An Unholy Alliance by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

she said. “I need help, and I do not know who else to ask.’
    Bartholomew thought quickly. He could not take a woman back to his room, especially with the Franciscans undoubtedly already watching with disapproval the presence of a woman on Michaelhouse soil. He could not take her to the hall or the conclave because they would be in use for teaching, and he was reluctant to send her away when she obviously needed his help. The only possible place for a consultation was the kitchen, where the hefty laundress Agatha could act as chaperon and preserve Frances’s reputation and his own.
    He ushered her across the yard towards the main
    building. Michaelhouse comprised several buildings, joined in a three-sided structure around a courtyard.
    The south and north wings, where the scholars lived, were two-storeyed buildings. The hall linked the two wings and was a handsome house built by a merchant.
    The house had been bought in 1324 by Hervey de
    Stanton, Edward II’s Chancellor of the Exchequer, when he founded Michaelhouse, and was dominated
    by the elegant porch topped with de Stanton’s coat of arms. A spiral staircase led from the porch to the hall on the upper floor, while a door below led to the kitchen.
    Frances in tow, Bartholomew made his way through the servants scurrying to prepare the main meal of the day, to the small room where Agatha kept her linen. She sat in a chair, legs splayed in front of her, snoring loudly in the sunlight that flooded the room. Agatha was a huge woman, almost as big as Brother Michael. Women were not usually allowed to work in the University’s Colleges and hostels, but Agatha was exempted since she was unlikely to attract the amorous attentions of even the most desperate scholar. As Bartholomew entered, she awoke, and looked balefully at him, and then at Frances behind. It was not the first time Bartholomew had used her services when female patients had arrived unannounced, and she said nothing as she scrubbed at her eyes and heaved her bulk into a less inelegant position.
    ‘You can trust Agatha to be discreet with anything you might say,’ he said, as Frances looked nervously at Agatha’s formidable form.
    Agatha smiled, revealing an array of strong yellow teeth. ‘Never mind me,’ she said to Frances. “I have things to be doing, and nothing you can say to the Doctor will shock me.’
    “I am with child!’ Frances blurted out. Agatha’s jaw immediately dropped, and the hand that was reaching for some sewing was arrested in mid air. Bartholomew was startled. Her father, who had allowed Frances a free rein since the death of her husband, would be furious; especially so since Stanmore had told Bartholomew that arrangements were already in hand to remarry Frances to a landowner in Saffron Walden, a village south-east of Cambridge.
    Bartholomew collected his tumbling thoughts when he saw Frances was waiting for an answer with desperate eyes. “I cannot help you,’ he said gently. ‘You must seek out a midwife to advise you about the birth. Physicians do not become involved in childbirth unless there is danger to the child or the mother.’ He smiled at her reassuringly.
    ‘And I am sure that you need have no worries on that score. You are young and healthy.’
    ‘But I do not want it!’ cried Frances. ‘It will ruin me!’
    Agatha, seeing the girl’s tears, gave her a motherly hug.
    Bartholomew looked at them helplessly. “I can do nothing to help,’ he said again. “I can only advise you to see a midwife to secure the safe delivery of the child.’
    “I want you to get rid of it for me,’ said Frances, turning a tear-streaked face to Bartholomew. “I do not want it.’
    “I cannot do that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Quite apart from the fact that I do not know how, it would be a terrible crime, and dangerous for you.’
    “I care nothing for the danger,’ cried Frances. ‘My life will be worth nothing if I have it, so I have nothing to lose. You must be able to