Belladonna at Belstone (34 page)

“Oh, Bailiff, you shouldn’t jump to conclusions!” she said, laughing silently, but with evident delight. “I wouldn’t suggest any such thing, but you can waken my nuns easily without trying by waking Princess. If she should hear you, she would bark. As you have seen, she doesn’t like men.“

“That was one thing I was going to speak to you about,” Simon said. “If someone in the canons’ cloister gave a tidbit to Princess, would she eat it?”

“Oh, I expect so. She can be quite horribly greedy,” she said, but then caught sight of his expression. “You mean - you think someone deliberately poisoned my little Princess?”

“It’s possible. There seems to be enough dwale floating about this convent to sink all of you into a stupor.”

Unconsciously Lady Elizabeth gripped her prayer beads. “Good God!”

Hugh had gone to sit out in the cloister, but even though he wrapped himself up in a rug he had removed from a chest in the frater, it was bitter cold. Although he wriggled and squirmed, although he resolutely shut his eyes and tried to imagine a roaring fire before him, the vision alone couldn’t warm him. It was a relief when the door to the dorter opened. Framed in the doorway he saw the prioress, who stood peering about her shortsightedly. Hugh hastily clambered to his feet.

“Come inside and close the door behind you. Brrr! It
is
chill, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned to snow again.”

Hugh entered, but as he turned to pull the door to behind him, he caught a glimpse of something. He was going to put it from his mind, but before he let the latch fall, he frowned, then opened it a fraction and peered out once more. There, darting from one pillar to another in the cloister passage by the church, he saw a figure. Hugh stood stock-still. He was not particularly afraid of any man, but there was something unwholesome and melancholy about this apparition. Raised and bred on the moors, Hugh had a healthy respect for ghouls and the devil, and in a place like this, where the religious folk all appeared to consider their vows as irrelevant, Hugh wondered now whether a devil might wander the cloisters at night. His scalp crept.

“Hurry up, man!”

At the sound of the prioress’s voice, Hugh quickly pulled the door shut behind him and ascended the stairs to the infirmary. As he stole past the door to the prioress’s chamber, Princess snarled, and Hugh hurried on to the security of the infirmary.

Denise snored, mouth wide, and it was only when her pot rolled from her hand and fell from the table, smashing on the floor, that she snorted, groaned, and at last blearily gazed about her. Realising she was alone in the room, she put her hands to her eyes, rubbing with the heels of her palms and yawning.

It was hard to sleep on the table-top like this. She always had a crick in her neck when she awoke, and felt unrefreshed, as though the sleep had been of no benefit whatever.

She rose, stretching, and walked out. When she had entered it had been late afternoon, and she had intended only one quick drink before returning to her duties, sweeping the floor after Compline, but now she saw it was already late, and she felt a short stab of guilt.

“The door!” she exclaimed. Luke had been there when she had gone to unlock it, without, as he had said, the wine, but he had winked at her, and she had sat moodily all through the service, knowing that what she was about to do at the end was wrong and against all her vows, taking wine for herself without sharing it among the other members of the community, allowing a man into the cloister so he could take his carnal pleasures with a nun, and the nun herself, of course, for Denise would be helping her to break her vows.

It was all very confusing, and Denise fingered the little medal of St Mary that she always wore about her neck. As usual the Virgin Mary comforted Denise, and the nun took up her jug and emptied it, smacking her lips with gusto. It was good wine, but she would prefer Luke’s best Bordeaux.

Luke! The vicar should be in the cloister by now, with his little novice. If not, he was leaving it late. When he’d made her the offer, he’d said she could lock the door again once he was past, Denise remembered, chewing her lip. Was it late enough for her to go and lock up now, or should she wait a little longer? Denise wasn’t prepared to leave the cloister unprotected all through the night; she wanted to make sure at least that Luke was already in the nuns’ cloister.

She made her way to the church. If he was still within the cloister, all he need do was rest in the church somewhere, and first thing in the morning, when Nocturns began, he could slip on his vestments and appear just as normal, as if he had only just been allowed in.

That was what made his affair with the girl such a thrill, Denise deduced sourly. No doubt the fool found that the risk of discovery added to his pleasure; continuing his affair beneath the prioress’s very nose appealed to his twisted sense of humour. And the novice was no better.

Satisfied with her logic, Denise went to the connecting door, and turned the key in the lock.

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?”