Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

“And do not tell the prioress of this,” he said, fixing Simon with a meaningful eye.

The bailiff pulled a face, scratching meditatively at his ear. “You want us to hide the fact that her most senior deputy has accused her of murder?”

“If it is true that she is guilty of this heinous felony, I shall remove her from office.”

Simon was sceptical. “You can do that? I thought a priory was more or less an individual lordship in its own right.”

“I can tell her that I shall report her action to the bishop… If she refuses to listen, I can demand to speak to the full chapter and let them know what she has done.”

“That presupposes she’s guilty,” Simon said bluntly. “And you’re asking us to conceal the disloyalty of her most senior nun.”

“I see no other way of conducting this inquest.” Bertrand held out his hands, palms up in a gesture of openness. “What would you do? Tell her, and then, if the treasurer is wrong and the prioress is innocent, wait to see what damage will be done?”

Baldwin stirred and shook his head. “I see no point in this duplicity. If, as you say, the prioress is innocent, you cannot leave the treasurer under her authority after this allegation. She will need to be moved to another nunnery.”

“I am prepared to cross that bridge when I need to. For now I intend to investigate whether the prioress herself is guilty as the treasurer claims.”

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a glance and shrugged. Simon said, “It’s up to you, of course.”

“Yes, it is,” Bertrand replied firmly. His eye landed on Hugh over by the door, idly staring into his pot. The servant’s relaxed pose sparked a brief sense of resentment in Bertrand. At that moment the visitor longed for the luxury of having no responsibility, of not having to worry.

Hugh, meanwhile, had noticed that his pot was empty, and he was looking about for the serving girl, Rose. She was attending the bishop, and Hugh couldn’t attract her attention; she was doing her job, looking after the best customers. That realisation made Hugh feel even more alone: stuck, as he was, between the local men who wanted nothing to do with a stranger, and the bishop who was so superior to him that Hugh would be lucky to receive a ‘good morning’ from him. Even the tavern’s girl had no interest in him. He was insignificant: a poor man with no wife, no child – nothing to give him any status.

One thing struck him after a while: the girl was hanging around near the bishop, as if listening very intently to all he was saying.

Agnes saw the prioress walking round and round the cloister garth, evidently deep in thought, and the sight made her pause.

Lady Elizabeth looked peevish. Despite the confident image she projected to the other nuns, it was noticeable that her familia had shrunk. There was normally a fair grouping of sycophantic nuns about her, but now they’d all faded away. Agnes was sure it must be due to something Margherita had said.

Agnes went to her desk and opened the book she was copying. The colours of the original were glorious and attracted the eye, and she sighed at the sight, knowing she’d never be able to reproduce such perfection. Resignedly she took her pumice and began smoothing her vellum. She had just taken up her bodkin to mark off the lines when she was aware of someone approaching. Looking up, she saw Lady Elizabeth.

The prioress wore the same preoccupied expression. Apparently unaware of Agnes at her table, she walked right past her and made for the dorter’s door. Agnes gazed after her; the older woman was obviously under a great deal of pressure. It was one thing to be threatened by someone like Margherita when supporters rallied round, but a different matter when old friends disappeared.

That was part of the reason why Agnes had found it so difficult when Luke had been unfaithful to her. She knew she depended more on her friends than they did on her; that was why she could understand the awful sense of being apart from others that Lady Elizabeth must feel: one of a community, but isolated by her responsibilities.

It had been terrible when she’d found him with Kate. The sight of them lying together had appalled her. In a way she wished she’d thrown something at the pair of them, or punched and kicked them, but she’d had no energy, felt numb all over. Two people she’d trusted had failed her. She could hardly comprehend Luke’s disloyalty. His treachery.

She was glad she’d got him back, though. It was a slap in the face to Katerine: poor Kate, she thought sneeringly.

Like poor little Moll, always slightly behind the times! Moll had told Agnes how she’d seen her with Luke. Oh? Where was that, then? Agnes demanded. And why hadn’t she gone to summon the prioress or one of the other nuns? At this, Moll reddened and began to stammer. She’d seen Agnes in the field behind the frater, lying in the grass with Luke, she said, and she’d seen a man entering the dorter at strange hours.

Agnes dared her to bring it before the prioress. When Moll said angrily that Agnes should confess her sins in chapter, before the whole community, the other girl just laughed.

Did Moll really think that Agnes could give a damn what she thought? If the silly bitch wanted to go and blab to the prioress, she could do so and welcome, but Moll had better remember that Agnes was the last hope of the convent. Moll might wish to flaunt her immature piety, but if Sir Rodney got to hear the nuns weren’t abiding by their oaths, his money would remain in his purse, and none would ever be showered on the chapel.

But Moll had been a threat. Especially when Agnes won Luke back, because no matter what Sir Rodney wanted, if he found that his embarrassment, his shame, as he called Agnes, had seduced a priest, he’d be furious, and would certainly take Agnes away from the convent.

That was the threat Moll posed. That was why Agnes was pleased Moll was dead.

Rose hurried back to the tiny parlour that was her room, ripping off her dirty clothing as soon as she entered and replacing it with a clean shift and tunic.

It gave her a feeling of shame that she should have been lying there on the floor when the first two walked in. Men from the village were one thing; complete strangers were different. Still, she reflected, pulling her hood over her face and stepping outside, at least the prim little priest hadn’t seen her coupling like a dog before the fire. A smile fleeted over her face: maybe he’d have liked to have seen that. The clergy often enjoyed watching others, as she knew only too well from her evenings at the priory.

Her mission nudged at her memory, and she scurried off along the track towards Belstone. After all she had heard, she must hurry to warn Lady Elizabeth about this cold-hearted bishop.

After all, Rose had a debt to pay to the Lady Elizabeth.

From the tavern Baldwin and the others made a slow progress, keeping to the side of the swift-flowing stream. When the ground grew boggy, they turned right and began climbing the western side of the valley.

Usually Baldwin liked the gurgling and chuckling of water, but today he was wet and uncomfortable. If there had been some sun it would have made a difference, but the sun couldn’t reach down into this cleft, and all was chill. The air had a metallic edge that hinted at snow, while all the water on the track had frozen. Although it was afternoon there was a dank, icy fog lying over the water which seemed to sink into his marrow. Baldwin knew only too well that his blood had been thinned by his life in the hotter climates of southern countries, but the knowledge was no help. It was a relief when at last they broke out into bright sunlight.

Baldwin was astonished by the view that presented itself to him as they came above the line of trees. The hill opposite was thickly wooded up to a certain level, with clear moorland above. This early in the year, the sun was still low in the sky, and its rays suffused the moors with a glow like liquid gold tinged with pink. It lifted his heart, and he could see that it had the same impact on those about him. Whereas in the valley their mounts had walked along stolidly enough, now they had more of a spring to their steps; the men themselves relaxed and looked about them with interest. Even Bertrand’s mood appeared to lighten.