjoying a late-night vigil with a jug of wine. Besides, Agnes didn’t want to give her a chance to talk about having seen her earlier – in flagrante.

Denise watched the novice’s shadow as it followed Agnes around the wall – a fierce black symbol of evil. It reminded her of the last time she had seen a nun’s shadow, and suddenly Denise was very thirsty indeed.

Agnes passed through the screens passage to the yard beyond. The shed was silent: no animals. A candle or something had been lit inside. The door was ajar, and a soft glow lit the ground in front.

Agnes grinned. Luke knew she liked romance sometimes, and he obviously wanted to make their evening good. Her mouth widening with anticipation, Agnes shoved at the door and walked in, but as she crossed the threshold her foot caught in something, and she fell headlong. Lying there, she rolled her eyes in amusement at her ridiculous entry, and clambered to all fours. Then, before she could straighten or get to her feet, she felt someone thump her back.

“Ouch! What was that for?” she said crossly. There was a curious dragging sensation on her back, and she wriggled her shoulder-blades to ease it, and only then did she feel the quick, flame-hot pain. She opened her mouth to gasp, but before she could, the figure approached again, habit flapping like the wings of a devil, the shadow thrown on to the wall behind like that of a great predatory monster. Agnes was about to scream as the fist caught her chin. She fell, agony exploding as the dagger, lodged in her back, hit the hard, unyielding ground. She felt something burst within her as the blade was driven deeper, up to the cross-guard. She rolled over, choking, and saw bright, thick liquid fall from her mouth. In the gloomy light it looked black, as black as the shadow on the wall, as black as the sins she had committed, as black as hell itself.

When the dagger was tugged from her back, Agnes was almost past caring. All she knew was that she had to confess her sins and obtain Absolution. She looked up with mute appeal in her eyes, but before she could open her mouth to beg, the blade flashed down again to her breast, and this time it found its mark. Agnes felt her heart stop within her, and in the moments left to her, she saw her killer make the sign of the cross and leave.

It was the barking rather than the scream that woke Simon from his heavy sleep. He yawned and blinked, stretching. In front of him he saw Constance appear in the doorway to her chamber, her eyes wide with fear. “What is it?” he asked. “Damn that bloody dog, does it always yap like this in the middle of the night?”

“That scream, didn’t you hear it?”

“Scream? What, from here?” Simon demanded, staring down immediately at his friend. To his relief Baldwin appeared oblivious to the noise.

“No, outside,” Constance said. Her hand was on her breast, and she almost appeared to be panting. “It sounded like the devil himself – oh, God save us!”

“I’m sure He will,” Simon said soothingly, although he was unpleasantly aware of his own superstitious dislike of the dark. “Where did it come from?”

Before Constance could answer, he heard a door open and the prioress appeared in the doorway. “The noise came from outside the cloister, Bailiff – from this side of the church.” Her face was very pale and she suddenly looked ancient.

Simon nodded, pulled his swordbelt around his belly and tied the thongs together. “Hugh, you stay here to protect Baldwin and the others. I’ll go and check.”

“I shall join you,” the prioress said.

“I think you should…” Simon began uncertainly.

“Do not waste your breath, young man,” she snapped.

Simon saw argument was useless. Slapping his open palm against his sword-hilt, he nodded, then hurried past the prioress and out, down the stairs to the cloister.

“Through the frater,” Lady Elizabeth called from behind him.

At the doorway Simon peered in. The hall was empty. Lady Elizabeth pointed the way once more, and Simon went to the screens, where he saw the door.

The blood was tingling in his veins now, pounding at his temples. He gripped his sword-hilt and pulled the metal free of its scabbard; the weapon gleamed wickedly where the sharpened edge caught the candlelight. Taking a deep breath Simon darted through.

He came out into a small cobbled yard, smelling of farm animals’ dung. A sow grunted at him from a quiet corner. A door was open to a shed-like structure, and Simon made for it obliquely, avoiding the light that streamed out. He went right up to the wall at the side of the door, and then slowly, with every nerve awake for a sound from within, he pressed his free hand to the wood of the door and pushed, sword held out at belly height, ready to slash or stab.

The sight that met him presented no threat. A horrified expression on his face, the smith Elias was kneeling and cradling Agnes’s head in his lap, while the blood dripped slowly from her slackly open mouth on to his stained robe.

Luke shrank back against the stonework of the wall as Simon and the prioress dashed past, and only when they had gone did he lick his dry lips and try to clear his head. He was near the door to the frater, but he could hear a chattering gaggle of nuns approaching nervously through it, so he couldn’t escape that way. The route to the outer wall of the precinct meant passing by the open doorway where Simon and the prioress no doubt stood staring in horror at Elias and the dead woman. Luke’s only chance of escape lay in making his way outside the cloister along the outer, western range of buildings towards the church. Then he could get to the alley that led along the church’s wall, and thence to the church itself. “Why?” Luke heard the prioress demand. Her voice was high-pitched, as if about to break. “What has this girl ever done to you?”

“Lady Elizabeth, I didn’t hurt her! There was a scream – I came here to make sure she was all right. I didn’t kill her.”

“Stay where you are!” Simon rasped as Elias tried to get to his feet. “My Lady?”

“We shall have to put him somewhere safe until morning,” she said. “If you heard her and came running to protect her, how did you get through the door in the church?”

“It was open, my Lady. I followed Luke.”

“Luke was here?” Simon demanded.

“He bribed Sister Denise to let him in, so that he could see this novice. I heard him arrange it, and followed when he came through.”

“And you?” Lady Elizabeth asked. “What were you doing here?”

“I came to see Constance one last time, my Lady. I had no interest in this girl – I love Constance.”

“Where is Luke, then?”

“He went straight from the church out to the cloister, and he stopped there, just as I did, because someone came past – Denise. She went into the church, then returned to the cloister. Luke went off towards the garden, and seeing that, I had decided to go round and throw stones up at Constance’s shutter, when I heard the cry.”

“What then?”

“I hesitated – I didn’t want to be found here, but the cry sounded so full of fear I had to come. I ran through the frater and saw the light. I immediately came in, and found Agnes like this. I held her head to help her soul pass on.”

“When was this?”

“Only a short time ago, my Lady.”

Simon snorted with derision. “You expect us to believe this?”

“Get Denise here, ask her!”

After a moment, Luke heard Lady Elizabeth call for a novice then send her away to fetch Denise.

Here was an opportunity to make good his escape: the nuns and novices, all fascinated by the drama being acted out in the little chamber, had drifted forward so that they could listen better, and their gradual movement had left a space near the door to the screens of the frater. Cautiously, hardly daring to breathe, Luke sidled along the wall, away from that hideous light and the scene within the room. Slipping along slowly, with infinite care to avoid making a sound, he reached the corner of the buildings and ducked around into the small garden.

At last he began to feel a little safer. It was only a few yards to the church. He rushed along on tiptoes, fearful lest he should kick a stone and waken the nuns to his presence, but he managed to cover the distance without alarming anyone and soon was at the alley by the church’s wall. Peering into the cloister, he saw nothing. He paused, trying to still his pounding heart, and moved confidently towards the church’s door. Reaching it, he closed it behind him with a gasp of absolute relief. He had to pause, panting, suddenly exhausted. But there wasn’t time, he could take a rest when he was back in his bed. He rushed over the floor to the communicating door.

His heart was thudding less painfully now, with a more steady rhythm. Thank God he had survived. He cast a smile at the altar, acknowledging it with a tilt of his head. A genuflection after this day’s work would be an insult, he reflected, and he pressed the latch to open the door.

But the door wouldn’t open. His hand still on the latch, he tugged at it, pursed his lips and pulled again, then set both hands upon the handle, his foot to the wall, and heaved until the corded muscles stood out on his neck, tears of frustration pouring from his eyes, but the locked door wouldn’t budge.

As he sagged, ready to weep, resting his forehead against the wood, he heard a noise. Spinning, he found himself face-to-face with Margherita. She stood in a choir stall, watching him with a small smile of contempt.

“So, Father Luke, you decided to come and adulterate one of the Brides of Christ yet again, did you?” she asked quietly. “And what now, Father? Will you await your fate here?”

He made as if to step towards her, but she shook her head, and with a speed that surprised him, she moved around behind the stalls, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “I would prefer to keep my distance, Father, especially with all these dead women about the place. It would be a shame to add to their number, don’t you think? Not to mention defiling the church with blood.“

“How did you know about her? You saw her there, didn’t you!” he accused. Then his frown of incomprehension faded. “Then you were there before me. You must have killed Agnes!”

“Don’t talk bollocks like that to me,” she said, but retreated as he stalked towards her, his face white. “After the scream I saw poor little Agnes there, dead, and I realised immediately it had to be you.”

“It was me who screamed – when I found her body,” he protested.

“Only a man could slaughter a nun like that – and who else but the very one who enjoyed corrupting the young wenches in here? Only one man had an opportunity to get in here and chat to the novices regularly, didn’t he? You, Father. You enjoyed all three of the dead girls, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t!” he shouted.

“Oh, I suppose that righteous little madam Moll refused your advances, and that was why you decided to kill her, so that she couldn’t let on. And Katerine – why did you do away with her? Was it that she was annoyed when you transferred your affections to Agnes?”

Luke gawped, standing still. “Why should I hurt them? I couldn’t hurt them.”

Margherita was relentless. “You had Agnes help you, didn’t you? You had her drop extra dwale into Moll’s cup, and then you killed the girl. Katerine was easy – you knocked her out down here and then tossed her from the roof like a sack of grain. And Agnes knew all about Moll, so as soon as you realised you couldn’t ensure her silence by using her as your concubine, you decided to murder her as well!”

“You’re talking nonsense! This is a pack of lies, all lies, to hide your guilt, you murderous bitch!”

“Me?” she squawked.

“Yes, you! Moll found out about your little game with the money, didn’t she? You never knew before, that your assistant could read and add up. Your precious Lady Elizabeth can’t, but a poor novice saw through your schemes and ruined your plans, so you killed her. Murdered her to cover up your own guilt! But you never realised Moll had shared the story with other novices, did you? That never occurred to you, oh no! And I guess that Katerine came to you with a demand for money and that was when you murdered her.”

“Please enlighten me,” Margherita said coldly. “What moronic reasoning can you use to explain my murdering little Agnes?”

“Yes, please continue.”

Luke felt the ice enter his bones at that voice; in the doorway stood Lady Elizabeth, the bailiff at her side, sword sheathed now, his hand on Elias’s shoulder, and all the novices and nuns filling the space behind. It was a sight to freeze the blood of a saint, and Luke felt the resolution fade from him at the expression on Lady Elizabeth’s face. A sob caught at his breast, making his shoulders jerk. He threw a look at the jewel-encrusted cross on the altar, feeling a desperate desire for a moment’s calm in which to pray and make his peace.

Turning to the prioress, he tried to hold his head up, but couldn’t meet the steely contempt in her eyes. “Ask her where she was, my Lady,” he said hoarsely.

“Lady Elizabeth, I was walking in the orchard when I heard the scream. I immediately rushed back and saw Agnes’s body. At once I realised that I must see whether someone could have entered from the men’s cloister and came here. I found the door locked, but a moment or two later this man appeared and tried to escape.”

Luke protested, “Lady Elizabeth, I had found Agnes’s body and didn’t want to be thought of as her murderer so I fled.”

“And it took you so long to get here that Margherita had time to find Agnes’s body and get to the church?” Simon said disbelievingly.

“Yes, Bailiff. As soon as I screamed I…”

“It was you who screamed?” Simon pressed.

“Yes. It was horrible to find her like that. I wanted to get away, but there were feet coming from every direction.”

“Margherita, you mean? Everyone else was asleep.”

“Someone was coming through the frater, there was someone from the orchard…” he threw a baleful look at Margherita as he realised he had confirmed her story “… and someone else coming the way I had, from the church.”

“Who was that?”

Luke went blank. “I don’t know. They never appeared.”

Simon eyed him. “Could the steps have been running away?”

“They might have been – I don’t know.”

“Tell us all that happened,” Simon said.

“I admit I came to see Agnes; I had just got to the cloister when I heard steps and saw Denise. She was drunk, so I left her, and when she returned to the frater I went up the alley to meet Agnes, but there was a noise behind me. It worried me and I hurried to the chamber and tripped. When I realised…” Luke paused, scarcely able to go on, then: “I screamed and ran out, but I heard people coming. I didn’t know what to do! I went to the frater’s wall and hid behind a buttress. When you sent to question Denise I slipped away.” He faced the prioress. “Lady Elizabeth, Moll had told Katerine about Margherita embezzling priory funds. That was why Margherita killed them both. Agnes found out too.”

“She told you this?” Margherita demanded. “It is not true!”

“Prove it! Swear it before God, on the gospels, on His cross.”

Margherita stepped to the altar and rested her hand on the book. Meeting Luke’s gaze, she declaimed loudly so all could hear: “I had nothing to do with the death of the novice Moll, the novice Katerine or the novice Agnes. I had no part as an accomplice, nor as the instigator of any one or all of their deaths.”

“Bitch!” he swore, making the sign of the cross. “You dare lie on God’s own book?”

“Enough!” Lady Elizabeth snapped.

Simon had remained silent, surveying the pallid priest. Now he nodded towards Luke. “Do you dare declare your innocence in the same way?”

Luke immediately stepped up to the altar. As he did so, Margherita moved quickly out of his reach. So that there could be no doubt of his conviction, Luke picked up the book reverently and kissed the symbol of the cross on its calfskin cover, then rested it on his left palm, his right hand flat over the top. “I declare my innocence of the killing of any of these novices. I affirm my innocence in the sight of this congregation and in the sight of God, and if I am guilty in any way of any of these deaths, if I knowingly or unknowingly took any active part in them, if I persuaded or incited or aided or abetted any person in these murders, may God strike me dead here and now. As I believe in the resurrection and the life to come, I had nothing to do with these deaths.”

“And that,” Simon observed grimly, “leaves us much better informed, doesn’t it?”