Day of Wrath (22 page)

‘I took to it, though, when I was older, and we read all those stories together.'

The old eyes twinkled with appreciation. ‘What stories they were! All nonsense, but harmless. I've grieved for you, Nicholas, when your wife died and the babe. You've had your share of sorrow.'

‘It still seems only yesterday.'

‘Don't go on grieving for ever, though. They're both with God and they'll want you to start living again. There's many a lass who'd have you…'

His voice tailed off and he screwed up his eyes as if he was trying to remember something. ‘There's something I must tell you, but I can't recall it. Something recent. That's the trouble. I can remember our Latin lessons, but can't remember what happened yesterday. It's something that puzzled me at the time. Something not quite right.'

His eyes filled with tears of frustration and Nicholas squeezed his hand. ‘Hush, don't strain yourself. It'll come back to you soon. Now try to sleep. I'll come and see you again.'

‘You'll be here when I pass on, Nicholas?'

‘I'll be here.'

‘Thank you. We'll say the last prayers together, shall we? In Latin, of course.'

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. Nicholas let go of Brother Wilfrid's hand, and nodded to the monk who could resume his vigil. He was conscious that someone else had been listening to their conversation, but when he glanced round the ward there was no one there except the figures of the sick monks in the beds. He left the infirmary and made his way across the garden to the solarium which the Prior had built on to the southern end of his house a few years previously.

Chapter Sixteen

When he reached the solarium, Nicholas stopped and listened to the two voices. They were singing a duet and one of them was playing a lute in accompaniment. The plangent tone of the instrument set off the ethereal quality of their voices to perfection. They were singing an intricate song by William Cornish which he'd heard recently at Court. They didn't hear him open the door, and he went in quietly, not wanting to disturb them. He glanced round the room. It was spacious with a high, vaulted ceiling which made it especially suitable for musical performances. The sunlight was streaming in through the open window, casting a dazzling light on the beautiful tiled floor. Nicholas looked down at the images on the tiles which the monks had made in their own kilns. He saw griffins and unicorns, swans and a pelican piercing her breast to feed her young; and everywhere he saw the heraldic crest of his own family, a leopard's head, spitting a fleur-de-lys out of its mouth. Nicholas was very proud of his family's crest. It had been awarded to one of his ancestors after the Battle of Poitiers and he'd used it as a design in the ceiling and in the sculptures on his chantry in the monks' church.

Then he looked across at the two figures standing by the open window and immediately became enraptured. Jane had removed her cap and had let her bright, chestnut hair hang freely down her back. She stood there bathed in the sunlight, and together with Benedict, with his dark good looks and slim figure, they looked like a painting by one of the Flemish masters. They were both concentrating so hard that they didn't see him and the spell was broken only when the Prior came in with Brother Cyril, who was carrying a tray with a jug of ale and hunks of bread and chunks of cheese on it.

‘Come now, that's enough music for today. Time for refreshments. Are you going to try our ale, Mistress Warrener, or shall I ask Brother Cyril to go and draw some fresh water out of the well?'

Then Jane turned and saw Nicholas and he watched her as her face flushed. She turned away, and Nicholas's heart sank. She was bored with him, that was obvious, and now she preferred the more entertaining company of Brother Benedict.

He wanted to leave, but it would have been churlish to refuse the Prior's hospitality, so he helped himself to the food, and the Prior poured him out some ale whilst Brother Cyril went to get Jane some water.

‘Well, Lord Nicholas, what do you think of my two musicians? Don't their voices match perfectly? The King would be pleased to hear them, don't you think? I'll lend them to you, if you like. We'll get a little programme going and I'll have a word with the Bishop and see whether he can rustle up a few more musicians. The King will want to dance, I expect, and we ought to hire some instrumentalists to play us a galliard or two.'

‘Will the King be staying long, my Lord?' said Jane, dropping him a full curtsy.

‘Two nights, probably. It depends whether he'll want to hunt. I'm amazed at how quickly news spreads. I told the Prior not to mention the King's visit. Now I suppose it's general gossip.'

‘My dear Peverell,' said the Prior indignantly, ‘it's ale-house gossip. You can't keep news like that quiet. Best to let everyone talk about it until it's a seven-day wonder. But some more cheese? It's very good, isn't it? Newly made from fresh curds.'

Nicholas helped himself, wondering desperately why Jane was being so unfriendly. He wanted to speak to her alone, but there was not much chance with the Prior around.

His opportunity came when one of the lay brothers came in and said Prior Thomas was wanted in the chapter house. Then Benedict decided he ought to get back to the work he was doing for the Precentor in the cloisters. He bowed to Nicholas and withdrew. The Prior finished his mouthful of bread and cheese, patted Nicholas affectionately on the back and went over to the door.

‘Take your time, Lord Nicholas. I'm sure you would escort Mistress Warrener to her house. Remember to send your steward down to me soon or I might have second thoughts about the lambs' tongues.'

He went out, and Jane began to gather up the music manuscripts. Then she piled up her hair and began to tuck it under the pleated linen cap she wore. The silence was like a barrier between them, and Nicholas couldn't bear it any longer.

‘Jane, what's wrong? Why won't you look at me? What have I done? Surely you haven't lost your heart to a young monk?'

She looked at him in astonishment, and then her face flushed with anger.

‘How dare you even think of such a thing! Brother Benedict is a fully professed monk. We both love music, that's all. The Prior encourages us to sing together and there's no harm in that. Now if you please, my father has been left on his own far too long and I must get back to him.'

She made for the door. Nicholas couldn't let her go.

‘Jane, stop. Don't you remember we are supposed to be a team? You said you'd be my spy and I've relied on you. Don't walk out on me now, just when I need you most. The King's coming, as you heard, and the conspiracy which you alerted me to – remember? – isn't over yet. Jane, what is it? Have you tired of me? Has your father…?'

She stopped and whirled round to confront him. ‘It's you who seem to have forgotten that we're supposed to be a team, my Lord. I thought that meant sharing everything. And then I learnt from common ale-house gossips that the King's coming to stay with you. Even my father knew about this visit before I did. Why didn't you tell me? Is it because you don't consider me important enough to take me into your confidence? A partnership is not one-sided, you know. How can I work with you if you won't tell me what's going on? Now let me pass, please.'

He reached out and grabbed her hand. She tried to pull it away, but he held on. Then he turned her head towards him, forcing her to look at him. She was so tense, and her eyes were so furious that he wanted to take her in his arms and smother her face with kisses, but he knew that he would be making a fatal mistake. Probably she'd never speak to him again. Probably she'd tell the whole village and his name would be mud.

‘Jane, we must talk. So much has happened since I last saw you and I've only just got back from London. I watched Sir Roger die on the rack. I've seen his wife nearly out of her mind with the horror of it. She now waits in the Tower until the King decides her fate. I know that the conspiracy isn't over and that there's someone still at large who wants the King dead. I had to see the Sheriff about security arrangements and I have to see Southampton today about the King's protection when he goes to Portsmouth. Then I was going to see you. So do you understand? Of course I want our partnership to continue. I want you here in the village being my eyes and ears, because Mortimer's successor could be a local person. Now why don't we meet this afternoon – in the herb garden, our place? Come at three and I'll tell you my news, and you can tell me yours. Of course we must work together. I need you. Now I promise not to mention Brother Benedict again, if you promise to trust me. If I go away again, it's because I'm needed urgently.'

She began to calm down and was looking at him now without resentment. ‘All right, I'll come. But remember that there must be full co-operation between us. We've got to trust one another; only then can we make any progress. Now I think I ought to tell you that there are a lot of things going on in this village that you don't know about. I'm not easy about Bess Knowles's death and I think there's someone else who could be in grave danger.'

‘Then you must tell me. I couldn't bear it, Jane, if we were not friends. I need your intuitive powers, your intelligence, and your local knowledge. So, until three, my dear friend, Jane.'

He kissed her lightly on the cheek and she didn't draw away. They left the solarium together and he watched her ride away on Melissa. Slowly he mounted Harry, which one of the lay brothers had fetched for him, and rode off towards his house. As he rode along the street, he noticed groups of people, mostly women because the men were working in the fields, standing around deep in conversation. They didn't look up as he went by and he could sense the atmosphere of suspicion and distrust. At the top of the street, clustered round the village well, there was the usual crowd of women. They always called out cheerful greetings as he went past, but not today. Something was going on, and he needed to know what it was.

*   *   *

‘So that, Jane, is the whole sorry story. Am I forgiven for not briefing you sooner?'

They were sitting on the stone bench in the herb garden. Above them the sky was still cloudless; it was hot, and all around them the bees were frantically going about their summer tasks. The Tower and the rack seemed a long way away now, but Nicholas knew that it would be fatal to relax in a false sense of security. Time was running out.

‘I can see that you've been a bit preoccupied, and yes, of course I forgive you. I'm sorry about Mortimer; and even more sorry for his wife. What makes people become traitors, I wonder?'

‘Because they can't go along with the King's policy and think it's their duty to get rid of him.'

‘And what makes them think they're right and everyone else is wrong? It sounds a bit arrogant to me. However, fortunately Mortimer didn't get very far; let's hope this Ultor gets no further. I can see now why Matthew had to go; and I still think Bess was an innocent victim, although we can't prove anything. And now there's another person who could be in danger, but I don't know whether she has any connection with the conspiracy or whether she's simply a victim of local prejudice.'

‘Who is she, Jane?'

‘The village is full of rumours – all ale-house gossip – about a harmless old woman: Agnes Myles.'

‘What are they saying about her?'

‘That she's a witch; that she puts curses on the hens so that they don't lay eggs, and babies are born with twisted backs when she looks at them; and now they're saying that she's responsible for your fall in the woods.'

Nicholas stared at her in amazement, then gave a great shout of laughter. Jane looked at him sharply.

‘Don't laugh. You know how serious these charges can be. You've only got to ride over Marchester Heath and see the bodies swinging on the gibbets to know how many witches were hanged over the last few months. Probably, like Agnes Myles, their only crime was that they knew more about healing than other people. It doesn't do to be old, live on your own, and be clever.'

‘Then, Jane, we must ensure that that fate doesn't happen to you.'

‘Will you be serious, just for once. And don't think I'm being stupid. Agnes is in real danger. They say she can change her shape and that's what frightened Harry. What he saw in the woods was an evil spectre.'

Nicholas threw back his head and laughed until tears came into his eyes. ‘Stop glaring at me, Jane. What Harry saw in the woods was a trick of the light, a patch of shade that appeared to move. Don't listen to village gossip, Jane; you should be above that sort of thing, an intelligent girl like you. They'll soon come round to old Agnes when they fall sick with a fever or their joints stiffen up when it starts raining in the autumn.'

‘If you're going to patronise me, Nicholas, then there's no point in me being here.'

To his surprise she stood up, shook out her skirt and walked off smartly towards the garden door. Nicholas jumped up and ran after her.

‘Jane, stop. Don't take offence. I'm actually paying you a compliment when I said you were intelligent. And don't get annoyed because I can't share your concern over Agnes Myles. Just let the gossips get on with it. They'll soon get bored with the whole subject. Please don't go. I value you too much to let you walk away like this.'

The door handle was stiff and Jane tugged at it furiously; but it didn't budge. Nicholas took hold of her arm.

‘Come back to our seat, Jane, and tell me why you think Agnes is in danger. I'm sorry I laughed at you, but it's a long way from local gossip to standing in front of the Justices at Quarter Sessions.'

‘I'll come back as long as you take me seriously. I don't believe in witches; and I don't usually listen to gossips. But you asked me to be your eyes and ears in the village, and this is what I've been doing. And I don't like what I've been hearing. And it isn't just because Agnes is a friend of mine.'