Alys Clare - Fortune Like the Moon

* * *

She was not there.

Whoever had concocted this story of her prolonged visit to her husband’s kin clearly had not anticipated that anyone would actually go checking up. The servant who came out to greet Josse announced, after his initial denial, that he’d go in and ask the mistress, since it was possible she’d arranged a visit and omitted to tell the staff; he returned not only with the mistress, but also with the master and three or four other members of the household. Milon’s kin, Josse noticed absently, came from a different mould than Milon; it was hard to believe that the stolid and sensibly dressed family in front of him had produced the dainty, yellow-haired youth.

Not only was Elanor not there, but nobody knew of any proposed visit. The master and the mistress, frowning at each other in perplexity, said so repeatedly. As far as they were aware, Elanor d’Arcy was contentedly at home with her husband, and planning on staying there.

Feeling both slightly foolish — quite a few of the household were looking at Josse as if he were next door to an idiot — and also unpleasantly guilty — it was not a good feeling, listening to them speaking happily of Elanor as if she were still alive when he knew full well she was dead — he said he regretted that he must have made a mistake. He apologised for having disturbed them all and took his leave. Then he hurried away and set off on the long road back to Hawkenlye.

* * *

He got back as twilight deepened into night. Hot, dirty, ravenously hungry and weary to his very bones, he was good for nothing but food and sleep. Brother Saul, tending him efficiently and with the consideration not to ask him any questions, reported briefly on the day’s events at Hawkenlye since Josse had left that morning.

‘The little lassie’s lying in the crypt, where they put Sister Gunnora,’ he said as he brought Josse a wooden platter heaped with steaming, fragrant stew. ‘The Abbess has been sitting with her all day.’

Josse heard the concern in his voice. ‘She is taking this hard,’ he remarked.

Brother Saul shook his head sadly. ‘As do we all, sir. As do we all.’ He stood frowning in the direction of the shrine. ‘This whole sorry business has made folks disinclined to come for the waters, too. And that’s not right. Those in distress have need of the cure, and now these terrible deaths are frightening them away.’

It was, Josse thought, an aspect of the murders which ranked high with Brother Saul. He studied him, noting the kind, honest face set now in lines of distress. ‘We’ll find the man who is responsible, Saul,’ he said softly, ‘and bring him to justice. That I promise you.’

Saul turned to look at him, and, briefly, a smile softened the features. ‘Yes, sir. I know you will.’ Josse was just feeling the beginning of a warm glow of pleasure at the man’s faith in him when, to gild the moment, Saul added, ‘So does the Abbess.’

* * *

Josse slept for ten hours, and awoke feeling thoroughly refreshed. His mind must have been working while he was asleep; he returned to consciousness knowing exactly what he must do next.

Brother Saul gave him a bite of breakfast, and then he set off the short distance down the path to the area where the two dead nuns had been found. He stood first in the one place, then the other, turning slowly in a full circle, studying the immediate surroundings. Then, making up his mind, he began a very thorough inspection of the undergrowth beside the track.

He had reasoned that, since it appeared that Milon had made at least two and probably more nocturnal visits to the little valley, the young man must have had a hiding place. Perhaps not many people would be abroad down there at night — in fact, Josse thought, probably none — but, nevertheless, it seemed unlikely that anyone with nefarious intentions would have the confidence to stand about in the open.

He walked very slowly along the path, staring intently at every yard of undergrowth, eyes searching for the smallest sign of passing feet. There was nothing. Nothing! Sick with disappointment, he was about to turn back when, only a little distance from where the shrubbery began to thin out, he saw it.

You would, he thought, have had to be looking out for it. Clever young man, to forge your way through at a place where the greenery was most resilient. But not quite clever enough to check that you really had left no mark.

Pushing his way through the thick foliage, Josse was careful to avoid the two small half-broken branches which were the only sign of Milon’s passage. It might be necessary to show them as proof of his theory.

Once off the path, the young man had been less cautious, and Josse followed his tracks more easily. After going for some fifteen paces, he found himself in a tiny clearing, in the midst of the undergrowth. The short grass had been trodden flat, and someone had made a crude shelter out of broken branches; presumably one of Milon’s night-time vigils had been spent in the rain.

Something caught his eye; a small object, half-hidden under dead leaves. Kneeling down, he uncovered it. It was the two halves of an oyster shell, placed together; lifting up the top one, he saw inside a tiny pearl.

He had seen something like it before. Searching his memory, he had a sudden image of his old nurse, saying her prayers after the marriage of Josse’s younger brother. She had, he knew, been praying for the newlywed couple’s fertility, and when she had finished, she placed a single pearl in an oyster shell. It had worked; Josse’s sister-in-law’s firstborn son had come into the world eleven months later, swiftly followed by two girls and another boy.

They met here often, those other two young newlyweds, he now thought. Crept in here in the darkness, hand in hand, lay down on the bare ground, made love. Which one, he wondered, brought this object here? Milon, anxious for a child to inherit the fortune he was expecting, or Elanor, passionately in love with her new husband, wanting so badly to please him with a pregnancy?

As with Josse’s sister-in-law, the charm had worked.

Suddenly very sad, he put the oyster shell back in its hiding place. The little clearing was full of their spirit, those two young people, and, for the first time, he felt a distinct distaste for what he had to do.

But, if my reasoning is right, Milon killed her, he reminded himself. And both of them were greedy and envious enough to plot the murder of Gunnora.

Resolving firmly to keep his compassion for those who deserved it, he made his way out to the track.

* * *

He found himself a quiet spot on the bank of the pond, some fifty paces from where he had discovered the secret hiding place, and sat down to think. He was full of a strong conviction that Milon was still near at hand; he had to be, for he had urgent business at the Abbey.

Only one thing, as far as Josse could deduce, linked Milon definitely with the murder of Elanor, and hence with that of Gunnora. And that object — although Milon could not know it — now lay safely in Abbess Helewise’s cabinet. Where did the young man imagine it was? It must have been a terrible moment, when he discovered it was not on his wife’s body; fleetingly Josse wondered why not. Why, when he was fairly sure she had been wearing it beneath her robe when he had interviewed her the day before she died, had she removed it before setting out that night? Wrapped it up carefully with her wedding ring, hidden it beneath her palliasse? It seemed a strange thing to do.

Never mind that, now.

Milon, then, would have found the cross missing. Would realise she must have left it in the convent, would guess, probably, that she’d have hidden it in the one place a nun could look upon as her own. Her cubicle in the dormitory.