Выбрать главу

Josse wondered if now was the moment to ask the question that he had been wanting to ask ever since the Abbess had told him the news. Studying her, he thought it was as good a time as any. He said quietly, ‘My lady, how did Galiena die?’

She stared at him. Then: ‘We do not know. Sister Euphemia is even now studying the — er, the body.’

‘Was the girl unwell?’ he persisted. ‘Was there any obvious wound, such as might have been made had she fallen, for example?’

‘She was not unwell,’ the Abbess said tonelessly. ‘She was anxious, distressed even, but not, I think, unwell. As to a wound-’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing obvious at first glance. No blood on her garments, no twisted limb or bump on the head. Just the swelling of her poor face and the one episode of vomiting, or whatever it was.’

‘Vomiting?’

She shook her head impatiently. ‘Not exactly that. She opened her mouth and liquid came out. Watery liquid.’

‘I see.’ It was a silly remark, as he definitely did not see. Not with any certainty, at least, although a horrible suspicion was dawning. Hoping that he was doing the right thing and not making a bad matter worse, he said, ‘My lady, can it be, do you think, that Galiena was poisoned?’

The Abbess stared at him in silence for a moment. Then she said, ‘It is what I have been dreading. I pray that it is not so, but …’ She left the sentence unfinished.

‘But what else could it be?’ he murmured.

‘Sister Euphemia has promised to report to me as soon as she has finished,’ the Abbess said. ‘I fear, Sir Josse, that all we can do is wait.’

They did not have to wait long. But it was not the infirmarer herself who came to find them but Sister Caliste, one of the Abbey’s youngest fully professed nuns and a competent and compassionate nurse. She approached, made a graceful obeisance to her superior and greeted Josse with a wide smile. Although she did not speak to him, he read clearly in her expression that she was glad to see him again.

‘Sister Euphemia asks me to say that she is ready for you now, my lady,’ Sister Caliste said to the Abbess. ‘If you both would like to follow me, I will take you to her.’

Josse and the Abbess walked in silence behind the young nun through the cloister and across the courtyard to the infirmary. There Sister Caliste led them along to the left and into a small room leading off the main chamber. In it there was a single, raised cot on which now lay a body covered with a clean white sheet.

Realising that the body was probably naked beneath the linen, Josse stood back. But the Abbess, turning to him, said, ‘Please, Sir Josse, come in with me if you will. Your experienced eyes have helped us before and, in truth, this is no time for delicacy.’

Sister Euphemia, overhearing, said, ‘Come on in, Sir Josse. The poor lass is decently covered and all I need to show you is her face.’

The Abbess stepped across to stand over the cot and Josse took his place beside her. Sister Caliste remained just inside the door, which she had quietly closed behind her.

Without preamble, the infirmarer said, ‘I reckon she was poisoned. There was fluid in her mouth, although I cannot say what it was, and her face had swelled up, especially the lips. I’ve seen similar symptoms in cases of poison.’

‘This fluid you speak of,’ Josse said. ‘What was it like? Was there undigested matter in it?’

‘I looked carefully, but found nothing,’ Sister Euphemia replied.

‘Strange,’ Josse mused.

‘Strange?’ the Abbess queried.

‘Aye, my lady.’ Josse glanced across the cot at the infirmarer, who gave a brief nod as if to say, you explain. ‘Often when somebody takes poison, the substance causes vomiting as soon as it reaches the stomach. The vomit then can be seen to contain whatever the poison was and also some of whatever else was in the stomach, such as-’

‘Yes, thank you, Sir Josse,’ the Abbess interrupted, ‘I understand.’

‘But this is not the case here,’ Josse finished.

‘No, it’s not,’ the infirmarer agreed. ‘Just that clear, colourless fluid.’

‘Could she recently have taken a drink of water?’ the Abbess suggested. ‘In her distress, she might simply have spat it out.’

Again Josse met Sister Euphemia’s eyes. He was quite sure she thought it as unlikely as he did, although both of them were too polite to say so. ‘It’s possible, my lady,’ the infirmarer said.

‘But not probable,’ the Abbess said with a faint smile. ‘I can tell by your tone, Sister.’

The three of them stood in silence around the still figure beneath the sheet. Then Josse said tentatively, ‘You mentioned swelling, Sister Euphemia. Might I be allowed to look?’

He wondered even as he spoke whether the two nuns would disapprove of his request but, with a quick gesture, Sister Euphemia twitched back the sheet and said, ‘Of course, Sir Josse. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.’

She folded the sheet across the dead girl’s shoulders, exposing only her face, neck and a little of her chest. And Josse stared down at Galiena Ryemarsh.

His heart turned over with pity at what the poison had done to her. She was still beautiful — the perfect oval of her face and the pleasing symmetry of her bone structure were unchanged. And the abundant, pale blonde hair that he remembered so well had been dressed slightly differently — perhaps by one of the nuns who had helped lay her out? — and now the two thick braids were entwined across the top of the girl’s head like a coronet.

Almost unaware of what he did, Josse stretched out a hand and gently touched them. The infirmarer said softly, ‘Her hair was disarrayed. Sister Caliste combed it out and plaited it for her, then arranged it as you see.’

Josse turned to Sister Caliste. ‘You did well, Sister,’ he said softly. ‘I am sure she would have approved.’

But even the most perfect hairstyle in the world could not have distracted the attention for long from the dead girl’s mouth. The rosy lips were deathly pale now but, even worse, they were grossly swollen. Around them the white skin bore the residue of a pinkish rash. The lower part of Galiena’s face was almost unrecognisable.

With a deep sigh Josse said, ‘I have seen enough, Sister.’ More than enough, he thought bitterly, for now I shall remember Galiena in death and not as she was in life. He turned away from the cot.

The Abbess murmured something to the infirmarer, who leaned down and carefully replaced the mercifully concealing sheet over the dead girl’s ruined face.

Then the infirmarer said, ‘My lady, Sir Josse, there is one more thing.’

The Abbess and Josse turned to face her. ‘Yes?’ the Abbess asked.

Looking straight at her superior, Sister Euphemia said quietly, ‘The lass was pregnant. Three or four months gone.’

In the first unbelieving moment, Josse looked at the Abbess. Her face expressionless, she said, ‘But Galiena came here because she could not conceive. She cannot have known that already she bore Ambrose’s child.’ His own emotions dangerously near to the surface, he watched as the Abbess’s face slowly crumpled in distress. ‘Oh,’ she cried softly, ‘oh, and now the poor girl is dead!’

The infirmarer was staring down at Galiena. ‘Aye,’ she breathed, ‘aye. It is a bad day.’ She glanced at the Abbess. ‘But as to her not knowing, it may well be that she remained ignorant of her condition. With a first pregnancy, many women do not realise until they are some months along and-’

She was interrupted by the sound of hurrying feet outside and by a sudden gasp from Sister Caliste. Still standing just in front of the little room’s door, she had been pushed forward by somebody roughly opening it.

All four of them turned to see who had come in.

It was Aebba. Her icy eyes fixed to the sheeted figure on the cot, she said, her low voice almost a growl, ‘Is it true? She’s dead, then?’