Whiter than the Lily

7

Helewise, who had almost regained control over herself after the infirmarer’s poignant revelation, watched Josse staring at Aebba. He looked, she thought, as if something were surprising him. Had he, like her, formed an impression of Galiena’s maidservant as an unemotional, even cold woman? If so, no doubt he was taken aback by her dramatic reaction to her young mistress’s death.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Sister Euphemia said kindly, ‘Would you like to see her one last time?’

Wordlessly Aebba nodded.

The infirmarer drew back the sheet again and Aebba stared silently down on Galiena. She stood perfectly still for some time, her face once more an unmoving mask. Then, still without a word, she turned and walked quickly out of the room.

Helewise felt that it was high time she began to act more like the Abbess of Hawkenlye and less like a grieving mourner. After all, she told herself firmly, she had hardly known Galiena and, although the girl’s death was undoubtedly a tragedy for her poor husband, it was not one that affected Helewise personally. She said in what she hoped was her usual tone, ‘Sister Euphemia, would you now please prepare the body for burial? Sister Caliste can assist you. In the morning I will send word to Father Gilbert that he will be needed.’ Then she nodded briefly to the two nuns and made her way out into the infirmary. Reaching the outer door, she was aware that Josse had followed her.

Once they were in the relative seclusion of the cloister, he spoke. His face still looking worried, he said, ‘My lady, this is a strange business, is it not? Can we truly believe that Galiena did not know herself to be pregnant?’

She turned to him. ‘What else can we believe?’ she asked simply.

He frowned, winced, then said, ‘I suppose you are right. Certainly, when I met her at her husband’s manor she seemed genuinely thrilled at the thought that Hawkenlye might be the answer to her prayers. I would bet a king’s ransom’ — he broke off with a wry grin — ‘I mean, I would bet much money that she had no idea then that what she so desperately wanted had already happened.’

‘Well then, why do you look so doubtful?’ She recalled, looking at him now, that she had meant to organise some remedy for his sunburned face; everything else that had happened had driven it out of her head.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There is something here that I don’t understand.’

‘What?’ she demanded.

He grinned again. ‘My lady, do not be so fierce with a man in pain!’

She touched his sleeve briefly. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse. Sister Euphemia is busy, as we both know, but come along with me to Sister Tiphaine, who, I am quite sure, will have some soothing balm for your face.’

The herbalist’s little room smelled of lavender and rosemary. As Helewise and Josse entered, she was making something with rose water and the heady fragrance was gradually permeating the air, blending with the background scent so that unconsciously Helewise found herself breathing in deeply, as if to absorb more of the sweet perfume into her body.

‘My lady Abbess,’ Sister Tiphaine greeted her, bowing somewhat stiffly. ‘Sir Josse.’ She gave him a wide smile, then immediately reached up a practised hand to a large jar halfway along a shelf behind her. ‘I can guess why you have come to see me,’ she said as she opened the jar. ‘Dab this on your face. It will ease the discomfort and help the skin to mend itself.’

Helewise watched as Josse sniffed at the jar and then gingerly patted a small amount of the contents on his left cheek. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Lavender, mostly,’ the herbalist replied. ‘Plus a few of my special magic ingredients.’

Helewise was not certain but she thought she saw Sister Tiphaine give Josse a quick wink.

‘You have heard the news, Sister?’ she enquired.

Sister Tiphaine turned to her, all signs of merriment now gone from her face. ‘I have, my lady. And I grieve for the young woman, for all that I cannot say I warmed to her.’

‘Didn’t you?’ Josse sounded amazed. ‘But she was a delightful young woman, kind and gentle as well as beautiful!’

Helewise exchanged a glance with the herbalist, who cocked an ironic eyebrow. ‘Perhaps, Sir Josse,’ she said, ‘Galiena was someone who was perceived differently by men and by women, so that your experience of her was necessarily other than Sister Tiphaine’s and mine.’ It was, she thought, a mild enough comment, in view of the fact that she definitely leaned more towards agreeing with Sister Tiphaine than with Josse. Although it distressed her to think ill of one so recently and so agonisingly dead, her honesty made her accept that she, too, had not warmed to Galiena.

Josse clearly was still not happy. ‘But you must agree that she was a good wife and clearly devoted to Ambrose, even though he was so much older than she was!’ he protested.

‘I had not the advantage of observing them together,’ Helewise said. ‘Ambrose Ryemarsh arrived only late this morning and at that time Galiena was-’ Oh, dear! This was going to be awkward, given that Josse was already seeing mysteries and puzzles where there were none! ‘At that time we did not actually know where Galiena was.’

‘She had gone missing.’ Josse was nodding infuriatingly, as if to say, there! I told you there was something odd about all this!

‘Not missing exactly,’ Helewise protested. ‘She had set her heart on returning home this morning, only one of the remedies that Sister Tiphaine was preparing for her was not ready.’ The herbalist nodded in confirmation. ‘Galiena went for a walk in the forest,’ Helewise finished.

‘The girl was angry,’ Sister Tiphaine said. ‘She wanted to leave, just as you said, my lady, and she was right put out when I told her she couldn’t, not unless she was prepared to risk spoiling the second remedy. She only agreed to wait — and it was a grudging agreement, let me tell you — when I said that some of the mixture’s potency would be lost if it were to be disturbed too soon.’

‘So she went off for a walk to fill in the time,’ Helewise concluded. ‘Quite natural, would you not say, Sir Josse?’

‘Aye, I might,’ he agreed. ‘Except that, from what you say, Galiena was planning to hurry back home even as her husband was travelling over here to join her! How do we explain that?’

Helewise frowned. ‘You are quite right, Sir Josse,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I have wondered all along why Galiena did not warn us that Ambrose would be joining her. What possible reason can she have had for her reticence?’

‘He’s an old man, feeble, all but blind, prone to wandering in his mind,’ the herbalist said. ‘Or so I hear. Maybe the young lady wished to return home before he set out so as to save him the stress of the journey.’

‘That seems likely, and-’ Helewise began.

But Josse interrupted. ‘I am sorry, my lady, but I do not understand this talk of Ambrose as a doddering dotard!’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s old, aye, and doesn’t see too well, I grant you that, but there’s nothing wrong with his mind and I would say that he is stronger than many men considerably younger than himself. To say that Galiena wished to spare him the journey here cannot be right! Why, when I last saw him, he was eagerly anticipating it and it was only that he had matters at home to attend to that prevented him riding out with Galiena.’

‘Oh,’ Helewise said lamely. Then, recovering: ‘Sir Josse, it may be that some new ailment has arisen in Ambrose since you last met, for it is certain that now he lies in the infirmary, weak in body and also, I fear, in mind.’

‘He has just lost his wife!’ Josse protested hotly.

‘Yes, I know, and I am more sorry for it than I can say, but he was failing before that.’ Trying to find a way to convince him, she said, ‘I was with him in the infirmary even as Galiena collapsed. He was vague, disorientated and, I thought, not really able to discern dreaming from wakefulness. Galiena had visited him earlier,’ she added, almost as an afterthought. ‘Or so he claimed. It was apparently while the nuns were at Vespers, leaving the lay sisters in charge. He said that she had been massaging his hands.’

‘He’ll be sleeping now,’ Sister Tiphaine said calmly. ‘I sent over some of my strongest sedative. He’ll have some respite from his grief till he wakes.’

Thinking, not without dread, of what she would say to Ambrose in the morning, Helewise said firmly, ‘And we all should sleep soon, too, as soon as Compline is over. Sir Josse, will you join us for the last office of the day? Under the circumstances, I think it would do you good.’

With a nod of acceptance, he followed her out of the herbalist’s room and she heard the steady tread of Sister Tiphaine’s feet falling in behind him.

Helewise surprised herself by sleeping soundly and, as far as she remembered, dreamlessly. But as she left the Abbey church after Prime, she knew that she could no longer postpone a visit to Ambrose. He might still be sleeping — the coward in her prayed that he was — but all the same she ought to go and check.

Sister Euphemia, greeting her at the door of the infirmary, knew without being told why she had come. ‘He sleeps still,’ she reported. ‘That was a strong draught that Sister Tiphaine selected for him.’

‘Send me word immediately he wakes,’ Helewise said. ‘I wish to be here to answer his questions.’

The infirmarer looked at her shrewdly. ‘You think, my lady, that he will seek to lay blame on us?’

‘His wife is dead,’ Helewise replied neutrally. ‘She came to us for help and she died. I do not believe that blame can fairly be laid on us, but he is grieving and grief makes for irrational accusations.’ Her thoughts already running to one such accusation, Helewise gave the infirmarer a brief nod and turned to leave.

Then she returned to the church and knelt before the altar lost in one of the most fervent prayers she had offered up in a long time. If what she feared indeed came to pass, she had greater need of God’s guarding presence at her side than she had ever had.

She was back in her room when Sister Caliste came to find her. With a deep bow, she said, ‘My lady, the lord Ambrose is awake and is asking for you.’

‘Thank you, Sister.’ Helewise got to her feet. ‘Please go and tell him that I am on my way.’

She waited until the young nun had gone, spent a few moments in prayer and then followed her.

Ambrose was out of bed and fully clothed. He wore a long tunic of chestnut brown over what looked like clean linen; he seemed to have had the presence of mind to prepare very carefully for his meeting with her and had, apparently, even had a shave.

He walked towards her up the central aisle of the infirmary and, after a courteous but brief greeting, said, ‘My lady Abbess, I would talk privately with you. Let us step outside away from the ears of others’ — he glanced over his shoulder at the many occupied cots, some of whose occupants were watching the scene with open-mouthed curiosity — ‘and find a quiet corner where we shall not be interrupted.’

She found herself being steered out of the infirmary and into the sunshine. Regaining control — this indeed was a different man from the enfeebled day-dreamer of yesterday! — she said firmly, ‘Follow me. There is a bench we can use in the shade of the wall over there.’

She led him to the corner where the end of the stable block overhung the herb garden. There was nobody about; Sister Martha could be heard working in the stables and there was no sign of the herbalist. She indicated that Ambrose should sit and then settled herself beside him.

She was tempted to break the lengthening silence with words of condolence but something made her refrain. Strangely — and surely mistakenly — she was receiving the impression that this was turning into a battle of wills. Well, if that were so, she could keep her peace longer than he could.

Eventually he said, ‘My lady Abbess, my wife came here on the recommendation of Sir Josse d’Acquin to ask your help in her efforts to conceive my child. Now she is dead, it seems by poison. What have you to say?’

Helewise had not expected such thinly disguised animosity. She took a steadying breath and then said, ‘Galiena asked for our help, as you say. She saw my infirmarer, Sister Euphemia, who offered both to talk to her and to examine her to see if any physical problem could be detected. This Galiena utterly refused. Sister Euphemia then consulted my herbalist, Sister Tiphaine, and they decided that the only thing they could do, not knowing of any specific problem, was to prepare a couple of general remedies that are believed to aid conception. I cannot tell you the details of these, but-’

‘Galiena took these herbals?’ he demanded.

‘I think not,’ she replied calmly, trying to ignore her racing heart. ‘One was not quite ready and the other, which had already been given to her, seems not to have been drunk from.’

But his expression suggested that he did not believe her. ‘My wife was most eager to conceive,’ he said coldly. ‘I think that, given a remedy that promised to help her in that desire, she could not have resisted the urge to take a dose of it immediately.’ There was a pause then: ‘I will see it,’ he announced.

Bowing her head, Helewise said, ‘It is back in Sister Tiphaine’s room. Please, come with me.’

They stood up and walked the short distance to the herbalist’s hut. Opening the door, Helewise pointed to the workbench, which was empty except for two small bottles.

‘This one’ — she pointed — ‘was not given to Galiena. This one’ — she picked up the other bottle and handed it to Ambrose — ‘was briefly in her possession.’

Aware of movement behind her, she half-turned. Sister Tiphaine stood in the doorway. Behind her was Sister Euphemia and, at the rear, the tall, broad figure of Josse. Wondering how they had known she was there but, at the same time, hugely grateful for their presence, she turned back to Ambrose.

Intent on the moment, he gave no indication that he had noticed the trio standing behind her. He was holding the first remedy in one hand, staring intently at the stopper. ‘Has this been opened?’ he demanded.

‘I do not know,’ Helewise replied. ‘Sister Tiphaine? Can you tell?’

Sister Tiphaine took the bottle from Ambrose. Looking at the top, she said, ‘I can’t say that it has or has not been opened. It might have been.’ Then she held the bottle up to the light; the glass was dim and cloudy but by holding it so that the sun shone on it she was able to see the level of the contents. ‘Nothing’s been taken out of it. Or, if it has, only the smallest amount.’

‘Enough to poison my wife,’ Ambrose said.

There was a cry of protest, quickly stifled; Helewise thought it came from Sister Euphemia, since Sister Tiphaine, expressionless beside her Abbess, appeared to have been turned to stone.

‘The remedy is not poisonous,’ Helewise said gently. ‘My lord, I understand your need to discover the cause of your wife’s tragic death but I would beg you not to make hasty or false accusations.’

‘You agree she died of poison?’ he demanded, turning pain-filled eyes on her.

‘I — it seems likely,’ Helewise said.

‘Then what else, pray tell me, can it have been?’ he shouted.

‘I do not know.’ She was fighting to keep calm. ‘Galiena said she was going to have a walk in the forest so it is possible she picked and ate something — a mushroom, some berries, perhaps — that proved lethal.’

‘Hm.’ He glared at her and she knew that he did not accept her explanation. She was not sure she blamed him. Then, holding up the bottle, he said, ‘Let the herbalist prove that her work is not the source of the poison. She made it, let her drink it.’

Sister Tiphaine held out her hand to take the bottle.

But Helewise stopped her.

Taking the bottle from Ambrose, she said quietly, ‘It is one thing for the remedy’s maker to have confidence in her work but I think you will agree, my lord, that for another to believe in its innocence is a greater test.’ Taking out the stopper as she spoke, she added, ‘I will drink it myself.’

Again, she sensed that someone behind her was protesting; this time she was sure it was Josse. He did more than make a verbal protest, however; she felt movement and then he was beside her and had taken a tight grip on the hand holding the bottle.

‘My lady, is this wise?’ he muttered. ‘I know what faith you have in your herbalist but could it not be just this once that she has — that there has been-’ He broke off.

She turned to him. She could see the anguish in his eyes and she wished she could say something to alleviate it. But in that moment she was Abbess of Hawkenlye and friendships — if friendship described what she and Josse shared — had to be put aside. ‘Sir Josse, please let go of my hand,’ she ordered.

He gave her one last despairing look that tore at her heart. Then he released her.

Before she had time to change her mind she put the bottle to her lips and took a large sip. She heard Sister Tiphaine gasp and mutter something — it sounded like, ‘Go easy! It is strong!’ — and then the very powerful taste of whatever it was with which she had just filled her mouth struck her so violently that every other sense temporarily shut down.

She swallowed hastily, feeling the burning sensation that had begun on her tongue and the inside of her mouth now spread down her gullet. As the first heat subsided, she began to detect some of the elements making up the taste … garlic, clearly, and was it onion? Also caraway, wormwood, perhaps — anyway, something very spicy and bitter — and a fruity taste that she thought could be apple …

Swallowing again, she emptied her mouth. She was starting to salivate — with a flicker of dread she remembered the clear fluid that had poured from Galiena’s mouth — but perhaps it was only the result of having drunk something so strongly and hotly flavoured.

She hoped so. Dear God, she hoped so.

She glanced round at the circle of people watching her. Josse’s expression was too hard to bear and quickly she moved on to Sister Tiphaine, whose calm face seemed to say, Do not worry. All is well. Sister Euphemia, Helewise noted with an urge to giggle, had put out both arms as if preparing to catch her Abbess as she fell.

Lastly she turned her eyes to Ambrose. To her surprise, he no longer looked either angry or accusing; the expression on his lined old face looked like admiration.

Time passed. Then Sister Euphemia said tentatively, ‘How do you feel, my lady?’

‘I feel quite well, thank you,’ Helewise replied. She felt a burp rise and tried to suppress it. Clearing her throat, she said, ‘How long, Sister Tiphaine, would you estimate that a poison would take to work?’

‘Hard to say,’ Sister Tiphaine said gruffly. ‘Depends what it is. Some take a while, some kill immediately. In most cases, there will be symptoms that develop straight away.’

‘As I say,’ Helewise remarked sweetly, ‘I feel quite well.’

‘No burning of the lips and mouth?’ Josse asked anxiously.

‘None.’ She smiled at him.

‘No nausea?’ Sister Euphemia demanded. ‘You don’t feel as how you want to be sick?’

‘Not at all.’

They waited some more.

Helewise, whose relief was making her feel quite silly, wanted to laugh. They’re all waiting to see if I collapse and die, she thought. They can’t do anything until either I do or I don’t.

Well, I’m not going to. I knew it would be safe and it was.

Straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, she turned to Ambrose. ‘It is possible that I may suffer some reaction later,’ she said somewhat frostily, ‘and if that is the case, I shall certainly tell you.’ No — that was absurd. ‘You will be informed,’ she amended. ‘But for now I think that we must begin to look elsewhere for the source of whatever it was that poisoned Galiena.’