Ashes of the Elements (7 page)

‘It was not the death that made her behave oddly,’ the Abbess said firmly. ‘I must make that plain, because there is no question of her being involved, in any way.’

‘Ah.’ Why, Josse wondered, are you denying it so strenuously, unless you really fear the opposite?

‘No, indeed,’ the Abbess went on. ‘It was merely that – oh, it sounds silly and insubstantial, now that I try to put it into words.’

‘But, please, Abbess, do so.’

‘Very well. You see, Sir Josse, a couple of nights before Hamm Robinson was slain, I heard Sister Caliste get up out of her bed. I think she was walking in her sleep – certainly, she gave no sign that she was aware of me, following her.’

‘I see. And what did she do?’

‘She walked to the door, quietly opened it, and stood on the top of the steps outside.’

‘Innocent enough,’ Josse said. ‘Perhaps she merely needed a breath of air.’

‘In her sleep?’ Abbess Helewise spoke with faint irony. ‘And that’s not all. Standing there, straight as a reed, she was gazing out over the wall.’

‘Over the wall,’ Josse repeated.

‘Yes. Her eyes were wide open, and she was humming softly under her breath, some weird succession of notes, so very different from anything I’ve ever heard before that…’ The Abbess gave a faint shudder. ‘Well, never mind.’

Josse, trying to remember the layout of the Abbey, was picturing the scene. ‘Top of the steps leading to the dormitory, you said, and looking out over the wall?’ The Abbess nodded.

He sighed. He was beginning to understand the Abbess’s unease.

‘Then, Abbess,’ he said heavily, ‘your young Sister Caliste, whether knowingly or not, was staring out over the forest.’

And the Abbess, her eyes full of anxiety, said, ‘Exactly.’

Chapter Five

Seeing Josse on his way, Helewise felt much calmer than she had done earlier. It was not so much that he had resolved the problem of what to do about Caliste, more that it had been such a luxury to speak frankly with someone of Josse’s sound common sense.

‘You must certainly postpone the girl’s admission into the ranks of the fully professed,’ he had agreed. ‘It wouldn’t be fair, Abbess, either on the girl or on the community, to promote her to a life of dedication and maturity for which, from what you tell me, she isn’t yet ready.’

As well as endorsing Helewise’s own view, he had, however, also ventured a suggestion of his own. A typically practical one, and one which the Abbess herself should have thought of. And I might have done, she had reflected, listening to him, had my mind not been fixed on the abstract things of the spirit, at the expense of the more tangible matters of the day to day.

‘Why not put the girl to working with one of your nuns with a particularly strong but, if I may use the word, simple faith?’ Josse had said tentatively. ‘If you have such a sister.’

‘Indeed I have!’ Helewise said, lighting on the idea. ‘Sister Beata, whom you have met – a nurse in the infirmary. She is
just
such a one, and the perfect mentor for a novice who needs to be coaxed more firmly into our spiritual fold!’

But, dampening her enthusiasm, another thought struck her.

‘What’s the matter?’ Josse must have read the sudden doubt in her face.

‘Oh – merely that, at present, I have another young woman working in the infirmary. She has been with us for a couple of months while we and others search for a permanent post for her. Her name is Esyllt, and she arrived with her late mistress, a very old and crippled woman who died while she was with us, taking the holy waters. Esyllt was left with nowhere to go, and we thought it better to keep her here than to let her roam the countryside alone.’

‘Ah, it’s a big world out there, fraught with perils for an innocent young girl,’ Josse agreed.

‘Well, it wasn’t exactly—’ Helewise made herself stop. No need to gossip about Esyllt, and why Helewise was quite sure she wasn’t a suitable companion for the novice Caliste. Anyway, for sure, Josse would see what she meant, if and when he ever met the girl. ‘I shall move Esyllt to the aged monks’ and nuns’ home,’ the Abbess said decisively. ‘The Good Lord knows,’ she added in a murmur, ‘her vivacious spirit should have an excellent effect there. And Esyllt has gentle hands, and is used to caring kindly for the very old. Her late mistress spoke highly of her,’ she explained to Josse, ‘and it is partly at her earnest behest that we are at such pains to secure the right place for Esyllt.’

Esyllt transferred from infirmary to old people’s home, she had mused, Caliste moved from her pupillage under the wise but controversial Sister Tiphaine, to work under the watchful eye of Sister Beata, whose childlike faith might just work the necessary miracle.

Yes, I have much to thank you for, Sir Josse, Helewise thought now, as she watched him mount up. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that, at some point in his life, Josse d’Acquin must have become very used to the command of men …

‘Oh, Abbess, I almost forgot!’ He stilled the circling horse and gave Helewise a rueful grin. ‘I encountered a friend of yours on the road, a man named Tobias Durand. He asked to be remembered to you.’

‘Tobias Durand?’ She frowned, then recalled. But she would scarcely have called him a friend, having barely met him. ‘Indeed? And was there a message for me?’ Perhaps he had sent word regarding the Queen, who must surely have left for France by now.

‘No message,’ Josse replied. ‘Merely to send the Abbess Helewise of Hawkenlye his respects.’

‘Charming,’ Helewise murmured. Then, aloud, ‘Where did you say you met him?’

‘I didn’t. In fact it was on the track leading from the forest, some five miles off to the north-east.’ Josse waved a hand behind him. ‘The fellow was hawking. Said it was good land there, where the trees give way to fields and hedgerows. Plenty of small game, for the training of a new bird.’

‘Oh!’ Helewise was faintly surprised, since she had understood from Queen Eleanor that Tobias and Petronilla lived quite close to the coast. It seemed unnecessary, to come all the way to this particular stretch of the Wealden Forest, when there must surely be good hawking to be had nearer to home.

Still, it was none of her business.

‘Perhaps Tobias will pay us a call,’ she said.

‘Not today, he won’t.’ Josse turned his horse. ‘Said he was off home when I saw him.’

‘But I thought you said you met him this morning?’

‘Aye, I did.’ He steadied the horse, who was impatient to be, away. ‘Wait, Horace! We’ll be off directly!’

Then Tobias must have left his home very early, Helewise thought, still puzzled. Unless he had been staying with friends hereabouts? Yes! That must be it!

‘Was he alone? Tobias, I mean?’ she asked Josse. ‘Or with a company?’

‘What?’ Josse, clearly, wasn’t really interested. ‘Oh, quite alone. Now, Abbess, I must be on my way. Good day to you!’

‘Good day, Sir Josse. Come to see us again.’

‘I will.’ Josse grinned. ‘Apart from the pleasure of your company, Abbess, I’m intrigued by this poor dead body you trod on.’

‘I didn’t—’ she began. But, with a wave of his hand, he was gone.

Yes, she thought, walking back towards the cloister and her room. I might have known. Mention the words ‘suspicious death’ to Josse d’Acquin, and you ensure yourself of the pleasure of
his
company. At least, until the murder is solved.

*   *   *

The new arrangements were put into effect straight away and, as far as Helewise could tell, seemed to work well. Esyllt, who had a strong and melodious singing voice, which she liked to use as she worked, quickly became a favourite with the old monks and nuns living out their retirement at Hawkenlye Abbey. True, one or two of the more straight-laced old people expressed shock, that a young woman who wasn’t of the community should be allowed to tend them, and one old monk in particular took exception to Esyllt’s song about the young lad and his lass, and what they got up to on a moonlit harvest night. But the dissenters were overruled by the majority, who grew to cherish Esyllt for her brimming happiness and her loving touch on ancient, painful bodies.

Quite what it was that made Esyllt so cheerful, nobody knew or thought to enquire. Everybody worked hard at Hawkenlye Abbey; to have someone among them who had a pleasant word for all, who sang as she went about even the most crude of tasks, seemed like a gift from a thoughtful God, to brighten the long days.

Sister Caliste settled down too, in the infirmary. Sister Beata had at first confessed to Helewise that she was afraid the remarks of the infirmary patients might affect Caliste; most of those cared for by the nuns were from the outside world, and many didn’t know about convent etiquette, that forbade the making of personal remarks. Caliste, whose beauty shone like a beacon, was, in Sister Beata’s opinion, the recipient of far too many compliments.

But even Sister Beata had to admit that the girl hardly seemed to hear. ‘In fact, Abbess,’ Sister Beata went on, ‘sometimes it’s quite hard to make her hear anything! It’s as if—’ Sister Beata’s face crumpled into an uncharacteristic frown as she sought the words. ‘As if she’s listening to inner voices. Or music, perhaps, since, quite often, she starts to hum softly, as if she’s joining in.’

‘I see.’ Helewise did see, all too clearly; it was that strange humming of Caliste’s that had so disturbed the Abbess, the night she had found the girl sleepwalking.

Caliste might appear settled in her new work. But Helewise was very afraid that there were currents moving beneath the smooth surface. Currents that would, she feared, bring trouble.

*   *   *

Josse had discovered, in the first few days of his homecoming, that his impression of work on New Winnowlands being all but finished had been an illusion.

The builders were still busy on the kitchen, and there was a problem with the solar, which, apparently, only the master builder himself could put right. It was entirely Josse’s fault, was the implication, for being so daft as to want a solar in the first place.

Josse tried to help, making suggestions, rolling up his sleeves and offering his strong arms and back.

But it was made quite obvious that he was not wanted; the builders, who never actually
said
so, managed to imply that, by hanging around where they were working, Josse was offending against some unwritten but unbreakable rule.

So he retired to his hall.

But there was nothing to do!

The long summer days drew him outside, yet, once there, he had to keep dodging workmen. In desperation, he remembered the Hawkenlye murder.

And thought, damnation and hellfire, I’ll see if I can do better than that sheriff fellow!

*   *   *

He arrived in Tonbridge, where, enquiring for Sheriff Harry Pelham – bless the Abbess, for informing Josse what the man’s name was – he learned that, it being the midday hour, the sheriff would likely be taking his dinner.

Fortunately for Josse, the sheriff’s preferred inn was the one where Josse had himself once put up; leading his horse into the yard, he met the innkeeper, Goody Anne, hurrying across from one of her storehouses with a side of ham under one strong arm.

‘Well! Good day to you, stranger!’ she cried, giving him a broad smile. ‘And just where have you been all this time?’

Grinning back, Josse said, ‘Here and there, Anne. How are you?’

‘I’m well. We’re very busy, but that’s how I like it. Are you eating? I’ve a side of beef just broached, and this here ham’s in its prime.’ She gave the haunch a friendly slap.

‘I’m ravenous,’ Josse said. ‘
And
I’ve a thirst on me like a man lost in the desert.’

Anne batted her eyelids at him. ‘You’ve come to the right place to see to your appetites,’ she said. With a seductive swing of her ample bottom, she disappeared through the door into the kitchen. Faintly her voice reached him: ‘
All
your appetites!’

In the taproom, Josse ordered beer and food. Then, casting his eyes round the company, he tried to guess which man might be Sheriff Pelham.

He was in luck. A newcomer entering the room shouted out, ‘Sheriff? I’ve a message for you!’ and a stout, strongly built man in a battered leather tunic stood up and said, ‘Here!’

Josse waited until the newcomer had given his message and left. Then, casually, he sauntered across to where the sheriff was tucking into his meal and said, ‘May I sit beside you?’

The sheriff waved a knife on whose point was speared a leg of chicken. ‘S’a free country,’ he said, spitting out small pieces of pale meat which landed, like minute snow flakes, on the front of the already stained tunic.

Josse tucked into his own dinner. Observing the sheriff’s progress as he did so, he waited until the man had finished, wiped his greasy mouth with an even greasier sleeve, burped, taken a draught of beer, said, ‘Ah! That’s better!’ and relaxed, leaning back against the wall.

Only then did Josse say, ‘I was visiting Hawkenlye Abbey recently. They tell me a man was killed, and that you, Sheriff, went to investigate?’

‘Aye?’ the sheriff said warily. Josse could almost hear the silent, and what’s it to you, stranger?

‘I’m known to the good people of the Hawkenlye community,’ Josse went on. ‘I hear there’s a suggestion of some weird forest tribe being involved in this death? They say that someone cleverly put two and two together, and virtually solved the crime there and then.’

His vanity thus appealed to, the sheriff became voluble. ‘Well, stands to reason,’ he said, leaning confidingly towards Josse. ‘See, the dead man was a poacher, a no-good fellow, I’ve had my problems with him before. Anyway, how I see it is that he goes into the forest after game, he comes across this group of Forest People, they don’t like him trespassing into what they see as their preserve, so they chuck a spear at him. Kill him stone dead.’

‘Very likely, very likely,’ Josse agreed. ‘Clever deduction, Sheriff! The only solution, really, isn’t it? Especially when you knew these Forest People were in the vicinity that night.’

‘Well…’ the sheriff began. Then, more aggressively, ‘That uppity Abbess woman, she didn’t believe me! Me, who’s lived round here man and boy, who’s known about the comings and goings of those wild folk all my life! Why, my old father used to talk of them, and his father before that!’ He picked a piece of meat out of a back tooth, spat it on the floor and said, ‘Women! Eh? Think they know it all!’