couple of things. Taking a careful look around.”
“Terrible about the two girls,” Luke said sorrowfully. “One can only imagine how the good Bishop, my Lord Walter Stapledon will respond.”
“He’ll respond with extreme anger, as any good priest should.”
“Why of course! And yet, he’d not want the village gossips to get wind, would he?” Luke said. “While the prioress still holds sway she must be supported. Even if it means finding scapegoats.”
“There will be no scapegoats. Only the guilty will be punished,” Bertrand growled. “Where did you hear such a rumour?”
“Oh, her Ladyship wouldn’t confide in me, I assure you,” said Luke off-handedly.
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say that she and I have often had our disagreements.”
Bertrand refilled his pot and gazed at Luke contemplatively. “I have the impression that many wouldn’t mourn her passing if she were to be moved to a new convent.”
“Here? My God, I should think not!” Luke exclaimed. “She brings shame upon us all.”
“Shame? Because of her laxity, you mean?”
“Her moral laxity, yes.” Luke could feel Bertrand’s excitement, and was delighted that he had hooked the suffragan and pulled him in so well. Although he had no idea of the notion which had formed in Bertrand’s mind earlier that morning when Paul had told him of the planned escape, the eagerness in Bertrand’s voice when Luke dropped comments against the prioress spoke volumes.
“You’re talking in riddles, man! What moral laxity are you going on about?”
“Why I thought you knew, Bishop. Her daughter. The whore in the vill’s tavern down at the bottom of the valley.”
Bertrand gaped, and only absent-mindedly muttered his thanks when Luke refreshed his pot.
“Her daughter; a whore?' he breathed.
It was perfect. Delicious. Wonderful!
As Bertrand stood to seek the fire in the frater, he not only grinned, but in an ebullient mood, patted Luke’s shoulder as he passed and then actually paused and invited the young man to join him in another jug of wine.
Simon waved his hand towards the cloister. “But why do you ply your trade here? Surely it can only lead to shame – especially in front of the women you used to live among.”
She shrugged unconcernedly. “Look – it’s too late to worry about that now. When I was trying to get back at my mother, I started coming here, offering myself to all the canons and lay brothers. It seemed funny at the time; there she was, sitting in her great chair in one side of the cloister, and here I was in this side.” There was no humour in Rose’s voice. She had slumped, as if flaked out after a long walk. “But this last time, the night you arrived, it was different. I had decided to help my mother.”
“Why?”
She looked at him. “Like I said, I heard you talking about her in the tavern when you were on your way here, and listening to that priest with you, it was like listening to a man gloating over a young virgin’s body. He was repulsive, and whether he believed the letter sent to him or not, he wanted to believe it. He really wanted Mother to be guilty. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.
“My mother is not hugely religious, Bailiff. She’s a good woman in her own way, but if it hadn’t been for her husband dying early and her dislike of the men put forward to her as replacements, she’d have wed again, from what she said. But she does have two loves: the priory, and me. And in that order, too, I think. The priory is still her first love.”
Simon looked up at the ceiling of the smithy. For a change the roof appeared to be whole, although patched, but when he glanced about him at the walls, he saw the damp patches from which the plaster was falling.
Following his gaze, Rose giggled. “Yeah, it hardly looks as if she cares much, does it? But she does. The place is only suffering because of lack of money; it needs a lot to stop the rot. That’s what Mother is trying to do; just keep St Mary’s ticking over until she can get the money she needs.”
“From Sir Rodney.”
“That’s right. Sir Rodney is prepared to give her the cash.”
“In exchange for looking after his bones and one girl whom he or his family can nominate: this Agnes. What do you know of her?”
“A bit stiff. Not the sort who’d speak to me, although she is little better than me herself, from what I hear.”
Simon listened attentively as she spoke of Agnes and the rumours of her affair with Luke. When she had finished, he screwed up his face doubtfully. “You think so? It’s so easy for gossip to be spread about people for no reason.”
“No reason?” Rose asked, and her laughter rose to the rafters. “Oh, Bailiff, think carefully! There’s one woman here who can tell a man’s proclivities – and that’s me! I know which men need a woman, for they use my services! I know which ones desire me but daren’t indulge themselves for fear of God’s retribution; some are pederasts, for they watch me with faces like those of men drinking vinegar; and there are some who watch me with interest, who admire my body, but who never offer me money – those, Bailiff, are the men who already enjoy their own women and have no need of a paid substitute.”
“There is more than one, then?”
“Only two,” she said with decision. “Luke and Elias, who is servicing Constance, the infirmarer.”
Simon blew out his cheeks. “Constance? With Elias?”
“I only mention the pair as an example, but yes.“
“Where? Do you mean to tell me nuns and novices bring men up to the dorter?”
“Of course not!” Rose laughed. “But all the girls know places to go. For example there’s a room behind the frater: when it’s dark the girls use it; it has hay for a bed, and the roof doesn’t leak, which makes it unique.” She threw a glance of sneering contempt at the holes above her.
“How does all this help me?” Simon grumbled, getting up and scuffing his feet through the dirt on the floor. “At every advance I find another block – and now Baldwin’s got a broken head. I’m no use at this type of enquiry.” He slammed his fist into his open left palm. “What can I do? The first poor girl died although no one seems to have any idea why, and now Katerine is dead as well, although she appears to have had little in common with Moll.”
“Moll was religious, and Katerine wanted power,” agreed Rose calmly. “But let me tell you something both did have in common: both Moll and Katerine knew secrets. Katerine spent her time seeking out pieces of news or gossip, and was not above using it to her own advantage, dropping hints in someone’s ear to make sure that she got what she wanted. Moll was not so enthusiastic about finding people’s hidden stories, but she was determined when she thought something might have an impact on the convent. She would dig or spy until she found the facts, and then she was like Katerine: she went to the one she thought was responsible, and she let them know what she knew. She didn’t do it for her own benefit like Katerine, she did it for the nunnery, but the people she blackmailed probably felt the same about it.”
“Whom did she threaten?”
“Apart from me, you mean?” Rose smiled sadly. “Because both did try to threaten me. Katerine told me she’d inform my mother about my whoring, unless I paid money for her silence; only a few days later Moll took me aside and spoke to me very seriously in the gardens, trying to persuade me to leave or stop my whoring with the canons. She said that it would damage the convent and I should desist. Desist! I remember her words so well.”
“Who would have told her?”
“Moll? Well, novices chatter amongst themselves just like any other girls. I had refused to pay Katerine, so I expect she was happy to spread the story of my sins.”
“You disliked them?”
“Not really. I just thought they were fools. Neither of them realised that I had no interest in them. Their threats were meaningless. They needed someone who would be worried that their storytelling could get back to the wrong person. Maybe when you have found the man or woman who was threatened by those two girls, you’ll have your killer.”
