Belladonna At Belstone Part 16

"I wouldn't -I couldn't grow to hate her!" Elias declared hotly.

"You would," she stated quietly. "And you would cause the death of your baby."

"No!"

Seeing the desperate sadness in his eyes she wanted to stop in compa.s.sion, but she couldn't. The thoughts were all there from twenty-one years before when she had run through the same things with Rose's father, and it all spilled out in a torrent.

"You would refuse to stay near here; you would insist on moving further away to be free from any attempt to recapture you both, from the risk that you would be taken to another convent many miles distant to ensure that you and she never thought of escaping your vows again. While large with child, moaning and complaining that she had no energy left to run, you would force her to walk on," Lady Elizabeth continued relentlessly. "And even as she gave birth, you would be looking over your shoulder to see whether the Bishop of Exeter's men were following you."

"No," Elias said, but his voice had sunk to a despairing murmur, and his head hung down as he stared at the ground.

She gave him a faint smile. "And when your child was dead, and you had buried it unblessed at the roadside for fear that any clergyman you begged to speak the words might tell your pursuers, then Constance would hate you as well. She would blame you for the death of her child, probably the only child she would or could ever conceive, and for the mortal sin of burying it without its soul having the benefit of a christening or priest's blessing. And you would see her expression, and if you had any manhood left, you would cringe, and in a short time, yes, you would become disgusted with hera*

"No!" Elias shouted, and ran forward to grip the railings, meeting her gaze at last with conviction. "I love her, and there's nothing you can say will alter that!"

"Love!" she sneered. "What do you know of love? You have sworn to love your G.o.d, yet you're prepared to forsake Him in exchange for the fleshy delights of a woman's body. How can Constance trust your promises now, eh? Not that it matters, for she will remain here. Do not bother to sit here idling, young fellow. Constance will be staying in the infirmary, for there is a badly injured man for her to look after, and she takes her work very seriously, as she should. It is a pity that you apparently do not."

She spun on her heel and walked away, but then stopped and fixed him with a glittering look.

"But before I go, Elias, consider this: first, I shall in future ensure that all doors and grilles between the male and female convents are locked or covered over. There should be no communication between cloisters. And second, you should know that I believe Constance to be very concerned that whoever killed Moll was someone who got into the infirmary. Someone whom she feels might have had access to dwale and who also wanted to silence Moll. And now Katerine is dead, perhaps that same someone also wanted her made quiet?"

In the infirmary, Hugh sat on a stool by the wall, idly musing on the novice he had seen in the cloister.

She had so slim a body, Hugh could almost have believed she was a boy, but her lips and those welcoming eyes were surely those of a woman. He might have seen her again, were he to walk in the cloister. Perhaps she would speak to him. Ask him about his life. In his wildest imaginings he couldn't dream of her as a lover, she would surely scorn any such suggestion. But she had, he considered, looked quite beautiful standing there in the sunlight.

At the other side of the chamber, Constance had little time for thoughts about her lover, even after old Joan had started nodding. She had gently wiped the weeping wound at the back of Baldwin's head, then bound it up again. Now he appeared to doze.

"Don't worry, Hugh. He'll sleep well tonight."

Hugh nodded and gave her a shy grin. She returned it more easily. It was not difficult, for Hugh was obviously overwhelmed by being inside a nunnery, and by her proximity. Constance could see his wretchedness. It made her wish to embrace him to calm his anxiety.

She pulled the counterpane up to Baldwin's chest and smiled down at him, aware of the patient's troubled sleep. Sir Baldwin was dreaming, she saw, and fleetingly wondered what avenues his mind was running along. It was obvious that he was under the influence of the poppy syrup; she had seen his pupils reduce to pinp.r.i.c.ks, his flesh was very warm, he was sweating, and his breathing had slowed before he fell into sleep. He moaned to himself, frowned, and once sat upright, glowering around as if staring at enemies invisible to her or to Hugh. It had taken Hugh and her some time to calm him and ease him back down to the pillows.

Gently she rested a hand on his cheek, and was gratified to see his face ease a little, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. He gave a quiet grunt, which she interpreted as one of pleasure, and then he was still. Watching her, Hugh was struck by the kind, maternal expression on her face. The servant knew he should distrust her as much as any of the other nuns, but he couldn't. Her prettiness, her gentleness, her calm dedication; all militated against her being able to murder.

Constance quietly took her hand away and went back to her chamber.

Elias stood with his back to the wall gazing heavenwards for what felt like an age. The prioress must have spoken to his Constance, but surely she wouldn't listen to the old dragon and ignore her heart? Constance knew she loved him, just as she must know he loved her - and how much! Elias groaned and clenched his teeth, his eyes closed as he shook his head from side to side. He couldn't leave her here: what, go away without seeing his own child brought into the world? Never see his own baby? It would be unbearable! To live without Constance was intolerable, but what had the prioress said? Hadn't she implied Constance thought he could have killed Moll?

His eyes snapped wide as he recalled her words. She had said Constance might consider that whoever had access to the dwale and had been in the infirmarya But Constance couldn't think that he'd hurt Moll, could she? Elias slid down the wall and gripped his thighs, resting his head on his knees. Moll was an evil little minx, but why should Constance think him capable of killing her? The Lady Elizabeth had said that Katerine was dead, too. Why should anyone think him capable of hurting her?

Elias felt a cold s.h.i.+ver flutter down his spine, and he looked about him with a sudden premonition of doom. He would be accused and condemned; sent far away, up to the Scottish Marches, to the freezing cloisters of the North, where he would live the rest of his life in awful penance, without meat or strong wines, without ale or thick soups, but living on dry bread and cold water, perhaps locked forever in manacles.

If his own lover thought him guilty of killing the girl, how could he look to anyone else to believe in his innocence?

Elias s.h.i.+vered again. "Someone walking over my grave," he said to himself automatically, and then gave a deathly grimace as he realised what he had said. It gave him an impetus. He forced himself to his feet and set off towards the stables.

"Bishop Bertrand?" Simon shouted, but he could see no one. He strolled along the path which led to the great gate, past the stables, the mill, the storerooms, garths in which cattle and sheep wandered, a great shed which held the tools and wagons, and last the smithy at the far end, far enough away for the forge to pose less of a fire risk. After this was a stable, some hundred yards away.

Simon approached the building. Peering inside, he called for the bishop again, but there was no answer, and he stood outside and kicked at pebbles while he considered what to do. Bertrand had come this way - Simon had seen him. "Rot him," he muttered bitterly, and began to make his way back towards the guestroom.

As he pa.s.sed by the smithy, he glanced inside, and happened to see a slim figure dart behind a post at the far side of the room. Simon's feet had already taken him beyond the entrance, and he had turned his head to face the cloister when he was prompted to return and take another peep.

When the cavalcade had left, the bishop looking curiously sheepish, Jeanne and Edgar returned to the hall and stood gazing at the broken pieces of wood.

Edgar had swept all into a small pile beside the hearth, and both instinctively looked from it to the flames like a pair of conspirators.

Clearing his throat Edgar glanced at Jeanne. "My Ladya*

"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "But first you need to send for a carpenter. The best in Crediton, mind. I want a new chair."

As Simon disappeared, Bishop Bertrand gave his companion a sharp glance again, grumbling, "This is mad, we've been here for ages. Are you sure he was there?"

Paul smiled gently and nodded. Again.

s.h.i.+fting his weight, Bishop Bertrand grunted with dissatisfaction. This was quite ridiculous. The lad had told him about the message, and remembering the way that Elias had been waiting at the grille, Bertrand could believe the young smith was about to try to leave with his woman, a nun.

To Bertrand's mind, this was deeply suspicious behaviour. After all, two novices had been killed and the knight wounded. Even so, if Elias had nothing to do with the murders, Bertrand could understand why he might want to leave. Any canon living in a sink of corruption like this would want to get away. Although no honourable canon would subvert a nun to join him, Bertrand reminded himself.

There was no doubt that two were planning to go. Paul and Bertrand had uncovered the pair of bundles. In one Bertrand had found the little package, carefully wrapped in bits and pieces of linen. That, he knew, was incriminating and Bertrand rather looked forward to seeing how the canon tried to wriggle out of it.

Bertrand wriggled himself. His b.u.t.tocks had gone to sleep. He had rested here for what felt like an age, and all they had seen so far was an apparently endless succession of dull-looking, placid horses or stolid oxen being led by equally dim-looking grooms or vapid farmworkers. The only man who looked remotely human had been the bailiff.

And it was d.a.m.ned uncomfortable, sitting here in the dark without a stool or even a pillow on which to rest his b.u.t.tocks.

He'd tried sitting on the floor, but now he was on the packages themselves. They didn't protect him from the freezing ground and Bertrand was uncomfortably aware that his left leg, which he had once broken in a fall from a horse, would not work when he tried to stand. It had gone to sleep some while ago.

"Where is the man? I see no sign of anyone coming. How long will the fool be?"

Paul's face reflected none of his own doubts. "He is sure to be here shortly. I cannot say how long. No, he shall find it impossible to conceal his guilt, I think." He froze, head c.o.c.ked to one side. "Can you hear that?" he whispered.

Bertrand listened. There was the sound of hurried footsteps, ragged breathing, and a thump as someone barged the door wide open with his shoulder. Then he saw Elias dart over the floor, reach down and pull the straw aside.

"Elias?" Paul asked, standing.

"Who's there?"

Bertrand pointed a finger solemnly and intoned, "We know what you seek, Canon. It proves your guilt that you search for it there."

Giving a bitter laugh, Elias stood aside. "Why, Bishop? What was I looking for? There's nothing here - see for yourself."

"I know there isn't," said Bertrand. "Because we rescued it." He tugged the bundle from beneath him and lifted it up, pulling the little flask free. "And we rescued this, Elias: your nice little bottle of poison."

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 a.s.surances that his absolution was enough to protect her, but it was obvious that her own enjoyment was the spur to her continuing a.s.signations 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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.d! 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 G.o.dly 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 l.u.s.t?"

"My Lady, I don't know what youa"*

*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 pa.s.sing 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 att.i.tude 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 la.s.s, 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 G.o.d. 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 rea.s.sure 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 chast.i.ty. I am thought evil by the G.o.dly 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, wh.o.r.e, 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 embarra.s.sment. "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."