'Henry is well, Mother,' Bartholomew replied. He moved nearer to the door so that he could see her more clearly.
'Come no closer!' she said, her voice hard and distant. "I hear that you walk freely among the contagion.
I do not want you to bring it here. What do you want of me?'
Bartholomew was taken aback by her hostility, but it was not the first time he had been repulsed because of his contact with plague victims, and doubtless it would not be the last.
"I came to ask whether you had news of Philippa Abigny,' he said, watching the beautiful, but cold, face of the Abbess carefully.
Bartholomew saw a flash of anger in the ice-blue eyes. 'How dare you come here to ask that when you stole her away from us! You have fouled her reputation by your actions.'
He had expected such a response, although he had not imagined it would be given with such venom. But he did not wish to get into an argument with the Abbess about whether he had sullied Philippa's reputation, and so he tried to remain courteous.
"I am sorry if you think that,' he said, 'but you have not answered my question.'
'Do you think I am so stupid as to answer?' The Abbess virtually spat the words out. 'You stole her away once. If I told you she was here, you would try to do the same again.'
Bartholomew shook his head. 'You misunderstand my intentions. She came with me of her own free will, although I wished her to go back to where she would be protected from the plague. I only want to know that she is safe.'
'Then you can continue in your agony of doubt,' said the Abbess. 'For I will not tell you of the news I have, nor of her whereabouts.'
'Then do you know where she is?' Bartholomew cried.
The Abbess stepped back from the grille and smiled at him with such coldness that Bartholomew felt himself shudder. He was suddenly reminded of the looks of hatred Henry used to throw at him. What a family, all consumed with hate and loathing! He saw a large shadow fall over the Abbess, and watched her turn towards it, the coldness evaporating from her smile in an instant.
Bartholomew glimpsed the hem of a highly decorated black cloak, and knew that Elias Oliver was there.
'Where is she?' Bartholomew shouted. The Abbess began to walk away, tall and regal, smiling at the tall figure beside her and ignoring Bartholomew. Bartholomew rattled the door in frustration, but the grille was slammed shut, and no amount of shouting and battering would induce the nuns to open it again.
Bartholomew slumped against the wall in defeat.
Gray sat down beside him.
'Do not fret so,' he said. "I have an idea.'
Bartholomew fought to regain control of his temper.
Did the wretched woman know where Philippa was, or was she merely pretending in order to have revenge for his 'stealing' her? He had had very little to do with the nuns of St Radegund's. They lived secluded in their cloisters, and even when he had visited Philippa, he had seen little of the Priory or its inmates.
Gray stood up and set off round the Priory walls.
Bartholomew followed, sharply reminded of what had happened when he had last followed Gray around the walls of the convent. Gray slipped in and out of trees until he reached a point where the walls were totally obscured by thick undergrowth. Without hesitating, he led the way down a tiny path until he reached a door in the wall. He knocked twice, softly.
Bartholomew watched in amazement as the door opened and a young woman in a nun's habit peeped out. Seeing Gray, she checked no one was looking, and stepped out, closing the door carefully behind her.
'This is my cousin, Sister Emelda,' said Gray, turning to Bartholomew.
The young woman smiled shyly at Bartholomew, and then looked at Gray. "I knew you would come!
I cannot stay long, though, or I will be missed.' She glanced around her, as if expecting the spectre of the Abbess to appear through the trees. Gray nodded, and passed her something wrapped in a cloth. Emelda took it quickly, and secreted it in her robes. She reached up and kissed him quickly on the cheek. 'Thank you,' she whispered.
Gray flushed. 'The doctor has something to ask you,' he said, to cover his embarrassment.
Emelda smiled at Bartholomew again. "I know you from when you used to come to court Philippa. Poor philippa! She hated it here, especially in the winter months, and even more when you stopped coming.'
'Is she here now?' he asked.
Emelda quickly shook her head. 'No. She has not been seen since you took her away. If she were here, I would know, because I do the cooking, and food is very carefully rationed. I would know if there were another person hidden away.'
'Have you heard anything from her?'
Again, a shake of the head.
'Do you know if the Abbess has heard of her whereabouts?'
'She has not! And she is very angry about it' Emelda giggled. 'It is hard to keep secrets in a small community like this, and I know that she has those beastiy nephews of hers trying to find out where Philippa is. I hope you find her before they do.'
Inside the convent, a bell began to ring. 'Terce,' said Emelda. "I must go.' She smiled at the two men and slipped quickly through the door again.
Gray led the way through the undergrowth and back to the road. Bartholomew was full of questions.
'That was the door Philippa spoke about, the door that Sister Clement used when she went out to work among the sick. How did you know about it?' he demanded.
'And you did not tell me you had a cousin in the convent!
What was it you handed to her in that package?'
Gray raised his hand to slow the stream of questions, reminding Bartholomew unpleasantly of Wilson.
'Emelda has been at St Radegund's since we were children, and she told me about the gate. I never told you about her because you have never asked about my family. And what I gave her was my business.'
Gray knew he had overstepped his bounds before Bartholomew said a word. 'Sorry, sorry,' he muttered.
"I will tell you, but you have to promise not to fly into a temper.' "I will promise no such thing,' said Bartholomew coldly.
Gray sighed. 'All right,' he said. 'It is medicine for my mother. She is in there too. She took orders when I was old enough to look after myself, but now she has a wasting sickness and every week I take her medicine to relieve her pain.'
He looked defiantly at Bartholomew before continuing.
'That was one of the reasons why I had to become apprenticed to you. I was making a lot of money nursing rich plague victims, but Jonas refused to sell me the medicine. I stole it from Roper when I was with him, and now I steal it from you.'
He stopped walking, and looked at Bartholomew belligerently, waiting. Bartholomew stopped too, and studied this strange young man. 'Why did you not just ask me?' he said gently.
'Because you are always too busy, and because my mother comes from a rich priory and I thought you might rather give the medicine to the poor.'
Bartholomew was shocked. Did he really appear so insensitive to Gray? "I have never refused medicine to anyone, rich or poor,' he said.
Gray suddenly lost his belligerence, and looked at the ground. "I know. I am sorry,' he said in a quavering voice. 'It just seemed easier to steal the medicine than to ask for it.'
Bartholomew realised that this was why Gray had persuaded him to go to St Radegund's — not to ask about Philippa, but to deliver medicine for his mother, perhaps the strain of his mother's illness accounted for his dreadful behaviour earlier that day. 'Perhaps I could examine her…?' he suggested.
Gray grimaced. "I wish you could, but that old bitch, the Abbess, will not let anyone in or out, and my mother is too ill to be moved now. The medicine is the only thing that helps.'
'Which medicine is it?' asked Bartholomew.
Gray told him. 'My God, man!' Bartholomew exploded. 'Concentrated opiates can be a powerful poison! No wonder Jonas refused to sell it to you! It does have pain-relieving powers, but if someone gives her too much, she could die!'