Alys Clare - Blood of the South

There was no time to dwell on that now, although I had the feeling I would do in the future. Already we were hastening on again, and all too soon we’d be confronting Lord Gilbert. And my aunt …

Something else occurred to me. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ I said.

Jack gave a swift grin, quickly suppressed. ‘Go on, then.’

‘It’s probably not important, but I can’t quite work it out. Lady Rosaria and the blonde woman exchanged clothes before they disembarked at Lynn – they must have done, because the mate of The Good Shepherd said it was the maid who had to be helped ashore, not the lady. But we now know it was the blonde woman, not Lady Rosaria, who was dying.’ I paused, trying to work it out. ‘I suppose Rosaria recognized that her mistress was already very sick and would probably die, and so swapped their roles while she had the chance.’

Jack gave me a strange look. I’d expected him to dismiss my unease, but instead I was left with the feeling that he shared it.

We got as far as telling Lord Gilbert that it had been the blonde woman, not Lady Rosaria, who was the infant’s mother, but he seemed to be unable to take it in. He asked the same questions over and over again, and I think we’d have gone on all day had Lady Emma not intervened, summing up our discoveries with admirable brevity and clarity. Holding my eyes, she inclined her head subtly towards her husband, as if to say, Don’t worry about him, I’ll explain it later.

Addressing my remarks to her and to Edild, who had been in the hall talking quietly to Lady Emma when we got back, I said, ‘The fact that Lady Rosaria wasn’t his mother explains his sadness, since he was pining for his real mother, and also why the bodice of Lady Rosaria’s gown was too loose, and why she’d taken up the hem. It wasn’t her gown.’

‘ Please ,’ Lord Gilbert said plaintively, ‘can we all stop calling her Lady Rosaria?’

I hid a smile. It was going to take Lord Gilbert some time to get over having been so thoroughly taken in.

‘I cannot but feel sorry for L- for Rosaria,’ Lady Emma said. ‘And for the mistress whose place she usurped. To have come all that way, surviving the perils of the rough seas, only for both of them to die on reaching the longed-for goal.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ I agreed. ‘And the poor blonde woman was sick almost all the way; certainly, from Bordeaux to Lynn …’

Three curious, intent pairs of eyes stared at me; four, if you counted Lord Gilbert’s, but he still only seemed to have a vague idea of what we were talking about.

My aunt said softly, ‘What is it, Lassair?’

‘Something has been worrying me for some time, and I’ve just realized what it is,’ I said, the words tumbling out. ‘It was odd, surely, that, according to the mate of the ship on which they sailed, the “maid” wasn’t sick on the voyage from Corunna to Bordeaux – perhaps the worst bit of the Bay of Biscay – yet, as soon as they sailed north from Bordeaux, she was vomiting continuously. Because-’

But all at once I found I didn’t want to go on.

Jack turned to Lady Emma. ‘Have we your permission to search through Rosaria’s belongings?’

She nodded, clearly understanding. ‘Of course. This way.’

She and Lord Gilbert stood in the doorway while Edild and I inspected the many items that Lady Rosaria had spread out. Beautiful robes and underclothing; fine shoes; rich jewellery. And then, in a small leather bag tied with a drawstring, a little glass pot containing a mysterious dark substance.

Edild removed the lid and inspected the contents. After quite a long time, she said, ‘This is kohl. It is a cosmetic, used to outline and enhance the eyes.’ I wondered if the others were having the same thought: having suffered the terrible mutilation of her nose, it was hardly surprising that she wished to make her other features as beautiful as possible. And, out of memory, once again those magnificent dark eyes stared at me.

‘Kohl is made from finely powdered stibium, otherwise called antimony,’ Edild went on, ‘mixed up with soot and blended with olive oil to make a paste.’ She was already searching through the remainder of the objects Rosaria had left spread around the room. ‘We must try to find the raw ingredients,’ she muttered. Then she raised her head, looking at each of us in turn. ‘Stibium is a poison, producing headaches, dizziness, sickness. It is used as an emetic, but in ruthless hands, it is the tool of a murderer. Fed in regular small amounts over many days, the resulting continual vomiting weakens the victim, until finally they become so debilitated that they can no longer hold off death.’

Edild was still searching, her movements increasingly desperate. Gently Jack caught hold of her hands. ‘If you are right,’ he said, ‘and I am sure you are, she will have got rid of the poison long since.’

Edild stopped, then stood perfectly still. ‘Of course,’ she said neutrally.

‘So – so Rosaria, who was originally the maid, poisoned the blonde woman, who was originally her mistress, by putting this stuff in her food all the way home?’ Lord Gilbert’s fury seemed about to choke him, and I couldn’t help wondering if he would have been as indignant had it been the lady who had poisoned the maid.

‘It seems likely,’ Jack said.

‘Can this theory be put to the test?’ Lord Gilbert demanded. ‘The drowned woman is still in the crypt beneath the church. You!’ He spun round to Edild. ‘Can you tell for sure if she had taken poison?’

‘I will try,’ Edild said calmly, ‘although it must now be almost a fortnight since her death.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I said firmly. I was desperate to get her alone, for she needed to know the whole story.

My aunt and I stood over the body of the blonde woman, and Edild frowned in concentration. After some time, she said, ‘To establish with certainty whether or not she was given antimony, I’ll have to open her stomach and inspect the contents.’ Already she was pulling at the winding sheet.

I caught hold of her wrist. ‘Don’t,’ I said softly. I’d once seen Gurdyman perform the procedure on a corpse, and I didn’t want it to happen to this woman.

Edild shot me a look. ‘Explain.’

I paused, gathering my thoughts. Then I said, ‘As we surmise, Rosaria was a slave. She wasn’t Harald’s daughter-in-law, but one of his servants, sent by the dying Harald to accompany the tall, blonde woman and her little boy on her long voyage to find her English kin. Rosaria wasn’t married to any son of Harald; perhaps he never even had a son.’ Again, I paused. ‘But he did have a daughter, and his daughter married a man of the south, dark-haired and olive-skinned. When he died and Harald was dying, Harald’s daughter and her baby were the last of his line, for had there been other family in Constantinople, then there would have been no need to send them so far away. He had to save them,’ I went on, ‘and getting them away to his kindred in the north was the best he could do.’

Edild was touching the dead woman’s shoulder with delicate fingers. I saw a tear on her cheek.

Very softly I said, ‘This is Harald’s daughter. She’s your cousin.’

I heard Edild sharply draw in her breath.

There was silence for a long time. Then Edild put her hand down to where the sheet covered the dead woman’s heart, resting it lightly above the smooth linen. ‘We would have welcomed you, cousin,’ she said gently. ‘We are not rich, and have no fine houses such as Rosaria was hoping to find, but what we have we would have shared with you.’

I waited until Edild raised her head, then, my eyes holding hers, I said, ‘Rosaria killed her. She poisoned her, bit by bit, making her sick for days on end, and she took her identity. Then, when she finally succumbed and died, Rosaria pushed her body into the water. The storm surge and the flood that came immediately afterwards dislodged the corpse from wherever it was hidden, and washed it so far inland up the river that, when it was found, Aelf Fen was the nearest place to which to go for help.’