of her nuns.
Margherita was there, as was Denise, and most of the others, but there was a plain gap where the infirmarer should have been standing.
Presumably one of her patients was unwell, Lady Elizabeth thought. At least that overblown fool Bertrand wasn’t here in the nuns’ choir to see her absence. If his raised voice yesterday was anything to go by, Lady Elizabeth felt sure he would throw off his lightly worn cloak of urbanity at the faintest provocation, and rant. She found herself looking forward to the spectacle.
In the meantime she had many other considerations; the peace of the church, with its familiar psalms, prayers and rites, was the perfect setting for concentration. She allowed her mind to run over her problems while her voice joined with the others in the cadences.
First there was Princess. The poor little terrier had been unwell again during the evening, whining, then panting and lying down, eyes wide, tongue lolling, and vomiting while her bowels opened. The prioress reflected that she would have to get one of the lay sisters to clean up, but that was hardly the issue. She had never known a dog suffer from so appalling a flux before. Oh, several of her pets in the past had been sick – that was hardly surprising for a dog which scavenged, as all did – but this was worse, and Lady Elizabeth was worried.
Then there was Bertrand. The suffragan’s aim was clear: he wanted to get rid of her. Moll’s death had given him the ideal excuse. Allied to this was the headache posed by Margherita. The treasurer had ever been keen on taking over the leadership of the convent; she had her sights firmly fixed upon Lady Elizabeth’s post, and had obviously enlisted Bertrand to help her.
As the first part of the service ended, Lady Elizabeth unconsciously glanced up towards the windows. Matins. She felt a small smile rise to her face as the first soaring notes rose to the ceiling.
Alas, her delight was shortlived. Even as she felt her spirits join with the music and climb upwards, she saw the white flakes begin to pour in through the hole above. Snow floated down, wafting as it was caught by the side-blast travelling the length of the nave.
The sight made her close her eyes, but not before she caught the treasurer’s triumphant expression.
Once more, the Lady Elizabeth peered back towards the gap in the pews where Constance should have stood. She suddenly found herself hoping that the young infirmarer had not run away. Not only would that be a confession of guilt, it would also involve almost certain death if the weather were to turn, and from the look of the snow, it had.
When the last notes faded in the grey dawn light, and the canons rose, shuffling towards the door, Godfrey too got to his feet, but before he could slip through, he heard his name called out. Stifling a momentary panic, he fitted a subservient smile to his face and turned to face the bishop.
“My Lord Bertrand! I heard you were returned. I suppose it was that poor girl? Such a shame; a terrible waste.”
Bertrand introduced the two men with him, and Godfrey ducked his head quickly to each of them. “I am delighted to meet you, gentlemen. I only hope I can be of some use.“
The bearded one called Baldwin motioned towards the door. “Shall we find a fire and a warm drink?”
When Godfrey had made them all comfortable in the frater and had asked the lay brother for wine and ale, he sat and eyed them all benignly. “How may I assist you?”
It was the bearded one again. Godfrey had never liked men with beards. It made them look sloppy, to his mind.
“Could you tell us what you did for the girl? I understand you bled her?”
“Yes, Sir Baldwin,” Godfrey answered. “It was the day that she died that I was called into the infirmary. Moll was suffering from a headache – what I would call a migraine, or a hemicrania – a sick headache of the most extreme form. This kind of illness can be cured by a small cut in the basilic vein. I explained what I was about to do, then gave her the bowl to hold while I made a small incision. The blood was taken, and then I sealed the vein. That was all.”
“Why did you perform this operation?” Baldwin asked quietly. “Surely cupping is more usual with women.”
Godfrey kept the smile on his face, but he had to take a deep breath to control his nervousness. “Why, you are right, of course, Sir Baldwin. But after studying her urine I felt sure that releasing a little blood would be more effective. The infirmarer here tries very hard, of course, and she is absolutely devoted to her charges, but… Performing something like cupping on a girl of her age seemed unlikely to result in success. No, I thought that bloodletting would be better.”
“I am surprised that you were content to conduct the operation yourself.“
Godfrey was happier with that question. “But who else would have been able to do it? I know that priests are banned from surgery, but it is better that I should become involved than that a mere barber should be permitted to enter the nuns’ cloister.”
“You think so? When the Pope has said that you should effect the cure by the strength of prayer?” Baldwin murmured.
“I acted as I thought best.“
“And yet she died.” Baldwin held up his hand to halt the sudden burst of anxious self-justification. “No, I do not say you killed her. But please confirm: how many cuts did you make in her arm?”
“How many?” Godfrey repeated, still smarting at the perceived insult to his professionalism. “One, of course. I am a trained man, Sir Knight, not some quack-salver operating from the back of a wagon.”
Baldwin grinned inwardly at the thought of this serious-looking cleric selling mixed salves and potions from the back of a wagon like a charlatan at a market. “No, I am sure you are not,” he said soothingly. “But it is nevertheless a fact that the girl had two cuts, and the one which punctured her artery, was, I assume, the second – for it instantly allowed her life to flow away. Thus your assertion that you did not make a second incision means you cannot have been her killer.”
“I most certainly am not!” Godfrey declared hotly.
“And not only that, but there are other factors which I find most interesting. Did you, for example, need to restrain her? Her mouth is swollen, and there are bruises on her upper arms.”
“No, she was perfectly quiet and meek throughout the operation,” Godfrey said with surprise.
“Then I am sure you cannot help us further,” Baldwin said pleasantly. “Unless… Could you tell us what sort of a girl she was? Do you know whether anyone bore her a grudge?”
“As to what sort of girl, I should say she was an uncommonly religious young lady. She came from a good family, I believe, the daughter of a minor knight, and I think she had always had a hankering after the religious life. Her father wasn’t too keen, but agreed to allow her to follow her vocation.”
“Was she always well-behaved?”
“Yes, from what I’ve heard. You have to bear in mind that I only rarely go to the nuns’ cloister – mainly when the infirmarer has a problem, such as young Moll’s blood-letting. But as far as someone holding a grudge against her, well…” he smiled suddenly. “The idea is ridiculous. Who could hold a grudge against a nun? Surely not another nun.”
Baldwin held his eye for a moment. “I suspect you have heard of such things before. Who else could have had the opportunity to see her in the infirmary overnight? Which man could enter the convent?”
Godfrey’s attention wavered and he allowed his gaze to move to Bertrand. “Nobody that I am aware of, naturally. And yet I refuse to believe that a nun could be responsible.”
“What of the nun of Watton?”
Godfrey’s expression hardened, his eyes flashing back to Baldwin’s face, but before he could answer Bertrand interrupted furiously, talking in a low hiss. “Are you mad, Sir Baldwin? Don’t raise such matters! You have no right to bring up something like that.”
“I have every right. We are here in a convent, investigating a crime which only a nun could have committed – unless, like at Watton, the place has been run with such extreme laxity that any act of wickedness is possible.“
“It is! The prioress in charge is incompetent to run a pigsty, let alone a…” Bertrand blustered.
Godfrey gave him a startled look. “Rubbish! This place is…”
“Quiet!” Baldwin commanded. “Godfrey, have men regularly gained access to the nuns’ cloister?”
The man shook his head. “Oh, I’m sure not,” he declared, but even he could hear the lack of conviction in
