Whiter than the Lily

by Alys Clare

  The eldest girl – well, virtually a woman now, Josse conceded, and probably about to follow in her sister’s footsteps and find herself a husband – had hurried to help her mother, gently taking the heavier objects from Audra’s hands with a smile and a quick word. She was graceful in her movements and modest in her dress and hairstyle; the neck of her gown was cut high and its skirt was widely flaring. Her hair – brown and thick – was coiled at the back of her head and covered with a neat square of snowy-white linen, starched to an impressive stiffness. However, neither cap nor gown could disguise the girl’s figure: she was, Josse thought, one of the most voluptuous young women he had had the pleasure of meeting. It would be a lucky man who took her to bed as his wife.

  The two other daughters were aged about thirteen and eight and, other than obeying meekly when ordered by their mother to put the benches up to the table, said and did little. Like their sisters, they too were dark-haired, although one had a tinge of auburn in her long plaits.

  Audra, Josse realised now, was pregnant. The high waist of her gown and her decorative linen apron concealed her condition to a degree and contrived to make it not apparent when she was standing still. However, in organising the refreshments she had occasionally to stretch across the table, and then the tightening of the garments across her body made the bump plain to see.

  Audra was, Josse reckoned, in her early to mid thirties. Her family certainly stretched across a wide age range, for the next child was not yet born and the first had been eighteen years old. So Galiena would have been born when Audra was about fifteen.

  It was quite possible. On the other hand, Audra might be older than she looked. Ah well, Josse concluded, it was hardly a concern of his. Watching the round, capable little woman as she issued quiet orders that were instantly obeyed – which earned her Josse’s admiration all over again – something, however, was nagging at him …

  Before he had time to work out what it was, he was summoned to the table and invited to eat. He had not thought himself hungry but, on seeing the spread, he realised that he was. The family served him with impeccable manners, one daughter filling his cup, another breaking bread for him, a third piling his platter with meats and piquant, highly spiced sauces. When everyone had been served, Raelf cleared his throat, closed his eyes and said a simple prayer. Besides giving thanks for the food, he prayed for Galiena and, when he had finished, they all said softly, ‘Amen’.

  Now that the family were at table, Raelf seemed to take command once more. He said firmly, ‘There is a time for grieving, and it will be long and sorrowful for us. But we must also remember the living, especially Sir Josse, who has ridden so far to bring us this dread news, and also my wife, who is in particular need of nourishment.’ He met Audra’s eyes and they exchanged a smile. ‘So, one and all, put aside your sadness and let us eat.’

  He picked up his knife, cut himself a good-sized chunk of ham, put it on a piece of bread and, pushing it into his mouth, began to chew. One by one the girls, Audra and Josse followed his example and, for a time, there was silence in the hall other than the normal domestic sounds of a family at their meal.

  When the food and drink had been cleared away, Audra told her eldest girl to take her sisters off outside. ‘Take them on a wild flower hunt,’ she suggested, ‘a new ribbon for the one who finds the most.’ Then, when the girls had gone, Raelf came to sit beside Josse, and Audra resumed her place at the end of the table.

  ‘Now, if you please, tell us how she died,’ Raelf said.

  Josse drew breath and said, ‘I regret that there is little I can add to what I have already told you. I was taken to meet the lord Ambrose and Galiena by—’ No. Perhaps it was better not to mention Brice. ‘I was invited to Ryemarsh, I think, because Ambrose knew of my connection with Hawkenlye Abbey and wished to ask my advice. He and Galiena were, as I said, anxious that she should conceive a child and Galiena’s own remedies had been ineffective.’

  ‘She was skilled in the use of herbs,’ Audra put in. ‘It was one of the things we most missed when she wed Ambrose and left us. Although in truth she did not ignore us when she became a wife but was always ready to hurry back to give advice and make up simples for us when we fell sick.’

  Raelf nodded. ‘Aye, she remained a daughter of the house even though she was mistress of her own,’ he said sadly. ‘But please, Sir Josse, continue.’

  ‘Er – I told Ambrose that the nuns of Hawkenlye were rightly famed for their care and their skill, and that there was also the precious holy water, renowned for effecting miracles. He decided that he and Galiena should visit the Abbey and she was keen to set out straight away. Ambrose had matters to attend to at Ryemarsh but, because Galiena was so eager, it was arranged that she should ride on ahead with her woman servant and a lad. She was cared for well at Hawkenlye and two preparations were made up for her. She expressed the desire to return home as soon as she could but had to wait because one remedy was not quite ready. While she waited, she passed the time by going for a long walk on the fringes of the forest and, while she was absent, Ambrose arrived. The journey seemed to have affected him and a bed was found for him in the infirmary.’

  ‘What was the matter with him?’ Raelf asked.

  ‘Oh – I believe he was exhausted,’ Josse said. He could not honestly recall what he had been told. ‘Confused, I think.’

  Audra looked puzzled. ‘It does not sound typical of Ambrose,’ she said with a frown. ‘He’s a strong man still, well able to ride all day without any ill effects.’ She looked at Josse, a faint smile replacing the frown. ‘We were a little shocked when Galiena expressed her desire to marry a man so much older than herself but, as we came to know him, we understood what she saw in him. He has a sort of power in him, does he not? An air of command.’

  ‘Aye, he does,’ Josse agreed. He, too, had been surprised at the news of Ambrose’s apparent collapse. Even more so in the light of the fact that he seemed to be quite himself again the next day.

  ‘So, Galiena was out walking and Ambrose in the infirmary,’ Raelf resumed. ‘Please continue, Sir Josse.’

  ‘The nuns went to the Abbey church for Vespers, leaving a small staff of lay nurses on duty in the infirmary.’ He concentrated on remembering the Abbess’s careful account of that crucial time. ‘Afterwards, Ambrose said that Galiena had been to see him and that she had massaged his painful hands with some of her special lotion.’

  ‘So she had come back from her walk?’ Audra asked.

  ‘It is not certain, my lady,’ Josse replied. ‘There is some possibility that Ambrose dreamt it. He was, they say, very drowsy. But someone had indeed been treating his hands for the lotion could still be detected on the skin.’

  ‘Nobody else saw her?’ Raelf demanded.

  ‘No, unfortunately not. As I say, she could easily have slipped in unobserved while most of the nursing staff were at Vespers.’

  ‘Hm.’ Raelf looked thoughtful. ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘The Abbess Helewise visited Ambrose and while she was at his bedside Galiena came staggering into the infirmary. She was having difficulty breathing, her face was swollen and she was in great distress. The infirmarer rushed to her aid but it was too late and there was nothing she could do.’

  There was silence for a moment. Then Audra whispered, ‘Did she suffer much?’

  Josse looked at her. ‘I am told not, my lady. Whatever overcame her acted swiftly.’

  ‘Was it poison?’ Raelf asked, his voice gruff.

  ‘We think so. There was a suggestion that she might have eaten berries or mushrooms in the forest and that one of them contained the deadly toxin that killed her.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Audra stated flatly. ‘Galiena knew every berry and every type of fungus that is found in the region. Why, one of the first lessons she taught her sisters was how to recognise poisonous plants! Given the rampant curiosity of my four, I’ve had reason to thank her for it more than once, I can tell you!’

  My four. Again
something stirred in Josse’s mind.

  But Raelf interrupted the thought. ‘Is that the only explanation that Hawkenlye can offer?’ he asked. ‘That a woman famous for her herbal skills inadvertently ate a death-cap mushroom or a handful of deadly nightshade berries? I think not.’ Then, after the briefest of pauses: ‘The sorcerer’s berry does not produce its fruit until late summer. And surely the weather has been too dry for the death-cap, which does not normally appear until autumn.’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse agreed heavily. He had always doubted the explanation anyway. ‘Aye, you’re right.’

  ‘There is truly no doubt but that the remedies prepared for her could not have hurt her?’ Audra asked.

  ‘None whatever, my lady,’ Josse assured her. ‘One she had not even been given, the other she probably had not had time to drink from. Just in case she did, someone else sampled it and she took no harm.’

  ‘Who was it? The nun who made it?’ Raelf asked with a certain belligerence.

  ‘No,’ Josse said quietly. ‘It was Abbess Helewise.’

  Audra’s brown eyes widened. Her husband, who had the grace to look slightly shamefaced, said, ‘She has great confidence in her herbalist’s work, then.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Josse agreed.

  The three fell silent. Now that he was not being called upon to recount the tale of Galiena’s death and that, for the time being anyway, the anxious questions had ceased, Josse had a moment to make some sense of the scramble of impressions he had formed. And, at last, he knew what it was that had been bothering him. Now all that remained was finding a tactful way to discover if he was right.

  There came the sound of voices and then the four girls were at the door. Behind them, accompanied by a grave-faced boy of about nine or ten and a pretty, bright-eyed girl a little younger, was a woman. Her smooth face was framed by barbette and light veil, under which her thick, fair hair was coiled in plaits around the crown of her head and down over her ears. She was quite tall and her figure was neat and slim. In the tumult of all that was going on about her, the sea-green eyes held an expression of serenity.

  Audra got up to greet her and, in a low voice, asked her something, in reply to which the woman nodded, putting her arm round Audra and pulling her close in a reassuring hug. It was likely, Josse thought, that Audra had just confirmed that the newcomer had been told the grim news. As they stood together, the affection between them was apparent and Josse wondered if they were sisters. Turning to Josse, Audra said, ‘Sir Josse, this is Isabella de Burghay, my daughters’ aunt, and these are her children, Roger and Marthe.’

  Isabella inclined her head gracefully and said, ‘Greetings, Sir Josse. You have taken on the unpleasant role of bearer of ill tidings, I understand.’

  ‘Aye, my lady.’ He stood up. It was something more than courtesy that prompted the movement; in the back of his mind was forming the thought that, with the arrival of the calm and sensible-looking Isabella de Burghay – she had been introduced as the girls’ aunt, so presumably he was right about her being Audra’s sister – perhaps he could slip away. The Lord knows, he thought, I’d like to well enough.

  Raelf stood up too. Turning to Josse, he said, ‘Forgive me if my questions were too blunt and delivered too forcefully, Sir Josse. As my sister-in-law says, yours was not a pleasant task and then, having performed it with such tact and kindness, you were faced with my suspicions and my scepticism.’

  ‘Both of which I understand and for which I readily excuse you,’ Josse assured him.

  Raelf nodded. Then he said, quietly so that Josse alone would hear, ‘You are not going to let it rest, Sir Josse?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Aye,’ Raelf said with a faint smile. ‘I know of your reputation and they tell me that you do not give up until you are satisfied.’

  Wondering just which of his exploits had reached the ears of the family at Readingbrooke, Josse said, hoping he was not promising more than he could achieve, ‘I will do my utmost to find out why your daughter died, Sir Raelf. And when I do, I will come and tell you.’

  Raelf looked at him for a moment. Then, with a nod, said, ‘Nobody could offer more.’

  The women and the girls had gathered together at the far end of the hall, Audra and her sister sitting down. Isabella, obviously a beloved aunt, was cradling the smallest Readingbrooke child on her lap and the second youngest was sitting at her feet. Her son, Josse noticed, was standing on the edge of the group glaring across the hall towards his uncle as if he resented having to stay with the women and longed to be allowed to join the men.

  The family needed to be together, he thought, without the presence of outsiders. He said to Raelf, ‘It’s time I was on my way. If I leave now, I can be at my own house at New Winnowlands before dusk.’

  ‘Of course,’ Raelf said at once. ‘I am sorry that we have detained you for so long. I will come out to see you on your road.’

  Not wishing to disturb the womenfolk, Josse said as they crossed the hall, ‘Would you thank your wife for her hospitality and wish her and the ladies goodbye for me?’

  Glancing at the group of dark and fair heads all leaning together as the women and girls talked and comforted each other, Raelf said, understanding, ‘I will.’

  Out in the yard, Horace stood unsaddled. Someone had rubbed him down and watered him and he looked half-asleep. Raelf looked vaguely around for the saddle and then said, ‘Jack will have put it away safely somewhere. Excuse me, Sir Josse, while I seek him out.’

  Josse waited, leaning a shoulder comfortably against Horace and absently patting the horse’s neck. Hearing light footsteps from behind him, he turned and saw Audra hurrying across the courtyard.

  ‘My lady, I am sorry, I did not wish to disturb you to say goodbye—’ he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

  ‘I wanted to speak to you before you leave, Sir Josse,’ she said. The light brown eyes were fixed on his and she added, ‘There is more to this than at first it seems, I think.’

  Instantly he felt guilty. There was much that he had left out of his account: why had Galiena arrived alone? Why had she not told the Hawkenlye nuns that Ambrose would be joining her there? Why had she been so reluctant to be examined and helped by Sister Euphemia? Why had Josse been so disturbed by Brice’s strangely excited behaviour that day at Ryemarsh? And, most crucial of all, why had Galiena gone for treatment for her barrenness when she was already pregnant?

  Aware that Audra was studying him closely, he said awkwardly, ‘My lady, I am sorry if you feel that I have been less than frank, but—’

  Again she stopped him. This time, with a rueful smile, she said, ‘Oh, no, Sir Josse. It is not you that I accuse but us.’ Then, glancing around as if to ensure that they were alone – Raelf’s voice could be heard somewhere inside, calling out, ‘Jack! Jack! Where the devil has the lad got to now?’ – she said softly, ‘There are things that I believe you ought to be told.’

  ‘Ah. Oh.’ He did not know what to say.

  Her smile deepened fleetingly as if she were amused at his confusion. But then her face straightened and, staring into his eyes, she said, ‘You have, I think, drawn some conclusions of your own, for I have observed how you were studying us.’

  Deciding to repay her frankness with honesty of his own, he said, ‘Aye, my lady. I met Galiena but once, and on that occasion I took note of her appearance. And, truth to tell, I cannot but conclude that she could not have been of the same parentage as your four girls, for there is a uniformity to their appearance that suggests the perpetration of a strong family likeness. In addition, all four resemble their parents. You and Sir Raelf. Also I note that you said Galiena taught your four’ – he emphasised the words – ‘how to distinguish poisonous plants. Finally, madam, I have to say that, had you been Galiena’s mother, you would have had to be a very young bride.’

  Making a small bow as if in thanks for the implied compliment, Audra said, ‘You guess rightly. Raelf was married before but his wife died. Galiena was the
ir child and she was less than a year old when Matilda succumbed to a winter fever. Matilda was never strong, or so I am told, and her poor health caused many problems.’

  She was looking at Josse expectantly, as if she thought he might read more into her words than their immediate meaning. ‘Ah. I see,’ he said, although he was sure he did not.

  Audra was still watching him. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly she asked, ‘Sir Josse, are you acquainted with Brice of Rotherbridge?’

  Shocked, Josse said without pausing to think, ‘Aye, lady. He is a neighbour of mine.’ Belatedly he added, ‘Why do you ask?’

  But she shook her head. ‘It does not matter. It is of my own family that I would speak. Raelf and I met at Isabella’s house – her husband was still alive then but he died eight years later in a hunting accident. Raelf had recently lost his wife and was faced with raising a small, motherless daughter. At first, I admit, my feelings for him were more dutiful than loving and the main impulse in marrying him was because I had fallen for his baby daughter. But love soon followed, Sir Josse, for Raelf is a good man and has been the best husband I could have wished for.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ Josse murmured.

  ‘Our own children soon came along,’ she continued, a happy, reminiscent smile on her plump face, ‘all daughters, as you see. My Emma is soon to be betrothed, but we shall still have Bertha, Alda and little Ewise to love and for my husband to spoil.’ She shot a sideways glance at Josse and, blushing faintly, said quietly, ‘And soon there will be another baby in the cradle. Perhaps it will be a boy this time.’

  Embarrassed, Josse muttered some appropriate sentiments expressing the hope that mother and child would fare well.

  She laughed softly, putting a kindly hand on his arm. ‘Thank you. Childbed holds no great fears for me any more and I am thankful to say that the good Lord seems to look kindly on my babies and He bestows on them strength and good health.’