Forbidden Lady

Melissa was thoughtful as she walked in the Abbey gardens that evening before it grew dark. It was peaceful here, with the birds singing from the branches of ancient apple trees and a scent of lavender on the air. She had requested another interview with her aunt, but had been told that the Abbess was sleeping.

Would she be content to spend her life here? Melissa wondered. It had been her intention to ask for a dispensation when she left her home that morning, but now she was uncertain. She did not wish to admit it but she had not been able to forget the sweet feeling that had swept through her as she rode through the forest with Robert of Melford’s arms about her. But that was foolish because he hated her! He had loved her once, but she had sent him away and her half brother had done terrible things to him. He must hate her very name!

She was a fool to think of him, but he would not be dismissed from her thoughts. She could not help wondering what he was doing now, and if he had been in time to see his father alive.

A hand shaking her shoulder awakened Melissa. She was deep in sleep, dreaming of a time when she had been happy, walking barefoot in a meadow, and she awoke with a smile on her lips, but the smile left her swiftly as she saw her serving woman’s expression.

‘What is it, Rhona?’

‘Sister Cecile told me to wake you,’ Rhona said. ‘She fears that your aunt has taken a turn for the worse and asks that you join her immediately. The priest has given her the last rites.’

Melissa needed no further bidding as she sprang up from her pallet. Her serving woman had her cloak waiting, slipping it about her shoulders over her flimsy shift. Melissa slid her feet into leather shoes and tossed her hair back from her face. It had tangled as she slept but there was no time to dress it. Her heart was thudding as she left the small cell where she had spent the past few hours in repose, knowing that the nun would not have sent for her if it were not urgent.

She prayed silently that her aunt would be spared as she hurried down the cold and narrow passage, which was only dimly lit by a torch at the far end. By the time she reached her aunt’s chamber, she was shivering, the fear striking deep into her heart. She hesitated outside the door for a moment, and then went in. Tallow candles were burning in their sconces, the smell pungent and adding to the unpleasant odour in the room. Melissa realised that her aunt must have been sick, and she saw Sister Cecile wiping vomit and blood from the lips of the Abbess.

‘Dearest Aunt Beatrice,’ Melissa said, going to her side. The stricken woman held out her hand and she grasped it, but she could see the colour fading from her aunt’s face. ‘God give you peace.…’

‘May God bless and keep you, child,’ the Abbess whispered, and then gave a little cry, her head falling back against the pillows. Her eyes were open and staring, and Sister Cecile closed them, making the sign of the cross on her forehead.

Melissa felt the tears welling inside her as she came forward and bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. The stench of the vomit was vile and made her gasp and draw back swiftly.

‘What made her be sick like that?’ she asked the nun. ‘Has she done so before?’

‘No, my lady, she has not,’ Cecile said, and looked upset. ‘I had thought she was rallying before you arrived—but this came upon her suddenly. It is not natural…’

‘What do you mean?’ Melissa was startled. ‘Do you suspect…’ She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. ‘It is not poison?’

‘I do not know,’ the nun said. ‘I say only that I think the manner of her death suspicious.’

‘But who would do such a thing and how?’ Melissa saw the nun’s look and shook her head. ‘You do not suspect me? I swear before God that I did no such thing. I loved her and wished her to live.’

‘I know that you loved her,’ Sister Cecile said. ‘She has spoken of you with fondness and I hold you blameless in this—but your women and you are the only strangers in our midst at this time. No one else has been admitted—and none of the sisters would harm one hair of Mother Abbess’s head for we all love her dearly.’

‘You think that one of my women…’ Melissa shook her head. ‘You must be wrong. Both Rhona and Agnes have served me faithfully all my life. Why would either of them betray me by taking her life? They knew that I hoped…’ Melissa sighed as she realised that she could not stay here now. She had hoped that the Abbess would petition for her inheritance to be released so that she might offer at least a part of it to the Abbey in return for sanctuary. She shook her head, because the idea no longer appealed now that her aunt was dead. ‘I do not believe that either of them would have done anything so wicked.’

‘Well, perhaps it was not poison,’ Sister Cecile said, clearly uncertain. ‘I must write a letter to the Bishop and he will send a brother versed in these things to investigate. I shall not lay the blame at your door whatever his decision—but do not trust Agnes.’

‘Why do you suspect her?’ Melissa asked, her fine brows raised.

‘I found her coming from Mother Abbess’s room not an hour ago. When I asked her why she was not in the cell she had been given, she said that she had gone out to the privy and lost her way—but that would be hard to do unless she is blind or a fool.’

‘Agnes is neither,’ Melissa said. ‘Say nothing of this to anyone but the Bishop and his representative when he comes. I shall watch Agnes and if she betrays herself in any way I shall send word to the Bishop myself.’

‘Then we are in agreement,’ the nun said. ‘I do not wish to distress my sisters at this time. Perhaps I am wrong to suspect foul play.’ She was thoughtful, then said, ‘May I ask why the Abbess wished to speak to you in private? Did it concern matters here?’

‘No, it was merely a family matter,’ Melissa said. ‘I am sure that it had nothing to do with her death.’ And yet the letter she had given Melissa contained a secret that she had not wanted to reveal until after she was dead.

‘Very well,’ Cecile said. ‘Her body will be displayed in the chapel once I have made her clean and sweet. You may pay your respects to her in the morning before you leave.’

‘May I not stay until she is buried?’

‘You are not one of us. Unless you need nursing—or receive a dispensation from Mother Abbess or the Bishop—you may not stay here more than one night. I am sorry but I did not make the rules, though I must abide by them.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Melissa said. She had hoped that her aunt would grant that dispensation, but it was too late.

‘What of my kinsman Owain?’

‘The monks care for him,’ the nun said. ‘I will inquire in the morning how he does—but if you wish to remain nearby you must find lodgings. I believe there is a decent hostel in the village of Melford, which is some five leagues distant.’

‘I thank you for your kindness—and your devotion to my aunt,’ Melissa said. ‘We shall leave you in the morning.’

‘Yes, you must go. We need to grieve for Mother,’ Cecile said, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I am sorry that you must leave, but you may not remain at such a time—and I would remind you to be wary of the woman Agnes.’

‘Yes, I shall watch her,’ Melissa promised. ‘I can find my own way back to my cell, thank you.’

Sister Cecile inclined her head. Melissa walked to the door. There she glanced back and saw the nun on her knees beside the bed, her head bent in prayer. Closing the door softly behind her, Melissa was thoughtful as she walked back to her tiny cell. Was it possible that one of her women had administered a poison to the Abbess—and if so, why had she done it? She could hardly believe it was so for why would anyone wish to harm that good woman?

Melissa felt the beginning of a deep anger inside her. If she discovered that Agnes had murdered the Abbess she would make sure that she was justly punished. Yet there remained the mystery of why a woman who had always seemed loyal should do such a thing.

Rhona was waiting for her when Melissa returned to her chamber. She greeted her mistress with an anxious look.

‘You look distressed, my lady,’ she said. ‘Is your aunt no better?’

‘My aunt died,’ Melissa said, a catch in her voice. She was keeping her tears at bay for she needed to be alert. ‘Where is Agnes?’

‘I do not know, my lady. She said that she needed to visit the privy and she has not returned, though it was more than an hour since. Would you wish me to look for her?’

‘No, stay here with me,’ Melissa said. ‘And light one of the wax candles we brought with us. I cannot bear the stench of tallow.’ She did not think she would ever forget the smell of burning tallow mixed with the foul bile that her aunt had vomited. ‘There is something I wish to read.’ Melissa knew that she was fortunate that she had been taught to read, because many women were not. It was not always thought necessary, but in this at least, Lord Whitbread had been generous.

‘As you wish, my lady.’ Rhona took a thick candle from their saddlebag and brought it near, striking tinder. As it flared to life, she lit the candle and set it upon the stool for the only pieces of furniture the cell contained were a stool and the straw pallet. ‘Is there light enough or shall I bring another?’

‘I can see if I kneel on the pallet,’ Melissa said, and took the letter from her pouch, breaking the seal. She read the words her aunt had written, gasping as she realised what they meant. ‘No, it cannot be…’

‘Is something wrong, my lady?’

‘Go to your own bed, Rhona,’ Melissa said. ‘I would be alone.’

As the woman left her, Melissa held the letter closer to the candle, reading it once more. She had thought that she must have imagined its contents, but the words had not changed.

The Abbess had accused Lord Whitbread of murdering his wife!

It is certain that your mother did not die in childbed. I received a letter from her to say that you were born and asking me to be your godmother. I could not give that promise, but as you know I have always taken an interest in you, my dearest child. When I heard that your mother had died I believed it from a fever, for your father wrote that it was so—but some weeks later your mother’s kinswoman, Alanna Davies, came to see me.

She swore to me that her cousin had been well when she was sent on an errand and when she returned she was not allowed to see her. For some days she was barred from Lady Whitbread’s chamber and then she was told that her cousin had died, but she says it is a lie. She heard screaming in the night and she believes that Lord Whitbread killed his wife for she saw him coming from her chamber and there was blood on his clothes.

I made discreet inquiries but nothing could be proved, though I incurred your father’s lifelong hatred for it. I can tell you no more, Melissa, but if you are in danger go to Alanna Davies for she would help you. She resides with Morgan of Hywell and has influential relatives or I doubt not that she too would have met her death.

If you are reading this then I am dead. Know that I have loved you beyond what was permitted me. I have revealed my secret only because I wish you to be aware of Lord Whitbread’s nature. If you should cross him I dare not think what he might do. Live well and kindly, my dear child, and think only that I loved you. Your Aunt Beatrice—Abbess of the Church of Saint Mark and the order of the Sisters of Mercy.