The Winter King (24 page)

Caliste, to whom quite a few of those accusations equally applied, waited until she felt she could speak calmly. Then she said, ‘Even if what you say is true, Lady Richenza, are any of these reasons to accuse Meggie of killing a man with a poorly prepared potion?’

Lady Richenza’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she sought furiously for a reply. Then she hissed, ‘
She’s not like the rest of us!
’

There was dead silence in the little room. Then Caliste repeated, very softly, ‘Not like the rest of us.’ She glanced first at Lady Richenza, then at Sebastian. ‘I see.’

The steward, at least, had the grace to look abashed.

After a moment, he said to Lady Richenza, ‘We should leave, my lady, and allow the abbess to return to her work.’

Lady Richenza looked as if she was about to protest. Then, as if even she appreciated there was little point in remaining, she spun on her heel, setting her wide skirts swirling, and flounced towards the door. Sebastian slipped ahead of her just in time to open it for her.

Standing in the doorway, she turned back to glare at Caliste. ‘We will return,’ she said icily. ‘For now, we shall go down to Tonbridge and seek out the sheriff.’ She gave a triumphant nod. ‘In the meantime, I shall order my servants to search for her.’ Sebastian began to protest, but she ignored him. ‘She shall be brought to justice!’ Then, closing the door with a bang, she was gone.

Caliste listened as the sound of footsteps faded away. She made herself wait. Too soon, and she might find Lady Richenza and her retinue still lingering on the forecourt. She must not let them see her.

Wait just a little longer …

When she could control her impatience no more, she left her room and hurried off along the cloister. First, she had to find someone fast and reliable to go and find Josse. Then she must set about finding Meggie.

Before anyone else did.

T
here were too many of the Hawkenlye community in the vicinity of the main gates and the forecourt for Caliste to risk leaving the abbey that way. Instead, she made for the smaller, rear gate that opened on to the path down to the vale. Slipping out, careful to ensure she was not spotted, she turned to her left, hurrying round the abbey walls until the long slope up to the forest opened up before her.

The ancient trees of the place of her birth seemed to welcome her and, as soon as she was within their embrace, the tumult of her thoughts was calmed. She stopped for a moment, her breathing steadying. Then she set about hunting for Meggie.

Still torn with guilt because she had failed to protect Lilas, Meggie had offered to go out into the outer fringes of the forest, to see if she could pick up any signs of activity. Those had been her very words, although Caliste knew what she was thinking: if the worst had happened, and Lilas was dead, then the forest was a good place to hide a body.

Caliste searched for some time. Then, emerging from one of the faint animal tracks that criss-crossed the forest, she found herself in the clearing before St Edmund’s Chapel. Emerging through its doorway was Meggie.

‘Meggie!’ Caliste called.

Meggie turned at her voice. ‘Good morning, Abbess Caliste!’ she called back.

‘Wait there,’ Caliste said, hurrying towards her. ‘I need to speak to you, but let’s go back into the chapel.’
Where we’re less likely to be seen
, she added silently.

The two women entered the chapel, then embraced. ‘I’ve been down with the Black Madonna,’ Meggie said. ‘I’ve been asking her to help us find Lilas.’

‘No sign of her?’

‘None. I was about to come back to the abbey and tell you so.’

Caliste paused. Then she said, ‘Meggie, I have just had a visit from Lord Benedict’s widow and her steward.’ Succinctly, undramatically, she told Meggie what the visitors had said.

Meggie looked her straight in the eyes. ‘I did not prescribe any remedy for him, and I certainly didn’t kill him,’ she said. ‘Nor did I inflict that wound.’ Her composure cracking, she burst out, ‘It was I who found it; I who told Sabin and my father! Why would I draw attention to the fact if I thought I’d got away with it? Anyway, it was …’ With a visible effort, she held back whatever she had been about to say. ‘I am not involved in this death, I—’

‘Meggie, stop.’ Caliste reached out for her hand. ‘I believe you.’

Meggie’s wide brown eyes (
so like her father’s
, Caliste thought, with an ache in her heart) were fixed on hers. ‘Do you?’ she whispered.

‘Of course.’ There was nothing more to be said.

‘Then … what are we going to do?’ Meggie sounded desolate.

‘I’ve sent word to your father,’ Caliste said briskly, ‘and, knowing him as I do, I suspect he’ll come hurrying over to help.’

‘If Lady Richenza is planning on seeking out Gervase – and, presumably, bringing him back to the abbey – then I suppose she’ll expect to find me there,’ Meggie said slowly. ‘Should I come back to Hawkenlye with you?

Caliste gave her a smile. ‘You should, my dear Meggie, but if I were you, it’s the very last thing I would do.’

Meggie hugged her, very tightly. ‘Please will you tell my father not to worry?’

Caliste smiled. ‘I’ll tell him, yes, but I’m not sure he’ll take any notice.’

They stood for several moments, still hugging. Then Meggie gently detached herself. With a wry smile, she turned and slipped out of the chapel.

Helewise, standing beside the door in Abbess Caliste’s room, watched as Josse furiously defended his daughter.

‘Abbess Caliste, I don’t believe you can know the whole story,’ he thundered, ‘for I doubt Meggie would have told you. It involves someone else.’

Caliste, Helewise observed, did not appear to be the least fazed by Josse’s anger.
She knows as well as I do
, she thought,
that it is not directed at her
. ‘I think, Sir Josse,’ the abbess said mildly, ‘that if I am to face Lady Richenza’s accusations again when she returns,
you
had better tell me. Everything you know, please, for that way I may best be able to assist you in defending Meggie.’

‘It was …’ Josse began. But then he stopped.
He is protecting Sabin
,
Helewise thought.
Even now, when his own precious daughter stands falsely accused, he hesitates to implicate another.
‘You must tell her, Josse,’ she said quietly. ‘Let us have the truth; at least here, among the three of us.’

He turned to look at her, and she was filled with pity at the pain in his eyes. Then, once more facing Abbess Caliste, he said, ‘Sabin de Gifford prepared two potions, one for Lord Benedict, one for Lady Richenza.’ As if having made up his mind to speak, it seemed he was going to be blunt. ‘She – Lady Richenza – wanted to render him impotent and, if the worst happened and she was at risk of conceiving his child, she wanted to make sure it did not happen.’

‘Were these potions dangerous?’ If she was shocked, the abbess managed to disguise the fact.

‘No, they were not; not really,’ Josse replied. ‘And certainly not fatal: I have Meggie’s assurance of that. It was she who told me all this,’ he added. ‘She, too, revealed to me the presence of the stab wound that was the true cause of Lord Benedict’s death.’

‘I am very relieved,’ Abbess Caliste said. ‘I did not for one moment suspect Meggie, Sir Josse, but I am glad of your reassurance that Sabin’s potion, too, could not have proved fatal.’ As if suddenly struck by some reassuring thought, she smiled. ‘Lady Richenza’s steward – tall, black-clad man?’

‘Sebastian Garrique. Aye, I’ve met him,’ Josse said grimly.

‘Yes. He announced his intention of involving Gervase; he said he knows him. What I am thinking, Sir Josse, is that we have no more need to worry!’ Her smile widened. ‘As soon as Sabin learns that Meggie is accused, she will speak up and admit it was she, not Meggie, who prepared the medication for Lord Benedict. She will be quite safe to do so, for we are certain that it was not responsible for his death.’

‘Aye,’ Josse said. ‘I am sure you are right, my lady.’

He says the right words
, Helewise thought, a shiver of fear catching at her heart.
Why, then, do I sense that he does not actually believe them?

‘I think,’ she said, moving to stand beside Josse, ‘that, even though we may be sure of Meggie’s innocence swiftly being proved, nevertheless it might be wise for her to keep out of the way.’

There was no response from Josse. But the abbess, raising her head, met Helewise’s eyes. ‘I’ve already thought of that,’ she murmured.

When the summons came, Helewise thought Josse was going to refuse it. ‘Why should I have to hurry down to Tonbridge to answer for my daughter?’ he raged. ‘Especially when she’s innocent!’

Gervase’s messenger stood in the doorway of the abbess’s room, looking as if he wished he was anywhere but there.

‘Perhaps it would be as well to do as Gervase asks, Sir Josse,’ the abbess said. ‘The summons is, after all, for Meggie, and we are unable to comply since she is not here. If you go immediately, your assurances on her behalf, as well as any new evidence that may be presented, may carry sufficient weight that the charge against her is dropped.’

She is right
, Helewise thought. She realized – as Josse apparently had not – what the abbess did not want to say in front of the messenger: that, as soon as Sabin spoke up, the case against Meggie would dissolve.

‘I will come with you, Josse,’ she said. ‘The day draws on, but we should go straight away. The sooner this is resolved, the better.’

They did not speak on the ride down to Tonbridge. Riding side by side behind the messenger, Helewise knew Josse would not want to discuss what was foremost on their minds when the man might overhear. To talk of anything else just then was, Helewise thought, out of the question.

The messenger led the way to Gervase’s house. She followed Josse up the steps, and, as if someone within had been looking out for them, the door opened to admit them. Helewise, looking at the tableau before her, drew in her breath sharply. Seated in a semicircle beside the hearth were Lady Richenza, Sebastian Garrique and Sabin de Gifford. All three stared at Helewise and Josse as if they had just been tried and found guilty.

Gervase, perhaps deliberately distancing himself, stood apart. Then, as the frozen moment broke up, he stepped forward, greeted them and drew up two more chairs.

‘You have not brought the healer woman,’ Lady Richenza said.

Helewise sensed Josse’s furious response. Hastily she put out a hand, taking hold of his arm. ‘Gently,’ she whispered.

He took a very deep breath, then said, ‘The healer woman is my daughter, and she has a name. Meggie has not yet returned to the abbey, and so we have come in her stead.’ He turned to look straight at Sabin. ‘I would have thought,’ he added, ‘that this misunderstanding ought to have been resolved by now.’

Sabin held his eyes for a moment. Then, flushing slightly, she lowered her head.

Lady Richenza’s light, glassy voice rang out again. ‘My husband was given a potion which, in all likelihood, caused his death. During the laying-out of his body – a task performed by your daughter, Sir Josse – an attempt was made to disguise the manner of his death by the inflicting of a deep, narrow stab wound. Thus, by trying to confuse the cause of death, did this healer seek to cover up her own culpability.’

‘But that wasn’t …’ Josse began. Then, as the truth dawned, he gasped.

Helewise, who had reached the same conclusion an instant before, leapt to her feet. Before Josse could say anything (she feared that an explosion of furious indignation would only make matters worse) she said, ‘There is no reason to suspect that the potion prepared for Lord Benedict caused him harm. We have been assured by Meggie that none of the ingredients could possibly have been fatal.’ She turned, very deliberately, and stared very hard at Sabin.

Again, Sabin dropped her head.

‘Who but she knows what went into the potion?’ Sebastian Garrique said. ‘Did anyone else verify the contents?’

There was a tense silence.

Then Josse, too, stood up. ‘Meggie did not prepare it,’ he said. He walked over to Sabin, standing right over her. ‘It was prepared by Mistress Gifford here, and it was you, Sabin, who hastened in fear to consult Meggie when Lord Benedict died, desperate for her reassurance that your potion was not to blame.’

For a heartbeat, Sabin looked up and met his eyes. Then, very coldly, she said, ‘I didn’t.’

Amid the shocked tumult of reaction whirling in her head, Helewise had one single, clear thought:
I knew this was going to happen
.

She said, trying to sound calm and reasonable, ‘But, Sabin, we know that is not true. You came to seek out Meggie and, although at first she respected your confidences, once she had found the stab wound, she felt she had no choice but to tell her father. Sir Josse and I are privy to the whole story, my dear,’ she went on, trying to put some warmth and compassion into her voice, ‘and we know that you first visited Medley Hall because Lady Richenza summoned you, and you subsequently prescribed remedies for both her and Lord Benedict. Then, as Sir Josse has just said, when you feared that you had inadvertently harmed Lord Benedict, you asked Meggie to go with you and reassure you that you had done nothing of the sort. Meggie,’ she added meaningfully, ‘was happy to oblige, and readily gave you the comfort you so badly needed.’

Even as Helewise addressed her, Sabin was shaking her head, muttering, ‘No,
no
.’ Looking up at Helewise, she said, ‘The first time I went to Medley Hall was in the company of the two Tonbridge canons, Stephen and Mark, who asked me to go with them to view Lord Benedict’s body, and try to ascertain the cause of death.’ She turned to stare first, very intently, at Lady Richenza, and then at Gervase. ‘It’s a lie, to say I had been before!’

Stepping forward, Gervase said, ‘What did you and the canons decide, Sabin?’

‘Lord Benedict died from a spasm of the heart,’ she said firmly. ‘Canon Stephen – he’s the infirmarian – said Lord Benedict had recently been to consult him, and Stephen told him to eat less and take more exercise, which would improve his health and help his heart.’