Free Belladonna at Belstone by Michael Jecks

of battle could wash over even this tranquil part of Devonshire.
    His thoughts were written on his face, and Bertrand glanced warily at the woman sitting quietly at Baldwin’s side. When he had accepted the role of visitor, he had not anticipated having so much to do with women. Now, here he was, preparing to return to the convent of Belstone, a place so ill-regulated it was almost a sink of corruption, especially now there had been a murder - and this knight wanted to take his wife with him! Bertrand was about to suggest that he and Baldwin should discuss matters in secret, in order that he could firmly reject the idea that Baldwin should bring his wife, when the knight turned to his servant.
    “Edgar, you will have to stay here to protect the house, and do as you see fit to keep the place secure.”
    Margherita was on tenterhooks; Agnes could see that. The treasurer sat for the most part gazing out of the windows, over the cloister, without seeming to hear or comprehend what was going on about her, even when the young novice dropped a pottery inkwell, smashing it to pieces on the flags and spattering black ink all over.
    “Never mind, just get a cloth to clean it up.”
    Agnes stood a moment gaping, but then hurried to obey. It took little time to wipe away the worst of the mess, though she was convinced the stain would never disappear. When she’d replaced the bucket and cloth in the kitchen and returned to Margherita, it was clear the nun still wasn’t concentrating on the task at hand. She stared unseeing in any direction other than at her desk.
    It was intriguing. Agnes was used to Margherita snapping at her, urging novices to hurry. Margherita was known for her acerbity; finding her in this reflective mood was weird. Of course Moll’s death had affected everyone, and the treasurer was probably upset at the ridiculous way that the girl had expired: surgeon’s mistake, everyone said.
    Agnes studied her doubtfully, then decided it was more likely that Margherita was worried about herself. Rumours abounded, and the strongest was that Margherita suspected Lady Elizabeth of murder. If that was the case, Agnes could understand her distraction.
    Sometimes Agnes thought she understood Margherita better than anyone else. There was a tie that connected them: illegitimacy. That was why Sir Rodney had wanted Agnes away from his estate, because she was the constant reminder of an evening of passion -and sin. For the pious Sir Rodney, that was intolerable. Margherita didn’t even know who her father was, nor where her mother had gone, and that made Agnes look on her with sympathy. She could quite comprehend the desperate desire Margherita had to prove herself by running the priory.
    Not that Agnes felt committed to supporting Margherita. The prioress was a shrewd and cautious woman, and Agnes reckoned she’d never be dragged from her office without a fight. There was no way the Lady Elizabeth would allow herself to be exiled to the fringes of priory business.
    For now Agnes would keep her counsel.
    Chapter Five
    It wasn’t only Margherita who was feeling strained. Joan was in the frater when she heard a call, followed by weeping. She got to her feet just as Ela, the kitcheness, entered from the yard, desperately clinging hold of Constance, who was reeling drunk. Joan was astonished: if Constance had drunk one more pint of wine she’d have been in a stupor. Of course there was nothing scary about seeing a woman drunk. Such sights were common enough even in a nunnery, and Joan wasn’t upset by it, but she was a little shocked to see Constance in such a state. The infirmarer always gave the impression of being so self-possessed.
    Constance was lured to a chair. She half-fell into it, and when she was refused more wine she burst into tears, blubbering like a teenaged girl deserted by her first lover. Ela went to fetch water and bread, and Joan sat with Constance, patting her hand comfortingly until Ela returned. Joan left them