kill her.”
“Stay where you are!” Simon rasped as Elias tried to get to his feet. “My Lady?”
“We shall have to put him somewhere safe until morning,” she said. “If you heard her and came running to protect her, how did you get through the door in the church?”
“It was open, my Lady. I followed Luke.”
“Luke was here?” Simon demanded.
“He bribed Sister Denise to let him in, so that he could see this novice. I heard him arrange it, and followed when he came through.”
“And you?” Lady Elizabeth asked. “What were you doing here?”
“I came to see Constance one last time, my Lady. I had no interest in this girl – I love Constance.”
“Where is Luke, then?”
“He went straight from the church out to the cloister, and he stopped there, just as I did, because someone came past – Denise. She went into the church, then returned to the cloister. Luke went off towards the garden, and seeing that, I had decided to go round and throw stones up at Constance’s shutter, when I heard the cry.”
“What then?”
“I hesitated – I didn’t want to be found here, but the cry sounded so full of fear I had to come. I ran through the frater and saw the light. I immediately came in, and found Agnes like this. I held her head to help her soul pass on.”
“When was this?”
“Only a short time ago, my Lady.”
Simon snorted with derision. “You expect us to believe this?”
“Get Denise here, ask her!”
After a moment, Luke heard Lady Elizabeth call for a novice then send her away to fetch Denise.
Here was an opportunity to make good his escape: the nuns and novices, all fascinated by the drama being acted out in the little chamber, had drifted forward so that they could listen better, and their gradual movement had left a space near the door to the screens of the frater. Cautiously, hardly daring to breathe, Luke sidled along the wall, away from that hideous light and the scene within the room. Slipping along slowly, with infinite care to avoid making a sound, he reached the corner of the buildings and ducked around into the small garden.
At last he began to feel a little safer. It was only a few yards to the church. He rushed along on tiptoes, fearful lest he should kick a stone and waken the nuns to his presence, but he managed to cover the distance without alarming anyone and soon was at the alley by the church’s wall. Peering into the cloister, he saw nothing. He paused, trying to still his pounding heart, and moved confidently towards the church’s door. Reaching it, he closed it behind him with a gasp of absolute relief. He had to pause, panting, suddenly exhausted. But there wasn’t time, he could take a rest when he was back in his bed. He rushed over the floor to the communicating door.
His heart was thudding less painfully now, with a more steady rhythm. Thank God he had survived. He cast a smile at the altar, acknowledging it with a tilt of his head. A genuflection after this day’s work would be an insult, he reflected, and he pressed the latch to open the door.
But the door wouldn’t open. His hand still on the latch, he tugged at it, pursed his lips and pulled again, then set both hands upon the handle, his foot to the wall, and heaved until the corded muscles stood out on his neck, tears of frustration pouring from his eyes, but the locked door wouldn’t budge.
As he sagged, ready to weep, resting his forehead against the wood, he heard a noise. Spinning, he found himself face-to-face with Margherita. She stood in a choir stall, watching him with a small smile of contempt.
“So, Father Luke, you decided to come and adulterate one of the Brides of Christ yet again, did you?” she asked quietly. “And what now, Father? Will you await your fate here?”
He made as if to step towards her, but she shook her head, and with a speed that surprised him, she moved around behind the stalls, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “I would prefer to keep my distance, Father, especially with all these dead women about the place. It would be a shame to add to their number, don’t you think? Not to mention defiling the church with blood.“
“How did you know about her? You saw her there, didn’t you!” he accused. Then his frown of incomprehension faded. “Then you were there before me. You must have killed Agnes!”
“Don’t talk bollocks like that to me,” she said, but retreated as he stalked towards her, his face white. “After the scream I saw poor little Agnes there, dead, and I realised immediately it had to be you.”
“It was me who screamed – when I found her body,” he protested.
“Only a man could slaughter a nun like that – and who else but the very one who enjoyed corrupting the young wenches in here? Only one man had an opportunity to get in here and chat to the novices regularly, didn’t he? You, Father. You enjoyed all three of the dead girls, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t!” he shouted.
“Oh, I suppose that righteous little madam Moll refused your advances, and that was why you decided to kill her, so that she couldn’t let on. And Katerine – why did you do away with her? Was it that she was annoyed when you transferred your affections to Agnes?”
Luke gawped, standing still. “Why should I hurt them? I couldn’t hurt them.”
Margherita was relentless. “You had Agnes help you, didn’t you? You had her drop extra dwale into Moll’s cup, and then you killed the girl. Katerine was easy – you knocked her out down here and then tossed her from the roof like a sack of grain. And Agnes knew all about Moll, so as soon as you realised you couldn’t ensure her silence by using her as your concubine, you decided to murder her as well!”
“You’re talking nonsense! This is a pack of lies, all lies, to hide your guilt, you murderous bitch!”
“Me?” she squawked.
“Yes, you! Moll found out about your little game with the money, didn’t she? You never knew before, that your assistant could read and add up. Your precious Lady Elizabeth can’t, but a poor novice saw through your schemes and ruined your plans, so you killed her. Murdered her to cover up your own guilt! But you never realised Moll had shared the story with other novices, did you? That never occurred to you, oh no! And I guess that Katerine came to you with a demand for money and that was when you murdered her.”
“Please enlighten me,” Margherita said coldly. “What moronic reasoning can you use to explain my murdering little Agnes?”
“Yes, please continue.”
Luke felt the ice enter his bones at that voice; in the doorway stood Lady Elizabeth, the bailiff at her side, sword sheathed now, his hand on Elias’s shoulder, and all the novices and nuns filling the space behind. It was a sight to freeze the blood of a saint, and Luke felt the resolution fade from him at the expression on Lady Elizabeth’s face. A sob caught at his breast, making his shoulders jerk. He threw a look at the jewel-encrusted cross on the altar, feeling a desperate desire for a moment’s calm in which to pray and make his peace.
Turning to the prioress, he tried to hold his head up, but couldn’t meet the steely contempt in her eyes. “Ask her where she was, my Lady,” he said hoarsely.
“Lady Elizabeth, I was walking in the orchard when I heard the scream. I immediately rushed back and saw Agnes’s body. At once I realised that I must see whether someone could have entered from the men’s cloister and came here. I found the door locked, but a moment or two later this man appeared and tried to escape.”
Luke protested, “Lady Elizabeth, I had found Agnes’s body and didn’t want to be thought of as her murderer so I fled.”
“And it took you so long to get here that Margherita had time to find Agnes’s body and get to the church?” Simon said disbelievingly.
“Yes, Bailiff. As soon as I screamed I…”
“It was you who screamed?” Simon pressed.
“Yes. It was horrible to find her like that. I wanted to get away, but there were feet coming from every direction.”
“Margherita, you mean? Everyone else was asleep.”
“Someone was coming through the frater, there was someone from the orchard…” he threw a baleful look at Margherita as he realised he had confirmed her story “… and someone else coming the way I had, from the church.”
“Who was that?”
