Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

‘Aye, he does,’ Josse agreed. He, too, had been surprised at the news of Ambrose’s apparent collapse. Even more so in the light of the fact that he seemed to be quite himself again the next day.

‘So, Galiena was out walking and Ambrose in the infirmary,’ Raelf resumed. ‘Please continue, Sir Josse.’

‘The nuns went to the Abbey church for Vespers, leaving a small staff of lay nurses on duty in the infirmary.’ He concentrated on remembering the Abbess’s careful account of that crucial time. ‘Afterwards, Ambrose said that Galiena had been to see him and that she had massaged his painful hands with some of her special lotion.’

‘So she had come back from her walk?’ Audra asked.

‘It is not certain, my lady,’ Josse replied. ‘There is some possibility that Ambrose dreamt it. He was, they say, very drowsy. But someone had indeed been treating his hands for the lotion could still be detected on the skin.’

‘Nobody else saw her?’ Raelf demanded.

‘No, unfortunately not. As I say, she could easily have slipped in unobserved while most of the nursing staff were at Vespers.’

‘Hm.’ Raelf looked thoughtful. ‘Then what happened?’

‘The Abbess Helewise visited Ambrose and while she was at his bedside Galiena came staggering into the infirmary. She was having difficulty breathing, her face was swollen and she was in great distress. The infirmarer rushed to her aid but it was too late and there was nothing she could do.’

There was silence for a moment. Then Audra whispered, ‘Did she suffer much?’

Josse looked at her. ‘I am told not, my lady. Whatever overcame her acted swiftly.’

‘Was it poison?’ Raelf asked, his voice gruff.

‘We think so. There was a suggestion that she might have eaten berries or mushrooms in the forest and that one of them contained the deadly toxin that killed her.’

‘Impossible,’ Audra stated flatly. ‘Galiena knew every berry and every type of fungus that is found in the region. Why, one of the first lessons she taught her sisters was how to recognise poisonous plants! Given the rampant curiosity of my four, I’ve had reason to thank her for it more than once, I can tell you!’

My four. Again something stirred in Josse’s mind.

But Raelf interrupted the thought. ‘Is that the only explanation that Hawkenlye can offer?’ he asked. ‘That a woman famous for her herbal skills inadvertently ate a death-cap mushroom or a handful of deadly nightshade berries? I think not.’ Then, after the briefest of pauses: ‘The sorcerer’s berry does not produce its fruit until late summer. And surely the weather has been too dry for the death-cap, which does not normally appear until autumn.’

‘Aye,’ Josse agreed heavily. He had always doubted the explanation anyway. ‘Aye, you’re right.’

‘There is truly no doubt but that the remedies prepared for her could not have hurt her?’ Audra asked.

‘None whatever, my lady,’ Josse assured her. ‘One she had not even been given, the other she probably had not had time to drink from. Just in case she did, someone else sampled it and she took no harm.’

‘Who was it? The nun who made it?’ Raelf asked with a certain belligerence.

‘No,’ Josse said quietly. ‘It was Abbess Helewise.’

Audra’s brown eyes widened. Her husband, who had the grace to look slightly shamefaced, said, ‘She has great confidence in her herbalist’s work, then.’

‘Indeed,’ Josse agreed.

The three fell silent. Now that he was not being called upon to recount the tale of Galiena’s death and that, for the time being anyway, the anxious questions had ceased, Josse had a moment to make some sense of the scramble of impressions he had formed. And, at last, he knew what it was that had been bothering him. Now all that remained was finding a tactful way to discover if he was right.

There came the sound of voices and then the four girls were at the door. Behind them, accompanied by a grave-faced boy of about nine or ten and a pretty, bright-eyed girl a little younger, was a woman. Her smooth face was framed by barbette and light veil, under which her thick, fair hair was coiled in plaits around the crown of her head and down over her ears. She was quite tall and her figure was neat and slim. In the tumult of all that was going on about her, the sea-green eyes held an expression of serenity.

Audra got up to greet her and, in a low voice, asked her something, in reply to which the woman nodded, putting her arm round Audra and pulling her close in a reassuring hug. It was likely, Josse thought, that Audra had just confirmed that the newcomer had been told the grim news. As they stood together, the affection between them was apparent and Josse wondered if they were sisters. Turning to Josse, Audra said, ‘Sir Josse, this is Isabella de Burghay, my daughters’ aunt, and these are her children, Roger and Marthe.’

Isabella inclined her head gracefully and said, ‘Greetings, Sir Josse. You have taken on the unpleasant role of bearer of ill tidings, I understand.’

‘Aye, my lady.’ He stood up. It was something more than courtesy that prompted the movement; in the back of his mind was forming the thought that, with the arrival of the calm and sensible-looking Isabella de Burghay — she had been introduced as the girls’ aunt, so presumably he was right about her being Audra’s sister — perhaps he could slip away. The Lord knows, he thought, I’d like to well enough.

Raelf stood up too. Turning to Josse, he said, ‘Forgive me if my questions were too blunt and delivered too forcefully, Sir Josse. As my sister-in-law says, yours was not a pleasant task and then, having performed it with such tact and kindness, you were faced with my suspicions and my scepticism.’

‘Both of which I understand and for which I readily excuse you,’ Josse assured him.

Raelf nodded. Then he said, quietly so that Josse alone would hear, ‘You are not going to let it rest, Sir Josse?’

‘No.’

‘Aye,’ Raelf said with a faint smile. ‘I know of your reputation and they tell me that you do not give up until you are satisfied.’

Wondering just which of his exploits had reached the ears of the family at Readingbrooke, Josse said, hoping he was not promising more than he could achieve, ‘I will do my utmost to find out why your daughter died, Sir Raelf. And when I do, I will come and tell you.’

Raelf looked at him for a moment. Then, with a nod, said, ‘Nobody could offer more.’

The women and the girls had gathered together at the far end of the hall, Audra and her sister sitting down. Isabella, obviously a beloved aunt, was cradling the smallest Readingbrooke child on her lap and the second youngest was sitting at her feet. Her son, Josse noticed, was standing on the edge of the group glaring across the hall towards his uncle as if he resented having to stay with the women and longed to be allowed to join the men.

The family needed to be together, he thought, without the presence of outsiders. He said to Raelf, ‘It’s time I was on my way. If I leave now, I can be at my own house at New Winnowlands before dusk.’

‘Of course,’ Raelf said at once. ‘I am sorry that we have detained you for so long. I will come out to see you on your road.’

Not wishing to disturb the womenfolk, Josse said as they crossed the hall, ‘Would you thank your wife for her hospitality and wish her and the ladies goodbye for me?’

Glancing at the group of dark and fair heads all leaning together as the women and girls talked and comforted each other, Raelf said, understanding, ‘I will.’

Out in the yard, Horace stood unsaddled. Someone had rubbed him down and watered him and he looked half-asleep. Raelf looked vaguely around for the saddle and then said, ‘Jack will have put it away safely somewhere. Excuse me, Sir Josse, while I seek him out.’