by Alys Clare
‘Indeed not,’ Helewise agreed, ‘for the mother says her daughter is still making herself believe that nothing is amiss; that Florian is merely staying on for a few more days at the tomb in the forest. And already Primevère lies sick in her bed, although what ails her I do not know. Perhaps it is anxiety about her husband. That would be readily understandable, for all that she may profess not to be concerned.’
‘Did you ask about the horse, my lady?’ Augustus asked softly.
‘No, Gus, I didn’t. Do you think I should?’
‘Oh!’ The young man seemed surprised and embarrassed to have his opinion sought. Then, sensibly, he put the reaction aside and answered the question. ‘Well, seems to me as if the horse can’t have turned up, else the alarm would have been raised.’
‘Quite so,’ she said.
‘If on the other hand the horse came home alone and nobody thought to wonder what had become of the rider,’ Augustus went on, ‘then that might very well be something we ought to investigate. Why, I mean, did nobody go out looking for him?’
‘How would we know if the horse did come home?’ whispered Helewise.
Augustus glanced around him. ‘Stable block’s over there, I reckon.’ He pointed to a long building that went away at right angles from the far side of the house. ‘While we’re waiting, I might just go and stretch my legs before we set off for the Abbey. A fast bay gelding, didn’t the guard say?’
Helewise found herself smiling. ‘Yes, Gussie. I believe he did.’
She watched as, with a convincing air of nonchalance, Augustus strolled off in the direction of the stables. He stretched, gazed around him, even plucked at the rear of his habit to pull it away from where the perspiration of the ride had made it stick to his buttocks. He’s very good, she thought.
Presently he disappeared around the corner of the stable block. As Helewise waited to hear what he would find out, she discovered that her hands were sweating.
Chapter 12
Augustus came sauntering back from his little walk, still wearing the same expression of vaguely disinterested nonchalance, shortly before the door to the house reopened and the woman in black emerged. She descended the steps, looking across towards the stables with a deep frown creasing the pale skin of her forehead. Presently a groom appeared leading a bay.
Augustus, standing very close to Helewise, murmured in her ear, ‘That horse is a mare. There are two more bays in the stables and both are geldings.’
‘Oh.’ Florian and his household, it appeared, had a fancy to possess matching horses. ‘Not very informative, is it, Gussie?’
‘Not at all, my lady.’
Observing his look of concentration, as if in the midst of puzzling out a problem, it occurred to Helewise to wonder why they should even harbour the faintest suspicions about the death of Florian. Strange, though, how they did . . .
The woman in black was saying something to the groom, who helped her to mount. Helewise nodded to Augustus and Sister Caliste, and the three of them crossed over to where they had tethered their horses and also mounted up. The woman in black kicked her mare and rode up close to Helewise: ‘I am Melusine,’ she said grandly. ‘As such you may address me.’
Helewise raised an eyebrow. ‘Very well.’
Then, for the sooner they reached Hawkenlye the sooner this prickly, arrogant woman could be escorted back to where she belonged, Helewise stuck her heels into the cob’s sides and led the way at a smart canter off on the road to the Abbey.
There was scarcely any conversation on the homeward journey. They reached the Abbey and Helewise sent Sister Caliste and Brother Augustus off to find some food, for it was a long time since they had eaten and she realised they must be ravenous. Augustus offered to take the four horses off to Sister Martha in the stables and gratefully Helewise accepted. He’s a good lad, she thought; even now, when he’s tired, hungry, dusty and thirsty, he remembers to put the needs of other creatures before his own.
Then, addressing the silent and stone-faced Melusine, she said, ‘Come with me to the infirmary and I will show you the body found in the forest.’
Melusine walked beside her the short distance across to the infirmary. It was cool and fragrant inside; as Sister Euphemia had earlier pointed out, the nursing nuns were not very busy and there was an air of peaceful tranquillity about the place. Sister Euphemia, spotting her superior standing in the doorway, came over and gave her a bow.
‘My lady Abbess, welcome back,’ she murmured.
‘Thank you. Sister Euphemia, this woman is called Melusine and she is the mother of Florian of Southfrith’s wife. Our enquiries at the Tomb of Merlin and at Florian’s house have led us to the tragic conclusion that our dead man here in the infirmary may well be Florian. Melusine has come to identify the body.’
Sympathy flooded the infirmarer’s face and she put out an instinctive comforting hand to the woman in black. Melusine, however, drew herself apart, and Sister Euphemia’s hand fell back by her side. ‘He is in the recess at the far end,’ she said neutrally. ‘Follow me, please.’
Helewise and Melusine followed her steady steps the length of the long room. The mingled smell of rosemary and lavender intensified as they approached the recess but it could not disguise the terrible stench of the putrefying body. Sister Euphemia turned and gave them an apologetic smile: ‘We were about to move the poor soul to somewhere more private,’ she said quietly. ‘We may not have many patients in the infirmary but the few we do have should not be subjected to a constant reminder of their own mortality, especially when they are sick or wounded and correspondingly anxious.’
Nor indeed should you and your nuns, Helewise thought.
Sister Euphemia drew back the curtain, letting it fall again as soon as Helewise and Melusine were inside the recess. Then she stepped forward and folded the sheet down to reveal the dead man’s face.
It was a shocking sight; Melusine gave a sharp intake of breath. Then: ‘Oui. Ce n’est que trop vrai, malheureusement. That is my son-in-law, Florian of Southfrith.’
Then she turned, strode out of the recess, along the infirmary and out through the door.
‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Sister Euphemia.
‘Time to remove the body, Sister,’ Helewise said. ‘Have him taken to the crypt – it’s cool there – and send someone to fetch Father Gilbert. We have an identity for our dead man and we shall pray for him. Now we must bury him as quickly as we can.’
Sister Euphemia was nodding. ‘Quite so, my lady. Leave it to me.’
Helewise briefly touched her arm. ‘Thank you, Euphemia.’ Knowing the infirmarer would not ask, she supplied the information anyway: ‘I shall offer the lady some refreshments, and then I shall escort her back to her home. The sooner she is away from here, the better.’
‘Take someone with you,’ the infirmarer urged. ‘We now know that it’s a local man that’s been murdered, my lady, and for all we know it could be over some matter that affects all of us in the area. His killer may still be lurking nearby and you must take care.’
‘I will,’ Helewise assured her. ‘I will ask two burly lay brothers to ride either side of us.’
With a nod of approval, Sister Euphemia returned to her task. As Helewise left the infirmary, already she could hear her voice summoning help for the removal of the dead body.
Melusine was all for setting out back to Hadfeld immediately but Helewise, whose stomach was growling with hunger, insisted that both of them ate and drank something before they left. Melusine did no more than pick at the fresh bread and the dish of stew with vegetables and chicken pieces but, Helewise observed, she did considerably more justice to the mug of fine red wine, accepting two refills.
Brothers Saul and Augustus were waiting for them when they emerged from the refectory; this time Augustus was riding the pony and Saul the mule. Augustus had a stout cudgel over his shoulder. He was obviously taking his bodyguard duties seriously.
‘Do you mind making the journey again, Gus?�
� she asked him. ‘Are you not tired?’
‘You’re making it a second time too, my lady,’ he replied promptly. ‘If you’re not tired, neither am I.’
She gave him a grateful smile. She had a very soft spot for young Gussie.
Melusine kept up her silence for several miles. Then, when they were perhaps halfway home, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure that the two lay brothers were out of earshot and said abruptly to Helewise, ‘You will hear it from someone sooner or later so it may as well be from me. I was not entirely in favour of my daughter marrying him.’
It seemed an extraordinary remark to make out of the blue and under the circumstances; Helewise could not help wondering if perhaps the three large mugs of strong wine had made Melusine uncharacteristically rash. ‘Indeed?’ she replied warily. ‘You speak of your late son-in-law, I assume?’ She laid faint but unmistakeable emphasis on late; it would do no harm to remind this extraordinary woman not to speak ill of the dead.
But Melusine did not notice. ‘Oui. He wasn’t good enough for Primevère.’ She gave her characteristic lift of the chin. ‘My late husband was Theobald of Canterbury; I am from Angers and I am an heiress in my own right. Oh, the Southfriths are a good family, I do not say otherwise – four generations back, Florian’s ancestor was a close friend of Richard Fitzgilbert de Clare, and he was King William’s man. The Southfriths have thrown up some decent people down through the years and indeed Florian’s two elder sisters are good women. The eldest one, Edith, entered a convent in north Kent where I am told she does well. The younger one, Matilda, is wed to Hugh de Maubergeonne and she lives in Poitiers.’
Wondering what might be the purpose of this sudden torrent of information, Helewise said, ‘I see.’
But Melusine gave no sign that she had heard. ‘Florian was spoilt by his mother and both his sisters,’ she stated flatly. ‘He was ever a silly, pretty boy and they doted on him for his good looks and his courteous manners, bringing him up to believe that he could have anything he wanted and that even the best wasn’t good enough for the likes of him.’ She turned dark and angry eyes on Helewise. ‘He lied to me, my lady Abbess. He led me to believe that he was far richer than he really was, that he owned property of which he is in fact only a tenant, that he had connections at court and among the country’s prominent families.’ The scowl intensifying, she went on, ‘He faced strong competition for my daughter’s hand, for it is well known that I am a wealthy woman and Primevère is my only child. Not only that but my daughter is extremely beautiful – many a man fell in love with her and longed to claim her as his bride. But like many a woman before her, she was taken in by a handsome face and it was Florian that she would have.’
‘If they were happy together,’ Helewise put in, the monologue briefly stopping as Melusine paused for breath, ‘then was it so bad for Florian to have exaggerated his means? For him to have—’
‘But they were not happy,’ Melusine hissed vindictively. Briefly she met Helewise’s eyes, as if to gauge her reaction to the harsh words. ‘I believe in facing facts, my lady,’ she said. ‘I am a realist and I do not fool myself. Oh, to begin with there was the usual ecstatic period when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but that soon came to an end as Primevère realised just what sort of a man she had chosen. He was deeply in debt, having borrowed vast sums in order to maintain his pretence of being a rich man.’ She snorted. ‘And there was the ransom – fool that he is, Florian went to the collectors and put the money right into their very hands!’
‘He had no choice,’ Helewise protested. ‘Everyone had to pay up.’
‘But to go and offer it like that!’ She made a sound that sounded like pouff!, clearly expressive of her disgust. There was a brief pause. ‘Then, of course, he found the bones out in the forest.’ There was, Helewise noticed, a slight exaggeration on found. She stored that interesting little fact away for future reference. ‘And we all know what happened next. Florian comes home with bags and bags of coins and suddenly Primevère can have anything her heart desires in exchange for a mere snap of her fingers.’
‘So they did recover their original happiness before he died,’ Helewise said softly, almost to herself. ‘That is something for which to be very grateful, for Florian’s sake in particular.’
‘Eh? Happy, you say?’ Melusine frowned. ‘You’d have thought so, yes, for Primevère loves pretty garments and new shoes and she was overjoyed that they started on the new building work so quickly. This little bay mare he bought for her and that I’m riding today is a lovely animal, too.’ She broke off, the look of puzzlement intensifying. ‘Yet it was not enough, for I who know my daughter well judged that still she was contemptuous of Florian, that the initial flame of her love and desire for him was not rekindled. Why, I am all but certain that he no longer shared her bed. And that, my lady, is the strangest thing of all, for I believe that—’
She stopped. Just like that, in mid-sentence, she bit back whatever she had been about to say. With a cunning and slightly cruel smile, she said, ‘Enough. Your cellarer keeps a fine wine, my lady Abbess, and the hot sun on my head adds its contribution, so that I am not entirely myself and I speak when I should stay silent.’ She kicked a sharp heel into her mount’s side, making the animal start. Kicking again, she urged the horse into a trot, then a canter.
She is all of a sudden eager to be home, Helewise thought. Very well. We will hasten on to Hadfeld, where I will do my utmost to ensure that I see this enigmatic daughter with my own eyes. This Primevère, who is sick enough to have taken to her bed, undoubtedly – for all that she denies it – out of anxiety over her husband’s absence, yet who, according to her mother, has no love for him despite his sudden generosity.
It was both an exciting and a slightly alarming prospect.
They reached Florian’s Hadfeld house in mid-afternoon. Leaving her horse with Brothers Saul and Augustus, who sensibly found a patch of shade on the side of the road beneath an oak tree under which to wait, Helewise made sure that she was right beside Melusine as the latter went up the steps and into the hall; short of banging the door in Helewise’s face, Melusine had no option but to admit her.
‘I will come with you as you break the news to your daughter,’ Helewise said smoothly, sticking to Melusine’s side like an armed escort. ‘She will be distressed and I may be able to offer comfort.’
Melusine eyed her shrewdly and Helewise had the distinct feeling that she knew exactly what Helewise was up to. But she nodded her agreement. She led the way across the hall and up a couple of steps on the far side, through a deep arched doorway and along a short passage that appeared to lead into an upper chamber. As they approached, Helewise thought she heard the low murmur of voices.
Melusine could not have helped but hear too. She called out something in French, the words rushing out too fast for Helewise to catch; she was, however, almost sure that they were a warning. A warning to Primevère that her mother was not alone but was bringing with her the Abbess of Hawkenlye? That Primevère should therefore prepare a very good excuse for entertaining company when she was supposed to be sick?
Helewise followed Melusine into the room. They entered via a gracefully curved stone arch and, a little way along the same wall, there was another arch, this one covered by a heavy hanging, which possibly led down to the kitchen quarters. Casting quick eyes around, she took in clean rushes thickly strewn on the stone floor and costly wall hangings that gave off the distinct smell of new wool. Tall beeswax candles stood on a chest set back against the wall at the room’s far end. In the middle of the room stood a high bed covered with costly bedclothes and on the bed, propped up on a mountain of snowy-white pillows, lay a young woman.
Other than for her, the room was empty.
Melusine was glaring at her daughter. ‘Que fais-tu?’ she demanded. Then, switching to the common tongue: ‘Here is the Abbess Helewise of Hawkenlye, come to visit you.’
Helewise studied the woman on the bed. She was s
lim and slight, although the swelling breasts that strained against the violet silk of her gown were generous. Her face was pale – very pale; perhaps she was really sick with some wasting disease – and her eyes, slightly slanting, were darkest blue. Her hair was long, loose and black and, belying the pallor, shone with health.
She said, her voice totally composed, ‘Ma mère, our neighbours sent the old family servant with a little gift for me.’ With a casual nod she indicated a posy of sweet-scented pinks and violets that lay on a small table next to the bed, beside them a glass bottle of some pinkish substance. ‘Rose syrup,’ said Primevère languidly. Then, eyes on Helewise: ‘Ranulf of Crowbergh and his household are both our neighbours and our friends. Do you know them, my lady Abbess?’
‘No,’ Helewise replied.
‘They are worthy people. Sir Ranulf, who is the head of the family, had heard that Florian has not returned from the tomb in the forest for several days and, concerned in case I was anxious, sent word to offer his help.’
Melusine hissed a sharp remark in French – translating, Helewise realised she was demanding why Primevère had not had the sense to get up and receive this servant in the hall, as a lady should – had she no shame? – to which Primevère gave a wan smile and replied, also in French, that she was still feeling too sick to risk rising from her bed. Especially, she added with a yawn, for a servant.
Helewise drew Melusine aside so that she could speak privately to her. ‘We must tell her,’ she murmured.
Melusine nodded.
Primevère watched them, her eyes going first to her mother, then Helewise. ‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded. When neither woman answered, slowly her face took on an expression of dread. Then, her lips trembling, her eyes flew back to her mother’s face and she said in a tiny voice, ‘Oh, it’s not true, tell me it’s not true!’
