A Dark Night Hidden (10 page)

Josse wondered why her customary intelligence appeared to have deserted her. ‘Quite so, my lady. I only cited the beam as an illustration. He could, perhaps, have slipped and hit his chin on the low branch of a tree.’

‘A tree. Ah, yes.’ Her grey eyes were vague and unfocused. Then, looking up and seeing him watching her, she appeared to make an effort. ‘Or I suppose he might have died elsewhere – where there
were
beams – and then been dumped on the track.’

‘He could, aye,’ Josse said slowly. ‘But that would make it murder, my lady, since a man whose neck is broken does not get up and walk somewhere else.’

To his consternation, she flushed deep pink and shouted, ‘Well
I
didn’t kill him!’

He said instantly, ‘My lady, I did not imagine for one moment that you did!’

But she could hardly have heard. She was weeping, her head lowered on to her arms folded on top of her table. He went round to stand at her side, putting out a tentative hand to touch her shoulder. ‘There, there,’ he said, thinking even as he did so what an inane, inadequate utterance it was.

After a moment, one of her hands came up and clasped his in a quick, hard squeeze. He flinched slightly; she had strong hands. Then she raised her head, wiped her eyes and said, in almost her normal voice, ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse, for that outburst. I did not sleep well, for my conscience is uneasy concerning Father Micah.’ She turned her head so that she was looking up at him. ‘I feared, in the first shock of receiving the news, that his death was my fault. I prayed to God last night at Vespers that Father Micah be helped out of his distress. I also asked that we at Hawkenlye be saved from his wrath and his bigotry.’

Josse perched on the edge of her table, a liberty he would not normally have taken. ‘And you thought that God had answered your plea by kindly breaking the Father’s neck for you?’ She nodded. ‘Oh, Helewise!’ he whispered.

For a moment her eyes on his were full of emotion. Then she lowered them and began an earnest and concentrated examination of her folded hands.

He got off her table and went round to the other side of it, taking up his usual position just inside the door. From that slight distance, it was easier to get his own feelings under control. After a moment – which he could not help but think she needed as much as he did – he cleared his throat and said, ‘I have indeed been wondering, in fact, if somebody attacked him. Not that there is any certainty of that – Sister Euphemia, Brother Augustus and I found no evidence for or against. It is equally possible that he had a fatal accident.’

‘The putative branch,’ she said. She still did not meet his eyes. ‘Quite so.’

‘We now have to look into how the Father spent his day yesterday,’ Josse went on. This was easier, he was finding, if they kept their minds on the business in hand. ‘He was here in the Abbey early in the day, I believe, my lady?’

‘He was.’ At last she raised her head and looked up at him. ‘He insisted on my escorting him all around the various departments so that he could point out where we were going wrong. He was particularly vociferous in his condemnation of our work with the fallen women. He made a vicious comment to one of our newly delivered mothers and either she or one of her friends gave him an equally savage reply.’

‘Indeed? Do you know which woman?’

‘No, Sir Josse.’ She gave a very faint smile, quickly gone. ‘And even if I did, I am not sure that I would tell you. The idea that a heavily pregnant woman or a recently delivered mother would creep out of the Abbey, locate Father Micah out on the road and break his neck is, as I am sure you will agree, unlikely.’

‘Aye,’ he said softly. ‘But women have men friends, do they not?’

‘If they bear a baby then yes, they must have had on one occasion at least,’ she replied tartly. ‘So now we have an outraged expectant or new father murdering a priest because he insulted the man’s woman? Really, Sir Josse! I think not.’

‘Nevertheless, my lady, I must have your permission to ask the women in the hostel a few questions.’ She did not answer. ‘I will be gentle with them, you have my word.’

Her anger seemed to vanish as quickly as it had arisen. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I know, too, that you understand the ways of the world a little better than poor Father Micah did. That you are well aware of the lives those women lead and you realise that to spend them in vice and sin is not necessarily their choice.’

He bowed his head. ‘Aye, I do. And thank you.’

Somehow, he thought, the interview had become emotional again. Casting around for a simple question with no dangerous undercurrents whatsoever, he said, ‘Do you know what Father Micah did after leaving you?’

‘He went to see the brethren in the Vale,’ she answered. ‘I know that because later Brother Firmin came to see me in some distress. He, too, had been the recipient of a tongue whipping.’ With a sudden flash of her usual smile, she said, ‘But I don’t suppose dear old Firmin broke Father Micah’s neck any more than I did.’

‘No.’ He grinned back. ‘Even less likely a candidate, I should imagine.’ He thought – but managed not to say – that the old monk’s hands were nowhere near as strong as hers.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Sir Josse, I’ve just remembered something! You’ll have to seek out Brother Firmin for the full story, but he – Firmin – told me where Father Micah was going next. I don’t in fact know if he meant straight away or some time in the next few days, but Brother Firmin said that the Father spoke of calls he had to make, one to a nobleman or something, one to—’ She frowned as she tried to recall. ‘No, it’s gone. It was something rather horrible, I seem to remember . . . Something that made me recoil and think, oh, yes, that sounds like Father Micah.’ There was silence for a moment as she tried to bring the details to mind. ‘No. I’m sorry, Sir Josse, you’ll have to ask Brother Firmin.’

He was already opening the door. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘As soon as I’ve called in on the women in the hostel. Thank you, my lady,’ he added belatedly. ‘You have been very helpful.’

Then he closed the door and, breaking into a sprint, headed off along the cloister.

He was not sure what he had expected to find, but Hawkenlye’s home for fallen women quite surprised him. For one thing, it was tidy and spotlessly clean; I am prejudiced, he told himself sternly, I believe squalor and filth to be the natural state of prostitutes rather than conditions brought about by abject poverty. For another thing, there was a decided air of happiness, of joy, about the hostel. He could hear soft female voices talking quietly and then someone laughed. He caught the gentle strains of a lullaby; one of the new mothers must be rocking her baby to sleep.

Standing just inside the door, he attracted the eye of a young, plump nun and raised his eyebrows in enquiry. She came gliding up to him across the polished flagstones. ‘Yes?’

‘I am Josse d’Acquin,’ he said. ‘May I speak to your – er, the women?’

‘It’ll be about that priest that’s upped and died,’ the young nun said sagely. ‘Because we wear the habit of obedience and love of God, I cannot but pray for him. But in truth, Sir Josse, I—’

She managed to swallow the remark she was about to make. Studying her flushed face and the way in which she had tightened her generous lips, as if to hold the words in by force, Josse guessed that it took quite an effort.

‘Father Micah visited the women yesterday, I am told,’ he said. ‘I would like to ask them what happened.’

‘Of course. Follow me.’

He did as he was bid. The nun took him through an area of the room where there were six beds, only three of which showed evidence of present occupancy. They then went through an archway into a second area where there were more beds and more space around them. ‘This,’ the nun said, ‘is where the mothers and babies are cared for.’

‘How many are here at present, Sister – er, I do not know your name.’

‘I am Sister Clare. We’ve three pregnant women, although one I believe to be in labour. It is her first confinement and she is very nervous’ – Sister Clare’s voice had dropped to a whisper – ‘so it may be merely anxiety that is making her think she feels her pains.’

‘Ah.’ He really could think of no fuller response.

‘And we have two newly delivered mothers,’ Sister Clare went on. ‘Come and meet them.’

There followed an extraordinary spell. Josse was introduced to Gemma, Bertha and Belle, all round and slow in advanced pregnancy, to Jehane, cradling a sleeping baby, and to Alisoun, calmly feeding a robust-looking infant as she talked. They were all eager to tell their visitor about Father Micah and to repeat the dreadful things he had said. Repeating them brought tears to the eyes of young Belle and she had to be led away and comforted by Sister Clare.

‘It’s her time,’ Alisoun confided to Josse. ‘She’s scared, see, and that foul-mouthed bastard of a priest didn’t help her.’

‘The man is dead,’ Josse reminded her quietly.

‘Good riddance,’ Alisoun flashed back. Her baby, apparently picking up her mother’s anger and disliking it, detached her perfect, pink mouth from the milky nipple and let out a wail of protest. Alisoun, love in her face and tenderness in her large, rough hands, replaced her nipple with infinite gentleness and the child resumed her suckling.

What am I doing here? Josse wondered. It is surely impossible that any of these women was abroad last night intent on waylaying Father Micah and breaking his neck. But, having made the effort to come to talk to them, it made sense to see it through.

‘Er – you were all here in the hostel last night?’ He felt a fool even as he asked.

Alisoun laughed. Jehane said, ‘Aye, that we were. We did wonder if Gemma here might chase after the priest and attempt to carry out what she suggested he do to himself, but she decided after all to stay here in the warm.’

He knew he shouldn’t, but he asked anyway. ‘And what was that suggestion?’

There was quite a lot more laughter and, as Gemma told him, he joined in. Turning to her, he said, still chuckling, ‘I believe that lets you out, Gemma. He certainly wasn’t killed like
that
.’

There was one thing he still had to ask. It was, he thought, trying to find the right words, even more tricky than asking if any of them had left the hostel last night.

‘You have – er, that is, do you receive visits from your – er, the babies’ fathers? Or other men?’

More laughter. Then Alisoun said, her expression deceptively innocent, ‘We wouldn’t mind, sir knight, only the nuns don’t take kindly to us keeping company in here.’ Dropping to a whisper, she added, ‘They’re trying to cure us of earning our bread on our backs, see, not encourage it.’

Again, he joined in the merriment. Then, as the laughter subsided, he said, ‘I am afraid, though, that I have to pursue this. Did any of you tell anyone on the outside about Father Micah’s visit? He was unforgivably rude, I know, and I just wondered if . . .’

‘If one of us told some strong, handsome, honourable fellow who took it into his head to avenge the insults and the curses and attack the Father?’ Jehane finished for him. ‘Oh, no, sir knight. If any of us had a man of that quality, do you reckon we’d be in here?’

He looked at her face, oval, with a full-lipped mouth and hazel eyes. She must have been very pretty, he thought compassionately, before the hardships and the dangers of her profession ruined her. Now her hair was thin and straw-like, her skin bore the scars of the pox and the expression in her eyes was world-weary and cynical. Her words were, he was quite sure, the absolute truth.

‘No, Jehane,’ he said quietly. ‘No, I don’t suppose you would. I am sorry I had to ask.’

She gave him a smile that, despite everything, still managed to be very sweet. ‘It’s all right,’ she replied. ‘We understand.’

He found Brother Firmin in the Vale’s little shrine. He was with some other old monks and they were praying earnestly for the soul of Father Micah.

Unable to prevent the thought that, from all he had heard, the late priest had hardly been worthy of such fervour, Josse waited patiently outside in the cold for them to finish.

Brother Firmin was the last to leave. ‘Sir Josse!’ he said, his face creasing into a happy smile. ‘My, but it does me good to see you this sad morning!’ He took Josse’s arm affectionately. ‘You’re cold!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come with me and I will give you a mug of something to put that right and send some warmth through your bones.’

He led the way to the monks’ shelter where he set water on to the fire to heat, putting into it generous pinches of various powdered herbs. Then he set two coarse pottery mugs ready. When the water began to steam, a deliciously warming, sweet, spicy smell filled the room. Brother Firmin let the liquid boil gently for a short while, then he removed the vessel from the heat and poured the concoction into the mugs.

‘Here,’ Brother Firmin held out one of the mugs, ‘try this. Don’t ask me what it is, for I have no idea. Sister Tiphaine gives the herbs to me because she knows how I feel the cold. She is a good woman,’ he said emphatically, as if Josse had said she wasn’t, ‘for all that she keeps one foot in the pagan past.’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘Ah well, that is a matter between her and God.’ He sipped at his mug, smacking his lips in satisfaction. ‘And, by, she makes a good potion!’

Josse listened to the old monk rambling on for some time. Then, when he could get a word in, he said, ‘Brother Firmin, the Abbess said that you spoke to Father Micah yesterday and that he informed you he was going to make other visits. Do you remember to whom?’

‘Ooh, you’re tracking his movements, are you?’ Brother Firmin looked as if the idea greatly excited him. ‘Well, let me see, yes, he
did
say . . .’

The old face creased as Brother Firmin tried to remember. Josse’s heart began to sink as the silence extended. Ah, well, it had always been unlikely, but worth a try at least—