Day of Wrath (15 page)

‘I've not come here for a love potion, but I do need your advice; but not on matters of the heart.'

‘I'll do my best. Come and sit down, my lovey.'

She pointed to the settle and sat at one end, patting the place next to her.

‘So what's troubling you?'

‘You know Bess Knowles has died?'

‘I do, and I'm very surprised. The lass came to see me only a short while ago and I confirmed that she was carrying a child. She was fit and healthy and delighted with the news. She needed no potions and tinctures and I promised to be there when the child came into the world. All I can think of is that she went into a deep melancholy when Matthew died and lost the will to live.'

‘Is that possible?'

‘I've seen it happen with country folk but usually they are old and in pain and don't want to go on living any more. But I've never seen it happen to a young lass with everything to live for.'

‘So you don't think there could be any suspicion of foul play?'

‘Oh now I can't say that, can I? Everything's possible. But who on earth would want to kill Bess Knowles?'

‘That's what they said about Matthew Hayward.'

‘Aye, but he got in the way of thieves, so I've heard. Bess took to her bed and stayed there. Only there is one thing that is a bit odd, looking back, that is…'

‘Yes, Agnes?'

‘Well, when I heard she was poorly, I tried to go and see her. After all, I've tended Lady Margot when her children were born, and the cook, Mary Woodman, came to see and asked if I'd take a look at Bess. Well, when I got there the Mortimers said it wasn't necessary. I was a bit upset – well, you would be, wouldn't you? After all, I thought I was doing the family a good turn. But now I hear he's been taken off to London along with Lady Margot, and that he's in trouble with King Henry, and the children have all been sent to the St John Pearce's. He's in trouble and I feel sorry for him, and I suppose he was worrying about all these things when I wanted to see Bess and he refused to let me see her.

‘But what are you thinking, Jane? You've got that look on your face which tells me you think you're on to something, and it won't go away until you've found the answer.'

‘Agnes, I am worried, and now what you say about the Mortimers not letting you see Bess confirms my fears. I'm beginning to think that someone wanted to get rid of Bess, in the same way that someone wanted to kill Matthew. You see, Matthew and Bess were both together when they overheard something which they shouldn't have. We don't think Matthew was killed by thieves. That's what's been put around to hide the truth. I can't tell you any more because I don't want any harm to come to you, and the less you know the better. But, given that Matthew had to go, it follows that Bess also would have to be got rid of in case she told people what she had overheard with Matthew. I think she could have been poisoned. But she took no food for three days; just a sip of water which Mary brought up to her, and it's the same water which all the family drank.'

Agnes nodded, not taking her eyes off Jane's face.

‘She took nothing else?'

‘Only a medicinal drink which Brother Martin made up for her.'

‘Then that's good. The monks are expert at making up tonics. After all, their infirmary is nearly always full of old and sick monks, monks who have just been bled, for instance, and need building up. Do you know what was in this concoction?'

‘We've just been to see Brother Martin…'

‘We?'

Jane hesitated. ‘Lord Nicholas and I. He's interested in Bess's death. After all, she was going to marry his steward.'

‘And did Brother Martin tell you what was in the potion?'

‘He said there was feverfew, juniper berries and some lemon balm. Oh yes, borage seeds, valerian and marigold. They were mixed together with honey.'

‘All quite harmless.'

‘Yes, we both tasted it, and survived. But Agnes, you know all about herbs. There isn't one that you don't know the properties of. You have an apothecary's shed at the back of the house which is almost better stocked than the monks' place. Tell me about the bad herbs, Agnes; the ones you keep locked away; the ones that don't cure, but kill. Is there such a herb that, if added to a tonic would be unnoticed but would kill someone?'

Agnes looked keenly at Jane. ‘Of course there is, but no herb is completely bad. It all depends on the quantity you give someone. Come outside and I'll show you what I mean.'

Jane followed Agnes out into the garden where, behind a low hedge, there was a wooden hut. By the side of the hut there was a row of beautiful pink and mauve foxgloves with their trumpet-like flowers blazing open.

‘Foxgloves, Jane. A plant of great potency. Just a tiny dose and the heart of an old man can beat faster. Too much, and it stops altogether. Come inside.'

She opened the door and they went into the dim, aromatic interior. Hanging from the rafters were bunches of lavender, rosemary, thyme, hyssop, all recently gathered and tied neatly into bundles for drying out. On the far wall there were rows of shelves, each one stacked with bottles and bowls, all tightly stoppered. Agnes took down a bottle containing a dark, sticky liquid.

‘This one is the king of all plants. I buy it in small quantities from a ship's captain who trades with the Levant. He brings me the heads of the plant and I extract the juice. Take a good look at it, Jane. One day you might have need of it. It brings relief to the dying and sleep to disturbed minds. It is the greatest plant God has given to us, but the deadliest when used improperly.'

‘What is the name of the plant, Agnes?' said Jane holding the bottle up to the light.

‘Why, 'tis the common poppy, Jane, but it doesn't come from this country. Our climate isn't right for it. It is called the opium poppy and the opiate which I extract brings relief to many people. I supply the monks, you know. Brother Michael uses it to ease the pain of someone suffering from a mortal disease. It is a blessed drug.'

‘If it had been added to Bess's potion could it have killed her?'

‘In the right quantity, certainly. But by the sound of it she doesn't appear to have had any signs of having taken opium. She would have drifted off into a profound sleep, and that wasn't the case, was it?'

‘No, she remained mentally alert until the end. She was depressed, but that's not surprising as she could feel her strength going.'

‘Then she didn't take any opium, because it lifts the spirits. There are other herbs which shouldn't be taken in large does, but Bess seemed to die with no obvious symptoms.'

‘Agnes, are there any deadly medicines? Some that work quickly and without symptoms?'

‘There are lots of deadly herbs, Jane, and many of the mushrooms and toadstools which I collect in the woods in autumn are also deadly. Amongst the poisonous herbs there is henbane, deadly nightshade, mandrake and hemlock. But all of these would bring on sensations of nausea, and convulsions. The poisonous toadstools would all bring on a violent attack of vomiting. No, I don't think Bess died through swallowing poison. Her death appeared to be painless and inexorable. I also think you shouldn't blame the monks for her death. Their knowledge of medicine is vast – they wouldn't make a mistake. Brother Michael knows far more than I do. I cannot, for the life of me, believe that they would want to harm Bess. I think we must assume she died of grief made worse by her pregnancy.'

Jane gave the bottle back to Agnes and glanced at the open book on the table. She turned the pages back to the front cover and read the title,
Banckes Herbal.
Agnes saw her glance, and picked the book up.

‘Yes, this is a most useful book. It's a compilation of all the early books on herbs. Brother Michael procured a copy for me. He's very kind.'

‘Do you see him very often?'

‘Not often, but occasionally. We consult one another about difficult cases, and he's always raiding my supplies when his store runs low, especially in the winter time. Now look who's here! Ambrose, you're not allowed in here, you know that. No, don't jump up on the table. Jane can talk to you outside.'

Ambrose, a large and very black cat, took no notice. With one graceful leap he landed on the table, and from this vantage point he could curl himself around Jane's outstretched arm, purring loudly. She stroked his glossy fur and he flexed his claws appreciatively on the table, ignoring Agnes's cries of disapproval. Jane laughed.

‘Ambrose is in fine form.'

‘Yes, he likes this time of the year. The garden's full of fledgings and the fields full of voles and mice. Come on, Ambrose, that's enough of that. Come and have some milk. You'll stay for a bite, Jane?'

‘Thanks, but I must be off. My father will soon want his dinner.'

‘Tell that father of yours to get his own dinner. You ought to have some time off.'

‘That'll be the day. He'd sooner starve than get his own meal.'

Agnes walked with her to the gate, Ambrose, with twitching tail, leading the way.

‘I'm sorry about Bess, Jane; and I'm sorry I haven't the knowledge to tell you what caused her death. Sometimes the Lord just takes back his own and it's not our business to question His ways. Now give my regards to Lord Nicholas and tell him from me that it's time he thought about taking another wife; and let it be soon.'

Jane untied Melissa and jumped up on to her back. With a flick of her tail, she trotted off. It was a lovely day and Jane decided not to go home just yet, but to give Melissa a gallop across the common. So she turned Melissa off the road and dug her heels into her sides. With a snort of indignation, Melissa raced off.

*   *   *

Merlin was heavy and cumbersome after Harry, and seemed reluctant to enter the wood. Merlin was, by nature, a lugubrious horse, safe, dependable but dull, and today he seemed to match Nicholas's mood. All around them the carpet of bluebells glowed in the dappled sunlight that streamed down through the canopy of beech leaves, but all Nicholas could think of was Bess Knowles's marble-white face and that still body lying before the altar in St John's chapel, with a monk praying for her soul. It didn't take much imagination to replace Bess's face with Jane's. He saw so clearly her heart-shaped face wrapped in its grave cloth and her beautiful hair shrouded from sight and her vivid blue eyes closed in death. Two innocent people had already died; pray God Jane wouldn't be the next.

Cromwell had seemed pretty certain that the conspiracy wasn't over yet; but where was it to reappear? And when? And who were the conspirators? Perhaps Mortimer would reveal more under interrogation, and then his way would become clear. But without more information, he felt he was groping in the dark.

With a heavy heart he arrived at Mortimer Lodge. The place looked deserted and an air of sadness hung like a black cloud over the courtyard where only days before he'd seen Sir Roger grooming Galliard. Now, no one came to take Merlin. He dismounted and tied him to a post. Then he walked over to the heavy, wooden front door and rang the bell. It was a long time before it was opened and a man whom he'd not seen before, peered out.

‘No visitors. Sir Roger's not here,' the man said.

‘I'm his neighbour, Lord Nicholas Peverell. Open this door at once. I've come to see that everything's in order here.' The door opened and a short, stocky man, dressed in a brown leather doublet and strong woollen hose, confronted him. His large, plain face was fringed with coarse black hair, and he looked coldly at Nicholas.

‘You'd better come in, then. I'm Roland Seaward, steward to Lord Gilbert Fitzroy, and sent here to administer this property until His Majesty the King decides what to do with it. There's nothing to see, but come in if you must.'

It was unbelievable how much the house had altered since Sir Roger was arrested. There were no signs of life; no children playing and chattering; no Lady Margot going about her household tasks. Something had died when the Mortimers left. It felt as if the house had lost its soul. Only the cook, Mary, was still there in the kitchen. She was stirring a pot over the fire, and she looked up when Nicholas went in and promptly burst into tears.

‘My Lord, you see what we've come to. Everyone's gone, and I'm left with this devil of a steward who expects me to cook for him three times a day. I'm ashamed to be here, but I've nowhere to go, and even if I had, Roland wouldn't let me leave.'

‘Hush, Mary,' said Nicholas soothingly, ‘you must stay here and look after the house until times become more settled. We don't know whether Lady Margot might return with the children. You must hope for that.'

‘You really think they might come back here, my Lord? When I remember the faces of those poor children, shocked and bewildered they were, I thought I would never see them again. And God help me, at that moment I hated Sir Roger for letting his family suffer so.'

‘He thought he was doing the right thing. Just think of his wife and children and think of better times. Did you see Bess Knowles in her last moments, Mary?'

‘I did that. And that's another thing. Why should the poor lass die? She was never ill, not a day's illness as long as I've known her. I don't understand it. She wanted that poor child. She was all ready to marry Matthew; then he was taken and she just gave up and followed him.'

‘Can you remember whether she took any food?'

‘Not a morsel. It was almost as if she'd made up her mind to die, and die she did. A terrible thing to happen. Sometimes I think there's a curse on this house.'

Nicholas comforted her as best he could, and Roland took him round the house, showing him the deserted rooms. It was as if the house was in mourning; Sir Roger's desk was covered with a linen sheet; the beds were stripped, the shutters closed. Nicholas shuddered and decided there was nothing he could do there.