by Iris Collier
‘This one is the king of all plants. I buy it in small quantities from a ship’s captain who trades with the Levant. He brings me the heads of the plant and I extract the juice. Take a good look at it, Jane. One day you might have need of it. It brings relief to the dying and sleep to disturbed minds. It is the greatest plant God has given to us, but the deadliest when used improperly.’
‘What is the name of the plant, Agnes?’ said Jane holding the bottle up to the light.
‘Why, ’tis the common poppy, Jane, but it doesn’t come from this country. Our climate isn’t right for it. It is called the opium poppy and the opiate which I extract brings relief to many people. I supply the monks, you know. Brother Michael uses it to ease the pain of someone suffering from a mortal disease. It is a blessed drug.’
‘If it had been added to Bess’s potion could it have killed her?’
‘In the right quantity, certainly. But by the sound of it she doesn’t appear to have had any signs of having taken opium. She would have drifted off into a profound sleep, and that wasn’t the case, was it?’
‘No, she remained mentally alert until the end. She was depressed, but that’s not surprising as she could feel her strength going.’
‘Then she didn’t take any opium, because it lifts the spirits. There are other herbs which shouldn’t be taken in large does, but Bess seemed to die with no obvious symptoms.’
‘Agnes, are there any deadly medicines? Some that work quickly and without symptoms?’
‘There are lots of deadly herbs, Jane, and many of the mushrooms and toadstools which I collect in the woods in autumn are also deadly. Amongst the poisonous herbs there is henbane, deadly nightshade, mandrake and hemlock. But all of these would bring on sensations of nausea, and convulsions. The poisonous toadstools would all bring on a violent attack of vomiting. No, I don’t think Bess died through swallowing poison. Her death appeared to be painless and inexorable. I also think you shouldn’t blame the monks for her death. Their knowledge of medicine is vast – they wouldn’t make a mistake. Brother Michael knows far more than I do. I cannot, for the life of me, believe that they would want to harm Bess. I think we must assume she died of grief made worse by her pregnancy.’
Jane gave the bottle back to Agnes and glanced at the open book on the table. She turned the pages back to the front cover and read the title, Banckes Herbal. Agnes saw her glance, and picked the book up.
‘Yes, this is a most useful book. It’s a compilation of all the early books on herbs. Brother Michael procured a copy for me. He’s very kind.’
‘Do you see him very often?’
‘Not often, but occasionally. We consult one another about difficult cases, and he’s always raiding my supplies when his store runs low, especially in the winter time. Now look who’s here! Ambrose, you’re not allowed in here, you know that. No, don’t jump up on the table. Jane can talk to you outside.’
Ambrose, a large and very black cat, took no notice. With one graceful leap he landed on the table, and from this vantage point he could curl himself around Jane’s outstretched arm, purring loudly. She stroked his glossy fur and he flexed his claws appreciatively on the table, ignoring Agnes’s cries of disapproval. Jane laughed.
‘Ambrose is in fine form.’
‘Yes, he likes this time of the year. The garden’s full of fledgings and the fields full of voles and mice. Come on, Ambrose, that’s enough of that. Come and have some milk. You’ll stay for a bite, Jane?’
‘Thanks, but I must be off. My father will soon want his dinner.’
‘Tell that father of yours to get his own dinner. You ought to have some time off.’
‘That’ll be the day. He’d sooner starve than get his own meal.’
Agnes walked with her to the gate, Ambrose, with twitching tail, leading the way.
‘I’m sorry about Bess, Jane; and I’m sorry I haven’t the knowledge to tell you what caused her death. Sometimes the Lord just takes back his own and it’s not our business to question His ways. Now give my regards to Lord Nicholas and tell him from me that it’s time he thought about taking another wife; and let it be soon.’
Jane untied Melissa and jumped up on to her back. With a flick of her tail, she trotted off. It was a lovely day and Jane decided not to go home just yet, but to give Melissa a gallop across the common. So she turned Melissa off the road and dug her heels into her sides. With a snort of indignation, Melissa raced off.
* * *
Merlin was heavy and cumbersome after Harry, and seemed reluctant to enter the wood. Merlin was, by nature, a lugubrious horse, safe, dependable but dull, and today he seemed to match Nicholas’s mood. All around them the carpet of bluebells glowed in the dappled sunlight that streamed down through the canopy of beech leaves, but all Nicholas could think of was Bess Knowles’s marble-white face and that still body lying before the altar in St John’s chapel, with a monk praying for her soul. It didn’t take much imagination to replace Bess’s face with Jane’s. He saw so clearly her heart-shaped face wrapped in its grave cloth and her beautiful hair shrouded from sight and her vivid blue eyes closed in death. Two innocent people had already died; pray God Jane wouldn’t be the next.
Cromwell had seemed pretty certain that the conspiracy wasn’t over yet; but where was it to reappear? And when? And who were the conspirators? Perhaps Mortimer would reveal more under interrogation, and then his way would become clear. But without more information, he felt he was groping in the dark.
With a heavy heart he arrived at Mortimer Lodge. The place looked deserted and an air of sadness hung like a black cloud over the courtyard where only days before he’d seen Sir Roger grooming Galliard. Now, no one came to take Merlin. He dismounted and tied him to a post. Then he walked over to the heavy, wooden front door and rang the bell. It was a long time before it was opened and a man whom he’d not seen before, peered out.
‘No visitors. Sir Roger’s not here,’ the man said.
‘I’m his neighbour, Lord Nicholas Peverell. Open this door at once. I’ve come to see that everything’s in order here.’ The door opened and a short, stocky man, dressed in a brown leather doublet and strong woollen hose, confronted him. His large, plain face was fringed with coarse black hair, and he looked coldly at Nicholas.
‘You’d better come in, then. I’m Roland Seaward, steward to Lord Gilbert Fitzroy, and sent here to administer this property until His Majesty the King decides what to do with it. There’s nothing to see, but come in if you must.’
It was unbelievable how much the house had altered since Sir Roger was arrested. There were no signs of life; no children playing and chattering; no Lady Margot going about her household tasks. Something had died when the Mortimers left. It felt as if the house had lost its soul. Only the cook, Mary, was still there in the kitchen. She was stirring a pot over the fire, and she looked up when Nicholas went in and promptly burst into tears.
‘My Lord, you see what we’ve come to. Everyone’s gone, and I’m left with this devil of a steward who expects me to cook for him three times a day. I’m ashamed to be here, but I’ve nowhere to go, and even if I had, Roland wouldn’t let me leave.’
‘Hush, Mary,’ said Nicholas soothingly, ‘you must stay here and look after the house until times become more settled. We don’t know whether Lady Margot might return with the children. You must hope for that.’
‘You really think they might come back here, my Lord? When I remember the faces of those poor children, shocked and bewildered they were, I thought I would never see them again. And God help me, at that moment I hated Sir Roger for letting his family suffer so.’
‘He thought he was doing the right thing. Just think of his wife and children and think of better times. Did you see Bess Knowles in her last moments, Mary?’
‘I did that. And that’s another thing. Why should the poor lass die? She was never ill, not a day’s illness as long as I’ve known her. I don’t understand it. She wanted that poor child. She was all ready to ma
rry Matthew; then he was taken and she just gave up and followed him.’
‘Can you remember whether she took any food?’
‘Not a morsel. It was almost as if she’d made up her mind to die, and die she did. A terrible thing to happen. Sometimes I think there’s a curse on this house.’
Nicholas comforted her as best he could, and Roland took him round the house, showing him the deserted rooms. It was as if the house was in mourning; Sir Roger’s desk was covered with a linen sheet; the beds were stripped, the shutters closed. Nicholas shuddered and decided there was nothing he could do there.
Shouting goodbye to Mary, he returned to Merlin, and mounted him. Using his whip, because Merlin seemed reluctant to move, he crossed the common and went into the wood. The sun had gone behind dark clouds, and Merlin was uneasy. Once in the wood, he refused to go along the woodland path and stopped, snorting uneasily.
‘What’s got into you, you old fool?’ said Nicholas, urging him on with his heels and the whip. But it was no use. Merlin began to play up, side-stepping over every fallen twig, and peering into every coppice. Then he stopped suddenly and refused to budge. The sun came out from behind a cloud and shone through the trees, creating a dappled effect on the ground. Then Nicholas saw something flit behind a tree; a dark, sinister figure, like a being from another world. He jumped and tried to look more closely, but the thing had disappeared. Then a twig cracked and that was enough for Merlin. With an almighty sideways leap, he shied away from the path and tore off through the thicket. Nicholas tried desperately to check him, but it was useless. Merlin was immensely strong. Too late, Nicholas saw the low branch ahead of him. Merlin made straight for it. The branch caught Nicholas across the chest and he fell heavily. Then he lost consciousness and Merlin, riderless, raced back to Peverell Manor.
Chapter Eleven
Nicholas didn’t surface until Tuesday morning. He opened his eyes and heard the twittering of the birds greeting the dawn, but he had no recollection of where he was or why he was there. He moved his head but the pain hit him like a blow of the blacksmith’s hammer, and he cursed and shut his eyes. Then he tried again. He moved his legs and found they still functioned; his arms and hands seemed normal. But when he tried to raise his head the hammers started again and his neck and shoulders were stiff and painful.
He sank back on his pillow and tried to concentrate, but it was no use, his memory wasn’t functioning. Then he must have drifted off to sleep because when he next opened his eyes the sun was streaming into the room and the worried face of Geoffrey Lowe swam into view. A voice was speaking to him.
‘Are you all right, my Lord?’
‘I’ll live,’ he murmured, noting with interest that his voice appeared disembodied and seemed to come from a long way away.
Geoffrey’s face relaxed. ‘Thank God for that. You had a nasty fall, my Lord.’
Then he remembered. Merlin. The figure behind the tree.
‘Who found me?’
‘Mistress Warrener.’
He jumped in surprise and the hammers started up again. ‘Jane Warrener? How?’
‘She was out riding that mare of hers, and saw Merlin rushing along the path like a mad thing, and she guessed you’d had a fall. She went looking for you, found you lying up there in the woods, and came back here for help. Simon and the lads brought you home on a stretcher. But Lord, sir, we all thought you’d had it. Bloody great bruise on your head, blood all over your face from where a bit of tree stuck into you. We cleaned you up, put you in your bed, and waited for you to wake up.’
‘Where’s Jane Warrener now?’
‘At home, I suppose. She took a good look at you, said you’d live and off she went. She’s a clever wench, that one. Didn’t think you’d broken any bones, and told us to let you sleep. She’ll be back soon, I shouldn’t wonder. Now sir, what can we do for you?’
‘What happened to Merlin?’
‘Oh he’s as right as rain – eating his oats, rolling his eyes like he always does. But I don’t understand how you came to have that fall, sir. There’s not a more placid horse than Merlin. Now Harry … I can understand if Harry threw you off his back. He’s all nerves and muscle, but old Merlin’s as safe as an old carthorse. That’s what comes of losing his balls, I suppose.’
‘He saw something in the woods – something he didn’t like the look of. He took one look and galloped off. Unfortunately, a tree got in the way, and I couldn’t turn him. He got under it, of course, but forgot he had me on his back.’
‘That explains the bruises on your chest. Jane Warrener guessed that’s what happened. Then you must have hit your head when you fell and ended up bruised and concussed. Now you’ll have to rest up a bit.’
‘Jane Warrener looked at my chest?’
‘Aye, that she did, sir. I couldn’t stop her. She took a look at other parts of you as well. She’s a right determined wench, that one, and doesn’t care what people think.’
Somehow the idea of Jane running her hands over his body to see whether any bones were broken appealed to him immensely, and he began to feel better.
‘Now get me some hot water, Geoffrey, and some food. Some eggs will do nicely, with bread and some honey.’
‘Shall I bring it up here, sir?’
‘Why not? I’ll sit at that table. But first get me cleaned up, there’s a good fellow. I can’t have Mistress Warrener seeing me in this state.’
‘She’ll not care. She saw you in a worse state when they brought you home.’
* * *
An hour later, washed and fed, he staggered back to bed, his head still throbbing painfully. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Jane came in with an anxious-looking Geoffrey behind her.
‘I told her not to come up, my Lord, but she insisted.’
‘Let her come in, Geoffrey. Nothing can stop Mistress Warrener when she’s in a determined mood. No, don’t you hang about,’ he said seeing his bailiff standing there helplessly, not knowing what to do. ‘I’ll give a shout when she leaves and you can escort her off the premises. Well, Jane,’ he said, as Geoffrey, still with disapproval, backed out of the door. ‘It appears you saved my life.’
He indicated a chair, and she sat down. ‘I found you and went to get help. Anyone would have done the same thing, but it was lucky I decided to go up to the common before I went home. I hope you’re feeling better?’
‘Much better for seeing you. There’s nothing wrong with me, just a bump on the head and a few bruises.’
‘It looks painful, but probably it looks worse than it is. I’m glad to see you’ve been cleaned up.’
‘Geoffrey sorted me out. What’ve you got in that basket, Jane? Have you brought me a present?’
‘Some eggs,’ she said, taking off the cloth that covered them. ‘Agnes gave them to me. They were really for my father, but I thought you might have more need of them.’
‘Quite right. Why should that old devil have newly laid eggs?’
‘Nicholas, stop calling my father names. He might be a bit outspoken, but he’s kind.’
‘Sorry. Like father, like daughter. Now tell me how did you get on with that old witch?’
‘There you go again. She’s a wise woman and a good friend, and there’s nothing she doesn’t know about herbs; but that doesn’t make her a witch. I asked her about the poisonous herbs, and she said most of them would have side effects. Bess, as you know, died peacefully – no vomiting, no drowsiness, no convulsions. So we’re no nearer to finding out why Bess died, and as her funeral is today, I suppose we never will. Another thing, what made Merlin bolt up there in the woods? I’ve always thought he seemed such a docile horse, a bit on the dull side really.’
‘Of course he’s dull. He’s a carrier horse, just one stage removed from a carthorse. He’s not supposed to be temperamental. Not like Harry. But thank God I wasn’t riding him. He would’ve panicked and jumped around a lot more than Merlin when he saw it.’
‘Saw what, Nicholas?’
>
‘The thing, wraith, call it what you will; it came sliding out from behind a tree. Its face, if it had a face, was covered, and I’ve never seen anything so diabolical. Merlin sensed it long before he saw it. He stopped dead and refused to budge. Then when it glided out from behind the tree, he bolted.’
‘Was it human or a beast?’
‘I’ve no idea. Could’ve been the devil for all I know. Anyway, that’s the reason why I was thrown off Merlin, and thank God you came along and found me.’
Suddenly, Jane leaned forward with a look of alarm on her face. ‘Nicholas, you don’t think…?’
‘Yes, I do think. I think someone knew where I was going, and decided to remove me from the local scenery. Thank God he didn’t quite succeed.’
‘Are you sure it was a “he”?’
‘I didn’t have time to notice its sex.’
‘Don’t joke. Someone tried to kill you.’
‘Well, at least he picked on me. So far, no one’s attacked you, thank God.’
‘That’s because I’m a girl, and not expected to know anything.’
‘How wrong they are. Now what the hell … Who’s this?’
Someone knocked on the door, it opened and Brother Martin walked in, his good-natured face beaming with pleasure at the sight of Nicholas sitting up alive and well.
‘Now what brings you here, Brother Martin?’, said Nicholas, trying to control his irritation. ‘Didn’t Geoffrey tell you that I had company?’
‘I’m not staying long, my Lord. We heard you’d had a fall and the Brothers send their best wishes for a speedy recovery. They will be pleased when I tell them that you are on the way to recovery. Brother Michael told me to tell you that a blow on the head must always be taken seriously, and he sends you this tonic.’
The monk rummaged about in the sleeve of his habit, and took out a small glass phial with a stopper. ‘He sends you this healing potion. It will soothe your mind and heal the wound. Drink it and you’ll be feeling better in no time at all.’