Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

“It was the visitor who invited me in, Sister. I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton.”

She studied his face with frowning concentration for a while. “If you say so. You look more like a lay brother, though. Are you sure the visitor invited you?”

Baldwin showed his teeth in a grin. “He’s here. Why don’t you ask him?”

She followed his gesture and stared full at Bertrand. “Him? A visitor? He doesn’t look like he’s got the bollocks for it… Looks more like a pox-ridden tranter.”

“Oh, damn this community!” Bertrand exploded. “I will not stay to be insulted by a decayed and ancient vixen! If you wish for me, I’ll be in the quadrangle.”

With a glance towards the woman in which loathing and rage were equally mixed, Bertrand stormed out of the room. Baldwin could hear his boots stomping down the stairs, and then out into the yard.

“He has a temper like a visitor,” the nun observed calmly.

“What is your name, Sister?”

“I’m Joan. I used to be the cellarer,” she grinned, “but now I can spend my time in contemplation.”

Baldwin smiled back, sinking down to his haunches. “I expect you have seen many changes here.”

“Things move ahead, but often too fast. It’s not right that the prioress should be looking to so much building. She ought to take stock, think about what she’s doing. We’re not some sort of business; we’re God’s house, and ought to behave like it.”

“You think the prioress is failing in her duty to the convent?”

“Don’t assume things like that, young man,” she said sharply. “There are too many tales being told in this convent about people. It doesn’t do the place any good, and only leads to us all looking like fools. I never said the prioress was failing. She’s a good woman, in her own way, and shrewd too, which is more than you can say for some. No, I only meant that I don’t agree with her way of trying to ensure the future of the place. Building another chapel won’t help much.”

“But you need the money from Sir Rodney’s church.”

“Oh, piffle! So what if we do? If the convent has need of the money, wouldn’t we be better off saving it for the use of the church and protecting some of the existing buildings rather than putting up yet another?”

“That is what you would do?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe I’d prefer to spend it on ale and crumpets! There are worse things, when you pass your life sitting before a fire in the cold weather. At least you can eat crumpets without teeth.” And she opened her mouth wide to display toothless gums.

“It must have been a great shock when the novice died,” Baldwin said gently.

“At my age you’re used to the sight of death,” she shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Did you know her well?”

“Young Moll? Yes. She wasn’t a nice person, but then so few of them seem to be. All outward penitence and humility, but too keen on seeing what others are up to rather than making sure their own behaviour is beyond reproach.”

As concise an obituary as he had ever heard, Baldwin thought to himself. “Did you hear anything on the night that she died?”

Joan pulled a face. “No. Nor did the other girl.”

“The lay sister?”

“Cecily.” She nodded towards the snoring figure huddled in one of the beds. “She’s got a broken wrist. The infirmarer made us dwale to help us all sleep. Needed it with Cecily’s racket.”

“Is she asleep now?”

“Listen to her!” Joan cackled. “She couldn’t be much more asleep whatever you did to her!”

Dwale, Baldwin mused. Not a flavour to be mistaken: although the precise mixture varied, it was inevitably sour and unpleasant. Dwale was another name for belladonna, deadly nightshade, but leeches used it mixed with henbane or hemlock and a soporific, usually poppy syrup, to comfort those in pain. Many patients took it – especially when their surgeon needed them quiet. “You all slept when Moll died?”

“The infirmarer had made it a powerful dose, but even the smallest amount knocks me out at my age. I know Cecily was well gone, because she spent all her time whining with pain beforehand. After she’d drunk it, she went quiet.”

“Was Moll served first?”

“No. I asked Constance to give Cecily hers first. The poor girl was in terrible pain, and I couldn’t sleep with the row. Then Constance brought me mine and Moll last.” She shifted slightly, and now her face was turned to the fire. Her features were lighted by it, and the benign flickering of the flames tended to smooth some of her wrinkles, lending her a more youthful aspect, but the sadness of old age was upon her. Although she had no apparent regret, her life was almost over, and she was contemplating the life to come. She had little interest in earthly matters.

Baldwin glanced at the beds. When he asked, Joan pointed at the bed nearest the door. “That was hers – my bed is that one.”

There was a third bed between them, Baldwin noticed. “Did you fall asleep soon after drinking?” he asked.

“Very soon,” Joan agreed. “As I say, Constance had made the potion strong and I remember Constance smiling at me as I drank, then going to Moll. I saw Moll take a sip before putting the cup on her table, but then I began to feel drowsy. Soon I was asleep and I didn’t wake until morning.”

Simon frowned uncomprehendingly. “But shouldn’t you have gone to Nocturns?”

Joan shrugged. “I often miss them. So do many others. Even the prioress herself is sometimes too tired to go.“

“You usually sleep through the whole night?” Baldwin asked.

“No, Sir Knight. I am usually too wakeful. I’ve been living here in this convent for most of my life, and the horarium has eaten its way into my soul. When I am bored I will often walk about the cloisters, and I find my bed a tedious place at night. As I get older I need less sleep. But Constance believes that I need to rest. That was why she made me drink her strong dwale.”

Baldwin nodded slowly and he saw her face light as if with amusement.

“Sir Knight, there’s no need to look at me in that suspicious manner. If you doubt my word ask Constance, the infirmarer. She stood over me to ensure I drank her potion. She’ll tell you that I was dead to the world all that night.”

Baldwin smiled and rose to his feet, knees cracking. “Thank you for your help.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Help? I didn’t think I told you anything new. Are you as foolish as that visitor?”

“I hope not.“ Baldwin beckoned Simon and the two men walked out to the small curtained chamber at the far end of the room. Inside they found another locked chest, and a shelf or two set into the wall, on which were placed bottles of powders and liquids.

None looked appetising to Simon, but he distrusted most of the potions given out by tooth-pullers and other quacks.

Baldwin pulled half-heartedly at the lid of the chest, but it was locked. “Everything in this place is stowed away, hidden from sight,” he complained. “They must know it’s against their own ordinances, so why is it allowed?”

“Why shouldn’t they be allowed to store their own goods apart from each other’s?” Simon asked. “It sounds daft to expect everyone to leave their stuff out on show.”

“Men or women joining a convent give up their worldly possessions. As soon as they enter the cloister they reject material things, taking nothing with them. All they have is owned by the institution. These chests point to the heart of whatever is wrong here.”

Simon gave him a sidelong glance. “Really? I’d have thought that the lay sister and old Joan there being utterly intoxicated would be more to the point. If they were all so heavily drugged, is that because the murderer chose to silence them all? Which begs the question of whether the infirmarer was told to drug them.”