Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup Read online

  ‘I can also write! I can sign my own name,’ she flared, resenting his assessment and anxious to impress him.

  ‘Can you indeed?’ Janna had the feeling he was laughing at her.

  ‘I may have lived a quiet life, but it doesn’t mean I’m incapable of learning about the world should the opportunity come my way,’ she said angrily, searching about for something to prove her words. ‘After all, I know that our country is at war, and that you support the claim of the Empress Matilda to the throne.’

  ‘What?’ Hugh looked momentarily stunned. ‘Such talk could get us both into trouble,’ he warned. ‘I suggest you keep your nose out of my affairs. They are none of your concern.’

  ‘I assure you, my concern is only for your safety,’ Janna said hurriedly, embarrassed by his reproof. He’d warned her against upsetting the priest, and now she’d gone and upset him too. To convince him of her good intentions, she decided to pass on the conversation she’d overheard at the alehouse. ‘’Tis known that you have been seen with my lord Robert of Gloucester, and that he supports the empress against the king. I know not where my lord Robert’s allegiance lies, but the Abbess of Wiltune is the greatest landowner in these parts. Her allegiance must surely lie with King Stephen now that he has stripped all land and property from the Bishop of Sarisberie. The king’s action is surely too close for our abbess to ignore. I do fear that you might find yourself entrapped, sire.’

  Hugh surveyed Janna, looking thoughtful. ‘I suspect I may have misjudged you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your warning. I will certainly keep it in mind, but I assure you that I come here only to visit my aunt and report on my custodianship of her property.’

  ‘I know also that you visit her quite frequently, and therefore did not need to ask me the way.’

  To Janna’s intense delight, Hugh looked somewhat discomforted at being caught out. Then he grinned. ‘That pretty nose of yours seems to have a way of sniffing out the truth,’ he admitted. ‘Yes, I see my aunt quite regularly, but I was particularly worried about her on this occasion. I know how hard she takes these failed pregnancies. As for Robert …’ He checked abruptly. ‘And now, Johanna, I must go and comfort Dame Alice, though I wish with all my heart that it had turned out differently, and that comfort wasn’t necessary.’ He smiled at her, bringing warmth and light to Janna’s troubled spirit. ‘Wait here in case Dame Alice has further need of you,’ he instructed, and walked on through the hall and into the solar.

  Janna looked after him, intrigued by the sentence he’d left unfinished. What had he been going to say about Robert?

  True, Robert seemed a man given to sudden tempers. In fact, Janna found him rather frightening. So did Cecily, she thought, remembering the scene she’d witnessed. But even if he bullied his servants, he was hardly likely to intimidate a man like Hugh. And he certainly didn’t intimidate his wife! Janna shook her head over the wine that the dame had spilled. What a waste!

  She shrugged. The lord of the manor was none of her concern. But Hugh … he’d been so kind, so understanding. A dreamy smile stole over her lips as she imagined how her life would be if she and Hugh were married. They would drink wine at every dinner. They would eat roast swan, as well as the king’s venison. She would have a different gown for every day of the year, and wear bright jewels of every hue to match. She would ask him to teach her all he knew, so that she could be his equal in every way …

  A sound disturbed Janna’s musing. She blinked, and saw that the priest had come out into the hall.

  ‘You are still here?’ He came right up to her. Janna resisted the urge to shrink back against the stone wall.

  ‘Yes. As you see.’

  ‘Where is the baby? I have come to pray for his soul.’

  ‘I do not know. The midwife has taken him.’

  ‘I knew that the baby would not thrive under your care.’ The priest sounded as if he’d won a victory. Janna wanted to rip his gloating tongue out of his mouth.

  ‘The baby was ailing ere he was born.’ She curled her fists up small to remind herself not to attack the priest. ‘It was a miracle he survived even as long as he did.’

  ‘God’s miracle – whom you destroyed.’

  ‘I did all in my power to keep him alive – and so did my mother!’ Janna retorted.

  The priest sighed. ‘This won’t do, Janna,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘You are young, and impressionable, and your soul may yet be saved. I must not blame you for your mother’s wrongdoing, nor her wrong beliefs, for you have been a dutiful daughter. You have honoured your mother as you were taught, not knowing that your honour was misplaced and your mother not worthy of your love and trust.’

  ‘You are wrong, so wrong!’ Janna had taken Hugh’s reprimand to heart, but still it took all of her self-control to hold on to her temper. She must try to convince the priest with the sincerity of her words; she would achieve nothing by shouting at him, or attacking him. She took a deep breath. ‘My mother was an honourable woman, dedicated to using her skills to cure people of the ills that afflicted them. Surely her skill with healing came as a gift from God?’

  The priest opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. He seemed to be having difficulty finding a response. At last he said, ‘I will not hold your mother’s deeds against you, nor will I blame you for her bad influence on you. Instead, I will ask you, Janna, to start coming to church once more. Let God see you there, let Him save your soul.’

  Janna scowled at him, at a loss for an answer. The priest was wrong about her mother, but her mother had made no secret of her opinion of him and his notion of Christianity. Aldith had called Eadgyth arrogant and proud. It might be that her mother would have done better with the priest if she’d held her tongue. If they had gone regularly to church, the priest might have been more welcoming, might even have celebrated her mother’s healing powers instead of damning them.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she muttered. The priest smiled, seeming content that he had saved a soul this day.

  ‘Go to the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Tell the cook I sent you. Ask her to make up a hot posset for Dame Alice, and bring it up to my lady’s bedchamber. And don’t interfere, Janna. The cook already knows what to put in it, for I heard Fulk the apothecary instruct her on the matter.’

  ‘What did he ask the cook to do?’ Janna asked quickly, wondering if here, at last, was proof of Fulk’s guilt.

  The priest shrugged. ‘I know not, save that the drink was to calm my lady and strengthen her nerves. I, myself, was finishing my dinner and paid no attention to the apothecary’s instructions.’

  ‘Master Fulk ordered the posset for my lady at dinner time?’

  ‘Indeed. Your mother was wrath when she arrived back at the manor and saw it. I was in the bedchamber when she tasted the contents, and then ordered it thrown away. Of course, she wanted Dame Alice to sup her own concoction, the mixture that led to her own death.’

  ‘That’s not so!’ Appalled, Janna stared at the priest. ‘Don’t you see? It must have been Master Fulk’s posset that killed my mother! She tasted it, and then threw it away before it could harm the lady. That is how and why my mother died. The apothecary planned it so, for he hated my mother and resented her influence over Dame Alice. His posset made certain that he got my mother out of his way.’

  It was a dreadful thought, made even worse by the realisation that she had taken her mother’s place at the lady’s bedside. If Fulk had acted to rid himself of her mother, so might he act against this new threat to his professional competence.

  ‘Your grief has warped your judgment,’ the priest said sternly. ‘Accusing the innocent can never atone for the harm your mother brought upon herself.’

  ‘She did nothing to harm herself – nothing!’ She had to convince the priest that she spoke the truth. He was a man of God. He would surely help her in her quest for justice.

  Near tears, Janna struggled to find the words to make him understand. But the priest forestalled her. ‘I have stretched out
my hand in friendship, yet you continue to defy all who would help you find the true path to God’s grace. I can do no more for you, Johanna. It is up to you to save your soul, if that’s possible.’ He brushed past her and returned to the bedchamber.

  DETERMINED TO PROVE the priest wrong, determined to prove that all those who judged her mother were wrong, Janna wasted no time racing down the stairs to seek out the cook. The woman was busy plucking a goose. Feathers flew in all directions. They were being collected by a thin kitchen maid who wore a sour expression. No doubt the feathers were prized as a stuffing for quilts and pillows for the household, especially the smaller fluffy feathers, but it seemed the maid was taking no pride or pleasure in her work this day.

  Janna paused a moment to assemble her thoughts. She must proceed carefully. If she wanted answers to her questions, she would first need to win the cook’s friendship and trust. It seemed an impossible task given the start they’d already made. Nevertheless, she had to try.

  ‘What do you want?’ The cook turned from the goose she was plucking, and stared suspiciously at Janna. Neither of them could forget the last time they’d met.

  Instead of voicing questions and accusations, Janna was learning to proceed more cautiously. ‘I beg your pardon for troubling you, mistress, but the priest bade me ask you to make up a posset for Dame Alice, the same posset that Master Fulk ordered for her once before.’

  ‘Why would the priest ask such a thing?’

  ‘He has just come from my lady’s chamber to request it,’ Janna said carefully. ‘Dame Alice is in great need of comfort. She is made distraught by the death of her baby son.’ A hiss of indrawn breath told Janna that this was news to the kitchen staff. They stopped working, put down what they were doing and, silent and intent, watched her.

  ‘So the baby has died, no thanks to you and your mother.’

  Janna sighed, feeling almost too discouraged to defend herself. ‘We did our best, but there was naught we – or anyone else – could have done for him,’ she muttered. She was aware of the cook’s hostility, but still she had to try. ‘Please, mistress,’ she pleaded, ‘will you do as the priest asks and make one of your special possets for my lady. I feel sure it will do much to calm her.’ Perhaps flattery would persuade the cook to do as she was asked.

  ‘Hmmph.’ The cook rested her bloody and feather-smeared hands on her hips, and stared at Janna. It was clear from her expression that she wanted Janna gone, but she did not quite have the courage to disobey instructions. So she dipped a scoop into a pot of water hung by a chain over the fire and poured the boiling contents into a mug.

  ‘Pray tell me, what do you use?’ Janna pointed to the reddish brown flakes the woman began spooning into the mixture, knowing full well her reply.

  ‘Rose petals.’ The cook nipped up a small pinch from another jar. ‘Mint,’ she said, and cautiously plucked a couple of leaves from a stem standing in a pot of water.

  Janna recognised the stinging but useful plant. ‘Nettles?’ she said.

  The cook nodded. ‘And honey.’ She poured a thin stream of sticky gold into the steaming mug.

  She could make a far more efficacious posset herself, Janna thought, but she did not say the words out loud. There was still much to find out and she did not want to antagonise the cook by making suggestions. ‘And what do you keep here?’ she asked, pointing at a row of jars of similar shape and size to the pot which held the rose petals.

  ‘Sweet marjoram, thyme, poppy seeds, basil, rosemary … I grow many herbs for my use.’ There was pride in the cook’s answer.

  ‘I know that, for I have been out in your garden myself.’ Janna recalled the monkshood growing so innocently beside the parsley, and another question sprang to her lips. ‘Do you add parsley to your mix?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘No. It has no place in this.’ The cook gave the steaming mug a vigorous stir.

  Janna hesitated. Keeping her tone carefully respectful, she asked, ‘I noticed plants of monkshood growing in your garden. Do you include it in your potions, mistress?’

  ‘No! ’Tis a deadly poison!’

  ‘Yet it has its uses for all that.’

  The cook stopped stirring and gave Janna a sharp look. ‘It is your mother who brews poisons, not me,’ she hissed, ‘and I will not be accused and insulted by the likes of you.’

  Fearing another attack with the broom, Janna stepped hastily out of the cook’s reach. ‘I meant no harm by my question,’ she said quickly. ‘I meant only that monkshood has good use as a rubbing oil for aches and pains.’

  ‘I know well the uses for monkshood for Master Fulk himself has instructed me. Now get out of my kitchen! I will take the infusion to my lady myself.’ The cook walked out of the door, the mug clutched carefully in her two hands. As soon as she was safely out of sight, Janna began a careful inspection of the herbs and potions ranged along the kitchen shelves.

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing?’ The sour scullery maid looked up from chasing errant feathers.

  Janna ignored the question, continuing to open stoppers and sniff the contents of the jars, occasionally taking an experimental taste. To her relief, neither the maids nor any of the scullions seemed to have the courage to either restrain her or drag her out of the kitchen. Instead, they stood about, still staring at her.

  ‘What are you seeking, mistress?’ Janna glanced up and saw it was the maid who had once spoken up in support of her mother. She was young, and seemed sympathetic.

  ‘Many of these spices are new to me. I am interested in their properties.’ Janna wished the cook was more cooperative. It would make her task so much easier. This mixture smelled sweet, another a little spicy; there was no rancid stink or taste of monkshood. She would have to ask the question outright.

  ‘I need monkshood to ease my lady’s aching joints,’ she improvised swiftly. ‘Have you any rubbing oil made up, or should I pick it fresh and make the concoction myself?’

  ‘There be some growing out in the garden. You said you’d seen it,’ the sour-faced maid pointed out.

  ‘Master Fulk made up a mixture. You could ask him if there’s any left.’ The young maid giggled suddenly. ‘My lord went out riding last week and fell off his horse. He blamed the horse for taking fright and bolting under him but the groom says the fault lies with my lord Robert, who has a heavy hand with the whip and who is not the fine horseman he believes himself to be. Certain it was that my lord complained of a sore back, and was in a foul temper from the pain.’ The maid pulled a face. ‘We all kept out of his way. We always do, if we can.’

  ‘So Master Fulk has a mixture?’ While entertained by the maid’s observations regarding her master, Janna was far more interested in the apothecary.

  ‘I saw him make it up myself,’ the maid said proudly. ‘He ground the root and mixed it with oil and mustard seeds. He warned my lord not to ingest any part of it. He was most careful about warning all of us, miss. And my lord was grateful, for he says that it eased the pain. I know all this for he made Master Fulk show him where the plant grows, and he bade me come too, so that I can make up the rubbing oil should any in the household have aches and pains in want of treatment in the future.’ The maid brightened, visibly swelling with self-importance. ‘I can make up the mixture now, if you wish?’

  ‘No, do not trouble yourself,’ Janna said quickly. ‘If Master Fulk has none left, I shall make it myself.’ It was hard to hide her elation. Here, at last, was proof of Fulk’s guilt. A sudden thought dampened her excitement. Was the apothecary still at the manor, or had he already left for Wiltune? She must act quickly if she wished to trap him with this information.

  ‘I thank you for your assistance,’ she said, and hurried out.

  ‘The kitchen garden is the other way,’ the maid called after her.

  ‘Later.’ Janna flapped a hand in acknowledgment, and kept on going. Where was Fulk? She had to find him straight away so that she could lay out her accusations for all to hear.

 
Janna had supposed that cows, horses, sheep and goats were lodged at the bottom of the manor house, underneath the family’s living quarters. Now that she’d seen the numerous sheds scattered about the manor grounds she thought the animals were probably housed elsewhere, which meant that the undercroft must be used for some other purpose. Perhaps it housed the servants? She decided to start her search there, since Fulk had been staying at the manor house. She opened the door and peered about. The several partitions with straw pallets and wall pegs told her she’d guessed correctly. A number of huge chests indicated the room was also used for storage. The room was cold and illlit, having only high and narrow slits for windows. Empty casks and barrels stood about, waiting for the rich rewards of the harvest. There was no sign of Fulk, nor of anyone who might know his whereabouts. She went back outside, ran up the stairs and into the hall.

  ‘Have you seen Master Fulk? I must speak with him.’ Janna addressed her question to Aldith, who was the only person present.

  ‘He is with my lady. Robert insisted that he come and take care of her, for she is in sore distress. Wait!’ Aldith caught hold of Janna’s arm and held her fast. ‘You cannot go in there, Janna. Not now. At Dame Alice’s request, I have put the baby into his cradle so that she and her husband and their little boy may say their farewells. The priest is with them, and so are other members of the household. You cannot interrupt them. In fact, you would be well advised to do as my lord Robert instructed, and leave the manor.’

  ‘No, I can’t. Not yet.’

  Recognising she would have to be patient, Janna stopped resisting Aldith’s grasp. ‘I am truly sorry for what I said to you. Will you forgive me?’

  Aldith cast her eyes upwards, and clicked her tongue. ‘I understand that you are distraught after your mother’s death, but you must be more careful, Janna.’

  Aldith sounded just like Eadgyth! Janna gave her a forlorn smile. ‘You’ve been very kind to me,’ she observed. ‘Why?’