Prince of Darkness hc-5 Page 5

  He waited until Ranulf was out of earshot

  'Dame Agatha,' he said, 'I do not wish to stand on my authority but I would like to question the other nun, Dame Elizabeth.' He pointed back to the death house. I have just seen the corpse of her friend.'

  'Of course.' Dame Agatha smiled. I am sure the Lady Prioress would agree.'

  She led him back round past the Prioress' lodgings to the front of the main convent budding, up the broad steps and into the hall – a large, forbidding place dominated by the great wooden staircase with dark-shadowed recesses on either side.

  'The Lady Eleanor died here,' Dame Agatha murmured, pointing to a spot at the foot of the stairs.

  'How was she found?' Corbett asked. 'I mean, the position of her body?'

  I don't really know. The Lady Prioress discovered her and sent Dame Catherine to get me from the refectory. When I arrived Lady Eleanor's corpse had been arranged more decently.'

  'What did you think when you first saw it?'

  I thought she had fainted.'

  Corbett noticed the young nun look away, raising her white, lace-edged cuff to her eyes. The clerk placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

  I am sorry,' he murmured. 'If I could only help…'

  Dame Agatha turned, her eyes like two dark butterflies swooping up to meet his. She murmured her thanks and, raising the hem of her gown, led Corbett upstairs, allowing him full view of her seductive, swaying hips and elegant, trim ankles. She turned left at the top of the stairs, entering a long sombre gallery, and stopped at a huge metal-studded door on the right.

  'Dame Elizabeth!' she called, knocking urgently. 'You have a visitor, a Master Corbett.'

  'Come in, come in.'

  The voice was strident and harsh. Dame Agatha pushed open the door and Corbett walked into a spacious but gloomy chamber, lit only by the weak sunlight filtering through the mullion glass window on the far side which overlooked the priory grounds. Corbett could hear the faint sounds of the community; labourers returning from the fields and gardens, the neigh of horses from the stables and the chatter of nuns as they took advantage of the sunlight before Plain-song.

  The room was luxuriously furnished and, though the weather was still warm, charcoal braziers full of spluttering coals had been wheeled in. Around the walls stood cupboards openly displaying silver and gold filigreed goblets and plates. Corbett thanked God that Ranulf wasn't here: his servant's fingers would have positively itched at being close to so much wealth. A press for clothes stood in one corner, its cunningly devised doors half-open to reveal gowns, cloaks, and other garments, indicating Dame Elizabeth was a woman dedicated as much to this world as she was to the next In the other corner stood a bed, a huge four-poster, its fur-edged curtains pulled back to show a carved headrest large white bolsters and a tawny and silver bedspread. Corbett had heard of the luxury of some religious houses but never witnessed it first hand. So intent was he upon assessing the wealth of the room that the clerk failed to see the diminutive figure sitting in a coffer seat next to one of the braziers.

  'Sir, who are you?' The small, white, podgy face under its brown head-dress was both angry and alarmed.

  Corbett walked across and stared down at Dame Elizabeth. She glared back, her tiny eyes like two black currants in a plate of dough, her face tight and sour as if she perpetually smelt something offensive. Corbett smiled, and in a dazzling show of courtesy gave a bow which would have been the envy of the most professional courtier.

  'Madam,' he began softly, 'the chamber, your august self… unless I'd known differently, I would have thought myself in the presence of the Queen.'

  Dame Elizabeth positively beamed with pleasure, putting down her piece of embroidery and gesturing Corbett to sit on a small quilted footstool beside her. In the face of such flattery, Dame Elizabeth was as pliable as a piece of soft clay in Corbett's hands. The clerk sketched the barest details of his life, lying that a distant relative always spoke so highly of Godstowe and was considering applying to the Prioress for admission. Dame Elizabeth, in truth an old and garrulous woman, drank this in like a thirsty man would the purest water. They conversed about the past, Corbett's nimble wits leading the conversation in the direction he wanted.

  Naturally, Dame Elizabeth was interested above all in her health, with a litany of her aches and pains as long as a psalm, so they discussed the different elixirs: how the blood of a horse mixed with weasel hair was a sure cure for the rheum, and that elk's hoof, if obtainable, could cure the most severe agues. At last Corbett steered the conversation on to the fate of the Lady Eleanor. Dame Elizabeth pursed her lips as if she was the fount of all knowledge and gradually divulged her self-important view.

  'Oh, yes,' she exclaimed. 'The Lady Eleanor had been so ill with an inflammation of the chest that the Lord Edward had sent her special powders.'

  'Rumour has it,' Corbett interrupted, 'these powders were poisons.'

  'Nonsense!' the old nun replied in her quivering voice. 'The Lady Prioress, as well as Dame Agatha, tasted them. No harm befell them,' she added wistfully, as if she would have liked that to have happened.

  'But the lady's mind,' Corbett persisted. 'She was melancholic?'

  'Oh, yes, poor thing. Deserted by her lover, she pined for him.'

  'You think her death was an accident?'

  'It may well have been. The hall was dark, and you have seen how steep the stairs are. I am always complaining about them.'

  'You saw the lady's body?'

  'Yes, yes. She looked as if she was asleep except for the bruise on her neck and the savage twist to her head.'

  'But you don't think it was an accident, do you? How could a lady fall downstairs? Even in the dark, she must have known them well.'

  The old nun wetted her lips and leaned closer.

  'You are correct. There can only be one conclusion,' she whispered. She leaned so close their heads almost touched. 'Suicide,' she hissed.

  Corbett's heart sank in despair. Not the same old theory!

  'Then why was she cloaked and hooded?' he asked. 'Surely someone else would have heard her cry or the noise of her fall? After all, both you and the late Sister Martha were here.'

  'Oh, yes.' The nun leaned back triumphantly. 'But we went for our sleep. We always do. One of the lay sisters brings us some food. Anyway, this building's old, it groans and creaks all the time.'

  Corbett bit his lip in despair. If they were unable to hear Lady Eleanor fall, how could they be so sure no one entered the convent building? But did that matter? Lady Eleanor would hardly let anyone slip into her room.

  'Yet the hood on her head was not disturbed?' he asked despairingly.

  The nun's eyes narrowed and Corbett sensed any closer questioning would arouse suspicion.

  'Oh,' Dame Elizabeth snapped, I don't know why people keep gossiping about that This place is dank and cold. On an autumn evening it's quite customary for a lady to dress against the chill.'

  'And you saw her?' he asked smilingly. 'You and Sister Martha, God rest her soul.'

  'That's right. Dame Martha was here in this room. She always was, God rest her. We used to sit and watch the ' sisters getting ready for Compline.' She pointed to the window. 'Over there. Now -' Dame Elizabeth squirmed in her chair and popped a sugared sweetmeat into her mouth so fast Corbett hardly saw it '- we were sitting there and we saw Lady Eleanor pass. She was dressed in a cloak and hood, walking as if to go behind the church. We called out and she turned, shouting she was going for a walk, and waved at us.'

  'You're sure of that?'

  'Of course. She turned and waved her hand.' 'And Dame Martha saw that?' 'Oh. yes.'

  'And Dame Martha was your friend?'

  'Well, I helped the poor thing. She was a yeoman's daughter, you know,' she added patronisingly. 'Who?'

  'Dame Martha: her education was incomplete so I would often help her. She still had a great deal to learn about the spiritual life and I was only too willing to assist' The old nun shook her head. 'I wa
s always telling her she needed to mortify herself, pray more.'

  'And now she is dead?'

  'Yes, God rest her. I found her body.'

  Corbett leaned forward.

  'How did it happen?'

  'Well, the old dear's mind had turned. She wanted to see the Prioress, said she knew something about Lady Eleanor's death. I told her she should bathe, prepare herself well.' She smiled thinly. 'Dame Martha was not particular in her personal habits.'

  'What did she know about Lady Eleanor's death?'

  'Oh, she talked about something she had seen. "Sinistra non dextra", she kept chanting. "The left not the right!" Silly old thing! I don't know what she meant so don't ask me. Anyway, I thought she was a long time bathing so I went over. The chamber door was unlocked and I went in.' The old nun paused in mock sorrow. 'Dame Martha was in the bath, her legs sticking out like two thin sticks, her face under the water.'

  'Did you notice anything untoward?'

  'No, nothing, except I nearly slipped when running out of the room. There was a trail of water right to the door.'

  'Anything else?'

  'No,' she snapped. 'Why should there be?'

  Corbett shook his head sympathetically and neatly turned the conversation back to the hoof of an elk and the blood of the weasel before rising, bidding farewell, and making the most solemn assurances that if Dame Elizabeth would be so gracious as to welcome him, he would definitely call again.

  Closing the door on the old nun's grateful acceptance of his offer, Corbett strode back to the top of the stairs and with one look dismissed her vapid outpourings. If the Lady Eleanor had committed suicide there was no need to throw herself downstairs. A fall from a window or even over the balustrade of this gallery would have been just as effective. Corbett went along the darkened galleries to Lady Eleanor's chamber these were large rooms next to each other, occupying one side of the convent house. They were unlocked but he found nothing of interest as they had already been stripped of all furniture and hangings. He sighed and tiptoed downstairs. He'd hoped Dame Agatha was waiting but glimpsed only a grey-garbed lay sister scurrying past the foot of the stairs. Corbett walked slowly towards the main door.

  'Master Clerk!'

  Corbett allowed himself a half smile before he turned.

  'What is it, Dame Agatha?'

  'You found Dame Elizabeth well?'

  'I did.'

  'Good.'

  Corbett noticed the colour high in the woman's cheeks. 'It's just that we have so few visitors,' she flustered. Corbett walked back.

  I feel sorry for you, Madam, locked up in the presence of death. I can only imagine your grief and loneliness.'

  'There are celebrations tomorrow,' she boldly interrupted. 'At the local church. It's harvest time. I have to visit Father Reynard for altar breads – he always insists that we use the unleavened wafers he bakes himself. The roads are -'

  'Madam,' Corbett smoothly intervened, I would consider it an honour to accompany you.'

  Dame Agatha led him silently back to the guest house which stood on the other side of the nunnery and showed him into a pleasant, comfortable chamber with a few sticks of furniture. Ranulf was already unpacking their saddle bags. Dame Agatha left them there saying a kitchener would bring across food as their rules forbade visitors in the refectory. Corbett sat on his cot and pulled off his boots. He waited to speak until he heard the nun's soft footsteps fade into the distance.

  'So, Ranulf, what do you think?'

  His servant slumped on the bed opposite him.

  'For ladies concerned about the next world,' Ranulf tartly answered, 'they seem very interested in this one. Hell's teeth, Master! They live as grandly as any princess.'

  'And the Lady Eleanor's death?'

  'I think they are all lying, and they know it The Lady Prioress may be an arrogant cow but she is also a very frightened one.'

  'Anything else?'

  'Those two Sub-prioresses – Dames Frances and Catherine – they detest each other. Did you notice they hardly exchanged a glance?' Ranulf grimaced. 'And you, Master?'

  'I believe the Lady Eleanor did not fall downstairs. If she had, her body would have been a mass of bruises whereas, apart from on her neck, I noticed only one contusion on her leg. She was killed elsewhere and her corpse dumped at the bottom of the stairs to make it appear an accident. I also think,' he added softly, 'the old nun was murdered in her bath because she knew something, though God knows how I am going to prove what really happened.'

  Corbett lay on the bed trying to sort out the jumble of facts in his head. A servant brought them up bowls of hot broth, small white loaves and a dish of cold pheasant garnished with spices and a mess of vegetables. After they had eaten, Ranulf went for a walk, coming back still praising the wealth and luxury he had seen. Corbett stared up at the ceiling. He wondered how Maeve was doing. Would she look after herself? Could she manage the reeve and bailiff? Tomorrow the manor court would meet: John the Heywood was petitioning for leave to marry his daughter to a man from the next village. William Attwood wanted to send his son to school. Hik the warrener had broken the ordinance about using the manor mill and had ground his own com at home. Robert Arundel had stolen a yard of land from his neighbour. Could Maeve deal with all these problems? Outside it fell dark. Corbett's eyes grew heavy. He heard the yip-yip of a hunting fox, together with the sounds of Ranulf preparing for bed.

  'Ranulf!' he murmured.

  'Yes, Master?'

  'Somehow, please return the silver figurines to the Lady Prioress!' 'Yes, Master.'

  The next morning Corbett rose early, woken by the tolling of the priory bell. He washed, cleansing his face and hands in a deep brass bowl placed in the wooden lavarium, dressed and roused Ranulf for early morning Mass. The air was heavy with mist as Corbett made his way towards a small farm within the priory grounds. He heard the gulping noise of greedy sows; a peasant called to his sons across the dawn-dark grass to put away their mattocks and hoes and prepare for Mass. One of the nuns, her face pale as cheese and heavy with sleep, was talking to one of the lay sisters who was yoked with clanking buckets, returning from milking the cows. Another lay sister, her gown rucked up, sleeves pushed high above her elbows displaying lean, brown, muscular arms, was walking slowly up from the well, a brimming bucket in either hand; beside her a barefooted, dusty girl drove a flock of hissing geese back into their pens.

  Corbett walked right round, through the now open Galilee Gate and on the dry, dusty track which wound past the priory. He took a deep breath, enjoying the sweet-scented smells. In the woods across the track, dew still dripped from the branches; cuckoos, wood pigeons and thrushes sang their morning chorus in the deep green darkness. The priory bell tolled again, calling him back from the part of the day he loved most. The clerk drew deep breaths, sucking in the fresh morning air. A beautiful morning which brought memories of Leighton Manor and other older images flooding back into his mind. He closed his eyes, revelling in the peace as he braced himself against the troubles of the day: he must remember that the calm serenity of Godstowe hid murky, murderous secrets which threatened the crown itself.

  Corbett opened his eyes, fingered the stubble on his chin, and promising himself he would shave as soon as possible, went back to collect a sleepy-eyed Ranulf.

  If the priory was luxurious, the church would have done justice to any great earl or nobleman. The walls were covered by a brilliantly coloured painting of Christ harrowing Hell, freeing souls from the grip of black-faced demons who looked all the more horrible for their scarlet bodies covered in dark blotches of fur. The church was divided by a heavy wooden chancel screen, every inch of it covered with the most intricate carvings of angels, saints, and scenes from the Old and New Testaments. As they went through it into the sanctuary, the Lady Prioress swept majestically as a bishop towards her stall, indicating the bench where they should sit. Corbett bowed, muttering at Ranulf to hush his mumbled observations about the arrogance of some women.

&n
bsp; The clerk sat and looked around: on either side of the chancery were the nuns' stalls, each with their own carved oak recess with bench and prie dieu. Beyond these the altar rail and the marble white purity of the sanctuary: the great ivory-coloured altar now covered in costly clothes, with pure beeswax candles fixed in heavy silver holders standing on either side. The sunlight pouring through the small rose window made the precious cups and chalices placed there glitter and shimmer with an almost blinding light. Corbett heard a sound and turned, looking round the chancel screen The peasants from the nunnery farm were now filing in. According to custom they would not be allowed any further than the nave, so they squatted in their dusty green, brown or russet smocks upon the flagstoned floor.

  Corbett studied them, travelling back in time, as if they were ghosts from his own past His father and mother had once sat like that no more than peasants and so, by King's law and divine decree, not worthy to sit beyond the chancel screen Instead they could look at the priest from afar, listen to his sermon, and study the paintings put there for their spiritual improvement

  A bell tinkled and Father Reynard, dressed in fiery red and gold vestments, swept out of the sacristy and up to the altar. He stood at the foot of the steps, making the sign of the cross, his great voice intoning the introductory psalm:

  I will go unto the altar of God, to God who gives glory to my youth!'

  Corbett studied the nuns on either side, watching each face intently. In the main they were fat, well fed and smug, Dame Elizabeth being a notable exception in her austerity. Lady Amelia in her silk habit and lace-edged wimple, gazed round with all the hauteur of a noblewoman; Dame Agatha's face looked serene and composed in prayer, though Corbett watched her dark sloe eyes glance quickly across at him. He caught the hint of mischief in her face. Now Father Reynard had gone up the altar steps, standing beneath the blue and gold canopy which swung on velvet cords from the costly hammerbeam roof. The spiritual magic was being worked, Christ called down under the likeness of bread and wine, but Corbett stirred at the end of the Mass as Father Reynard mounted the wooden pulpit to give the sermon, his hands resting on the great eagle with its carved, outstretched wings.