The Lady Agnes Mystery, Volume 1 (38 page)

‘Notary, in accordance with the precautions laid down by the inquisitorial procedure, which state that if any part of an accusation is shown to be false the entire accusation must be called into question, I challenge that of Mademoiselle Mathilde Clémence Marie de Souarcy. I have no doubt that our judicious Grand Inquisitor will endorse this precaution.'

Brother Jean waited. Florin clenched his jaw in anger. Finally he spoke:

‘Indeed. The accusation of this young woman is called into question.' He struggled with the urge to hurl himself at Mathilde and beat her, adding: ‘Scribe, make a record of the fact that this tribunal has expressed grave doubts regarding Mademoiselle de Souarcy's sincerity and is concerned that she may have already perjured herself. Write down also that the same tribunal reserves the right to bring charges against her at a later date.'

Mathilde cried out:

‘No …!'

She took a few paces towards the inquisitor, her hands outstretched, and stumbled. Agnan rushed to grab her and led her outside to where Eudes was, rashly, savouring his imminent victory.

Brother Jean tried to catch Agnès's eye, but she was far away. She had plunged into a world of unimaginable pain. She had lost Mathilde and doubted she would ever find her again.

She clung to her last source of hope, of strength: Clément was out of harm's way, for now.

‘The fool!' Eudes bawled. ‘The unbelievable fool! Why didn't he warn me that he intended to put you face to face with Agnès? I would have dissuaded him … You are no match for her.'

Jostled by the movement of the wagon rolling down the road alongside Perseigne Forest, which led to the eponymous abbey, Mathilde had not stopped crying and snuffling into her deceased aunt's lace handkerchief, embroidered with the letter A in pretty sea-green thread. Her uncle's last remark cut her to the quick and she stared up at him, her face puffy from weeping. How pink and unsightly she looked, he thought, just like a piglet – a shapely piglet, perhaps, but a piglet all the same.

‘What was that you said, Uncle? Am I no match for my mother?'

This was not the moment to upset the little woman. After all, until Agnès had been found guilty he remained her provisional guardian.

‘What I mean, my dear girl,' he corrected himself, patting her hand, ‘is that you are still young and relatively ignorant of the shrewd tactics used by certain people. It is a great credit to you that you still have scruples.'

‘How true, Uncle,' agreed Mathilde obsequiously.

‘Your mother … well, we both know her well … She is cunning and manipulative … In short, I admire you for having stood up to her. What an ordeal it must have been for a young girl such as you.'

Mathilde was slowly beginning to feel better. Once again she was cast as her mother's victim – a role she liked so much that she believed in it more and more.

‘Yes. But …'

‘I could have shown that clown of an inquisitor which questions would be favourable to us! But no, the fool was intent on playing his own little game,' interrupted Eudes, still annoyed.

‘Something the inquisitor said worried me, Uncle. He threatened to charge me with perjury.'

Had it not been for that depleted mine of his, which was ruining his financial as well as his political prospects, he would have happily left her to her fate.

‘What of it? Another two hundred pounds will see to it. Anything to please you, dear niece.'

‘Another?'

Eudes attempted to extricate himself:

‘Yes. Two hundred pounds here, another two hundred pounds there, a hundred more for the abbey, and so on …'

Mathilde realised in a flash that her mother's trial had been arranged from the beginning, paid for by her uncle. The knowledge comforted her, made her feel secure. The power of money was so tremendous that she determined never to be without it again, at whatever cost.

Y
olande de Fleury, the sister in charge of the granary, stood, pale-faced, holding her tiny frame as upright as possible, before the Abbess’s desk. Éleusie de Beaufort turned towards the windows. The fine layer of early-morning frost that covered the gardens had not yet melted. A mysterious silence appeared to have enveloped the abbey. The Abbess strained her ears: no laughter rang out behind the heavy door to her apartments, breaking off as an admonishing finger was raised to a pair of lips. Sweet Adélaïde had taken with her into her icy tomb the gaiety which these austere, unyielding walls had never managed to stifle. Éleusie had not seen fit to do so either, contrary to the recommendation of Berthe de Marchiennes, the cellarer nun, who would no doubt have preferred everybody to wear her own perennially miserable expression. Claire and Philippine had always been so cheerful, Clémence, too – at least before she married that wretched oaf, Robert de Larnay. Each stifled giggle or suppressed smile from her nuns reminded Éleusie of her sisters and their carefree childhood. It was without doubt Adélaïde’s cheerfulness, her daily wonderment, her ceaseless chatter even, that had made her one of Éleusie’s favourite daughters.

The insistent gaze of the sister in charge of the granary brought her back to her study, back to the present.

‘I shall repeat the question, dear Yolande. What were you doing wandering around outside the herbarium at night?’

‘What a nasty tell tale,’ murmured the sister, her little round chin quivering.

‘Our apothecary was only doing her duty. It was imperative
that I be informed of your nocturnal foray, which is all the more worrying in the light of … the present circumstances.’

‘Reverend Mother, you don’t imagine that I went there with the intention of stealing poison!’

‘I didn’t imagine that a poisoner would rob us of our dear

Adélaïde either,’ the Abbess retorted sharply. ‘Answer me.’

‘I felt dizzy … and terribly restless … I needed to take the night air.’

Éleusie heaved a deep sigh:

‘So you insist upon sticking to that unlikely tale. You are not making it any easier for me, Yolande, but worse still you are making it more difficult for yourself. You may go now, daughter. Return to your barns, but do not imagine that I’ve finished with you yet.’

Yolande de Fleury left without further ado. A few moments later Annelette Beaupré walked into her study, accompanied by Jeanne d’Amblin. Despite Blanche de Blinot’s role as second in command at the abbey, Éleusie had not invited her to this meeting. Poor Blanche had scarcely uttered a word since discovering that someone had tried to poison her.

Éleusie gave them a summary of the short, unsuccessful conversation she had just had with the sister in charge of the granary.

Annelette said sharply:

‘Why does she insist upon behaving in a way that can only make us suspicious?’

‘I do not believe for a moment that she could be this … this monster,’ declared Jeanne, shaking her head.

Annelette retorted instantaneously:

‘In that case, what was she doing at night outside the herbarium?’

‘I don’t know … Perhaps she really did need some fresh air. It is possible. What do you think, Reverend Mother?’ the extern sister asked, turning to Éleusie.

‘What should I think …? Naturally I do not see Yolande de Fleury as a
toxicatore
.
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But then I do not see any of my daughters in such a wicked role. As for Yolande, I am beginning to wonder whether her stubbornness might not conceal … a … how should I say … Goodness, how embarrassing …’

‘Pray explain to us, Reverend Mother,’ said Jeanne d’Amblin, trying to make her feel less awkward.

‘Well, as we all know in every cloistered community where celibacy is the rule … and this applies no less to our brother monks … I mean …’ She adopted a more matter-of-fact tone.

‘Rome is aware that in some monasteries, a lack of emotion and physical contact can lead some of us to engage in relationships with … a fellow nun or monk of the same sex.’

Jeanne d’Amblin stared at the hem of her dress and Annelette declared:

‘Are you suggesting that Yolande might be carrying on an … improper relationship in a place of prayer and meditation?’

‘I have no idea, daughter. It is simply a thought that occurred to me, if only because I far prefer it to the idea of Yolande as a poisoner. One is a minor misdemeanour we can only hope is passing, the other a vile murder requiring flagellation and death.’

A brief silence descended. Annelette Beaupré knew all about such practices. A blind eye was turned to them in the hope that they would remain hidden, above all from the outside world. She herself had been the object of furtive glances and smiles that were more than expressions of sisterly warmth. Such infatuations of the heart and the senses baffled her, and reinforced her general lack of respect for her fellow human beings. Why this need for
fleshly contact and kisses when there were so many marvels waiting to be studied and understood? If she had managed to avoid being bedded by a man, it was certainly not so as to be bedded by a woman. Jeanne d’Amblin broke the uneasy silence:

‘I can make no sense of this dreadful business! Why would anyone want to poison Adélaïde and why try to kill Blanche, if she really was the intended victim? Unless … unless this is a case of insanity or’ – she paused to cross herself before finishing her sentence – ‘demonic possession …?’

The apothecary glanced at Éleusie, seeking her consent, which Éleusie gave with a nod. Annelette explained:

‘Assuming that madness does not lie at the root of this murderous act, the only motive we can think of, and which bears some weight … are the keys to the safe containing our Reverend Mother’s seal. It is customary for the guardian of the seal, our senior nun, to be entrusted with one of these keys. A second is kept by Berthe de Marchiennes, and the third, naturally, is in the hands of our Reverend Mother.’

Jeanne d’Amblin’s eyes opened wide with astonishment, and she murmured:

‘Falsified documents? But that’s terrible … That seal can send innocent people to the gallows! And … And a lot more besides …’

‘Undeniably,’ Éleusie interrupted. ‘But rest assured, Jeanne, the seal is safe; it has not been moved.’

‘Oh, thank God …’ she whispered.

Éleusie could not tell whether the momentary relief this piece of news brought her outweighed their common concern.

Annelette intervened impatiently:

‘Yes! If indeed we have discovered the murderess’s true motive, we are confronted with a difficult choice. If the seal is what she wants, she will try again. As we plan to announce later, I am now
in possession of our senior sister’s key. Our Reverend Mother will hold on to hers and the third will remain in the keeping of Berthe de Marchiennes.’

A sudden flash of comprehension registered on Jeanne d’Amblin’s face and she all but cried out:

‘But that means … that means … she will try to kill all three of you? Oh no … oh no, I couldn’t bear it!’

‘Do you have a better idea?’ asked Annelette, who was becoming irritated.

‘Well … Well, I don’t know … I’ll think of something, be patient! You say that she tried to poison Blanche in order to take her key. I’ve got it. Why not hide them somewhere instead of keeping them under our robes or around our necks? Let’s hide them in a secret place that only one of us will know about, our Reverend Mother, for example. That way we will trounce the monster at her own game. Poisoning our Abbess won’t help her discover the hiding place.’

The logic of the idea should have convinced Annelette, and she was surprised when it didn’t. Even so she was honest enough to wonder, fleetingly, whether this was not because she resented Jeanne for thinking of it first.

‘Your idea is a good one,’ she conceded. ‘Let us think about it. Before we do, there is another rather more urgent matter that requires our attention.’

Éleusie cast a bemused glance at her apothecary daughter, who continued:

‘First of all, Jeanne, I should inform you that almost an ounce of yew powder has gone missing, the powder I use for killing the rats and field mice that attack our granary.’

‘Why was I not told about this earlier?’

‘It was stolen during your rounds.’

‘Sweet Jesus,’ murmured Jeanne d’Amblin. ‘She could …’

‘Yes, she could easily kill one of us with it … Which makes me think that another murder is imminent.’

‘“Urgent” is certainly the right word!’ the extern sister remarked.

‘Jeanne, there is a favour I should like to ask of you.’

The sudden hesitancy in the apothecary nun’s usually forthright voice alerted the other two women. Having not been consulted beforehand about the appropriateness of any request, Éleusie wondered what she could be about to say.

‘I trust that our Reverend Mother will not be offended by my asking you this without giving her prior warning. I … Let us just say that I have formed my own suspicions regarding some of the other nuns – suspicions which I am aware may be wholly unfounded …’

Such circuitous, cautious speech coming from Annelette, who was normally so blunt, made the other two women uneasy.

‘… Our Reverend Mother has not influenced my suspicions in any way. To cut a long story short,’ she continued more boldly, ‘I have very little trust in Berthe de Marchiennes.’

‘You go too far,’ murmured Éleusie, incredulous.

‘Well, that is how I see it,’ Annelette retorted, not without a hint of resentment. ‘In any event I would like you to keep her key, Jeanne.’

The extern sister looked at her as if she had gone raving mad before exploding:

‘Have you taken leave of your senses? Absolutely not! And become the murderer’s target in Berthe’s place? I refuse! If you were to ask me to guard our Reverend Mother’s key in order to protect her life, I would accept. Not without trepidation, I
confess, but I would accept. But do not imagine for a second that I would do the same for Berthe … Never!’

Despite the gravity of the circumstances, Éleusie found herself stifling a smile. This was the first time she had ever seen Jeanne lose her calm. She said reassuringly:

‘My dear Jeanne, I am grateful to you for wanting to protect me. I am grateful to you both. It has taken these terrible events to show me who my true friends are. As for my key … I will keep it. Nobody else should bear the burden of responsibility I took on when I joined Clairets.’

Jeanne lowered her eyes to hide her sorrow. Éleusie tried to put her mind at rest:

‘My dear Jeanne, this is not my funeral oration. I have no intention of being poisoned before this evil has been eradicated.’

A few moments later when they took leave of one another, Éleusie conveyed to the apothecary with a meaningful look that she wished to speak to her alone. Annelette accompanied Jeanne d’Amblin along the corridor leading to the scriptorium then took leave of her on the pretext of wanting to verify something, and returned via the gardens.

Éleusie de Beaufort was still standing behind her heavy oak table, apparently not having moved.

‘And this little trap you are setting, daughter, when will you give me the results? Time is running out. I can sense the beast is about to strike again.’

‘Soon … I am waiting, watching and waiting.’