“And since her eyes had been uncovered to their greed and wickedness,” added Chaucer, “she decided they must have forced you to come here, and bribed St. Frideswide’s to keep you against your will.”
“But I told her over and over I wanted to come,” protested Thomasine.
“And Isobel told her William Vaughan was dead.”
Domina Edith said to Dame Frevisse, “I saw how you came to know that she was poisoned before she left their manor. Master Chaucer was so certain it was Maryon. Why did you keep looking for another answer?”
Dame Frevisse’s face was marked by weariness. The confrontation of first Sir John and Lady Isobel, and then of Sir Walter and Master Montfort, had been mainly hers to bear. What came afterward had gone on well into the night, in a welter of angers and questionings until everything had been understood enough to satisfy both Master Montfort and Sir Walter. Then she had had to spend this early morning seeing to their guests leaving. Small wonder her smile was faint as she answered, “It was Sir John’s toothache. Once Dame Claire was certain Lady Ermentrude’s first illness was from henbane, there was the question of why that poison. If Maryon was the poisoner, why had she chosen so uncertain a poison? Surely she would not have dared poison Lady Ermentrude without firm instructions from the Queen. So she would have had a sure poison to hand. Henbane is more likely to derange a person than outright kill them so it’s not as useful as some others. But Sir John had talked of his toothache being treated by a passing peddler whose cure was a smoking sham. Henbane is the base for that deception. The peddler would warn them not to attempt to repeat the cure, as henbane is poisonous. That’s what put it into Lady Isobel’s head. Henbane is a common weed, underfoot in any yard. That was Lady Isobel’s problem the morning Lady Ermentrude sent for the wine. No time to brew a deadly simple, or slip away to the woods, where the more deadly nightshade grows; she needed something quickly. So she used the henbane, hoping it would be enough to kill, but followed after, when she had the nightshade, on the chance she would have to try again.”
“But how did you come to think of Isobel in the matter?”‘ asked Master Chaucer.
“Because so far as we knew there was no reason for Lady Ermentrude suddenly deciding to go on to the Wykehams that afternoon. She simply did, and fell to raging at them as soon as she was there, then rode back here, still furious, for no real reason so far as we could tell from what anyone could tell us. It was easy to accept she was in some sort of brain fever all that while, unreasoned and half-mad. And that someone took advantage of it to kill her after she returned here. But k wasn’t until Dame Claire realized Lady Ermentrude returned here already poisoned that it suddenly mattered very much why she had gone to the Wykehams in the first place. I could only guess that something we’d said here that afternoon had set her off. When Thomasine told me her sister’s secret, I finally knew what had happened.”
“And Sir John knew what his lady was about?” Domina Edith asked.
“Not the first time. But afterwards, with the nightshade, he knew. I think he would have stopped her if he could, but she’s the stronger of the two of them.”
Domina Edith sadly shook her head. “All to save their children from disgrace.”
“No,” Master Chaucer said. “It’s only a small legal matter for the Church and Crown to make a marriage like theirs lawful and legitimize their children. There would be some bother and maybe laughter but no long-held disgrace and afterwards everything would be righted. It was the price Lady Isobel objected to. Such legalities are expensive.”
“But they could have afforded them,” objected Thomasine. “There must have been a way they could have managed it no matter how expensive.”
“Yes, but Lady Isobel had another purpose for the money. Since your father’s title of Lord was entailed through the male line only, it died with him, unable to pass through your sister’s blood to her sons.”
Thomasine nodded. She knew that. Master Chaucer continued, “Your sister was hoping to buy the title back into the family. For Sir John in her right, or for their eldest son. Titles can be had from the Crown for a price but, like all legalities, they’re expensive. She and Sir John could afford either the title or having their marriage made legal, but if they had to pay for one, they’d not have been able to pay for the other, not for a long while yet, perhaps not ever. Your sister is a proud woman, not willing to face even casual slurs on her marriage. But above all, an impatient woman, who wants what she wants now, not later.”
“The way she wanted William Vaughan,” Domina Edith said softly. “And then Sir John. And wanted Lady Ermentrude dead. A very dangerous thing is impatience. Even when it is for something good. Like the taking of one’s vows.”
Thomasine looked at her, startled. But the familiar fear did not come with it, so that she actually saw the laughter quirking at the corners of the prioress’s mouth, and Dame Frevisse’s. A little uncertainly, she smiled back, then bowed her head and said, “It’s almost too late to be impatient now.”
They laughed at her then, but gently with the kindness of understanding, and to her surprise, Thomasine found that the laughter did not hurt.
A while later she stood beside Dame Frevisse in the yard as the last of Master Chaucer’s men disappeared beyond the gateway after him. At her back St. Frideswide’s silence was waiting for her, a promise of prayers and peace, but for just now she was more aware of the doves coming back to the well on their rustling wings, unafraid of two nuns at the cloister door.
Over the fading sound of the horses’ cantering hoofs she could hear the creak of carts on the track from the fields. The rain had been too slight to hurt the harvest and the fields had already dried. Someone beyond the wall called to mind the rut or they’d have the load over, and Dame Frevisse asked mildly, “Did you talk to Robert Fenner before he left with Sir Walter?”
Slightly disconcerted by the unexpected question, Thomasine answered, “Yes. When I came from speaking to Isobel this morning he stopped me and we spoke.”
“What did he have to say?”
“That he was sorry about my sister, and that he hoped I would be happy when my vows were taken.”
“And anything more?”
Puzzled, aware that Dame Frevisse was watching her face as if in search of something, Thomasine answered simply, “No. Should there have been?”
Dame Frevisse watched her a moment more before looking away. “No,” she said. “There should not have been.”
Novice’s Tale Page 24
