the idea no longer appealed now that her aunt was dead. ‘I do not believe that either of them would have done anything so wicked.’
‘Well, perhaps it was not poison,’ Sister Cecile said, clearly uncertain. ‘I must write a letter to the Bishop and he will send a brother versed in these things to investigate. I shall not lay the blame at your door whatever his decision—but do not trust Agnes.’
‘Why do you suspect her?’ Melissa asked, her fine brows raised.
‘I found her coming from Mother Abbess’s room not an hour ago. When I asked her why she was not in the cell she had been given, she said that she had gone out to the privy and lost her way—but that would be hard to do unless she is blind or a fool.’
‘Agnes is neither,’ Melissa said. ‘Say nothing of this to anyone but the Bishop and his representative when he comes. I shall watch Agnes and if she betrays herself in any way I shall send word to the Bishop myself.’
‘Then we are in agreement,’ the nun said. ‘I do not wish to distress my sisters at this time. Perhaps I am wrong to suspect foul play.’ She was thoughtful, then said, ‘May I ask why the Abbess wished to speak to you in private? Did it concern matters here?’
‘No, it was merely a family matter,’ Melissa said. ‘I am sure that it had nothing to do with her death.’ And yet the letter she had given Melissa contained a secret that she had not wanted to reveal until after she was dead.
‘Very well,’ Cecile said. ‘Her body will be displayed in the chapel once I have made her clean and sweet. You may pay your respects to her in the morning before you leave.’
‘May I not stay until she is buried?’
‘You are not one of us. Unless you need nursing—or receive a dispensation from Mother Abbess or the Bishop—you may not stay here more than one night. I am sorry but I did not make the rules, though I must abide by them.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ Melissa said. She had hoped that her aunt would grant that dispensation, but it was too late.
‘What of my kinsman Owain?’
‘The monks care for him,’ the nun said. ‘I will inquire in the morning how he does—but if you wish to remain nearby you must find lodgings. I believe there is a decent hostel in the village of Melford, which is some five leagues distant.’
‘I thank you for your kindness—and your devotion to my aunt,’ Melissa said. ‘We shall leave you in the morning.’
‘Yes, you must go. We need to grieve for Mother,’ Cecile said, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I am sorry that you must leave, but you may not remain at such a time—and I would remind you to be wary of the woman Agnes.’
‘Yes, I shall watch her,’ Melissa promised. ‘I can find my own way back to my cell, thank you.’
Sister Cecile inclined her head. Melissa walked to the door. There she glanced back and saw the nun on her knees beside the bed, her head bent in prayer. Closing the door softly behind her, Melissa was thoughtful as she walked back to her tiny cell. Was it possible that one of her women had administered a poison to the Abbess—and if so, why had she done it? She could hardly believe it was so for why would anyone wish to harm that good woman?
Melissa felt the beginning of a deep anger inside her. If she discovered that Agnes had murdered the Abbess she would make sure that she was justly punished. Yet there remained the mystery of why a woman who had always seemed loyal should do such a thing.
Rhona was waiting for her when Melissa returned to her chamber. She greeted her mistress with an anxious look.
‘You look distressed, my lady,’ she said. ‘Is your aunt no better?’
‘My aunt died,’ Melissa said, a catch in her voice. She was keeping her tears at bay for she needed to be alert. ‘Where is Agnes?’
‘I do not know, my lady. She said that she needed to visit the privy and she has not returned, though it was more than an hour since. Would you wish me to look for her?’
‘No, stay here with me,’ Melissa said. ‘And light one of the wax candles we brought with us. I cannot bear the stench of tallow.’ She did not think she would ever forget the smell of burning tallow mixed with the foul bile that her aunt had vomited. ‘There is something I wish to read.’ Melissa knew that she was fortunate that she had been taught to read, because many women were not. It was not always thought necessary, but in this at least, Lord Whitbread had been generous.
‘As you wish, my lady.’ Rhona took a thick candle from their saddlebag and brought it near, striking tinder. As it flared to life, she lit the candle and set it upon the stool for the only pieces of furniture the cell contained were a stool and the straw pallet. ‘Is there light enough or shall I bring another?’
‘I can see if I kneel on the pallet,’ Melissa said, and took the letter from her pouch, breaking the seal. She read the words her aunt had written, gasping as she realised what they meant. ‘No, it cannot be…’
‘Is something wrong, my lady?’
‘Go to your own bed, Rhona,’ Melissa said. ‘I would be alone.’
As the woman left her, Melissa held the letter closer to the candle, reading it once more. She had thought that she must have imagined its contents, but the words had not changed.
The Abbess had accused Lord Whitbread of murdering his wife!
It is certain that your mother did not die in childbed. I received a letter from her to say that you were born and asking me to be your godmother. I could not give that promise, but as you know I have always taken an interest in you, my dearest child. When I heard that your mother had died I believed it from a fever, for your father wrote that it was so—but some weeks later your mother’s kinswoman, Alanna Davies, came to see me.
She swore to me that her cousin had been well when she was sent on an errand and when she returned she was not allowed to see her. For some days she was barred from Lady Whitbread’s chamber and then she was told that her cousin had died, but she says it is a lie. She heard screaming in the night and she believes that Lord Whitbread killed his wife for she saw him coming from her chamber and there was blood on his clothes.
I made discreet inquiries but nothing could be proved, though I incurred your father’s lifelong hatred for it. I can tell you no more, Melissa, but if you are in danger go to Alanna Davies for she would help you. She resides with Morgan of Hywell and has influential relatives or I doubt not that she too would have met her death.
If you are reading this then I am dead. Know that I have loved you beyond what was permitted me. I have revealed my secret only because I wish you to be aware of Lord Whitbread’s nature. If you should cross him I dare not think what he might do. Live well and kindly, my dear child, and think only that I loved you. Your Aunt Beatrice—Abbess of the Church of Saint Mark and the order of the Sisters of Mercy.
Melissa folded the paper and returned it to her pouch. Her hands were trembling and for some minutes she could only sit and stare at the shadows on the wall. Her father had not been kind to her but she could never have imagined that he could be guilty of the murder of his own wife. It was a wicked crime, yet she could not be certain of his guilt for there was no proof against him. He had sworn that
