Free Belladonna at Belstone by Michael Jecks Page A

chatting and sat near the door to the yard.
    It was while she was there that Margherita walked in. She gave Constance a contemptuous glance, and walked past her to approach Joan. Her expression made Joan frown. Constance didn’t deserve to be scorned: she was a good woman, dedicated to the convent, obeying God by helping the sick. It was understandable that she should feel guilty at what had happened to Moll while the girl had been under her charge in the infirmary.
    Margherita saw her reproachful expression and had the grace to look shamefaced. “I am sorry, Joan, but no matter how she feels, allowing herself to get into this condition is simply not acceptable. Look at her! Constance is a disgrace to her robes.“
    “She has had one of her patients die in her room,” Joan remonstrated. “Show mercy. That’s what a prioress should do.”
    The shot hit the mark and Margherita nodded. “Very well, dear Joan. I shall remember. Though I still feel that being sluttish drunk is contemptible for a nun.”
    “Perhaps you do, but letting people know won’t help you, will it?” Joan chuckled. “What’s more, the prioress is a wily old vixen. If you give her an opportunity, she’ll stab you before you see her attack forming.” She helped herself to wine from a jug. Most of her spare time for the last thirty-nine years had been taken up with teaching this woman all she knew, and she had little desire to see that investment wasted. She finished her wine, cast a glance at Constance, and murmured, “I think I should return to the infirmary. Cecily might need something, and poor Constance is in no fit state.”
    “A good idea.” Margherita watched Joan rise and walk to the door. It was hard sometimes to remember how old Joan was, she reflected, looking at the woman’s solid gait. She practically marched out - stolid, dependable, and resolute as a rock.
    Margherita waited. Soon more nuns would enter, coming to snatch a snack to keep them going through the morning. However, as she poured herself more wine, a shadow fell across the doorway. It was Lady Elizabeth, who walked in and, ignoring her, went straight to the infirmarer, crouching at Constance’s side in the humblest manner possible, speaking gently and quietly. When Elizabeth stood, a hand resting on the young infirmarer’s shoulder, she met Margherita’s gaze. This time there was no fear in her eyes, only cold, naked determination.
    Margherita shivered as the prioress swept from the room.
    When Katerine entered the frater a little later, Constance was still sitting with Ela, her head supported on both hands as she stared blearily at the wall. Nearby Denise was in her favourite place, and as Ela returned to her kitchen, Denise passed her pot to Constance, who drank greedily.
    Glancing at the drunk infirmarer, Katerine was not inclined to hang around this unsavoury scene. She was on her way to the kitchen to beg a meat pie and eat it when, to her disgust, she felt Constance grab hold of her arm.
    “What’d you do, eh? How can I ever get forgiven?”
    “Constance, she’s only a novice,” Denise giggled, reaching over to try to prise Constance’s fingers free.
    “So? She can love, can’t she?” the nun demanded. “She’s got a heart like you or me, hasn’t she?” Her truculence spent, she snivelled to herself a moment, still keeping a firm grip on Katerine. “It’s not fair, it’s not! She can have her bastard, but we’re stuck in here, supposed to keep away from men, and if we happen to enjoy just a short time with one, we’re forced to leave ‘em. But she’s a lady, so she can do what she wants. Where’s the fairness in that, eh?”
    “Run along, girl,” Denise hissed as she finally loosened Constance’s grip. “Go on, get out of here! As for you,”‘ she added, grasping Katerine’s robe as the novice made to escape, hauling her close so that she had to inhale Denise’s foul breath, “if I hear that there are any stories circulating among