The Bishop's Tale by Margaret Frazer

Author:Margaret Frazer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder, mystery, historical fiction, love story, detective, church, catholic, christian, allergy, funeral, nun, medieval, poison, award, historical mystery, bishop, nuns, chaucer, gloucester, feast, edgar award, frevisse, margaret frazer, history mystery, henry vi, nunnery, suffolk, bishop beaufort, edgar, nominated, nominee
Publisher: Justin Alexander

Chapter Twelve

Wrung out, Frevisse had thought her sleep that night would be heavy, but it was shallow and broken, rarely deep enough for dreams or long enough for any rest. Dame Perpetua slept through her uneasy stirring, but they had promised each other that if either woke near the time, she would awake the other for the prayers of Matins. Among all the other wakenings there was no way to tell when one was midnight, but at last, wakening yet again, she guessed the time was nearly right and gently roused Dame Perpetua. Together, in whispers, they said the office's many psalms, the soft sound of their praying almost lost in the general murmur of other people's breathing and Joan's snoring.

When they finished, Dame Perpetua lay down, rolled on her side, and was shortly asleep again. Frevisse, still uneasy with her own thoughts, took longer, and in the morning was no nearer to satisfaction or answers – and felt less rested – than when she had gone to bed.

And Aunt Matilda had finally given way to her grief. She awoke and, as was always her way, rose and went to kneel at her prie dieu for first prayer. But there, where comfort should have been greatest, she bent forward over her prayer book, shaken by sobs. At first the other women left her to cry; she was past due and surely needed the tears. But it went on, and worsened, until she was clinging to the prie dieu, helplessly wracked and unable to stop.

As Frevisse hovered uncertainly, Alice left the gown her maid held ready to put on her and went to her mother. Taking her gently by the shoulders, she helped Matilda to her feet and, not bothering with words, led her back toward the bed. Aunt Matilda, her face collapsed and splotched, clung sideways to her daughter and went on sobbing helplessly.

It took so long to calm her that it was a while before Frevisse was free to leave the bedchamber. There had been some thought that she would accompany her aunt and Alice in standing in the hall to bid farewell to the departing guests, but word had been sent to Suffolk that he must take that duty, which was acceptable, he now being lord of Ewelme, and since Alice meant to remain with her mother, there was no seemly reason for Frevisse to join him.

No one questioned when she and Dame Perpetua withdrew as they had done yesterday, to say Prime in the parlor. And when they had finished, she asked Dame Perpetua, “Will you help me with something?”

Dame Perpetua looked up from shaking straight the folds of her skirts. “If I can,” she said. “What is it?”

“About Sir Clement's death.”

Dame Perpetua's expression showed her discomfort with the doubts which Bishop Beaufort had expressed, and she said with less confidence, “What do you want me to do?”

“If it wasn't God who killed Sir Clement, then it had to have been poison. I need to know what kind it could have been.

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