Belladonna at Belstone Read Online Free PDF

meal of the day, was the best time of day for her to observe her nuns and assess their mood.
    Giggles and laughter were quickly stilled as they approached the cloister and saw their prioress sitting there. She noted that Moll’s death had not affected the novices much. They were young and were bound to recover more quickly; they wouldn’t appreciate the impact this death could have on the priory. Elizabeth gave a grim smile as she caught sight of Katerine: some of them wouldn’t be particularly upset to see Moll go, the prioress thought.
    Katerine was a shrewd little thing. Only one-and-twenty, she was dark-haired, with pale skin, a wide mouth and tip-tilted nose that gave her an earnest, cheerful aspect - but the impression was betrayed by the eyes. Brown with green flecks, they were - a pretty combination - but there was nothing pretty about the calculation in them.
    Agnes hadn’t liked Moll either. This girl was quiet and self-contained, only seventeen years old, with thick red-gold hair and green eyes. Her face was heavily freckled, which added to her attractiveness, although Elizabeth felt inwardly that there was something wrong about her looks: a certain sharpness of feature that boded an unkind nature.
    The prioress saw Agnes glance in her direction before walking to the door that led up to the dorter and infirmary with that sedate, gliding motion of hers. She stood taller than Katerine by at least half a head, and her body was already more full. Her hips were broad, her breasts large, while Katerine had the figure of a boy, much as poor Moll had had.
    Agnes was no threat to the smooth running of the convent. She had her faults, but Lady Elizabeth was not of a mind to confront her with them. The priests were often talking about taking splinters out of a man’s eye while a plank remained in your own, and she was uncomfortably aware of her own failings. Either the girl would grow out of her sins or she would leave before taking her vows.
    The other nuns returned from the frater. Margherita came out with Joan, talking conspiratorially. They looked odd, Margherita large and square, almost masculine, Joan short and wiry, slim and with the compact frame of an older woman, although whiplash strong. Elizabeth felt a shiver run through her body. Unconsciously she pulled her robes tighter about her, tugging the woollen cloak more firmly over her shoulders. Something didn’t feel right. There was a tension in the air. She could feel their baleful stare even when she turned away.
    Constance, the infirmarer, had obviously not got over the death of her charge. Elizabeth regarded her doubtfully. She appeared to be drunk, was red-featured - somewhat sullen, or perhaps nervous? Her shoes dragged and she stumbled every so often, as did Denise, the sacrist. The two seemed to have formed some kind of unholy alliance against the world.
    Elizabeth bent her head as if to study the papers before her, but kept her attention fixed on Constance and Denise. They made for Margherita and paused to whisper a moment at her side, their backs turned to the prioress, before walking on.
    Last through the door was Emma, the cellaress. Tall, slim, sharp-faced, with a cold and humourless demeanour, she glanced at the prioress only briefly. Seeing Elizabeth’s eye upon her, she gave a dry, unfriendly smile, then walked over to Margherita.
    Lady Elizabeth felt ice solidify in her belly. Something was wrong, and she had no idea what it could be.
    The treasurer looked across and nodded smugly at the sight of Elizabeth’s pinched and anxious expression.
    “I came as quickly as I could, Peter,” Sir Baldwin said, marching quickly into the hall of Peter Clifford, the Dean of Crediton’s canonical church. And so he had, riding speedily over the dangerous roads, wondering all the time what Crediton’s priest could want. It was rare for Peter Clifford to make such an urgent request for Baldwin’s help.
    The hall was modern, with a good fireplace set into