Belladonna at Belstone by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online Page A

Bertrand looked very like one of that sort. After all, there were many religious establishments whose basic fabric was so ancient and worn that the obedientiaries were unable to repair them. Perhaps it was less common in Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries, for such places attracted wealth, but a poor place like Belstone wouldn’t be able to seduce rich patrons so easily.
    “There are some which have unfortunately suffered from damage, yes,” Bertrand allowed, but then he fixed Baldwin with a glittering eye. “But in how many of these cases have the relevant treasurers accused their prioress of lascivious and lustful disregard, because the money she should have used to fix the roof was put to another use?”
    “I assume often. There are many conflicting demands on a—‘
    “I know that perfectly well, Sir Baldwin,“ Bertrand said sharply, ”but I saw how much wealth was being brought to the priory while I was there. I saw the money given to the treasurer by the bailiff of the priory’s lands at Iddesleigh - it was a tidy sum. And the allegation is that instead of paying for a roof, the prioress had given it to her new vicar, a man whom she sees regularly, alone, and at night!“
    Constance reached the infirmary where she worked and had to blink to keep the tears at bay when she saw Moll’s empty bed, the palliasse rolled up neatly on top of the rope mattress, just as she had left it.
    Her head hurt. She was unused to so much strong wine before Vespers, and now she felt slightly confused. It was odd to be drunk at this time of day, before Terce, but kind of Denise to take pity on her and sit for so long, listening to her tale of misery. Not that she could tell Denise all.
    It was so hard. She had known that her weakness would lead to evil, but she had no idea how cruel the result could be. Yet now she was a murderer. All because of her very human frailty.
    There was a faint cough from the corner of the room, and Constance forced down her guilt, crossing the floor to where Joan sat. The old nun stared at the flames, but when she heard Constance she turned to her with a smile.
    “Ah, Constance - are you going to give me some more of your dwale? I think I may need some tonight. The pain is coming again.”
    “Of course, if it will help you.”
    “How’s Cecily?”
    “She’ll be fine. No need to worry,” Constance said gently, pulling a woollen blanket over the older woman’s lap. “It’s cold out in the cloister today, isn’t it?”
    “For these old bones, eh?” Joan grinned.
    Constance smiled down at her. The infirmarer found it easy to like Joan. She was a permanent fixture of the convent: rather wrinkled now, and white-haired, with peering, weak blue eyes. She was the first sister whom Constance had come to meet, and had always been kind and understanding. When Constance thought about what she’d done, and what she’d almost done to poor Joan, she could have broken down into tears again.
    Joan was speaking. “I’ll soon be gone anyway, and if the Lord decides to take me while I’m lying in my bed before I can rise for Nocturns, I’ll be happy enough.”
    The young infirmarer shot her a quick look. There was an understanding expression on Joan’s face, and Constance felt the pit of her stomach sink as if a lead weight had fallen upon it. “Before Nocturns?” she managed to stammer.
    “Oh yes, dear. It would be such a good time to die. Why, when could be better? It’s peaceful, you don’t have to get up early the next morning and make the effort of going to church. No, instead you get taken up by Christ after a pleasant night’s sleep. Much better.”
    Constance tried to chat to her for a while longer, but all the time her mind was racing. It seemed so obvious the older woman was telling her that she knew.
    She couldn’t stand there with the fear filling her body, the certainty that Joan had seen what she had done. Apologising, Constance left the old woman and went to her partitioned