“I fear none. The young wife died at the inn, my lady. She was almost dead when I arrived. Even if I had gotten her to our hospital, she would not have survived.”
Grateful for his tactful reply, Eleanor apologized for her unintended lack of compassion and promised to pray for the woman’s soul. When she stole a look at Gracia, however, she saw her maid turn away as if wishing to hide her face. Sorrow stabbed at her, and the prioress regretted letting the girl go to the inn with the monk.
Yet that is a foolish lament, the prioress thought. Death stands next to us with a stubborn fidelity from the moment of our birth. Did the Reaper not take Gracia’s family when she was a child as he did my own mother?
“Was she the one who was bleeding when you first met her?” The sub-infirmarian had not yet heard this news.
Thomas nodded. “Her husband said she had bled on the way to Tyndal, but the flow diminished significantly by the time they reached the inn. Yet it never stopped and was clearly not her normal courses.”
Perplexed, Eleanor asked, “I was never sure whether she had given birth to a dead child or lost the baby before its time?”
“I fear she tried to abort the babe and was struck with the fatal rush of blood for her wrongdoing.” The monk had never mentioned his suspicion before and sadly wondered if he had erred in not doing so. She would have died anyway from the sudden hemorrhage, he thought, but that did little to dispel his sorrow.
Anne gasped. “Was she able to confess the deed before she died?” She bowed her head with embarrassment. “That was not a question I had the right to ask,” she said. “I apologize, Brother.”
Thomas shook his head. “She was unable to speak by the time I arrived, but, from her repentant gaze and sighs on my previous visit, I believe she sincerely lamented her deed. I asked God to allow that as her confession, accept her painful death as her penance, and forgive her transgression.”
“Why did they succumb to the Devil and commit this evil?” The look in Sister Anne’s eyes was unforgiving.
“Are you certain she sinned?” The prioress was watching Gracia.
The young woman wiped tears from her cheeks.
“She never told her husband she had, although he suspected what she had done. He had no work, and they were traveling to Norwich in hopes of finding some. When his wife discovered she was pregnant, they both feared that the babe would die of starvation or illness. Indeed, the couple had little enough to eat themselves, and she worried she would be unable to nurse. The only reason they could stay at the inn was that the husband managed to steal some coin from a pilgrim.” Thomas glanced at Ralf.
The crowner shrugged. “Or so he says. Perhaps he did not want to admit to a charity. I have heard no complaints. Have you?”
Thomas confirmed that he had not.
“There, you see? I have no cause to look into this matter.”
Hiding her relief, the prioress was grateful. Many condemned Ralf for his rude ways and roughness with felons, but he also had deep compassion which he kept carefully hidden from most.
“The husband says she might not have been able to bear the thought of a child dying with cruel slowness and decided to murder it quickly. Although he did not know where she had gotten them, he saw juniper berries in her pouch and asked her the intended purpose. All she said was that she had been given them to infuse their ale with flavor one day, and he inquired no further.”
“Juniper berries cause abortions,” Sister Anne murmured.
“As he feared but was not certain,” Thomas replied. “He did not want to condemn her for a sin she might not have committed.”
“He knew and did not stop her.” The nun looked at her hands and clenched them.
Thomas looked at the prioress.
“We shall pray that God have mercy on both their souls,” Eleanor said and briefly touched the sub-infirmarian’s arm to comfort. Abortion was an acknowledged sin, but it was also committed often enough. Many sympathized with the parents and supported their claim that the loss had been a natural thing. Sister Anne, having seen her only child die and never ceasing to grieve, was not one of them.
“There is one more thing you should know about this tragedy,” Thomas said. “The young husband was distraught over what might have happened and knew he shared guilt if his wife had taken the berries he had seen in her possession. Yet he still doubted she had done such a thing and wondered if the loss of the child had been God’s kindness to them. He visited our anchoress one night for advice but fled because he found himself unable to give full voice to his doubts. He was both grateful his wife had lost the babe and terrified of sin.”
“So the strange visitor to Anchoress Juliana was not the one who struggled with his conscience over the deaths of the abbots.” Prioress Eleanor sighed with regret but was careful not to ask if the suspect juniper berries were still in her pouch after the woman’s death. That Brother Thomas had shrived her was sufficient.
“Nonetheless, I do believe that this elusive servant must still be at the inn,” Thomas continued. “Only a few have turned back to their homes, and no one has gone in the direction of Norwich.”
“Did the salve I sent help the man with the reddened hands?” Sister Anne had finally calmed and sipped her drink. “I pray that we have done some good.”
“I gave it to Signy. He may not have been in the inn when I rushed to the dying woman’s bedside, nor did I see him seated with others when I left to return here. I shall go back to examine him.”
“Meanwhile, your priory guests accuse each other of plotting to kill their fellows,” Ralf said. “One claims my brother is the most likely.” He muttered a probable curse under his breath.
“Abbot Didier has pointed to Abbot Mordredus because he wrote a letter to Rome before the arrival of the special envoy sent by Pope Martin IV. In it, he detailed the sins of each of the other abbots in the party that traveled together to Norwich to meet with this man,” Thomas said.
“It was Abbot Ancell who first suggested my brother might be guilty and have taken just enough of the poisoned food to make himself sick, thereby removing himself from suspicion. Next, he argued for Abbot Didier as the culprit.”
“Abbot Ancell was bitten shortly thereafter by a spider and blames the murderer for the deed.” This time Sister Anne did not smile.
“And thus becomes a victim himself, or so he believes. Since my brother has been too weak to leave his bed, the guilty one must be Abbot Didier or Mordredus.” Ralf’s face reddened. “As I have often said, my brother is an odious man and I bear no love for him. Ambitious, he most certainly is. To win a bishopric, Odo would lie and scheme to place any other contender in a terrible light so he might best him. All that acknowledged, I do not think he would stoop to murder.” The crowner drained his cup. “But I am his kin, and my word cannot be given credence. He must rank as high a suspect as any other.”
“In theory, Ralf. Only in theory,” Thomas said.
“Obviously, I do not think the spider was planted,” Anne said to Eleanor. “That seems to be a genuine accident. Spiders live indoors in the cold weather. This one had simply found a sheltered place that happened to be the abbot’s book. It was a fatal choice for the spider.”
“I agree that the spider is an improbable murder weapon even if Abbot Ancell believes otherwise,” Eleanor said. “I take it he has no chance of dying?”
“All wounds can fester, but this is a minor bite. He will suffer for a few hours and heal quickly thereafter, unless there is something else malignant in his body.” She looked disgusted.
“For that small mercy, we must be grateful,” Eleanor replied and tried not to dwell on their equal certainty that the now-dead Abbot Tristram would live.
“If only we knew more about the health of the dead abbots before they fell ill,” Sister Anne said.
Eleanor agreed. “We have been told that no one was ta
king any new remedy to which he was unaccustomed. Yet these men were not traveling with a physician, and it is winter. They are older men and most prone to sudden ailments.” She looked at the monk and crowner, both of whom agreed.
The sub-infirmarian did as well. “Some slight complaint or pain might have struck either of the two abbots, one that no one thought significant enough to mention. Perhaps someone along the way suggested a temporary relief until the abbot could reach Norwich and consult a physician. We often take more of an herb or draught on the assumption that more is better if knowledgeable guidance is not given.”
“I do recall one minor thing,” Thomas said. “Abbot Didier mentioned that Abbot Ilbert had complained of flatulence on the journey. Then he remarked that Ralf’s brother commonly suffered those symptoms and may have shared information on his remedy. Abbot Odo was outraged over the suggestion, denied Ilbert had ever approached him, and accused Mordredus of insulting him.”
“Odo lied. He suffers from it,” Ralf snorted and thanked Gracia for refilling his cup.
“It would not surprise me if Abbot Ilbert had begun to experience this. His humors were unbalanced, or he would never have suffered from such great wrath. On the journey, he was eating food to which he was unaccustomed. I wonder if Abbot Odo did suggest anything?” Sister Anne looked at the crowner. “It was surely meant as a kindness if he did.”
“Kindness? My brother?” Ralf feigned a shocked look. “Yet it has been reported that he denied doing so, and he did not mention it when I spoke to him. Shall I go back and ask him?” The very thought made him growl with such ferocity that a wild dog would cringe.
“Let me think on this a while longer.” Anne fell silent.
“The illnesses of Abbots Ilbert and Tristram aside, I do not understand how the poisoning with monkshood occurred,” Thomas said. “If one of the abbots is at fault, why have the others not remembered something that one of them did that he shouldn’t have? Even now, as each of the remaining claims one of the others is the perpetrator, no one has pointed to any proof.”
Eleanor set her untouched wine aside. “The mysterious servant could have done something at the inn, either on his own or under the direction of someone else. But he is not at Tyndal Priory so could not have poisoned that tart.”
Ralf suddenly brightened at the thought of food and looked around with the hopeful expression of a hungry puppy.
Catching his eye, Gracia sadly shook her head.
“We are quite certain he is not in residence here,” Thomas said, “but we do not know if he has found a way to lurk nearby.”
“At least we only have three likely suspects left among the abbots,” Eleanor said.
“Four, as we must include my brother,” Ralf added.
“As you will.” Eleanor agreed but her expression suggested she did not think Odo was guilty. “Have we all shared everything we know from speaking with the innkeeper, abbots, and servants?”
Both Thomas and Ralf quickly summarized what each had gleaned in case either had forgotten to mention a detail.
“Has anyone a question they have not yet thought to ask?” Eleanor reached out and touched her distracted sub-infirmarian’s arm.
Sister Anne blinked but quickly shook her head. “I have found nothing in my herbals,” she said and quickly went back to her thoughts.
The prioress turned to her monk. “I think you should visit the inn again and talk to anyone who was with the traveling abbots. Signy has probably remembered others. You must identify which one is the missing servant.”
“I shall leave immediately, my lady,” Thomas said as he stood. Given permission to leave, he still took a moment to pet the great orange cat that had just risen from his place by the fire and awaited the show of respect to which he was due from those he favored.
Eleanor laughed at the sight of King Arthur’s namesake purring and rubbing against the legs of his beloved monk. It was a moment of innocence she needed to keep her from being overwhelmed with the evil of these murders.
“And I shall seek the help of Sister Oliva in consulting my herbals again. I must find a clue there.” Sister Anne followed the monk out the door.
Ralf looked at the prioress with a questioning expression.
“Go home to Gytha and your babes,” Eleanor said to him. “Let us see what Sister Anne and Brother Thomas can discover. We can always send word to you when you are needed. As for your brother, I do not think him a murderer any more than you do.”
The crowner bowed. “You are ever kind, my lady.” He hesitated a moment as if wishing to say more, then nodded and left.
Perhaps, she thought, he cares for his brother more than he wants to admit.
As Eleanor walked back to the fire, she noted that her cat had resettled into his place a safe distance from the heat. With little fuss, Gracia was removing the cups and wine. For just a moment, the prioress bitterly longed for the kind of peace this moment suggested before reminding herself that she had vowed to serve God at His will.
The resentment was brief, and she disappeared into her private chambers to pray for both strength and forgiveness.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Prayer had given comfort, yet Eleanor remained unsatisfied. She asked God why He had sent these crimes and destroyed the peace of her priory. He chose not to answer, and she feared she had offended by failing to show gratitude for the many gifts He had given her.
Since her last encounter with violent death, she had enjoyed almost three years of comparative tranquility. During that time, she had taken pleasure in the joys of family and friends. Ralf’s wife had easily borne two children to give more siblings to his child from a prior marriage, and the entire family enjoyed good health. Eleanor’s nephew, Richard, was absorbed by his studies and seemed content in Oxford. Her brother, Baron Hugh, was always a worry, but he was safe at Wynethorpe Castle as long as the Welsh remained quiescent. Their other brother, Robert, was married to a good woman, and she had just given him a vigorous son.
Even her sinful passion for Brother Thomas had mellowed into a quieter and deeper love, although she could hardly call it one common between brother and sister. Even if it had become a rare occurrence, the incubus who took on his form still invaded her dreams and reminded her of the power of overwhelming lust. But no other man had tempted her since that horrible time at the castle named Doux et Dur. Perhaps God had meant her to learn a lesson from that, and thus she had made peace with her mortal flesh and opened her heart to the wisdom He had intended to bestow on her.
As she hurried down the stairs from her chambers, she thought more about how deeply upset she was over this new trial God had sent her with the deaths of the abbots. Setting aside all selfishness, she realized that the feeling was less resentment, or even anger, than doubt. In the past, she had sometimes welcomed the adventure of matching wits with Satan. This time, she was strangely uncertain of victory, and that made her apprehensive.
Stopping outside the door to the cloister, Eleanor looked around. The garth was protected from the sharp wind but still bore the marks of cruel winter. Everything was covered with snow, and what plants there were had been hidden. Few walked here because of the bleakness. That might give Eleanor the privacy she wished, but it also made her sad.
Before her father’s death, and soon after the death of the beloved aunt who had raised her in Amesbury, she had found this season oddly satisfying. It was a reminder of death but one that had always led her thoughts to Heaven. Since those two deaths, winter made her feel abandoned.
Heaven remained the goal of the faithful, and she knew her loved ones would be there to greet her after she had burned off her sins in Purgatory, but she suffered a very human feeling of loss with the deaths of those who had always been in her life. Her brother, Hugh, seemed to have leapt successfully into the baronetcy their father had bequeathed him. Eleanor still resented the changes her father’s death
had brought her, as well as the loss of Sister Beatrice’s calm wisdom and broad experience.
Stopping at a bench, she brushed away the snow, then looked at the icy stone and decided not to sit and ponder. She would pace around instead and try to stay warm enough to think.
If she did not feel comfortable with these deaths in her priory, the best solution would be to set aside this insidious doubt and quickly solve them. With Brother Thomas going to the inn to discover the mysterious servant and Sister Anne researching poisons, it was her duty to discover the motive behind the murders. With three of the seven abbots dead, she thought grimly, those likely suspects were at least reduced in number. She must regain her confidence. There was no reason why she should not be able to solve this crime as she had so many others.
“Let me start with the obvious,” she whispered into the icy air, “and logically peel away the layers that conceal the core of the scheme.”
Someone must have had a grievance against the abbots and chosen the trip to Norwich as the ideal time to wreak vengeance since all were gathered together. In truth, the murderer might be one of the abbots, one of the servants, the man who suddenly joined the party at the inn before they came to Tyndal, or someone else as yet undetected.
She was certain it was no one in her priory. The first two abbots fell ill before they arrived here. As for other members of the traveling party, Brother Thomas would find out at Signy’s inn who was part of it and when they joined, whether from the beginning of the journey, during it, or later at the inn where Ilbert and Tristram fell ill. The monk had already questioned the servants and none seemed a likely perpetrator, although further questions might be required. At this point, she could dismiss only the dead from suspicion.
The remaining abbots were all frightened, other than Odo who was angry that he had almost died from a food he likely deemed unbearably plain. She did not find his anger suspicious and understood it was a way of disguising his terror at his near-death. She might not like Abbot Odo, but she was able to look at him with greater objectivity than did his youngest brother. Odo was no fool, but he was a pompous ass. Although kinship might make Ralf believe Odo was not guilty of murder, Eleanor had concluded that pompous asses rarely made clever killers. He would remain a suspect, but she placed him at the bottom of her list.
The Proud Sinner Page 16
