shoulders, exposing only her face, neck and a little of her chest. And Josse stared down at Galiena Ryemarsh.
His heart turned over with pity at what the poison had done to her. She was still beautiful – the perfect oval of her face and the pleasing symmetry of her bone structure were unchanged. And the abundant, pale blonde hair that he remembered so well had been dressed slightly differently – perhaps by one of the nuns who had helped lay her out? – and now the two thick braids were entwined across the top of the girl’s head like a coronet.
Almost unaware of what he did, Josse stretchedout a hand and gently touched them. The infirmarer said softly, ‘Her hair was disarrayed. Sister Caliste combed it out and plaited it for her, then arranged it as you see.’
Josse turned to Sister Caliste. ‘You did well, Sister,’ he said softly. ‘I am sure she would have approved.’
But even the most perfect hairstyle in the world could not have distracted the attention for long from the dead girl’s mouth. The rosy lips were deathly pale now but, even worse, they were grossly swollen. Around them the white skin bore the residue of a pinkish rash. The lower part of Galiena’s face was almost unrecognisable.
With a deep sigh Josse said, ‘I have seen enough, Sister.’ More than enough, he thought bitterly, for now I shall remember Galiena in death and not as she was in life. He turned away from the cot.
The Abbess murmured something to the infirmarer, who leaned down and carefully replaced the mercifully concealing sheet over the dead girl’s ruined face.
Then the infirmarer said, ‘My lady, Sir Josse, there is one more thing.’
The Abbess and Josse turned to face her. ‘Yes?’ the Abbess asked.
Looking straight at her superior, Sister Euphemia said quietly, ‘The lass was pregnant. Three or four months gone.’
In the first unbelieving moment, Josse looked at the Abbess. Her face expressionless, she said, ‘But Galiena came here because she could not conceive. She cannot have known that already she bore Ambrose’s child.’His own emotions dangerously near to the surface, he watched as the Abbess’s face slowly crumpled in distress. ‘Oh,’ she cried softly, ‘oh, and now the poor girl is dead!’
The infirmarer was staring down at Galiena. ‘Aye,’ she breathed, ‘aye. It is a bad day.’ She glanced at the Abbess. ‘But as to her not knowing, it may well be that she remained ignorant of her condition. With a first pregnancy, many women do not realise until they are some months along and—’
She was interrupted by the sound of hurrying feet outside and by a sudden gasp from Sister Caliste. Still standing just in front of the little room’s door, she had been pushed forward by somebody roughly opening it.
All four of them turned to see who had come in.
It was Aebba. Her icy eyes fixed to the sheeted figure on the cot, she said, her low voice almost a growl, ‘Is it true? She’s dead, then?’
It was the Abbess who spoke. ‘I am afraid that she is.’
Josse was watching Aebba. His first impression of her at that meeting at Ryemarsh was that she was a cold and distant woman, uninvolved with those around her. But now her pale face worked as the extremity of her emotion flooded briefly through her.
Puzzled, Josse thought, aye, but different people show their grief in different ways, and I should not judge her when the poor woman’s probably in shock. I am wrong. I must be!
Because in that first unguarded reaction to thedreadful confirmation of the rumour of Galiena’s death, the sentiment that Josse thought he had read in her face was not distress but fury.
7
Helewise, who had almost regained control over herself after the infirmarer’s poignant revelation, watched Josse staring at Aebba. He looked, she thought, as if something were surprising him. Had he, like her, formed an impression of Galiena’s maidservant as an unemotional, even cold woman? If so, no doubt he was taken
His heart turned over with pity at what the poison had done to her. She was still beautiful – the perfect oval of her face and the pleasing symmetry of her bone structure were unchanged. And the abundant, pale blonde hair that he remembered so well had been dressed slightly differently – perhaps by one of the nuns who had helped lay her out? – and now the two thick braids were entwined across the top of the girl’s head like a coronet.
Almost unaware of what he did, Josse stretchedout a hand and gently touched them. The infirmarer said softly, ‘Her hair was disarrayed. Sister Caliste combed it out and plaited it for her, then arranged it as you see.’
Josse turned to Sister Caliste. ‘You did well, Sister,’ he said softly. ‘I am sure she would have approved.’
But even the most perfect hairstyle in the world could not have distracted the attention for long from the dead girl’s mouth. The rosy lips were deathly pale now but, even worse, they were grossly swollen. Around them the white skin bore the residue of a pinkish rash. The lower part of Galiena’s face was almost unrecognisable.
With a deep sigh Josse said, ‘I have seen enough, Sister.’ More than enough, he thought bitterly, for now I shall remember Galiena in death and not as she was in life. He turned away from the cot.
The Abbess murmured something to the infirmarer, who leaned down and carefully replaced the mercifully concealing sheet over the dead girl’s ruined face.
Then the infirmarer said, ‘My lady, Sir Josse, there is one more thing.’
The Abbess and Josse turned to face her. ‘Yes?’ the Abbess asked.
Looking straight at her superior, Sister Euphemia said quietly, ‘The lass was pregnant. Three or four months gone.’
In the first unbelieving moment, Josse looked at the Abbess. Her face expressionless, she said, ‘But Galiena came here because she could not conceive. She cannot have known that already she bore Ambrose’s child.’His own emotions dangerously near to the surface, he watched as the Abbess’s face slowly crumpled in distress. ‘Oh,’ she cried softly, ‘oh, and now the poor girl is dead!’
The infirmarer was staring down at Galiena. ‘Aye,’ she breathed, ‘aye. It is a bad day.’ She glanced at the Abbess. ‘But as to her not knowing, it may well be that she remained ignorant of her condition. With a first pregnancy, many women do not realise until they are some months along and—’
She was interrupted by the sound of hurrying feet outside and by a sudden gasp from Sister Caliste. Still standing just in front of the little room’s door, she had been pushed forward by somebody roughly opening it.
All four of them turned to see who had come in.
It was Aebba. Her icy eyes fixed to the sheeted figure on the cot, she said, her low voice almost a growl, ‘Is it true? She’s dead, then?’
It was the Abbess who spoke. ‘I am afraid that she is.’
Josse was watching Aebba. His first impression of her at that meeting at Ryemarsh was that she was a cold and distant woman, uninvolved with those around her. But now her pale face worked as the extremity of her emotion flooded briefly through her.
Puzzled, Josse thought, aye, but different people show their grief in different ways, and I should not judge her when the poor woman’s probably in shock. I am wrong. I must be!
Because in that first unguarded reaction to thedreadful confirmation of the rumour of Galiena’s death, the sentiment that Josse thought he had read in her face was not distress but fury.
7
Helewise, who had almost regained control over herself after the infirmarer’s poignant revelation, watched Josse staring at Aebba. He looked, she thought, as if something were surprising him. Had he, like her, formed an impression of Galiena’s maidservant as an unemotional, even cold woman? If so, no doubt he was taken
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