she swung the door shut and soon after Elias heard the lock snap shut. Slowly he turned back to the altar, and wonderingly but fervently, offered his gratitude.
As night fell, Simon sat in the infirmary watching over his friend. Hugh had gone to fetch wine soon after Vespers, and since then Simon had heard the bell for Compline. The nuns had attended this last service of the day, and now all was silent in the place.
It was a relief, for Simon felt the need of time to review all he had heard. Especially since Hugh had grimly told him of Agnes and Luke.
Every now and again he glanced up as Cecily feverishly moaned and whimpered, but Constance had managed to drop a little of her magical syrup between the lay sister’s lips, so at least she slept. Joan had complained that she couldn’t sleep, and rather than use more of Constance’s precious dwale, she had returned to her old bed in the dorter.
Constance herself was asleep on a stool at Cecily’s side, her head resting on Cecily’s mattress and setting her wimple awry.
She looked like an angel in the glow of the candles, Simon thought. The light gave her features a pink tint, highlighting the high cheekbones, and making her lips appear more full and rose-coloured. With the movement of her headpiece, a tress of her hair had come adrift and now it moved with her breath, near her cheek. Although she was clearly a mature woman, her face seemed so innocent and youthful that Simon felt a paternal fondness for her, just as he did when he glanced over at the truckle-bed at home and saw his own daughter asleep. There was something incredibly attractive in a sleeping girl, he thought.
The door opened quietly behind him, and he heard Constance snort slightly, then wrinkle her nose before settling once more.
“Hugh?” he asked.
“Bailiff, I wish to speak to you alone.”
“Lady Elizabeth,” he said, leaping to his feet. “My apologies, I had no idea it was you.”
She held up her hand. “No apology is necessary. Your man is outside for a while. I would like to speak to you alone.”
“But of course, my Lady. Please, take my chair.”
She glanced at Baldwin, remaining standing. “How is he?”
“He moans often, and wanders a lot in his dreams, but I think – I hope – he will recover.”
“That is good.”
“The lay sister is not so well,” Simon said softly.
“I had heard,“ she said, her attention moving to Cecily and the sleeping nun at her side. ”She is so young, too,“ she added almost as an afterthought.
Simon didn’t know what to say. In his experience most people did die while young. It was rare for a child to grow to adulthood, still rarer for one to become old like the prioress. “She will not live with that arm,” he said.
“How can she live without it?”
Simon held his tongue. The prioress shook her head with resignation. “You are right,” she said at last. “But I hate having to ask a man to exercise his skills when the Pope has commanded him not to.”
“Your surgeon?”
“Godfrey, yes.” While she spoke, she woke Constance, and led her to her bed. Returning, she said, “He’s tried to stick to dressing wounds, but every now and again something like this happens.” She sighed heavily. “I shall ask him to come and look at the girl as soon as it is light. But that is not why I am here. Sir Bailiff, you and your man are welcome to stay here for the night so that you can protect your friend, but I have to ask that you both remain within this room.“
Simon bridled. “There’s no need to suppose that Hugh or I would attempt to…”
“Oh, Bailiff, you shouldn’t jump to conclusions!” she said, laughing silently, but with evident delight. “I wouldn’t suggest any such thing, but you can waken my nuns easily without trying by waking Princess. If she should hear you, she would bark. As you have seen, she doesn’t like men.“
“That was one thing I was going to speak to you about,” Simon said. “If someone in the canons’ cloister gave a tidbit to Princess, would she eat it?”
“Oh, I expect so. She can be quite horribly greedy,” she said, but then caught sight of his expression. “You mean – you think someone deliberately poisoned my little Princess?”
“It’s possible. There seems to be enough dwale floating about this convent to sink all of you into a stupor.”
Unconsciously Lady Elizabeth gripped her prayer beads. “Good God!”
Hugh had gone to sit out in the cloister, but even though he wrapped himself up in a rug he had removed from a chest in the frater, it was bitter cold. Although he wriggled and squirmed, although he resolutely shut his eyes and tried to imagine a roaring fire before him, the vision alone couldn’t warm him. It was a relief when the door to the dorter opened. Framed in the doorway he saw the prioress, who stood peering about her shortsightedly. Hugh hastily clambered to his feet.
“Come inside and close the door behind you. Brrr! It is chill, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned to snow again.”
Hugh entered, but as he turned to pull the door to behind him, he caught a glimpse of something. He was going to put it from his mind, but before he let the latch fall, he frowned, then opened it a fraction and peered out once more. There, darting from one pillar to another in the cloister passage by the church, he saw a figure. Hugh stood stock-still. He was not particularly afraid of any man, but there was something unwholesome and melancholy about this apparition. Raised and bred on the moors, Hugh had a healthy respect for ghouls and the devil, and in a place like this, where the religious folk all appeared to consider their vows as irrelevant, Hugh wondered now whether a devil might wander the cloisters at night. His scalp crept.
“Hurry up, man!”
At the sound of the prioress’s voice, Hugh quickly pulled the door shut behind him and ascended the stairs to the infirmary. As he stole past the door to the prioress’s chamber, Princess snarled, and Hugh hurried on to the security of the infirmary.
Denise snored, mouth wide, and it was only when her pot rolled from her hand and fell from the table, smashing on the floor, that she snorted, groaned, and at last blearily gazed about her. Realising she was alone in the room, she put her hands to her eyes, rubbing with the heels of her palms and yawning.
It was hard to sleep on the table-top like this. She always had a crick in her neck when she awoke, and felt unrefreshed, as though the sleep had been of no benefit whatever.
She rose, stretching, and walked out. When she had entered it had been late afternoon, and she had intended only one quick drink before returning to her duties, sweeping the floor after Compline, but now she saw it was already late, and she felt a short stab of guilt.
“The door!” she exclaimed. Luke had been there when she had gone to unlock it, without, as he had said, the wine, but he had winked at her, and she had sat moodily all through the service, knowing that what she was about to do at the end was wrong and against all her vows, taking wine for herself without sharing it among the other members of the community, allowing a man into the cloister so he could take his carnal pleasures with a nun, and the nun herself, of course, for Denise would be helping her to break her vows.
It was all very confusing, and Denise fingered the little medal of St Mary that she always wore about her neck. As usual the Virgin Mary comforted Denise, and the nun took up her jug and emptied it, smacking her lips with gusto. It was good wine, but she would prefer Luke’s best Bordeaux.
Luke! The vicar should be in the cloister by now, with his little novice. If not, he was leaving it late. When he’d made her the offer, he’d said she could lock the door again once he was past, Denise remembered, chewing her lip. Was it late enough for her to go and lock up now, or should she wait a little longer? Denise wasn’t prepared to leave the cloister unprotected all through the night; she wanted to make sure at least that Luke was already in the nuns’ cloister.
She made her way to the church. If he was still within the cloister, all he need do was rest in the church
