The Winter King Read Online Free PDF Page B

approaching the heavy door when Canon Mark turned to the steward and said, ‘Perhaps we should speak to the widow before we go? Lady Richenza, isn’t it? She has just suffered the loss of her husband, after all, and I believe she is but a young woman, probably not previously acquainted with grief.’
    Sabin’s heart seemed to stop for a few seconds. When it resumed, its beat was so rapid that she thought for a moment she would pass out.
    But, thank the good, merciful Lord above, the steward shook his head. ‘Lady Richenza has given orders that she is not to be disturbed. I will undertake to pass on to her what you have told me.’
    Then, with a very definite air of finality, he ushered them out of the door and closed it firmly behind them.
    Sabin leaned forward and poked at the fire. She felt shivery, and clutched her warm shawl more closely around her. She had been so relieved, on the ride back from Medley Hall to Tonbridge, that she could have sung.
It’s all right!
she had wanted to shout.
It was his heart that killed him, his heart made feeble by his own sinful gluttony!
    It was only later that the guilt had begun.
    What should she do? Someone else, she was well aware, would be sharing her dreadful suspicions. But, under the circumstances, that someone was the last person she should seek out. If her suspicions were wrong, there was absolutely no need to muddy the waters by drawing attention to them. If they were right, then …
    If they were right.
Sabin pressed her fisted hands to her breast, sick with fear. Oh, dear God in heaven, if her suspicions were right, then what had she done?
    She went on sitting there by her fireside, her muscles tight with the terrible tension of fear and indecision.
    Eventually, the whirl of her thoughts edged towards a conclusion. The two brothers had found no evidence of what she so dreaded. Nor, come to that, had she. But the canons had not known what they should be looking out for. Sabin knew, but she had no idea how it would have manifested itself.
    What she needed was a trustworthy friend whose knowledge of herbal remedies, their intended effects and their possible
unintended
effects was as good as – no, better than – her own.
    She stood up. She knew what she must do. It was not yet noon; there was plenty of time.
    Thrown into action, she set about the many tasks she must do. Issue orders to her kitchen servants to prepare a meal for Gervase and Alazaïs. Tell Gervase’s manservant to fetch Alazaïs home from her needlework lesson, when the time came. Leave a message to tell Gervase she’d been summoned out to … to what? Where? Frantically, she tried to think. Then she stopped. Oh, what did it matter? It really wasn’t important; anything would serve. She would just say she had been called to a sick patient, and leave it at that. Gervase didn’t like her to go out without being escorted by one of the servants, and would like it even less if he had any idea how far and where she was bound, but that was just too bad.
    Soon, warmly dressed, well-mounted and carrying her apothecary’s leather bag, she was on her way. Putting everything else from her mind, she concentrated on muttering, over and over again:
Please, please, let me find her
.

THREE
    J osse d’Acquin, taking advantage of an unexpectedly fine and warm morning, had decided to ride out to Hawkenlye Abbey to see his old friend Brother Saul, who had been ill with a ferocious cough for a fortnight and now, by all accounts, was on the mend. Josse and Saul had known each other for a very long time. It did not do, Josse reflected as he urged Alfred into a sprightly canter, to pass the chance of wishing an ageing old friend well. You never knew if the chance would come again.
    Settling comfortably in the saddle, happy at the prospect of the ride before him, Josse made a start on the same task he always seemed to do on the few occasions he found himself alone. As a devout man might tell his rosary beads, Josse went