Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

“I didn’t,” Baldwin said ruefully. “I had an eyeful of snow at the time.”

“Joan hurled a slate at him before tumbling Katerine’s body over the parapet.”

“Carried her to the roof, did you say?” Stapledon demanded. “A woman her age?”

Baldwin gave a faint smile. “She had been the priory’s cellarer for twenty or more years, Bishop. She could have picked you up and taken you up those stairs, I daresay!”

“Good God!”

“And lastly there was Agnes,” said Simon. “Agnes was carrying on an affair with the priest: Joan decided to end their fun. She knew where Luke and Agnes were to meet – Rose told Simon that Agnes and other nuns used that room on occasion – and she set a tripwire at the doorway, hoping to catch them like beasts in a trap. As soon as Agnes came in, she fell and Joan was on her. The novice didn’t stand a chance. If Luke had arrived first, he would probably be dead now, too.”

“Did no one see her about her murderous business?” Stapledon asked.

Simon said, “Nobody saw Katerine or Joan going to the church: everyone else was at work. As for Agnes, Joan managed to get downstairs while the convent slept. Agnes would have passed her empty bed, but probably thought Joan was still in the infirmary and didn’t realise the woman was to be her nemesis.”

“This is all very well, but I don’t see how she could have thought she could cover up so many deaths. You say she had the interests of the convent at heart, yet if news of these murders gets out, the place will be ruined.”

Baldwin winced as he cocked his head. “It is not easy to understand how a madwoman’s mind works, but I think that the convent and Margherita came together in Joan’s mind. She thought that she must protect the child whose mother she had killed, and that meant seeing Margherita taking Lady Elizabeth’s job; but she also wanted to see that the convent was safe for the future. The two became one in her mind: Margherita, she thought, needed help and Joan must set her in charge of the priory; the convent needed protection because of the way it was falling apart, and the prioress must be replaced because Joan blamed her. Margherita must lead the nuns back to piety.”

“And all Joan managed,” Lady Elizabeth said sadly, “was to wreck our future.”

“Not necessarily,” said Stapledon. He stood. “I shall remove your present vicar, my Lady. I am not sure how he arrived here in the first place, since I personally instructed Bertrand here to send him to a parish in the far west of Cornwall.“ Bertrand squirmed shiftily as the bishop continued, ”But I shall find out the reasons. For now, I propose to visit Sir Rodney and ask him to continue with his generous offer.“

Lady Elizabeth smiled sadly. “I fear he would prefer a monastery to be the recipient of his largesse.“

“Well, I shall have to try. He has responsibilities here. Such as his daughter.”

“That,” said Lady Elizabeth, “is the problem. Agnes is dead.”

“I meant Margherita. I shall point out to him his opportunity of seeing his soul honoured by those he has most wounded in his life,” Stapledon said with an unpleasant smile, “and if he doesn’t listen, I’ll put the fear of God into him!”

Luke was at the altar of the canonical church, praying, when the three came through the communicating door. Hearing them, he started and clambered to his feet. “My Lord Bishop, I am so happy to see you once more and…”

“I doubt it,” Stapledon said drily. “How did you get to come here?”

“To pray today?”

“No. Here in charge of the souls of a convent of nuns.”

“Your orders, Bishop.”

“My orders?”

Luke nodded disingenuously. “Of course, sir.”

Bertrand felt the eyes of the bishop light upon him. “I only obeyed your orders, Bishop. I wouldn’t have sent Luke here if you hadn’t told me to.”

“I think we shall find that my records show you are wrong,” Stapledon said smoothly. “No matter. Luke, prepare to leave this place. I have a pleasant new post for you.”

“You wish me to be vicar of a little parish?” Luke asked hopefully.

Stapledon looked at him. “I think I can do better than that.”

Hugh entered the infirmary as soon as the bishop and the others walked out. Simon was at the window, chatting to Baldwin and he scarcely appeared to notice Hugh. There appeared little point in remaining, not with Simon entertaining the knight, so Hugh accepted Constance’s offer of a cup of wine and followed her down the stairs to the frater.

The nuns were so well-used to the sight of men in their cloister by now that they scarcely glanced in his direction, but Hugh felt out of place nonetheless. He wasn’t used to the presence of so many women in religious garb.

Constance was quiet, sipping slowly at her drink. Hugh was confused when he watched her. The infirmarer was sad, and every so often she glanced about her at the other nuns, all of whom appeared keen to avoid meeting her eye.

“I’m sorry Elias has been sent away,” Hugh said kindly.

She toyed miserably with her cup. “It’s as if there’s a hole in my life. Everything I had planned, expected, aimed for – has gone. I was happy as a nun, dedicating my life to God seemed better than some of the alternatives, but when Elias touched me, it was as if I’d been hit by a thunderbolt, and all my life changed. Especially when I found I was pregnant,” she said thoughtfully, looking down at her belly.

“What’ll you do now?”

“Leave.”

Hugh blinked. “But you can’t, can you? You’re here for life now you’ve made your oaths.”

“I made my oaths before I was old enough. The prioress has told me I can leave whenever I want.“

Unaccountably, her eyes filled with tears. Hugh glowered at the table as she snuffled and wiped them with her sleeve. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that last week I had a lover and now I am carrying a murderer’s child.”

“Better than carrying a murderer.”

“I suppose.”

“Or someone like Bishop Bertrand.”

She laughed at that, chuckling drily at first, but then, when Hugh joined her, laughing with sheer pleasure for the first time since Moll’s death.

It was a month since the bishop had left the convent, but Luke felt no comfort. He couldn’t remember such irrelevant matters, not when his stomach was close to rebelling again. As the distant horizon rose, circled, swooped and suddenly dived before him, he closed his eyes in anguish. As if in sympathy, the contents of his belly rose and he leaned over the rail to retch.

The master of the boat strolled along to him with a blankly surprised expression on his face. “You all right?”

“When will this storm abate?”

The master eyed him dubiously, then cast a look at the mild swell. “Don’t rightly know, Father,” he answered diplomatically. “But we’m soon in port and safe there.”

Luke gave one more heave and collapsed on the bare boards, wincing from the bile. His mouth was sour, his teeth roughened by acid, and his only desire was to leave this miserable cog before it was wrecked. Death was attractive.

“Damn the bishop!” he groaned, then returned to the side of the ship.

It was all Stapledon’s fault he was here. A new place, he’d said. Somewhere Luke would be safe from fleshly temptations.

In Ireland.

Luke made his way to the barrel of fresh water and rinsed his mouth. He dared not swallow any, for fear of more sickness, but swilling and spitting it out made him feel a little refreshed.

“Will this gale never cease?”

Luke felt another spasm threaten. “Only when we arrive in port,” he grunted.