Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

“Come inside and close the door behind you. Brrr! It is chill, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned to snow again.”

Hugh entered, but as he turned to pull the door to behind him, he caught a glimpse of something. He was going to put it from his mind, but before he let the latch fall, he frowned, then opened it a fraction and peered out once more. There, darting from one pillar to another in the cloister passage by the church, he saw a figure. Hugh stood stock-still. He was not particularly afraid of any man, but there was something unwholesome and melancholy about this apparition. Raised and bred on the moors, Hugh had a healthy respect for ghouls and the devil, and in a place like this, where the religious folk all appeared to consider their vows as irrelevant, Hugh wondered now whether a devil might wander the cloisters at night. His scalp crept.

“Hurry up, man!”

At the sound of the prioress’s voice, Hugh quickly pulled the door shut behind him and ascended the stairs to the infirmary. As he stole past the door to the prioress’s chamber, Princess snarled, and Hugh hurried on to the security of the infirmary.

Denise snored, mouth wide, and it was only when her pot rolled from her hand and fell from the table, smashing on the floor, that she snorted, groaned, and at last blearily gazed about her. Realising she was alone in the room, she put her hands to her eyes, rubbing with the heels of her palms and yawning.

It was hard to sleep on the table-top like this. She always had a crick in her neck when she awoke, and felt unrefreshed, as though the sleep had been of no benefit whatever.

She rose, stretching, and walked out. When she had entered it had been late afternoon, and she had intended only one quick drink before returning to her duties, sweeping the floor after Compline, but now she saw it was already late, and she felt a short stab of guilt.

“The door!” she exclaimed. Luke had been there when she had gone to unlock it, without, as he had said, the wine, but he had winked at her, and she had sat moodily all through the service, knowing that what she was about to do at the end was wrong and against all her vows, taking wine for herself without sharing it among the other members of the community, allowing a man into the cloister so he could take his carnal pleasures with a nun, and the nun herself, of course, for Denise would be helping her to break her vows.

It was all very confusing, and Denise fingered the little medal of St Mary that she always wore about her neck. As usual the Virgin Mary comforted Denise, and the nun took up her jug and emptied it, smacking her lips with gusto. It was good wine, but she would prefer Luke’s best Bordeaux.

Luke! The vicar should be in the cloister by now, with his little novice. If not, he was leaving it late. When he’d made her the offer, he’d said she could lock the door again once he was past, Denise remembered, chewing her lip. Was it late enough for her to go and lock up now, or should she wait a little longer? Denise wasn’t prepared to leave the cloister unprotected all through the night; she wanted to make sure at least that Luke was already in the nuns’ cloister.

She made her way to the church. If he was still within the cloister, all he need do was rest in the church somewhere, and first thing in the morning, when Nocturns began, he could slip on his vestments and appear just as normal, as if he had only just been allowed in.

That was what made his affair with the girl such a thrill, Denise deduced sourly. No doubt the fool found that the risk of discovery added to his pleasure; continuing his affair beneath the prioress’s very nose appealed to his twisted sense of humour. And the novice was no better.

Satisfied with her logic, Denise went to the connecting door, and turned the key in the lock.

In her small chamber, Constance slept fitfully. She was absolutely exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t switch off and she kept returning to thoughts of Elias. If Simon and Hugh hadn’t been snoring in her infirmary, she would have stolen downstairs, as she had done so often before, and walked to the grille to gaze out at the canons’ area, hoping for a glimpse of him.

Elias was in every way the sort of man she would have married, had she been able to wed, and not only because of his physical attractions. It was more because of his kindness, his gentle manners, his generosity of spirit – and the way he could make her laugh even when she was feeling low.

Knowing that she had let him down was awful. She could see with her mind’s eye how his face would have fallen when the prioress spoke to him, how his soul would have been filled with misery on hearing that he could never see Constance again. There was no need for a great leap of her imagination, for it was how she herself felt about never seeing him again, and she had to cover her face with her pillow to smother the sound of her sobs.

That was why, although she was awake, she didn’t hear the quiet steps going down the stairs outside.

Agnes crept past the door to the prioress’s room. Fortunately, Princess remained silent. Holding her breath, Agnes tiptoed down the rest of the stairs to the cloister, then hurried along to the frater. Denise was sitting in her favourite place, drinking from a large pot. Her eyes were dulled and bloodshot, and when she saw Agnes, she gave a leery smile. Dropping her elbows to the table-top, threatening her pot and jug with being overturned, she sniggered. “Looking for him, dear?”

Agnes ignored her and walked on past to the buttery. As far as Agnes was concerned, there was little point in talking to Denise when she’d been enjoying a late-night vigil with a jug of wine. Besides, Agnes didn’t want to give her a chance to talk about having seen her earlier – in flagrante.

Denise watched the novice’s shadow as it followed Agnes around the wall – a fierce black symbol of evil. It reminded her of the last time she had seen a nun’s shadow, and suddenly Denise was very thirsty indeed.

Agnes passed through the screens passage to the yard beyond. The shed was silent: no animals. A candle or something had been lit inside. The door was ajar, and a soft glow lit the ground in front.

Agnes grinned. Luke knew she liked romance sometimes, and he obviously wanted to make their evening good. Her mouth widening with anticipation, Agnes shoved at the door and walked in, but as she crossed the threshold her foot caught in something, and she fell headlong. Lying there, she rolled her eyes in amusement at her ridiculous entry, and clambered to all fours. Then, before she could straighten or get to her feet, she felt someone thump her back.

“Ouch! What was that for?” she said crossly. There was a curious dragging sensation on her back, and she wriggled her shoulder-blades to ease it, and only then did she feel the quick, flame-hot pain. She opened her mouth to gasp, but before she could, the figure approached again, habit flapping like the wings of a devil, the shadow thrown on to the wall behind like that of a great predatory monster. Agnes was about to scream as the fist caught her chin. She fell, agony exploding as the dagger, lodged in her back, hit the hard, unyielding ground. She felt something burst within her as the blade was driven deeper, up to the cross-guard. She rolled over, choking, and saw bright, thick liquid fall from her mouth. In the gloomy light it looked black, as black as the shadow on the wall, as black as the sins she had committed, as black as hell itself.

When the dagger was tugged from her back, Agnes was almost past caring. All she knew was that she had to confess her sins and obtain Absolution. She looked up with mute appeal in her eyes, but before she could open her mouth to beg, the blade flashed down again to her breast, and this time it found its mark. Agnes felt her heart stop within her, and in the moments left to her, she saw her killer make the sign of the cross and leave.