correcting herself, she said, ‘Did not appear to be happy, rather, for she confided neither in me nor, as far as I know, in any of her sisters.’
‘I see.’ He tried to absorb the rapid thumbnail sketch of the dead nun, and failed. He was having a problem of adjustment: until this moment, she had been just that, a dead nun. Now, suddenly, she was a person. Not a very happy person. ‘Did she have any particular friends?’ he asked, more for something to say than any real desire to know. Was it relevant if she did have?
‘No.’ Abbess Helewise didn’t hesitate. ‘Well, not, that is, until—’
She was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed almost instantly by the arrival of a plump nun of about fifty. ‘Abbess Helewise, I’m so sorry to barge in on you, but – oh. Sorry.’
Blushing a hot, embarrassed red, the nun backed out of the room.
‘May I present my infirmarer, Sister Euphemia,’ the Abbess said calmly. ‘Euphemia, come back in. This is Josse d’Acquin.’ Josse stood up and bowed. ‘He has come from the Plantagenet court. He wishes to hear what we may be able to tell him of poor Gunnora.’
‘He does?’ The infirmarer’s eyes rounded ‘Why?’
Abbess Helewise glanced at Josse, as if to say, shall I tell her or will you? Receiving no response, she said, ‘Because, Euphemia, King Richard has doubly a need to understand what lies behind her murder. For one thing, she was of our community here at Hawkenlye, and his mother the Queen Eleanor has close contacts with our house. For another, it was in order to perpetrate the good and clement reputation of our new sovereign that a number of prisoners were released from jail, one of whom, it seems likely, committed this outrage on our sister.’
Josse could not recall either reason having been expressed in the papers from Richard’s court. His opinion of Abbess Helewise rose.
The infirmarer was looking increasingly distressed. ‘Abbess, it’s about the poor lass that I need to speak to you! Only…’ She looked pointedly at Josse.
‘I’ll wait outside,’ he said.
‘No,’ Abbess Helewise said, in a tone that suggested she was used to people doing what she said. ‘Whatever Euphemia has to say, I shall only have to repeat to you. You had better hear it from her own lips. Euphemia?’
Josse felt sorry for the infirmarer, who had clearly neither expected nor wanted an audience of more than the Abbess. ‘It’s not easy,’ she hedged.
‘I am sure it is not.’ The Abbess was relentless. ‘Please, try.’
‘I know I shouldn’t have done it,’ the infirmarer burst out, ‘and it’s been on my conscience ever since. I can bear it no longer, truly I can’t, believe me! I’ve just got to tell someone. I’ll confess and do penance, I don’t mind, it’ll be such a relief. Whatever I’m told to do, I’ll do it, with a good grace, no matter how harsh it is!’
‘Quite,’ the Abbess said when the infirmarer at last paused for breath. ‘Now, what shouldn’t you have done?’
‘Shouldn’t have gone looking at her, examining her. Only I meant well, really I did, and anyway, I let my curiosity get the better of me.’
‘How?’ asked the Abbess patiently. ‘I think you had better explain, Euphemia. You speak of Gunnora?’
‘Of course! I said, didn’t I? I was laying her out – oh! Terrible it was, that great wound in her poor throat, made me fair weep, I can tell you.’
‘You did well,’ the Abbess said, more warmly. ‘It cannot have been a pleasant task.’
‘That it wasn’t! Anyway, when I’d tidied her up at the top end, I thought I ought to—’ she paused delicately.
‘Go on, Euphemia,’ the Abbess said. ‘Our visitor is aware, I’m sure, of the other outrage perpetrated on our late sister. You were saying, you went on to wash the cuts and abrasions caused by the rape, and—’
‘That’s just it! There wasn’t any rape!’ interrupted the infirmarer.
‘What?’ The Abbess and Josse spoke