Paul Doherty: Prince of Darkness

Agatha de Courcy nodded.

'Very good!' she murmured. 'Very good indeed!'

'The only person who did catch a glimmer of the truth was poor Dame Frances. You see, I found the collar of the lap dog and it still bore the Deveril's family motto: "Noli me tangere". Dame Frances, of course, remembered. She must have seen it on some of the murdered woman's belongings when you first entered the priory but she probably could not place it immediately. And who would she tell? None other but the ever patient, attentive Dame Agatha -so Dame Frances too had to die. A staid nun, with a set routine and customs; you would remember from your few weeks in the novitiate how careful Dame Frances was to douse the fire with water. She always insisted on doing it herself and that made it easy for you. Only the night she died, the bucket she used was full of oil, not water.' Corbett secretly marvelled at the cool composure of his opponent. 'The fire exploded, spilling out on to the hearth, licking at the few drops on the floor, and in seconds Dame Frances was a blazing torch and your secret was safe.'

Agatha joined her hands together, raising her fingers to her lips as if she was a teacher teasing a rather clever pupil.

'Master Corbett, you've told me how I am supposed to have killed this woman, but not the reason why.'

'Don't play games!' Corbett snapped. 'You know the reason. De Montfort was a rebel against the King, a Deveril was one of his generals. According to the records, after de Montfort's defeat, the Deveril line died out so the woman was probably the offspring of some illegitimate issue who fled to Gascony where she was raised to hate Edward of England.'

'And the King would allow a Deveril back into the country?'

'Only if she changed her name. As I have said, I suspect she was an orphan and, using a false name, wrote to Lady Amelia asking permission to join the Nuns of Syon and offering to pay the usual dowry fee. When her request was granted, she sought licence to enter England.' Corbett stared at Agatha. 'Oh, come, what name did she use?'

Agatha gazed coolly back.

'Let me try another tack,' Corbett continued. 'By what name were you called when you entered Godstowe Priory?'

Agatha giggled as if Corbett had posed some riddle.

I took the religious name of Agatha, really my own, but if you ask the Lady Prioress, she will tell you I entered these walls as Marie Savigny.'

Corbett sighed.

'So it was Marie Savigny you killed in the forest outside Godstowe?'

Agatha chewed on her lip.

'Let us say you are correct, Corbett. How would I know this Marie Savigny was secretly a member of the de Montfort coven, who wanted to come to England to plot mischief, perhaps even murder? And how would I learn when she would come and what route she would take?'

'You know full well! The King himself told you. You're his assassin.'

'If Deveril changed her name, why did she carry the motto of her family with her?' Corbett shrugged.

'Few would recognise it as belonging to a noble family disgraced some forty years earlier. How many nuns at Godstowe, never mind barons at the King's court, would recognise the Deveril motto?'

'But this Marie would speak fluent French.'

'As do you,' Corbett replied. 'As well as others in this benighted place.'

Agatha stepped closer, covering her head with her hood against the drops of rain which dripped from the overhanging branches of the oak tree.

'Oh, Hugh,' she whispered, 'the King was right. You may be squeamish but always so logical.'

'Perhaps I am not,' Corbett answered tartly. 'Marie Savigny or Deveril was murdered in the forest of Godstowe and you appeared in the priory at the same time. Perhaps I should have deduced something immediately from that coincidence. But, of course, Marie Savigny was awaited. She arrived and Godstowe expected no one else.' Corbett's voice trailed off.

'Oh, come, Hugh,' she murmured. 'Don't blame yourself. The woman was a foreigner, travelling under a false name, with no clue as to her real identity. Who would suspect that a pious nun like myself could be guilty of such an act?' She tossed her head. 'And if they did, who would care? Marie planned treason, whilst I enjoy the King's protection.' She smiled. 'I never intended to stay long enough for anything to threaten me. So there's no real mystery!'

Corbett raised his hand and touched the ruined oak behind him.

'You are right. This is where the real mystery begins. You came here to watch the Lady Eleanor and make sure she did nothing foolish, such as escape or cause scandal at the English court. How alarmed you must have been to discover she was receiving secret messages from some mysterious adviser, who also promised he would arrange her escape from Godstowe! Now, on the Sunday she died, Lady Eleanor abruptly broke with custom, refusing to go to Compline, and someone as alert as you must have seen the secret preparations she had made.' Corbett's hand went back beneath his cloak to the dagger. 'So you went along the corridor to her room. The door was locked but the Lady Eleanor could trust Dame Agatha, who was ever solicitous for her happiness. She let you in, and the rest…' Corbett stared up, noting how the autumn sun was beginning to pierce the heavy mist 'Like the professional assassin you undoubtedly are, you broke her neck. Quite simple, I understand, for a skilled murderer. A matter of touch, of knowing where to hold and quickly turn,'

The woman's hands suddenly appeared from beneath her cloak. Corbett steeled himself but Agatha only moved the wisps of blonde hair from her forehead. She cocked her head slightly to one side, staring at Corbett, a slight smile on her lips as if he was telling her some merry jest or interesting tale.

'You are a clever clerk,' she replied with an air of mock innocence. 'You really are. But you forget – I was in the sacristy preparing for Compline.'

'Oh, I am sure you were,' Corbett retorted brusquely.

'And remember,' she quipped, 'Dames Martha and Elizabeth recalled seeing Lady Eleanor walking in the grounds below their window just before Compline.' Agatha's eyes rounded in wonderment 'So,' she murmured, 'how can a woman be dead and at the same time walking, waving her hands and talking?'

'They saw someone. They thought they saw the Lady Eleanor cloaked and hooded, but of course it was you. After you bad slain the lady, you took one of her cloaks as well as the ring from her finger. Now suitably disguised, you went downstairs and into the grounds towards the priory church. Dame Martha indeed, as I suspect you were hoping she would, saw you and called out You turned, shouted something back and waved your hand. Both Dames Elizabeth and Martha were deaf, so whatever you said or how you said it would not cause any alarm. Moreover, being old and poor-sighted, they could not distinguish you from Lady Eleanor. After all, you and the dead woman bore a passing resemblance, being young, fair-haired, and of course you wore her cloak and ring.' Corbett smiled. 'Remember, people see what they think they should see.'

'But what would have happened if someone had met me?'

'But who would dare approach the aloof Lady Eleanor? The Lady Prioress was in church, the other nuns preparing for Compline, and it was only a short walk. Once you reached the sacristy door at the back of the church, you took off and hid both robe and ring and entered the sacristy as Dame Agatha, the dutiful nun. You have established, at least in the eyes of others who weren't watching precise times, that at the very moment you were in the church, the Lady Eleanor was still alive.

'Of course, you made another mistake, didn't you? You were hoping that Dame Martha, like everyone else, saw what you wanted them to see: a woman wearing Lady Eleanor's cloak and ring must be Lady Eleanor. But the old nun was sharp. When you waved your hand, the huge sapphire ring flashed in the sunlight. Poor-sighted as they were, they caught the brilliant light of the jewel, but you had mistakenly put it on your left hand, whereas Lady Eleanor always wore the ring on the right. The old nun remembered this, hence her constant little riddle: "Sinistra non dextra" – "on the left, not the right". She could not understand it.'