Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (13 page)

There was a relief in talking about it, she found. The bees were coming back to the hive; their busy humming soothed Janna as she poured out her misery. ‘I’ve made a pledge,’ she confided. ‘I shall not rest until I see my mother’s killer brought to justice.’ She thought about it. If she could work out who had the means, the motive and the opportunity, she should then know the identity of the killer. ‘I’m sure it’s Fulk,’ she said. ‘He had the knowledge, and he also had the motive. He hated my mother. I just have to find out if he had the opportunity to act on that hatred. There’s also Cecily. She hasn’t told me all she knows. I have to talk to her again.’

The bees hummed quietly about her. Janna continued to marshal her thoughts. ‘And there’s Aldith,’ she said. ‘She’s a midwife; she’ll know about monkshood. I like her, but my mother’s death will certainly be to her benefit. I must find out when they last met.’

The priest, Janna thought suddenly. He, too, had been at the manor house. He, too, wished her mother ill. Could a priest know such hatred that he would break God’s law and kill someone he thought of as an enemy, even if it was done in the name of Christ?

It was a disturbing thought, made more pressing by Janna’s sudden memory of the marketplace in Wiltune. She had seen the priest swooping about there like the carrion crow that he was. Had he been listening when the merchant spoke of the healing effects of his rubbing oil? As a priest, he would have an understanding of Latin and so would be able to identify the plant in question. At the end of the merchant’s sales pitch, he would also have a good idea of how dangerous it was.

His motive might be shaky, but he certainly had the knowledge and possibly the opportunity. ‘I also need to question the priest,’ she told the bees.

Once inside, she put the hot vegetables onto a griddle cake, and sat down to eat. There was no Alfred to share her meal tonight. Janna felt immensely sad, and immensely lonely as she took off her kirtle and lay down on the pallet to sleep. She missed the presence of her mother beside her, and the warm bulk of Alfred at her feet. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she gave a forlorn sniffle. Knowing she had a plan for action brought her some comfort, and helped to settle the questions that tumbled endlessly through her mind. Instead of lying awake all night, as she had supposed she would, exhaustion claimed her and she fell into a deep and healing sleep.

J
ANNA WOKE LATE
the next morning, to find the sun already high in the sky. Her long sleep had refreshed her, so that although she felt lonely as she went about her morning chores, she also recognised that this was how things were going to be from now on, and that, in time, she would get used to it.

She found herself humming the tune she’d heard her mother singing, and instantly stopped. For some reason she felt ashamed, although she couldn’t think why she should.

She walked outside with an armful of feed for the animals. Their pen was getting somewhat smelly, she realised, as she looked about at the mounds of excrement. She dumped the greens in a corner to entice the goats and hens out of her way then, with a sigh, she took up a spade to shovel the dung out and over the garden.

‘Dirt and disease go together,’ Eadgyth had said, when Janna had once questioned why their animals were not brought into the cottage at night for safety, as was common practice. ‘The fence protects the animals; that is why I made it to close them in. And their waste can be spread among the plants to help them grow, instead of it fouling the rushes on our floor and making us both ill.’

The sound of Eadgyth’s voice in her mind brought tears to Janna’s eyes. She blinked hard, and kept on digging. Once done, she came back into the cottage and looked about her. She would have to do the work of two if she wanted to survive, she realised. She would need goods to trade for other necessities as well as having to provide enough food for herself. Even with her mother by her side, they had often gone hungry. Janna felt a tremor of fear unsettle her stomach. She had the few coins from her sales at Wiltune market, but there were no goods left; she would have to make more. She should also think about Aldith’s offer, although she wouldn’t commit herself to anything until she could be sure of the midwife’s innocence. In the meantime she should put the word about that she was able to physic the villagers just as her mother had always done.

It wasn’t quite true, and Janna felt a momentary anger against her mother. Then she shrugged. It was the way it was, and she would have to make the best of it. She had her mother’s knowledge. It was only a matter of time before she gained her experience.

The sound of galloping hooves alerted Janna to the presence of a horseman riding towards the cottage. She opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, recognising instantly the big black destrier and its rider.

‘Johanna.’

‘Sire.’ She smiled up at Hugh and bobbed a small curtsy. He led a palfrey on a rein behind him, the same palfrey he’d brought for Cecily.

‘I am pleased to find you here,’ he said, and hurriedly dismounted. ‘Dame Alice is distraught. The baby has taken a turn for the worse and is like to die at any moment. Robert has sent for the priest, but Alice won’t give up the babe, not yet. She begs you to come with me and do what you may to save him.’ Even as he spoke, he planted his hands around Janna’s waist, ready to hoist her on to the palfrey’s back.

Janna panicked. ‘I … I can’t … I don’t know how to ride,’ she stammered.

‘I should have thought of that.’ Hugh kept his hand on Janna’s waist as he pulled the destrier towards him. ‘You can ride with me.’ Before Janna had time to protest, he hoisted her up. She landed awkwardly, her legs straddling the beast’s back.

She felt a flash of resentment that she had no say in the matter, that in spite of all the tasks she must do to ensure her survival, she was expected instantly to do as she was bid. Her protest was silenced by the urgency of Hugh’s message.

‘What ails the infant?’ she asked instead, trying all the while to pull down her kirtle. Once again it had bunched itself up near her waist.

‘I know not.’ In spite of the gravity of the situation, Hugh’s eyes twinkled as he watched her endeavours to cover her bare legs. ‘Dame Alice trusted your mother’s knowledge, and hopes that she may have taught you enough to save her baby.’ Hugh quickly tied the palfrey to a nearby tree, then pulled himself up in front of her. He turned the destrier and kicked it into a gallop.

As the full enormity of Hugh’s words sank in, Janna subsided into a frightened silence. She was expected to save the baby’s life, but she no longer had her mother’s knowledge and expertise to draw on. If the child died, she alone would be held responsible.

This last thought tightened her grip on Hugh. Sensing the pressure, and perhaps seeking to reassure her, he turned his head to speak to her over his shoulder.

‘The baby has been baptised, and the priest now counsels Dame Alice that it will be God’s will if the child should die. But Alice won’t hear of it. She has had such ill luck since the birth of her first little boy. She had thought, having brought this child to term and borne him alive, that he would thrive. Will you be able to save him, Johanna?’

‘No!’ It was a cry from the heart, but even as she uttered her fear aloud, Janna knew that she could not give up so easily, not if she meant to honour her mother’s name. Besides, if she could save the child, surely it would still the clattering tongues that spoke of poison and devils and such. ‘I mean, yes!’ she said more loudly, to counteract her denial. And then, as honesty prevailed, she muttered, ‘I’ll try.’ She tried to collect her frightened thoughts. Should she ask Hugh to turn around and go back to the cottage? What was wrong with the babe? What might she need to save his life?

There was no point asking Hugh. He’d already admitted he didn’t know. Eadgyth had said that the babe was weakened by the long birth, and would not suckle, but was that all that ailed him? If so, Janna knew what steps to take to ease the problem. If it was something worse, however, she was in trouble, deep trouble. Conscious of time passing, she struggled to decide. Finally she came to the reluctant conclusion that she would not know what to do until she could see the child herself. Hopefully she would recognise the symptoms and be able to find the herbs to treat him in Dame Alice’s own garden. Otherwise she would have to ask Hugh to take her back to the cottage.

Desperately, passionately, Janna wished that her mother was still alive. If only she had her mother’s experience. She closed her eyes. ‘Help me,’ she whispered, her plea unheard against the drumming of the horse’s hooves. ‘Please, help me.’ She wished the ride could go on for ever, so that she would never have to confront the dying child and his distraught mother. But all too soon they were flying through the gate and dismounting in the yard.

Almost the first person Janna saw as she hurried up the stairs and into the great hall was Aldith. She stopped, dismayed. The midwife’s apron was clean, but Janna knew the dangers of the grubby skirt beneath. ‘What are you doing here?’

Aldith gave her a reproachful glance. ‘Tending mothers and their babies is the work of a midwife,’ she said, addressing her comments to Hugh. She turned then to Janna. ‘Your mother knew that full well, although that didn’t stop her pushing her nose in. Now that she’s gone, you must allow me, as having more experience than you, Janna, to take care of Dame Alice and her new babe.’

‘Dame Alice has asked for me,’ Janna retorted. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘But I am come prepared to help my lady.’ The midwife held up a flask, the movement accompanied by the sound of sloshing liquid. Her lips twitched up in a smile of triumph as she glanced at Janna’s empty hands. ‘Go home,’ she advised. ‘There is naught for you to do here.’

Hugh frowned at Aldith. ‘You’d better wait here. Dame Alice wishes to see Johanna without delay.’ He brushed past the midwife, not waiting to hear any further argument. Janna kept her head bent as she scuttled after him. All her suspicions had been aroused by Aldith’s presence at the manor. The midwife had hardly waited to see her rival safely interred before hastening to take her place. Janna hoped she would wait in the hall, as instructed. She had questions to ask the midwife, questions that would reveal either her guilt or her innocence.

Her emotions were so close to the surface that tears of sympathy came to her eyes when she entered the bedchamber. The lady, red-eyed from weeping, clutched the limp body of her baby to her breast. With shaking fingers she was trying to guide his mouth in a desperate effort to suckle the child. ‘Please, help us,’ she implored as she caught sight of Janna. ‘If my child would only feed, I am sure he could be saved.’

‘Drink some wine, dearest.’ Robert of Babestoche was a handsome man, Janna thought, with his shock of dark hair and the ruddy complexion that spoke of a great enjoyment of all the good things that life at the manor had to offer. With great solicitude, he poured some red liquid from a glass bottle into a silver goblet. Janna looked at the bottle, fascinated by both it and its contents. She had never seen such a beautiful bottle before, nor had she ever tasted wine made from grapes. This looked so fine it must have come by ship from Normandy.

Robert held the goblet out to his wife. ‘This will strengthen your blood and, I am sure, give strength to our son as well.’

With an impatient exclamation, Dame Alice knocked his hand away. The goblet fell, spilling its contents in a red stream. The wine looked like blood on the fine linen sheets. Janna gasped, aghast at the waste.

Robert’s lips tightened in anger. He bent to retrieve the goblet and set it carefully on a chest close to the bed. ‘Try not to distress yourself, my love,’ he said, and bent down to brush a kiss on his wife’s forehead. ‘We are in God’s hands now.’ He left the room, acknowledging Janna’s presence with a brief nod as he passed. It seemed that he, along with the priest, was ready to give up, but Janna was not. She forced her shaking legs to walk to the bedside, while she prepared to fight for the life of Dame Alice’s infant.

I must first calm Dame Alice, Janna thought, and cast her mind back to recall what Eadgyth did when faced with an angry or distressed villager. It seemed to Janna that she was taking a great liberty, but nevertheless she laid her hand on Dame Alice’s arm and tried not to betray her fear. ‘I will do all in my power to help you,’ she said, speaking low and slowly. ‘First, I need you to tell me all that you have seen and observed since the baby’s birth.’ She looked down at the infant cradled in his mother’s arms. He was swaddled tight in a woollen wrap. A strap kept the wrap in place; it was criss-crossed around his tiny body. His head, too, was covered. Janna could see nothing but his tiny face. What she saw did not reassure her. His eyes seemed blank, without life, and there was a bluish tinge to his lips.

‘He was perfect! A beautiful, healthy child who was taken away from me.’ The lady sounded desolate, but there was an edge of anger beneath her words. At first, Janna thought the anger was directed at her mother, until she followed Dame Alice’s gaze and noticed what she’d missed before. Fulk was standing in a shadowy recess, watching her, watching them both. Now he hurried over to the bedside, ready to defend himself.

‘Ma dame, you know right well that it is common practice for ladies of high birth to appoint a wet nurse to suckle their babies.’

‘Common practice it may be, but I deeply regret that I did not follow Eadgyth’s instructions to suckle the child myself. Now I fear I am too late for he will not feed.’ Tears welled up in the lady’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

‘Who’s been looking after the baby since his birth?’ Janna queried.

A slight young woman stepped forward, looking haggard and careworn. Janna sympathised with her. Should the baby die, she would carry the blame and would likely find herself dismissed. Without permission to leave, she would be unable to find work anywhere else. She must also have a new baby of her own, if it had lived, and would need a husband or her family to support her.

‘Tell me about the baby. What did you observe while he was in your care?’ she asked. She was sorry to put the woman in a difficult position, but she had to know the answer. She already suspected part of it. Knowing Dame Alice’s situation, Eadgyth would not have suggested that the lady suckle her own child unless there was some worry about whether or not he would thrive.

The wet nurse gave a nervous glance around the room, testing how safe it might be to tell the truth. If she confirmed Dame Alice’s statement, she would most certainly be blamed should the baby die. If she spoke the truth about its ailments, she risked the wrath of the mother who believed her child perfect in every respect.

Fulk broke the silence with a cough. ‘You were in no position to suckle the child yourself, my lady,’ he said. ‘The birth was long, and very hard. There was an excessive amount of bleeding. Far better that you rest and recover your strength and leave the nourishment of your child to someone else.’

Dame Alice glared at him. ‘Get out,’ she said. ‘Pack your bags and be gone. Had I listened to you alone, and done as you suggested, you would be getting ready to bury me along with my son.’

‘But I –’

‘Go!’ Dame Alice commanded, her voice rising in hysteria as she cried, ‘You have done enough harm. I will not see you again.’

Angry and resentful, the apothecary shouldered Janna aside and left the room.

Janna felt her skin crawl at his touch, understanding the anger behind the violent movement. He was her enemy now, as well as her mother’s. With an effort, she turned her thoughts back to the more pressing problem. ‘Please, tell me everything you can about the baby,’ she prompted, needing the nurse to answer her question.

The woman glanced nervously at her mistress, then looked quickly away. ‘The child’s skin was deadly pale, he was almost blue when I first saw him,’ she whispered. ‘After she tied the cord, Mistress Eadgyth bade us give him a warm bath and wrap him tight. His skin flushed more pink in the warmth, but he still seemed somewhat distressed. Your mother asked us to place some lavender next to his cradle, which she said would calm him, and she collected herbs for the cook to make into a syrup with some honey. She instructed us to give the baby a small sup of it every few hours.’

‘And did you do that?’

‘Yes. At once when the mixture was given to me, and again in the morning. The lavender is still beside his cradle.’

‘Did you have syrup enough for only two doses?’