Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

‘But why should anyone want to kill her? She’s a woman.’

Jane gave him a withering look. ‘Women can see and hear and talk, Lord Nicholas. We’re human beings.’

‘Jane, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Only that to kill a woman seems unbelievably wicked. Let me make this quite clear. I have a high regard for women, I love them, they think clearly, but I don’t think they’re interested in politics, and I hardly imagine Bess would talk to all and sundry about what she overheard with Matthew.’

‘You mean she wouldn’t have understood what she heard?’

‘No, of course not. Don’t twist my words. Not all women are as sharp as you, Jane. You’re a one-off.’

‘Thanks. That makes me a freak. I must say, Lord Nicholas, diplomacy’s hardly your strong point. But the fact is, Bess is dead. She took a long time to die.’

‘That suggests she was poisoned, or her body wasn’t strong enough to bear the child. Some women don’t take kindly to carrying children,’ he said, thinking of Mary’s troubled pregnancy.

‘Nicholas,’ said Jane, suddenly serious, ‘Bess was as strong as a horse, and wanted that child. I think she could have been poisoned, but she didn’t eat anything for days, and there were no symptoms of poisoning. I’ve checked with Mary the cook, who loved her as if she were her own daughter, but she says she couldn’t persuade her to eat anything, not even the smallest drop of soup. The only things that passed her lips were sips of water, which she gave her from the big jug in the kitchen which the whole household used, and a few drops of the nourishing tonic which Brother Martin brought her from the monks’ infirmary.’

‘Then someone could easily have added something to the medicine. I’ll get down to the infirmary and see what was in the medicine to start with.’

‘Don’t be too impetuous. You don’t want to imply that you think the monks poisoned Bess.’

‘Don’t worry. I might not be a diplomat, but I am a member of the King’s Council, and that requires a lot of tact if I’m going to survive. Now, I’ve got to go and see the Prior, so why don’t we both go down to the Priory together and talk to Brother Martin. You can keep an eye on me and stop me from upsetting the Brothers. Did you come here on foot?’

‘No, Melissa’s outside, tied to the gatepost.’

‘Then I’ll pick up Merlin; Harry needs a rest.’

They left the garden, untethered Melissa and walked round to the stables where Simon, the under-groom, brought out Merlin, a big, bay gelding, used for heavy work. Jane, with a flash of white-stockinged legs, jumped up on Melissa and set off for the Priory. Nicholas followed more slowly, lost in thought. So the conspiracy wasn’t over. But which direction would it now take? Bess, he felt sure, was the second victim. Who would be the next? He was vulnerable as he was known as the King’s man. But he could look after himself. He was used to living with danger. But Jane? God forbid. He must do everything in his power not to get Jane incriminated.

* * *

The morning Mass was over and the monks’ choir was deserted except for the hunched figure of Father John, the old priest, who was sitting by the body of Bess Knowles in the little side chapel of St John. Wrapped in a woollen shroud and placed on a wooden bier she looked like a marble effigy. Father John, his cowl pulled forward over his face, sat there motionless. There was no sound except for the distant chattering of the birds outside in the graveyard, and the sound of the priest mumbling the Latin prayers for the dead.

Nicholas looked down at Bess’s white face. She looked so calm; no signs of any grim struggle with death. He was conscious of Jane standing beside him, and he wondered what she was thinking. Bess looked so tranquil, so peaceful, that he half expected her to wake up. But her eyes remained closed, and after he’d said a prayer for the repose of her soul, he left her and walked out into the cloister, where the monks were setting about their morning tasks. He waited for Jane to join him, and together they went over to the infirmary, where three elderly men were propped up in their truckle beds.

At the far end of the hospital ward was a small, high-ceilinged room with pointed lancet windows through which the sun streamed down on to rows of shelves packed with glass and pottery jars containing different coloured liquids. Brother Martin, the young fresh-faced monk who assisted Brother Michael, the Infirmarer, was making up a decoction by simmering various herbs over a small charcoal brazier. Another monk was stripping the leaves of some freshly picked sage, ready to steep in water to strain and press. The room was filled with the fragrance of herbs and the two monks looked peaceful and happy in their work.

Brother Martin glanced up at Nicholas but averted his eyes from Jane.

‘Lord Nicholas, this is a great honour,’ he stammered. ‘What can we do for you?’

‘We came to offer a prayer for Bess Knowles’s soul and I thought I’d take a look at your apothecary’s department. This is the right time for gathering herbs, I understand, Brother Martin? It’s also the time for plagues and the sweating sickness so it’s good that you are prepared.’

The monk crossed himself. ‘May God protect us from such afflictions. I hope you and your household are well?’

‘Thank you, yes. I heard you were called in to see Bess Knowles in her last hours, is that right?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry we could do nothing for her. I’ve seen nothing like her sickness before. It appeared like a rapid consumption, but there was no cough and no fever. Just a slipping away of her strength like the tide ebbing away.’

‘Was there nothing you could do for her?’

‘We tried. I made up a tonic for her under Brother Michael’s instructions, of course. As there were no obvious symptoms we didn’t know what to put in it, but feverfew is very effective if a fever had developed, and we added juniper berries in case she developed a cough. We macerated some camomile and the leaves of lemon balm and the oil from borage seeds – they’re good for women in Bess Knowles’s condition – then we added valerian for its sedative properties; and marigold, of course. This we mixed with a lot of honey, our special clover honey, and St John’s Wort, which lifts the spirits.’

‘Have you any left over?’

‘To be sure. We’ve always got some in stock. It’s an excellent fortifier for people who need building up. All our elderly and infirm monks take it twice a day. It gets them back on their feet. Would you like to try some, my Lord, and Mistress Warrener?’

He poured out a small measure in two pottery dishes and watched whilst they both drank it. The mixture was very sweet and the herbs gave it a delicate fragrance. It tasted good and Nicholas felt no strange effects; only a pleasant feeling of well-being and a lifting of the spirits.

‘It’s excellent. Are you quite sure this was the only medicine you gave Mistress Knowles?’

‘Of course. What else could we have prescribed? What are you insinuating, my Lord?’ said a deep voice behind them. Nicholas turned round and faced the tall figure of Brother Michael, a basket of herbs on his arm which he’d just gathered from the monastery herb garden. ‘And Mistress Warrener, what brings you here? We don’t usually allow women into our infirmary; it upsets the patients. You’re welcome to come and sing ditties to the Prior after supper, but I’d prefer it if you stayed out in the gatehouse when you come here.’

‘I’m sorry, Brother Michael, but Bess Knowles was my friend, a very dear friend, and Lord Nicholas and I are puzzled by her death.’

‘It took us all by surprise, but we are not expert in women’s diseases. The tincture which you have just tasted is a general tonic calculated to lift melancholy and therefore often prescribed in cases of bereavement. But I’m sorry it was no use to her.’