Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

‘Yes,’ the Abbess was saying. ‘He — his mind has been wandering and he is very sleepy. Sister Euphemia said-’ She broke off, distress clear on her face.

‘She said what?’ he prompted gently.

‘Oh — she didn’t think he looked very strong and she said that if Galiena really wanted to have his child she ought not to delay. But it’s too late now.’

He knew she was in danger of drowning in emotion. And, recalling the beautiful, lively and affectionate young woman he met that day at Ryemarsh, he could not blame her. But they would achieve nothing if they gave in and sat there howling out their grief. He took a steadying breath and then said in a businesslike manner, ‘My lady, I should say straight away that I know of Ambrose and Galiena Ryemarsh. My neighbour, Brice of Rotherbridge, took me to their manor to make their acquaintance. Brice knows, of course, of my contacts with Hawkenlye Abbey and felt that I was the person to answer Ambrose’s questions as to whether the sisters here might be able to help Galiena in her wish to bear her husband a child. We spoke together and I urged him to bring his wife here to you. Indeed, I had the pleasure of escorting Galiena and her companions as far as New Winnowlands, from where they came on to Hawkenlye. Ambrose could not set out straight away but was to join Galiena in a few days’ time.’

‘Which, as you see, he did.’ The Abbess frowned. Watching closely, Josse thought that he might have achieved his purpose of turning her mind away from her distress. But then she added, almost under her breath, ‘It was strange, then, as indeed I thought at the time, that Galiena did not forewarn us that her husband would be arriving.’

‘Eh? What’s that?’

She raised her eyes to meet his. For an instant, her sad expression broke into a smile as, apparently for the first time, she looked at him properly. She said, ‘Sir Josse! Whatever has happened to your face?’

‘I fell asleep in the sun,’ he said shortly.

Trying, not very successfully, to suppress a laugh, she said kindly, ‘It looks very sore. We must see what Sister Euphemia can provide to alleviate the discomfort. I am sorry, I interrupted you.’

‘You were saying that Galiena did not announce that Ambrose would be coming to join her here.’

‘That’s right. No, she did not.’

‘She told nobody?’

The Abbess looked thoughtful. ‘She did not tell me . I cannot swear that she did not mention it to any other sister but I do not think so, for word would surely have reached me.’

‘Hm.’ It was his turn to frown, which, he discovered, creased the flesh on his burned forehead and hurt quite a lot. ‘Well, maybe she was too busy with her own concerns and simply forgot.’

‘She was certainly preoccupied,’ the Abbess agreed. ‘And, I think, rather embarrassed at the whole procedure of coming here to be treated for her barrenness. As Sister Euphemia pointed out to me, all very understandable.’

Josse wondered if now was the moment to ask the question that he had been wanting to ask ever since the Abbess had told him the news. Studying her, he thought it was as good a time as any. He said quietly, ‘My lady, how did Galiena die?’

She stared at him. Then: ‘We do not know. Sister Euphemia is even now studying the — er, the body.’

‘Was the girl unwell?’ he persisted. ‘Was there any obvious wound, such as might have been made had she fallen, for example?’

‘She was not unwell,’ the Abbess said tonelessly. ‘She was anxious, distressed even, but not, I think, unwell. As to a wound-’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing obvious at first glance. No blood on her garments, no twisted limb or bump on the head. Just the swelling of her poor face and the one episode of vomiting, or whatever it was.’

‘Vomiting?’

She shook her head impatiently. ‘Not exactly that. She opened her mouth and liquid came out. Watery liquid.’

‘I see.’ It was a silly remark, as he definitely did not see. Not with any certainty, at least, although a horrible suspicion was dawning. Hoping that he was doing the right thing and not making a bad matter worse, he said, ‘My lady, can it be, do you think, that Galiena was poisoned?’

The Abbess stared at him in silence for a moment. Then she said, ‘It is what I have been dreading. I pray that it is not so, but …’ She left the sentence unfinished.

‘But what else could it be?’ he murmured.

‘Sister Euphemia has promised to report to me as soon as she has finished,’ the Abbess said. ‘I fear, Sir Josse, that all we can do is wait.’

They did not have to wait long. But it was not the infirmarer herself who came to find them but Sister Caliste, one of the Abbey’s youngest fully professed nuns and a competent and compassionate nurse. She approached, made a graceful obeisance to her superior and greeted Josse with a wide smile. Although she did not speak to him, he read clearly in her expression that she was glad to see him again.

‘Sister Euphemia asks me to say that she is ready for you now, my lady,’ Sister Caliste said to the Abbess. ‘If you both would like to follow me, I will take you to her.’

Josse and the Abbess walked in silence behind the young nun through the cloister and across the courtyard to the infirmary. There Sister Caliste led them along to the left and into a small room leading off the main chamber. In it there was a single, raised cot on which now lay a body covered with a clean white sheet.

Realising that the body was probably naked beneath the linen, Josse stood back. But the Abbess, turning to him, said, ‘Please, Sir Josse, come in with me if you will. Your experienced eyes have helped us before and, in truth, this is no time for delicacy.’

Sister Euphemia, overhearing, said, ‘Come on in, Sir Josse. The poor lass is decently covered and all I need to show you is her face.’

The Abbess stepped across to stand over the cot and Josse took his place beside her. Sister Caliste remained just inside the door, which she had quietly closed behind her.

Without preamble, the infirmarer said, ‘I reckon she was poisoned. There was fluid in her mouth, although I cannot say what it was, and her face had swelled up, especially the lips. I’ve seen similar symptoms in cases of poison.’

‘This fluid you speak of,’ Josse said. ‘What was it like? Was there undigested matter in it?’

‘I looked carefully, but found nothing,’ Sister Euphemia replied.

‘Strange,’ Josse mused.

‘Strange?’ the Abbess queried.

‘Aye, my lady.’ Josse glanced across the cot at the infirmarer, who gave a brief nod as if to say, you explain. ‘Often when somebody takes poison, the substance causes vomiting as soon as it reaches the stomach. The vomit then can be seen to contain whatever the poison was and also some of whatever else was in the stomach, such as-’

‘Yes, thank you, Sir Josse,’ the Abbess interrupted, ‘I understand.’

‘But this is not the case here,’ Josse finished.

‘No, it’s not,’ the infirmarer agreed. ‘Just that clear, colourless fluid.’

‘Could she recently have taken a drink of water?’ the Abbess suggested. ‘In her distress, she might simply have spat it out.’

Again Josse met Sister Euphemia’s eyes. He was quite sure she thought it as unlikely as he did, although both of them were too polite to say so. ‘It’s possible, my lady,’ the infirmarer said.

‘But not probable,’ the Abbess said with a faint smile. ‘I can tell by your tone, Sister.’

The three of them stood in silence around the still figure beneath the sheet. Then Josse said tentatively, ‘You mentioned swelling, Sister Euphemia. Might I be allowed to look?’

He wondered even as he spoke whether the two nuns would disapprove of his request but, with a quick gesture, Sister Euphemia twitched back the sheet and said, ‘Of course, Sir Josse. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.’