Day of Wrath (14 page)

‘Then someone could easily have added something to the medicine. I'll get down to the infirmary and see what was in the medicine to start with.'

‘Don't be too impetuous. You don't want to imply that you think the monks poisoned Bess.'

‘Don't worry. I might not be a diplomat, but I am a member of the King's Council, and that requires a lot of tact if I'm going to survive. Now, I've got to go and see the Prior, so why don't we both go down to the Priory together and talk to Brother Martin. You can keep an eye on me and stop me from upsetting the Brothers. Did you come here on foot?'

‘No, Melissa's outside, tied to the gatepost.'

‘Then I'll pick up Merlin; Harry needs a rest.'

They left the garden, untethered Melissa and walked round to the stables where Simon, the under-groom, brought out Merlin, a big, bay gelding, used for heavy work. Jane, with a flash of white-stockinged legs, jumped up on Melissa and set off for the Priory. Nicholas followed more slowly, lost in thought. So the conspiracy wasn't over. But which direction would it now take? Bess, he felt sure, was the second victim. Who would be the next? He was vulnerable as he was known as the King's man. But he could look after himself. He was used to living with danger. But Jane? God forbid. He must do everything in his power not to get Jane incriminated.

*   *   *

The morning Mass was over and the monks' choir was deserted except for the hunched figure of Father John, the old priest, who was sitting by the body of Bess Knowles in the little side chapel of St John. Wrapped in a woollen shroud and placed on a wooden bier she looked like a marble effigy. Father John, his cowl pulled forward over his face, sat there motionless. There was no sound except for the distant chattering of the birds outside in the graveyard, and the sound of the priest mumbling the Latin prayers for the dead.

Nicholas looked down at Bess's white face. She looked so calm; no signs of any grim struggle with death. He was conscious of Jane standing beside him, and he wondered what she was thinking. Bess looked so tranquil, so peaceful, that he half expected her to wake up. But her eyes remained closed, and after he'd said a prayer for the repose of her soul, he left her and walked out into the cloister, where the monks were setting about their morning tasks. He waited for Jane to join him, and together they went over to the infirmary, where three elderly men were propped up in their truckle beds.

At the far end of the hospital ward was a small, high-ceilinged room with pointed lancet windows through which the sun streamed down on to rows of shelves packed with glass and pottery jars containing different coloured liquids. Brother Martin, the young fresh-faced monk who assisted Brother Michael, the Infirmarer, was making up a decoction by simmering various herbs over a small charcoal brazier. Another monk was stripping the leaves of some freshly picked sage, ready to steep in water to strain and press. The room was filled with the fragrance of herbs and the two monks looked peaceful and happy in their work.

Brother Martin glanced up at Nicholas but averted his eyes from Jane.

‘Lord Nicholas, this is a great honour,' he stammered. ‘What can we do for you?'

‘We came to offer a prayer for Bess Knowles's soul and I thought I'd take a look at your apothecary's department. This is the right time for gathering herbs, I understand, Brother Martin? It's also the time for plagues and the sweating sickness so it's good that you are prepared.'

The monk crossed himself. ‘May God protect us from such afflictions. I hope you and your household are well?'

‘Thank you, yes. I heard you were called in to see Bess Knowles in her last hours, is that right?'

‘Yes, and I'm sorry we could do nothing for her. I've seen nothing like her sickness before. It appeared like a rapid consumption, but there was no cough and no fever. Just a slipping away of her strength like the tide ebbing away.'

‘Was there nothing you could do for her?'

‘We tried. I made up a tonic for her under Brother Michael's instructions, of course. As there were no obvious symptoms we didn't know what to put in it, but feverfew is very effective if a fever had developed, and we added juniper berries in case she developed a cough. We macerated some camomile and the leaves of lemon balm and the oil from borage seeds – they're good for women in Bess Knowles's condition – then we added valerian for its sedative properties; and marigold, of course. This we mixed with a lot of honey, our special clover honey, and St John's Wort, which lifts the spirits.'

‘Have you any left over?'

‘To be sure. We've always got some in stock. It's an excellent fortifier for people who need building up. All our elderly and infirm monks take it twice a day. It gets them back on their feet. Would you like to try some, my Lord, and Mistress Warrener?'

He poured out a small measure in two pottery dishes and watched whilst they both drank it. The mixture was very sweet and the herbs gave it a delicate fragrance. It tasted good and Nicholas felt no strange effects; only a pleasant feeling of well-being and a lifting of the spirits.

‘It's excellent. Are you quite sure this was the only medicine you gave Mistress Knowles?'

‘Of course. What else could we have prescribed? What are you insinuating, my Lord?' said a deep voice behind them. Nicholas turned round and faced the tall figure of Brother Michael, a basket of herbs on his arm which he'd just gathered from the monastery herb garden. ‘And Mistress Warrener, what brings you here? We don't usually allow women into our infirmary; it upsets the patients. You're welcome to come and sing ditties to the Prior after supper, but I'd prefer it if you stayed out in the gatehouse when you come here.'

‘I'm sorry, Brother Michael, but Bess Knowles was my friend, a very dear friend, and Lord Nicholas and I are puzzled by her death.'

‘It took us all by surprise, but we are not expert in women's diseases. The tincture which you have just tasted is a general tonic calculated to lift melancholy and therefore often prescribed in cases of bereavement. But I'm sorry it was no use to her.'

It was obvious he wanted Jane to leave. He was nervously edging them both out of the apothecary's room into the main ward, where an old man with the closely shaven head of a monk raised his head as they walked past. His body, under the thin blanket, was skeletally thin, and his hands, lying on top of the blanket, were twisted and clawed like the twigs on a hazel tree in winter. But his eyes were bright and blue and he took in everything. Nicholas recognised him. He was Brother Wilfrid, who'd given him his first reading lessons. He stopped to give him a greeting, then followed Brother Michael and Jane down the long ward and out into the sunshine.

‘Thank you for doing what you could for Mistress Knowles, Brother Michael,' Nicholas said as they turned to leave. ‘She looks so young, lying in the chapel waiting for burial.'

‘She's with God, Lord Nicholas, and His holy angels. May she rest in peace.'

*   *   *

They walked towards the gatehouse, where they'd left their horses. The gate stood open and a carriage swept in and the genial face of the Prior looked out at them from the window. He shouted to the driver to stop, and the horse came to a sudden halt, skidding back on his haunches.

‘Lord Nicholas, welcome home. And Mistress Warrener, when are you coming to sing to us again?'

Jane bobbed a curtsy. ‘I am at your bidding, my Lord Prior.'

‘Good, good, that's what I like to hear. I'll arrange something soon. I've got visitors coming, Lord Nicholas. They're on their way from Lewes. Coming to see how we run our Priory. Well, well, we'll give them a good run for their money. They'll soon get fed up getting out of bed for Matins. But we'll feed them well. They'll not say they weren't welcome here. You'll come and dine with me tonight, my Lord? It's not good to be up in that great house all on your own. Besides, I want to hear what the King said to you.'

‘I shall look forward to it.'

‘Good, good. By the way, what brings you here? Did you want anything in particular?'

‘I wanted to arrange a time to speak to you, but I shall see you tonight. We've also seen all we wanted.'

‘And what was that?'

‘The body of Bess Knowles. A sad case.'

‘A tragedy. I'm only sorry we couldn't help her. Well, I must be off. Tonight, about six.'

He rapped on the carriage roof, and it rumbled off. ‘He's incorrigible,' said Nicholas. ‘Inspectors from the King coming to report on his Priory and he doesn't give a damn.'

‘They'll enjoy every minute of it,' said Jane. ‘But now I must go and see Agnes Myles.'

‘That old crone?'

‘She might be getting on a bit, but she's the unofficial apothecary in these parts. Not so long ago, she delivered all the babies and laid out the dead; now she lives alone and makes her own herbal medicines. I want to ask her about the other sort of herbs, the bad ones, the dangerous ones.'

‘A good idea, but it's not going to help us much in Bess Knowles's case. We've just sampled the medicine she was prescribed and we're both still standing.'

‘She might know more than the monks when it comes to pregnant women. There might be some herbs that should never be prescribed in pregnancy.'

‘That's possible. Well, you get off to your old witch, and I'll get over to Mortimer's place. Fitzroy's put one of his stewards in and I want to see if everything is in order.'

‘What will happen if Mortimer is found guilty and executed?'

‘The house will go to the King and he can dispose of it as he pleases. That's one of the penalties for treason; the whole family suffers.'

*   *   *

Two lay Brothers led out their horses and he watched as Jane mounted Melissa and rode up the street towards Agnes Myles's cottage. He felt uneasy about her. She already knew too much and if she continued to ask questions, she could be in real danger. But he couldn't keep her under lock and key; Jane had a mind of her own. Forcing himself to stop worrying about her, he jumped up on Merlin's solid back and turned his head towards Mortimer Lodge.

Chapter Ten

Jane had known Agnes Myles all her life. Agnes had brought her into the world, and helped her mother into the next. She knew how to cure most illnesses, how to alleviate stiff joints, prescribe soothing syrups for every type of cough. It was rumoured that she even knew how to cure the plague. Jane regarded her as a wise friend who possessed healing gifts; her enemies said she was a witch.

Jane tied Melissa to the gatepost of Agnes's cottage, which was at the end of a lane just off the main Marchester road. Most of the villagers lived in timber-framed houses with walls made of wattle and daub. The poor cottagers lived in houses made mostly of mud reinforced with wood and dung. Very few people could afford to live in a stone house. Agnes was one of these. She'd lived in Thyme Cottage as long as Jane could remember, and she knew very little about her past. Rumour had it that she'd been born the wrong side of the blanket; maybe she was a child of one of the clergy – the Dean of Marchester had been suggested – or one of the local gentry. Her mother had lived in Thyme Cottage and had never appeared short of money to buy bread and chickens and a clutch of geese, which the young Agnes had steered across the road and out on to the common land where they rooted around with the villagers' pigs.

Agnes was now in her sixties, a small, brisk figure collecting eggs at the top of the garden. Jane walked along the stone path between the raised beds of lavender and hyssop and the sweet-smelling thyme bushes. The bed of marigolds glowed like a rich coverlet and all around the bees were joyfully collecting nectar, and the butterflies hovered like bits of brightly coloured mosaic. Ahead of her, she could see the small, white-capped head of Agnes bobbing over the herb bushes. At the end of the path, she watched as Agnes fussed over the hens, stroking one, looking closely at another who was coming to the end of her life. She was wearing a simple woollen dress with a white apron tied round her waist, and the wisps of hair which had escaped from the neat cap which framed her healthy, pink face, were white. She straightened up when she noticed Jane and smoothed down her apron.

‘What brings you here, Jane? Not that father of yours again, I hope? He's had enough cough syrup to last him a lifetime. Take him some of these eggs – the hens are laying well – and there's nothing better than an egg to build up an ailing man.'

Her voice was soft and melodious with only a faint trace of the local accent. There was something different about her that set her apart from the other villagers – an air of refinement and contented self-sufficiency. Jane followed her into the cottage and once again marvelled at the cosiness and cleanliness of the living room, where brass and pewter pots and pans gleamed on the shelves, a fire crackled in the fireplace and a pot hung on a chain over it, bubbling and steaming and filling the room with a wonderful smell of boiled rabbit and onions.

‘You'll take some refreshment?' she said to Jane, putting down the basket of eggs on the wooden dresser. ‘There's a blackcurrant cordial, some syrup made from rose hips, or water from my well?'

She put a wooden scoop into the pot standing on the floor by the fire, and raised it to her mouth, drinking the water with a sigh of pleasure. Then she put the scoop back into the pot, filled it and offered it to Jane, who drank it gratefully.

‘Now what is it this time?' she said watching Jane closely with her bright, twinkling blue eyes. ‘A wash for your hair? No, you don't need it. A love potion? Surely not. You'd have no need of that once you'd set your heart on someone. There, there, have I touched a raw spot? There's no need to blush; it's time you thought about marriage and raising a family. But take your time and don't rush into anything. Make the wrong choice, and you've a lifetime of pain ahead of you. But take no notice of me; I'm only an old woman. You'll choose well, I know. God's given you a good brain and you know how to use it.'