‘What about the peregrini?’ asked Tulyet. ‘There are tensions among them. Were any of them near the shed?’
‘Not that I saw. And before you ask, the nuns were in the guesthouse, although they emerged to gawp when the shed began to burn in earnest.’
‘Are you sure it was the Girards “popping in and out” of the shed?’ asked Tulyet. ‘Because someone committed a terrible crime there, and as you claim no one else was in the vicinity and we know the victims did not kill themselves . . .’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, nodding. ‘One time, it could have been the killer impersonating them. It is possible – the shed is some distance from the kitchen, and I was not watching particularly closely.’
‘So, with hindsight, is there anything that struck you as odd?’
Goda shook her head. ‘Obviously, this person took care not to be suspicious. What would be the point of donning a disguise, if you then go out and give yourself away with attention-catching behaviour?’
Michael fought down his growing antipathy towards her. ‘The Spital had several visitors before the fire began. What can you tell us about those?’
‘I only saw Sister Alice. She is always pestering our nuns, even though Magistra Katherine has told her that she is not welcome here. Prioress Joan is kinder, but even her patience is wearing thin. Magistra Katherine has the right of it, though: Alice is a thief, so the other nuns should have nothing to do with her.’
‘A thief?’ echoed Michael warily. ‘How do you know?’
‘Well, once, when all our nuns were at the conloquium, Alice visited the guesthouse while I happened to be cleaning under the bed. Rashly assuming she was alone, she began riffling through their things. I saw her slip a comb up her sleeve and walk off with it.’
Michael was not sure whether to believe her. ‘Was it valuable?’ he asked warily.
For the first time, Goda considered her answer with care, and he saw that the cost of things mattered to her.
‘I would not have paid more than sixpence for it,’ she replied eventually. ‘I told our nuns when they got back, and it transpired that the comb belonged to Prioress Joan. I thought she would not care, given that she is not a vain woman, but she was very upset.’
‘Could Alice have set the fire?’ asked Tulyet, while Michael held his breath; he did not want a Benedictine to be the culprit.
‘Possibly,’ said Goda. ‘But we have let no nun get anywhere near the peregrini, which would mean she killed five people she never met. That seems unlikely.’
‘Look again at the murder weapon,’ ordered Tulyet, laying it on the table in front of her. ‘Have you seen it before?’
Goda spent far more time than necessary turning it over in her hands. When it became clear that she was more interested in assessing its worth than identifying its owner, Tulyet tried to take it back. There was a tussle when she declined to part with it.
‘It is a nice piece,’ she said watching covetously as Tulyet returned it to his scrip. ‘What will you do with it once your enquiries are over? I doubt you will want to keep it, but I will give you a fair price.’
‘I shall bear it in mind,’ said Tulyet, taken aback and struggling not to let it show.
‘That is a fine new kirtle,’ said Michael, wondering if Alice was not the only one with sticky fingers. ‘How did you pay for it?’
Goda regarded him coolly. ‘By saving my wages. Unlike most people, I do not fritter them away on nothing. Not that my clothes are any of your affair. Now, is that all, or do you have more impertinent questions to put to me?’
‘You may go,’ said Tulyet coldly. ‘For now.’
As time was passing, Tulyet suggested that he finished speaking to the staff on his own, while Bartholomew and Michael tackled the nuns.
‘Prioress Joan has just returned from the conloquium,’ he said, watching her dismount her handsome stallion while her ladies flowed from the guesthouse to welcome her back. Bartholomew recalled that she had left them to pray while she went to give a lecture on plumbing.
‘And let us hope one of us has some luck,’ sighed Michael, ‘because I cannot believe that someone could stab four people, drug two children, set a building alight, and saunter away without being seen.’
The guesthouse was a charming building. Its walls were of honey-coloured stone, it had a red-tiled roof, and someone had planted roses around the door. Most of the windows were open, allowing sunlight to stream in, and the furniture was simple but new and spotlessly clean. All the nuns were there, except one.
‘Our Prioress went to settle Dusty in the stables,’ explained Magistra Katherine de Lisle. ‘She spends more time with him than she does at her devotions.’
Bartholomew studied Katherine with interest. Like her prelate brother, she was tall, haughty, and had a beaky nose and hooded eyes. She was perhaps in her sixth decade, but her skin was smooth and unlined. A smirk played at the corners of her mouth, and he was under the impression that she considered herself superior to everyone else, and thought other people existed only for her to mock. He wondered if arrogance ran in the family, because her brother was also of the opinion that he was the most important thing in the universe.
‘Caring for God’s creatures is a form of worship,’ said Michael, who was known to linger in stables at the expense of his divine offices himself. ‘I will fetch her while the rest of you tell Matt about yesterday’s tragedy.’
Bartholomew was happy with that, as he had no wish to visit a place where he would meet an animal that would almost certainly dislike him on sight – horses instinctively knew he was wary of them, and even the most docile of nags turned mean-spirited in his presence.
‘There are a lot of you,’ he remarked when the monk had gone.
‘Twenty,’ replied Katherine, a faint smile playing about her lips. ‘We brought more delegates than any other convent.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Prioress Joan offered to bring any nun who wanted to travel. Some came for the adventure, others to meet fellow Benedictines, the rest to learn something useful. But I was invited personally by the organisers because I am a talented speaker who can preach on a variety of interesting subjects. I am not styled Magistra Katherine for nothing, you know.’
She began to list her areas of expertise, although as most pertained to theology, Bartholomew thought she was sadly mistaken to describe them as ‘interesting’. Sensing she was losing his attention, she finished by saying that Joan’s relaxed rule made for a contented little community of nuns at Lyminster.
While she spoke, the other sisters occupied themselves with strips of leather and pots of oil, filling the room with the sweet scent of linseed. Eschewing such menial work, Katherine picked up a book, clearly aiming to read it the moment Bartholomew left.
‘To thank her for bringing us here, we are making new reins for Prioress Joan,’ explained one nun, smiling. ‘Or rather, for Dusty. He is strong, and is always snapping them.’
‘They know the surest way to her heart,’ said Katherine, then indicated the tome in her lap. ‘Whereas I prefer to study Master Clippesby’s treatise. He must be a remarkable man, because I have never encountered such elegant logic.’
‘He is a remarkable man,’ agreed Bartholomew, hoping they would never meet. The mad Dominican would not be what Katherine expected, and they would almost certainly disappoint each other. ‘He has a unique way with animals.’
‘Joan would like him then,’ said Katherine with a smirk. ‘Especially if he is good with horses. But his theories are astonishing. And what an imagination, to use chickens to speak his views.’
Clippesby would argue that the views were the birds’ own, but Bartholomew decided not to tell her that. He changed the subject to Alice.
‘Yes, the wretched woman did visit shortly before the fire started,’ said Katherine. ‘She will not leave us alone, despite our efforts to discourage her. You know why, of course.’
‘Do I?’
‘Because my brother was so
shocked by the way she ran Ickleton Priory that he deposed her. Now she aims to avenge herself on him through me. But she will not succeed, because she is not clever enough.’
Unwilling to be dragged into that dispute, Bartholomew returned to the subject of the fire. ‘Did you see Alice near the shed? Or talking to the . . . patients, particularly those who died?’
‘Not yesterday or any other day,’ replied Katherine. ‘However, that is not to say she did not do it – just that we never saw her.’
All the nuns denied recognising the murder weapon, too, although Bartholomew had to be content with sketching it on a piece of parchment, as Tulyet had the original.
‘We are unlikely to know anything to help you,’ said Katherine, clearly impatient to get to her reading, ‘because a condition of us staying here is that we keep away from the lunatics. We have obliged, because none of us want to exchange these nice, spacious quarters for a cramped corner in St Radegund’s.’
‘But you must look out of the windows,’ pressed Bartholomew, loath to give up. ‘And one faces the shed.’
‘It does,’ acknowledged Katherine. ‘But it is nailed shut, and the glass is too thick to see through. The only ones that open overlook the road.’
Bartholomew saw she was right, and wondered if it was why Alice had rummaged through the nuns’ belongings when they were out – no one from inside the Spital could have looked in and seen her, and she would have got away with it, if Goda had not been cleaning under the beds. Assuming Goda was telling the truth, of course.
‘Is Joan missing a comb?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Katherine. ‘An ivory one. She was upset about it, as it was the one she used on Dusty’s mane. Goda says Alice took it, which Alice denies, of course. If it is true, it will be part of some malicious plot against me or my brother. Her vindictiveness knows no bounds, so if you do arrest her for roasting lunatics, I should be very grateful.’
‘Where were you when the blaze began?’ asked Bartholomew, and when her eyebrows flew upwards in instant indignation, added quickly, ‘Just for elimination purposes.’
Katherine indicated her sisters. ‘We were all in here, except for the hour before the fire. At that point, I was in the garden behind the chapel and Joan was in the stables. We predicted that Alice would come, you see, and we aimed to avoid her.’
‘Alice did come,’ put in another nun. ‘But she left when we told her that Magistra Katherine and Prioress Joan were unavailable. The rest of us were here until the alarm was raised, at which point Prioress Joan came to take us outside lest a stray spark set this building alight, too.’
Bartholomew regarded Katherine thoughtfully. ‘You cannot see the shed from in here, but you can from behind the chapel . . .’
There was a flash of irritation in the hooded eyes. ‘Very possibly, but I was engrossed in Clippesby’s book and paid no attention to anything else.’
‘But you heard the alarm raised,’ pressed Bartholomew.
Katherine regarded him steadily. ‘I was absorbed, not on another planet. Of course I stopped reading when everyone started shouting and I saw the smoke.’
‘So you have no alibi,’ said Bartholomew, hoping she would not transpire to be the killer, as the Bishop would be livid.
Katherine gave another of her enigmatic smiles. ‘I am afraid not, other than my fervent assurance that high-ranking Benedictine nuns have better things to do than light fires in derelict outbuildings.’
Unfortunately, her fervent assurance was not enough, thought Bartholomew, watching her open the book to tell him that the interview was over.
He was about to leave when Michael walked in with Joan, deep in a conversation about hocks and withers. She was taller than Michael, who was not a small man, and her hands were the size of dinner plates.
‘Have you answered all his questions?’ she asked of her nuns, jerking a huge thumb in Bartholomew’s direction. ‘Nice and polite, like I taught you?’
‘We have,’ replied Katherine, resignedly closing her book again. ‘Although he is disturbed by my inability to prove that I did not incinerate an entire family.’
‘Katherine often disappears to read on her own,’ said Joan. ‘Of course, you will probably say that I cannot prove my whereabouts either, given that I was with Dusty. Or will you? I understand your Clippesby talks to animals – perhaps he will take Dusty’s statement.’
‘It is no laughing matter,’ said Michael sternly. ‘People died in that fire.’
‘Yes,’ acknowledged Joan, contrite. ‘And we shall continue to pray for their souls. However, as it happens, I can do better than Dusty for an alibi. One of the servants – that ridiculously tiny lass – was in the kitchen the whole time. And if I could see her, she must have been able to see me.’
‘Goda?’ asked Michael. ‘So you can vouch for her?’
‘I suppose I can,’ said Joan. ‘I would not normally have noticed her, but she was wearing yellow, a colour Dusty does not like, and he kept snickering in her direction. She was certainly in the kitchen when the blaze would have started.’
‘So, Brother,’ drawled Katherine, amused, ‘I am your only Lyminster suspect. My brother will be horrified when he learns that you have me in your sights.’
‘Then let us hope we find the real culprit before it becomes necessary to tell him,’ said Michael, smiling back at her.
‘That poor family,’ said Joan, sitting heavily on a bed. ‘What will happen to their friends now? There cannot be many places willing to hide Frenchmen.’
‘You know?’ breathed Michael, shocked, while Bartholomew gaped at her. ‘But how?’
‘We are not fools,’ replied Joan softly. ‘Tangmer nailed the window shut to prevent us from seeing them, but we have ears – we often hear the children chattering in French.’
‘Joan took a few of us to Winchelsea when we heard about the raid,’ said Katherine. ‘We wanted to help, and the town is only sixty miles from our convent. We arrived five days later, and although we were spared the worst sights, what remained was terrible enough. We heard the rumours about the “spies” who told the Dauphin when best to come. It did not take a genius to put it all together. We know exactly who these folk are.’
‘Have you told anyone else?’ asked Michael uneasily.
She shot him a withering glare. ‘Of course not! These people have a right to sanctuary, just like any Christian soul. I shall not even tell my brother.’
‘I hope the murders do not panic them into flight again,’ said Joan. ‘It will be more dangerous still on the open road, as I imagine the sentiments spoken on Cambridge’s streets will be just the same in other towns and villages.’
‘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.’
The Sanctuary Murders: The Twenty Fourth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 24) Page 13