Mystique (37 page)

She had to discover the would-be murderer before he or she could strike again. She had to find the poisoner before Hugh laid siege to his blood kin and destroyed forever any hope of peace between Rivenhall and Scarcliffe.

Alice forced herself to concentrate on the notes her mother had made concerning the herb banewort.

A discreet knock on the door announced another visitor.

“Enter,” Alice called, not taking her eyes from the page.

Elbert stuck his head around the door. “You sent for me, my lady?”

“Aye, Elbert.” Alice glanced up. “I want you to see to
it that every dish and cup in this household is scrubbed today before another meal is served.”

“But all of the dishes and cups are always washed after every meal, my lady, just as you specified,” Elbert stammered, clearly confused by the instruction.

“I know, Elbert, but I want them washed again today before the midday meal. Is that clear?”

“Aye, m’lady. Before the meal. I shall give the orders at once. Will there be anything else?”

Alice hesitated. “Lord Hugh will not dine with the household today. He is in his bedchamber and does not wish to be disturbed.”

Elbert was immediately alarmed. “Is something wrong, my lady?”

“Nay. He has taken a slight chill. I have given him a tonic. He should be well on the morrow.”

Elbert’s face cleared. “Shall I send some more green pottage to his chamber?”

“I do not think that will be necessary. Thank you, Elbert. You may go. Do not forget to have the dishes, mugs, and cups washed immediately.”

“Aye, my lady. It will be done at once.” Elbert bowed and left to carry out his orders.

Alice shook off the morbid fears that threatened to overwhelm her. She turned another page of the handbook and studied her mother’s neat script.

The water clock on her desk dripped slowly. Another hour passed.

A long while later, Alice closed her mother’s journal and sat quietly for a long time. She considered what she had learned.

As she had suspected, the secrets of concocting a poison strong enough to be administered in the manner in which this one had been given were shrouded in mystery.

The fear of poison was common enough but in truth there was little real danger from it. The fact was, most poisons simply did not work well.

Contrary to what many people believed, the concocting of lethal potions was not a simple task. Only a skilled gardener knew the proper plants. Much study and experimentation were required to prepare the brews. Only
an unusual herbalist, one who studied poisons and their antidotes in order to discover cures, for instance, or an alchemist seeking knowledge of the black arts, would bother to invest much time in the study of potions that could kill.

There were a number of practical problems involved in the creation of poisonous potions. It was exceedingly difficult to determine the proper dose. It was also extremely hard to refine the poison to the point where only a small amount was required to achieve results. And it was even more difficult to achieve a degree of reliability. Most poisons were notoriously unpredictable in their effects.

As her mother had written in the handbook, a person was far more likely to fall ill and die from rancid food than true poison.

Alice mentally outlined her conclusions. There were not many people in the vicinity of Scarcliffe who could have created a deadly poison and then found a way to ensure that it was administered to its intended victim.

Nay, make that victims
.

For there had been two, Alice reminded herself. Calvert of Oxwick had also been poisoned.

But who would want to kill both an irritating monk and a legendary knight? What was the link between them?

Alice pondered the matter for a long time.

The only thing that connected the victims so far as she could discern was an interest in the Stones of Scarcliffe. But once Hugh had gotten his hands on the green crystal, he had ceased to search for the rest of the treasure. He did not even believe in the existence of the rest of the fabled gems.

Calvert, on the other hand, had apparently believed the old tale. So much so that he had risked the treacherous caves of Scarcliffe to hunt for the treasure.

The two men shared no obvious bond that Alice could discern.

She wondered if the truth lay elsewhere in the past. There had, after all, in this region once been another case of poison.

•    •    •

A
short, cheerful young novice ushered Alice into the prioress’s study late that afternoon.

Joan rose, smiling, from the other side of her desk. “Lady Alice. I pray you will be seated. What brings you here at this hour?”

“I am sorry to disturb you, madam.” Alice waited until the novice had closed the door. Then she sank down onto a wooden stool.

“Have you come alone?” Joan reseated herself.

“Aye. The servants believe that I have gone out for a late afternoon walk. I must return to the keep as soon as possible.” She wanted to get back before Hugh awoke. “I will not take up much of your time.”

“I am always pleased to see you, Alice, you know that.” Joan folded her hands and studied her with gentle concern. “Is aught troubling you?”

“Aye, madam.” Alice braced herself. “I must ask you some questions.”

“About what?”

“About Sister Katherine, your healer.”

Joan frowned. “You shall ask your questions of her directly. I shall send for her at once.”

“T
his is impossible.” The skirts of Joan’s habit rustled as she went swiftly along the stone corridor. “Sister Katherine is a trained healer. She would not poison anyone.”

“Do you not find it odd that she has disappeared?” Alice asked.

“She must be somewhere here on the grounds of the convent.”

“We have checked the chapel, the garden, and the still room. Where else could she be?”

“Mayhap she is meditating in her chamber and did not hear the novice I sent to knock on her door. Or she may be suffering from one of her bouts of melancholia. The medicine she takes for it sometimes puts her into a deep sleep.”

“This is very troubling.”

“Your suspicions are even more so,” Joan said
brusquely. “Sister Katherine has been with this convent for nearly thirty years.”

“Aye, that is one of the facts that caused me to wonder if she was somehow involved in all this.” Alice glanced at the rows of wooden doors that lined the hall. Each was set with a grated window and opened onto a small, spare cell.

The hall was very still and silent. Most of the cells were empty at this time of the day. The nuns were busy at their various tasks in the gardens, the kitchens, the scriptorium, and the music chamber.

Joan glanced over her shoulder. “You said Lord Hugh’s parents were poisoned nearly thirty years ago?”

“Aye. Everyone assumed his mother was the poisoner. She was said to be a woman scorned. But today I began to question that assumption.”

“What makes you think that Sister Katherine would know anything about the incident other than whatever rumors came to her at the time?”

“Do you recall the day that I met her in the convent garden?”

“Of course.”

“She said something at the time about how easily a man could sever a vow of betrothal. She seemed oddly bitter.”

“I told you, Katherine suffers from melancholia. She frequently appears sad or bitter.”

“Aye, but I believe that in this instance there was something personal about her reaction. She warned me not to put off my own wedding lest I be left abandoned.”

“What of it?” Joan came to a halt in front of the last grated door. “‘Twas a practical bit of advice.”

“She spoke as one who had been through the humiliation of a broken betrothal,” Alice insisted. “I have begun to wonder if she herself took the veil because of a severed betrothal.”

“‘Tis hardly an uncommon occurrence.” Joan rapped briskly on the heavy oak paneling. “Many women have entered a convent for that reason.”

“I realize that. But I wish to ask the sister if that was her reason.”

Joan’s eyes met hers. “And if it was?”

“Then I wish to know if the man who broke his vow of betrothal to her was Hugh’s father, Sir Matthew of Scarcliffe.”

Joan frowned. “But according to the tale, Sir Matthew never did break his vows. From all I have ever heard, he fully intended to marry the lady his family had chosen for him. Everyone believes that he wished to keep Hugh’s poor mother as his leman. They say that was why she flew into a heartbroken rage and gave her lover a poisoned cup.”

“So the story goes,” Alice admitted. “But what if that was not what occurred? What if Matthew came back from France, discovered he had a son, and determined to marry the woman he had seduced?”

“You’re saying that the lady to whom he was betrothed may have sought vengeance?”

“‘Tis possible, is it not?”

“‘Tis somewhat extreme,” Joan said crisply.

“You said yourself that Sister Katherine is a woman who suffers from extreme humors,” Alice reminded her.

Joan stood on tiptoe and peered through the grate. “Pier cell is empty. She is not inside. There is something very strange about all this.”

“It would appear that she has left the convent.”

“But where could she have gone? Surely someone would have noticed if she had taken one of the horses from the convent stable.”

Alice went to peer through the grate. “There is a sheet of parchment on her bed.”

“Sister Katherine is excessively neat. She would not leave personal items scattered about.”

Alice glanced at her. “Unless she meant for someone to discover it.”

Joan’s gaze grew more troubled. Without a word she lifted the heavy ring that was attached to her belt. She selected one of the iron keys from it and inserted it into the lock of Katherine’s door.

A moment later Alice walked into the tiny chamber. There was little to be seen other than the narrow bed, a small, wooden chest, and the rolled sheet of parchment that lay on the straw mattress.

Alice started to reach for the parchment. She paused and glanced at Joan. Joan mutely nodded her permission.

Alice picked up the parchment sheet and carefully unrolled it. A heavy gold ring set with a green gem fell onto the bed. Alice examined it closely. “Does this belong to Sister Katherine?”

“If it does, she has kept it hidden all these years. I have never before seen it.”

“It looks familiar.” Alice glanced up. “I believe that Lady Emma wears one very similar to it. She said that Sir Vincent gave it to her when they exchanged their vows.”

“Worse and worse,” Joan muttered. “What does the letter say?”

“‘Tis only a short note.”

“Read it.”

Alice frowned intently over the painstakingly precise script.

“Dear heaven, what does she mean?” Joan whispered.

“Katherine no doubt believes that she has had her vengeance.” Alice rerolled the parchment. “She cannot know yet that she failed.”

Joan’s keys rattled on the iron ring as she turned toward the door. “I shall ask one of the nuns to talk to the villagers. Mayhap someone has seen Katherine.”

Alice glanced through the narrow window of the cell. Outside the gray mist had grown darker. “It grows late. I must return to the keep before someone becomes anxious about my absence.”
Namely Hugh, who might even now have awakened and begun to plan his vengeance against Rivenhall
.

Joan led the way out of Katherine’s cell, “I will send word to you if I locate the healer.”

“Thank you,” Alice said quietly. “I think it best if poison is not mentioned, Prioress. You know how people fear it.”

“Aye. I shall not speak of it,” Joan promised. “God
knows we do not need any rumors of poison spread about on this manor.”

“Agreed. I will speak with you tomorrow, madam. Now, I must hurry home if I am to resolve this situation before a new storm is loosed upon these lands.”

B
enedict was waiting for Alice in the great hall. He greeted her with an urgency that spoke volumes.

“Thank the Saints you have returned,” he said. “Lord Hugh awoke less than an hour ago and immediately asked for you. When I told him you had gone out, he was most displeased.”

Alice unfastened her cloak. “Where is he?”

“In his study chamber. He said you are to go to him at once.”

“I intend to do precisely that.” Alice started for the stairs.

“Alice?”

She paused, one toe on the bottom step. “Aye, what is it?”

“There is something I have wanted to tell you.” Benedict glanced around quickly to make certain that none of the servants was within hearing distance. He took a step closer to Alice and lowered his voice. “I was with Sir Hugh when he fell ill.”

“I know. What of it?”

“The first word he spoke when he realized that he had drunk from a poisoned cup was your name.”

Alice flinched as though she had been struck. A great weight settled on her. “He thought I tried to murder him?”

“Nay.” Benedict smiled wryly. “At first I believed that was his meaning. I told him it was not possible. Then he made it clear that he was asking for you because he knew you were the only one who could save him. He blamed Vincent of Rivenhall from the beginning. He never once suspected you.”

The intolerable burden lifted from Alice’s soul. She gave Benedict a shaky smile. “Thank you for telling me
that, brother. It eases my heart more than you can possibly know.”

Benedict flushed. “I know how much you care for him. Sir Dunstan says that a man of Lord Hugh’s nature does not allow himself to indulge in soft emotions. Sir Dunstan told me that Lord Hugh scoffs at love and would never give his heart to a woman. But I thought you should know that he at least trusts you. Sir Dunstan says that it is most unusual for my lord to trust anyone.”