Free The Witch of Eye by Mari Griffith

my concerns about his paperwork, as I say, but he seems to have found someone to help him with that. The profits on our surplus produce run satisfyingly high and the needs of the monastery are amply met. The farm provisions the kitchen here at La Neyte, too. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Because I met Jourdemayne’s wife not so long ago,’ said Southwell casually, breaking off a piece of bread from the loaf on a board between them. ‘She’s not in the first flush of youth, but she’s a fine-looking woman.’
    ‘You’re not meant to notice things like that, Thomas,’ the Abbot rebuked him gently with a smile. ‘You’re a man of the cloth.’
    Southwell tried his best to look pious. ‘Quite so. Her looks were a matter of complete indifference to me, of course. But she does seem very intelligent for a farmer’s wife.’
    ‘She’s a clever woman,’ said Abbot Harweden, ‘and no mistake. She’s as shrewd and clever as any wise woman I’ve ever come across.’
    ‘A wise woman, eh? Ever made use of her services?’
    ‘No. Well, not in any official capacity, of course, but she was ... er, able to help me with a ... shall we say ... a certain painful embarrassment a year or so ago. She sold me an unguent of lesser celandine ... pilewort, as she called it. It did the trick. I still use it occasionally when the need arises, and she keeps me supplied.’
    ‘Painful things, piles,’ observed Southwell, soaking up the last morsels of goose gravy on his platter with the remaining bread. ‘Pilewort’s the best thing for them. I always prescribe it.’
    Abbot Harweden grimaced and nodded in agreement. ‘Apart from that, I hardly ever see her. So, tell me, where did you meet her?’
    Thomas Southwell took a long draught of wine then set his goblet down on the table. ‘She was among some ladies in attendance upon the Duchess of Gloucester. I was waiting to see Her Grace who wished to consult me on a small medical matter.’ Southwell took an inflated pride in his role as personal physician to the Duke and Duchess. ‘Of course, I was able to give Her Grace the correct advice. And she was very grateful,’ he added, nodding his head in affirmation of his statement.
    ‘Is there any pie in which you do not have a finger, Thomas?’
    ‘The more pies, the merrier,’ Southwell replied, smiling. He was a man comfortably full in his clothes who appreciated the fact that the Abbot kept a good table.
    ‘Well, there’s a pie to follow this,’ said Abbot Harweden, ‘a sweet one, of apples and blackberries with honey. But do go on, Thomas. Why was Margery Jourdemayne in attendance on the Duchess?’
    ‘She wasn’t,’ said Southwell, ‘she was in an ante-room, showing her wares to some of the ladies of Her Grace’s household. Gentlemen, too.’
    ‘And were you tempted to buy anything?’
    ‘Indeed not! I went about my own business and I minded it, too!’
    ‘So why should you be so interested in Mistress Jourdemayne and her abilities?’
    ‘Because Her Grace has been troubled by a painful tooth but claims to have derived great benefit from Mistress Jourdemayne’s tincture of myrrh, implying that it was rather more efficacious than my own tincture.’ The Abbot hid a smile as Canon Southwell went on. ‘As far as I can see, there’s no evidence of a worm in the tooth itself but, of course, I like to explore every avenue in finding new ways of advising the Duchess on matters pertaining to her health. I thought there might be areas in which the Jourdemayne woman and I could pool our knowledge to Her Grace’s advantage.’
    ‘Well, I suppose it’s possible,’ the Abbot said, sounding doubtful. ‘But be careful. I should warn you that she got two clerics into trouble some years ago.’
    Canon Southwell raised his eyebrows in a query. ‘Really? In what way?’
    ‘By getting ideas above her station,’ Abbot Harweden replied. ‘She spent more time than she should have consorting with a friar of the Holy Cross and