‘We shall include them in our prayers, along with the victims of Winchelsea.’ Katherine nodded to her Prioress. ‘Joan has already started work on a chantry chapel for those who lost their lives there.’
Joan blushed self-effacingly. ‘It is the least we can do,’ she mumbled.
‘God only knows what led the Dauphin’s men to do such dreadful things,’ Katherine went on. ‘All I can think is that they were possessed by the Devil.’
‘I rather think they decided to murder, loot and burn without any prompting from him,’ said Joan grimly. ‘I trust they will make their peace with God, because I cannot find it in my heart to forgive them.’
Katherine touched her arm in a brief gesture of sympathy, and the Prioress turned away quickly to hide her tears, embarrassed to show weakness in front of strangers. Two or three of the younger nuns began to sob.
‘Yesterday brought it all back to us,’ said Katherine, and for once, there was no smug amusement in her eyes. ‘Burned bodies and wounds inflicted in anger …’
Joan took a deep breath and dabbed impatiently at her eyes. ‘I am more sorry than I can say that we failed to save the family here.’
‘You will move to St Radegund’s today,’ decided Michael. ‘The killer may strike again, and the Bishop would never forgive me if anything happened to his sister. Or any nun.’
‘I would rather stay here,’ said Katherine at once. ‘St Radegund’s is too noisy.’
‘Worse, there will be no decent stabling for Dusty,’ put in Joan, clearly of the opinion that his comfort was far more important than that of her nuns.
‘I will arrange something for him,’ promised Michael. ‘He will not suffer, I promise.’
‘I cannot see that we are in danger,’ argued Katherine stubbornly. ‘We are not French.’
‘We do not know for certain why the Girards were targeted,’ said Michael. ‘It may have nothing to do with their nationality.’
‘Oh, come, Brother,’ said Katherine irritably. ‘Of course it does! Why else would their children have been dispatched, too? But please do not uproot us now. The conloquium will finish in a few days, after which we will be gone.’
‘Five days,’ said Michael promptly. ‘Too many to justify the risk. Please do as I ask.’
‘Then we shall stay in the Gilbertine Priory instead,’ determined Katherine. ‘It will put us in Alice’s objectionable presence, but that is a small price to pay for a quiet place to read.’
‘Alice and Abbess Isabel’s flock will be moving to St Radegund’s as well,’ said Michael. ‘So pack your belongings, and I shall arrange for an escort as soon as possible.’
Katherine rolled her eyes, although Joan nodded briskly and ordered her nuns to begin preparations. They did as they were told reluctantly, and it was clear that Katherine was not the only one who resented the loss of their comfort.
‘Speaking of Alice,’ said Michael, ‘did Matt ask you about the comb she took?’
Joan scowled. ‘It was Dusty’s favourite, and I was vexed when I found it gone. Alice denies it, of course, although Goda has no reason to lie. Doubtless she aims to use it for mischief, so if it does appear in suspicious circumstances, please remember the malice she bears us.’
‘The malice she bears me,’ corrected Katherine. ‘It was my brother who deposed her.’
‘My head is spinning,’ confessed Tulyet, as he, Bartholomew and Michael walked back to the town at the end of the day. ‘I need to sit quietly and reflect on all we have been told – although I can confirm that Goda did see Joan in the stables, so they have alibis in each other. We can cross them off our list of suspects.’
‘Then who remains on it?’ asked Michael. ‘I would say–’
‘Not tonight,’ interrupted Tulyet wearily. ‘I cannot think straight. We shall discuss it in the morning, by which time I will have questioned the ditcher, the miller and my two knights. Who knows? Perhaps one will confess, and we shall be spared the chore of pawing through all these facts, lies, claims and suppositions.’
‘Then meet us in the Brazen George,’ said Michael, naming his favourite tavern, a place where he was so regular a visitor that the landlord had set aside a chamber for his exclusive use. ‘You are right: our minds will be fresher tomorrow.’
‘I am not sure what to do about the peregrini,’ sighed Tulyet. ‘Instinct tells me to set guards, to prevent the surviving Jacques from spreading their poisonous message. But if I do, I may as well yell from the rooftops that the Spital holds a secret.’
Michael agreed. ‘We should let Tangmer continue what he has been doing. It will only be for two more days, and then they will be gone. Do not worry about the rebels – Julien has promised to keep them under control.’
‘I hope he can be trusted,’ said Tulyet worriedly. ‘We do not need a popular uprising to add to our troubles. What will you do now, Brother?’
‘Matt and I will visit Sister Alice and demand to know why she neglected to mention visiting the Spital before the fire broke out. Then I must arrange for the nuns to move to St Radegund’s. After that, there is a rehearsal of the Marian Singers.’
‘I do not know them,’ said Tulyet politely. ‘Are they new?’
‘You do know them,’ countered Bartholomew wryly. ‘They were formerly known as the Michaelhouse Choir. However, as even speaking that name causes grown men to weep, Michael has decided to revamp their image.’
The monk’s eyes narrowed. He was fiercely defensive of his talentless choristers, and hated any hint that they were less than perfect.
Tulyet laughed. ‘You think naming them after the Blessed Virgin will make folk reconsider their opinions?’
‘I named them after the church where we practise,’ said the monk stiffly. ‘St Mary the Great is the only place large enough to hold us all these days.’
Tulyet changed the subject, seeing it would be too easy to tread on sensitive toes. ‘Then you can speak to the ditcher and the miller. They sing bass, do they not?’
Michael inclined his head. ‘But here we are at the Gilbertine Priory, where Sister Alice is staying. She has filched combs, commissioned stinking candles, and foisted her company on people who do not want it, so perhaps the Spital murders are just a case of unbridled spite, and we shall have our killer under lock and key tonight.’
‘I do not envy you the task of challenging her, Brother,’ said Tulyet. ‘I have met her twice: once when she informed me that Abbess Isabel aims to assassinate the King, and once when she claimed that Lyminster Priory cheats on its taxes. When I declined to act on either charge, she called me names I never expected to hear on the lips of a nun.’
The Gilbertine Priory looked pretty in the early evening sunlight, and Bartholomew and Michael arrived to find the hospitable canons fussing over their guests with cordials and plates of little cakes. Alice was not there, but the nuns from Ickleton were, including their saintly Abbess, whose habit was so white it glowed. Needless to say, none were pleased to learn they were to be moved to a place that was already bursting at the seams.
‘But why should we go?’ demanded Isabel, her voice rather petulant for someone with aspirations of sainthood. ‘None of us are French and I like it here.’
‘I cannot risk it,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Please do as I ask.’
‘Very well,’ sighed Isabel with very ill grace. ‘Although it is foolish and unreasonable. However, you must find us a spot well away from Alice. We find her company irksome.’