Mystery in the Minster Read Online Free PDF Page A

over his shoulder. ‘Cuckoo would be
cuculus
.’
    Langelee was spared from further embarrassment when Oustwyk opened the door to admit two nuns in Benedictine habits. The younger, a novice, was pretty, with a heart-shaped face. There was a book under her arm, and sharp intelligence in her blue eyes.
    Her companion could not have been more different. She had the baggy skin of a woman who had lived life to the full, and her worldly eyes said she was still far from finished with it. A ruby pendant took the place of the more usual pectoral cross, and her fingers were so cluttered with rings that Bartholomew wondered whether they were functional. The tendrils of hair that had been allowed to escape from under her wimple were dyed a rather startling orange.
    ‘Alice!’ exclaimed Langelee, regarding her in delight. ‘You are still here! I thought you would have been deposed by now … I mean, I assumed you would have moved to greener pastures.’
    ‘Ralph,’ purred Alice. ‘I did not think we would meet again. And I have missed you.’
    Langelee treated her to a smacking kiss, while the novice gazed at the spectacle and Radeford gazed at the novice. Uneasily, Bartholomew saw the lawyer had been instantly smitten, and hoped it would not cause trouble – it was one thing for the Master to flirt with an old friend, but another altogether for a Michaelhouse man to fall for a woman intended for the Church.
    ‘Here!’ objected Oustwyk, hurrying forward to prise Alice and Langelee apart. ‘No nonsense in the Abbot’s solar, if you please. He will disapprove. And you do not want to be fined for licentious behaviour again, Prioress.’
    ‘No,’ sighed Alice. ‘I still owe the last one he levied. Of course, it was wholly unjust. It is hardly my fault that the vicars-choral like to visit me of an evening. They come forthe music, you understand. As you may recall, Ralph, I play the lute.’
    Langelee laughed, leaving Bartholomew with the distinct impression that ‘playing the lute’ was a euphemism for something else entirely. Alice’s companion was not amused, however.
    ‘Your music sees you in far too much trouble, Mother,’ she said worriedly. ‘Perhaps it is time you abandoned it, and took up something more suited to your age. Such as darning.’
    ‘I am not your mother, Isabella,’ snapped Alice, as Langelee’s eyes fastened speculatively on the younger woman. ‘How many more times must I tell you not to call me that?’
    ‘You are to all intents and purposes,’ countered Isabella. ‘You promised my uncle that you would act
in loco parentis
to me after he died.’
    ‘Isabella?’ asked Langelee, peering at the young woman’s face. ‘Good Lord! I did not recognise you! Little Isabella – Zouche’s niece! And you want to become a nun?’
    ‘I do,’ replied Isabella, although Alice made a gesture behind her back that said this was by no means decided. ‘How else shall I be able to study theology? It is my greatest passion, and if I had been born a man, I would be enrolled in your University by now.’
    Langelee seemed unsure how to respond to this claim, never having felt anything remotely approaching passion for an academic discipline. ‘What about Helen?’ he asked rather lamely. ‘I believe she was another of Zouche’s nieces. Was she your sister, too? I cannot recall.’
    ‘Cousin,’ replied Isabella. ‘She made an excellent marriage to Sir Richard Vavasours, so she is Lady Helen now. Unfortunately, he died on a pilgrimage to Canterbury four years ago.’
    Remembering his manners, Langelee introduced hiscolleagues, although Radeford became uncharacteristically tongue-tied when it was his turn to be presented. Bartholomew supposed Isabella was pretty, but he was in love with a woman named Matilde, and the novice paled in comparison to her. The fact that he had not seen or heard of Matilde in almost three years had done nothing to diminish his affection, or to soothe the heartache her disappearance