A Deadly Brew

‘Saturn was at its zenith,’ said Julianna loudly, her eyes wide with horror as she gazed at the door. Swallowing hard, she leaned close to him and spoke in a whisper. ‘You must leave here today. You are in the gravest danger. Leave now – this afternoon – before it is too late!’

Chapter 6

Bartholomew regarded Julianna in disbelief, simultaneously they looked towards the door a second time as there was a slight, but distinctly audible, groan from the floorboards in the hallway.

‘And what day of the month did you notice this change in your humours?’ he asked, speaking as loudly as he could. Under the door, where there was a gap between wood and floor, a shadow moved, stopped and then passed on, while in her chair Dame Pelagia snored obliviously.

Julianna smiled quickly at him before becoming intense again. ‘They suspect I know. I am no longer safe and neither are you.’

‘Know what?’ said Bartholomew in confusion. ‘Safe from whom?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Julianna. ‘That is the frustrating part. There are comings and goings in the depths of the night and something is amiss, but I do not know what.’

‘Then how do you know you are in danger?’ asked Bartholomew. Perhaps Julianna had been locked up in the convent for too long, and her desire for something to break the monotony of her daily life had gained the better of her common sense.

She fiddled with her veil and glanced at Dame Pelagia. ‘There is not much time to explain. Last night, after compline, I went to the pantry for something to eat – I am always hungry here since the portions are so small – and I heard men in the kitchen. I heard one of them telling the others that you were not dead, but were recovering here along with that fat Benedictine and your servant. They were furious. Then I heard them say they would act tonight. As I went to leave, I knocked a plate off a shelf and they heard me. I escaped to the dormitory, but I think they guessed it was me who had been eavesdropping.’

‘What were these men like?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Mercenaries wearing boiled leather jerkins and helmets? Or a young man with a newly grown beard?’

Julianna shook her head. ‘I did not see them. But at least one of them was gently spoken. He was not a common soldier.’

Bartholomew was nonplussed. By no stretch of the imagination could Alan or any of the soldiers be described as gently spoken. But while Bartholomew could believe that the mercenaries might have discovered their whereabouts and intended to attack them again, surely there was not a second group of people who wanted his death and Michael’s? He wondered again if Julianna might be making up the story to inject some excitement into her life, or if she had misunderstood or misheard.

Julianna read the doubt in his face. Her eyes narrowed and her face became hard. ‘You do not believe me! I risk myself to come to warn you, and you do not believe a word I say. Well you will find out I am right, but then it will be too late.’

She began to flounce away, but he caught her by the arm.

‘Wait! You say you have risked your life to warn me, but people do not risk their lives for those they do not know. What were you intending to ask of me? Other than an astrological consultation to cure the cough we both know you do not have.’

Her eyes flashed with fury, but this was as quickly replaced by sudden humour. ‘You are astute!’ She looked towards Dame Pelagia and then to the door. ‘You have also guessed correctly. When you leave tonight, I want to go with you.’

He had been right: Julianna saw in Bartholomew and Michael an opportunity to escape from her tedious existence at Denny. Since she probably realised that there would be nothing in her horoscope to warrant the Abbess removing her from the Fens, she must have had an alternative plan to ensure she would be able to abscond.

‘And if we take you to Cambridge, what will you do then?’ he asked, to see how far she had considered her arrangements in advance. He was not disappointed.

‘I will throw myself on the mercy of my uncle,’ she said promptly. ‘Thomas Deschalers, the grocer.’

It was a small world, he thought. ‘Are Thomas Deschalers and the Abbess kinsmen, then?’ he asked. ‘You are the niece of both.’

‘I know what I am,’ said Julianna imperiously. ‘But Thomas Deschalers is my father’s brother and the Abbess is my mother’s sister. They are not kinsmen really. When my parents died last year, he used my relationship with her to secure me here.’

‘You did not want to come, I take it?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘I did not!’ claimed Julianna vehemently. ‘I preferred life in London, although Cambridge was proving it might have possibilities. Uncle Thomas did not really give me time to find out before he had arranged for me to come to this godforsaken bog.’

‘You have not always been in a convent, then?’

Julianna grimaced. ‘Unfortunately, yes, I have spent most of my life with nuns. I had a few weeks of freedom in London after the death of my parents, and then a few weeks in Cambridge when I lived with Uncle Thomas. But I would rather be anywhere but here. You must take me with you.’

‘And what will you do if Uncle Thomas orders you straight back here?’

‘He will not!’ said Julianna defiantly. ‘I will tell him of all the strange happenings and he will inform the Sheriff who will investigate.’

‘What strange happenings?’

‘I have already told you!’ said Julianna impatiently. ‘Comings and goings in the night, strange men in the kitchens between matins and lauds–’

‘But there might be a dozen explanations for these things, Sis … Mistress Julianna,’ said Bartholomew gently.

Perhaps some of the lay sisters had their menfolk into the kitchens to give them food, he thought, for even in the Fens, where fish and fowl were more abundant than elsewhere, food was still scarce and hideously expensive for the honest labourer. Or perhaps the explanation was less innocent, and some of the lay sisters, or even nuns, entertained men under cover of darkness. But regardless, Julianna’s suspicions were scarcely something with which to bother the Sheriff.

‘The wisest course of action for you to take would be to tell your aunt of your concerns and observations, and let her decide what to do about it,’ he said eventually.

‘You are worthless!’ shouted Julianna with sudden vehemence, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I should have known better than to trust you.’

Her furious words woke Dame Pelagia, who blinked in confusion at the scene in front of her. Julianna shoved Bartholomew away and fled from the room.

‘And you should not be there!’ he heard her yell, presumably to the person who had been trying to listen outside the door. He went to look, but there was no one to be seen.

‘What ails Julianna?’ asked Dame Pelagia, standing unsteadily. Her eyes widened accusingly. ‘You did not seduce her while I was dozing?’

‘Of course I did not!’ said Bartholomew half indignant and half startled by the old nun’s forthrightness. ‘She is angry because she did not like the advice I gave her.’

He helped the old lady down the stairs and they entered the Abbess’s solar again. She and Michael were positioned most decorously, she standing at the window, and he still sitting in the chair by the fire. He stood as Bartholomew entered with Dame Pelagia and offered her the chair.

‘Have you worked out a course of treatment for my niece’s ailment?’ asked the Abbess. ‘Or will I need to ask Thomas Deschalers to house her until I find her another convent in a more healthy part of the country? I was alarmed when she told me of her condition yesterday. It is not good for a person so young to have such complaints.’