Éleusie de Beaufort closed her eyes. A warm tear trickled down her face into the corner of her mouth. Blanche de Blinot, the senior nun, clenched her fist spasmodically and repeated as though she were reciting a litany:
‘What is happening, what is happening? She is dead, isn’t she? … How could she be dead? She was still so young!’
Gentle Adélaïde’s corpse lay in its coffin, which was resting on a pair of trestles in the middle of the registry, waiting to be taken to the abbey’s Church of Notre-Dame. Annelette Beaupré had struggled with the dead girl’s stubborn tongue, which protruded gruesomely, and had finally resorted to gagging the dead girl with a strip of linen in order to keep the thing inside her mouth. Consequently the dignity refused to her in death was restored.
They had all paid their respects, tearfully, silently or in prayer, to the young woman who had been in charge of the kitchens and their meals. Annelette had studied their different demeanours, the uneasy, distant or forlorn expressions on their faces, determined to discover the culprit among them, for she was convinced that her theory was correct and had shared her thoughts with the Abbess.
Éleusie had protested at first, but had soon yielded to the apothecary’s implacable logic and accepted the unacceptable: they were rubbing shoulders every day with the goodly Adélaïde’s killer. Her fear had given way to painful despair. Evil had slipped in with that creature of darkness Nicolas Florin. She had felt it.
The Abbess had remained at her desk for many hours, unable to move, unsure of how to act, of where to start. She had learned that no amount of prayer or lighting of candles could drive out evil. Evil would only recoil in the face of pure unflinching souls who were prepared to fight to the death. The titanic battle had no end; it had existed since the beginning of time and would go on raging until the end. Unless …
The time for peace had not yet come. Éleusie was going to fight because Clémence, Philippine and Claire would have taken up arms without a second thought. Why was she still alive when the others would have been so much better equipped for battle?
Early that morning, Jeanne d’Amblin had left on her rounds to visit the abbey’s regular benefactors and new alms givers.70 The extern sister had been reluctant to leave the Mother Abbess alone to face whatever came next. Éleusie had used all her authority to persuade Jeanne to go. Now she regretted her decision. Jeanne’s competence, her energy, her firm but gentle resolve were a comfort to her. She raised her eyes and glanced at Annelette, who was shaking her head.
She walked over to the apothecary, pulling Blanche behind her, and said in a hushed voice:
‘I want everybody, without exception, in the scriptorium in half an hour.’
‘That might prove dangerous,’ replied the tall woman.
‘Might we not do better to lead a more … discreet investigation?’
‘There is no greater danger than refusing to see, daughter. I want everyone to be there except for the lay women. I will see them later.’
‘The murderess might lash out if she feels cornered. If she fears discovery, she might attack another sister, perhaps even you.’
‘That is precisely what I’m hoping, to make her panic.’
‘It is too risky. Poisoning is such a subtle art that even I am powerless to prevent it. Could we not …’
‘That is an order, Annelette.’
‘I … Very well, Reverend Mother.’
A wall of still white robes ruffled only by a slight draught. Éleusie made out the tiny faces, brows, eyes and lips of the fifty-odd women, half of them novices, who were waiting, wondering why they had been summoned. And yet Éleusie was sure that no one but the murderess had suspected the true magnitude of the tidal wave that was about to engulf the scriptorium. Seated at one of the writing desks, Annelette lowered her head, fiddling absent-mindedly with a small knife used for sharpening quill pens. One question had been nagging at her since the evening before. Why would anyone find it necessary to kill poor Adélaïde? Had she uncovered the identity of the poisoner? Had she seen or heard something that implicated her killer? For the cup of herbal tea, which the apothecary had discovered, had been given to the sister in charge of meals at a time in the evening when she was alone in the kitchens. The murderess must have taken advantage of this fact to bring her the fatal beverage. In addition to these questions another worry was plaguing Annelette: what if the poisoner had taken the drug from her medicine cabinet in the herbarium? The apothecary nun was in the habit of treating pain, facial neuralgia and fever71 with dilutions of aconite.
‘Daughters … Sister Adélaïde is with Our Lord. Her soul, I know, rests in peace.’ Éleusie de Beaufort breathed in sharply before continuing in a strident voice: ‘However, the suffering endured by whoever has usurped the will of God will be eternal. Her punishment in this world will be terrible and the ensuing torment inflicted upon her by the Almighty unimaginable.’
Some of the sisters glanced at one another, unable to grasp the meaning of this judgement. Others stared at their Abbess with a mixture of amazement and alarm. The morbid silence that had descended was broken by a flurry of voices, feet scraping the floor and stifled exclamations.
‘Silence!’ thundered Éleusie. ‘Silence, I have not finished yet.’
The astonished nervous whispers instantly came to a stop.
‘Our sweet sister Adélaïde was poisoned with a cup of honey and lavender tea that contained aconite.’
Fifty gasps rose as one and reverberated against the ceiling of the enormous scriptorium. Éleusie took advantage of the ensuing hubbub to examine the faces, searching in vain for any sign that might reveal the culprit.
‘Silence!’ Éleusie exclaimed. ‘Silence this instant! As you would expect, I do not intend to ask which of you brewed the tea as I doubt I would receive an answer.’ She paused and looked again at the fifty faces staring back at her, her gaze lingering on Berthe de Marchiennes, Yolande de Fleury, Hedwige du Thilay, but most of all on Thibaude de Gartempe. ‘However, you – and by you I mean the person responsible for this unforgivable crime – have underestimated me. I may not know your name yet, but I shall find it out before long.’
A tremulous voice broke the profound silence following this promise:
‘I don’t understand what’s going on. Will somebody please tell me what our Reverend Mother is saying?’
Blanche de Blinot was fidgeting on her bench, turning first to one sister then another. A novice leaned over and explained to her in a whisper.
‘But … I took her the tea!’ Thrown into a sudden panic, the old woman groaned: ‘You say she died from a cup of poisoned honey and lavender tea? How could that be?’
Éleusie looked at her as though a chasm were opening at her feet.
‘What are you saying, Blanche dear? That it was you who brewed the tea for Adélaïde?’
‘Yes. Well … No, it didn’t happen quite like that. I found the cup on my desk when I was preparing to go to vespers. I sniffed it … and well, I have never really cared much for lavender tea, it is too fragrant for me,’ she said in a hushed voice, as though confessing to some terrible sin. ‘Although I am partial to verbena, especially when it is flavoured with mint …’
‘Blanche … The facts, please,’ Éleusie interrupted.
‘Forgive me, Reverend Mother … I digress … I am getting so old … Well, I assumed Adélaïde had prepared it for me and so I took the cup back to the kitchen. She is … was such a considerate girl. She said it was a shame to waste it and that she would drink it herself.’
Éleusie caught the astonished eye of the apothecary nun. Who else besides the two of them had understood the significance of this exchange? Certainly not Blanche, the intended victim, who was agonising over having handed the poisoned tea to her cherished sister. Somebody had wanted to get rid of Blanche. But why? Why kill a half-deaf old woman who spent most of her time snoozing? Éleusie could feel a pair of hate-filled eyes boring into her from she did not know where. She made a monumental effort to carry on:
‘I am now in possession of the evidence I needed in order to follow up my suspicions. My theory of how to unmask the culprit is based upon the identity of the victim. Adélaïde’s death, however terrible, was a mistake. It is all becoming clear. You may go now, daughters. I shall write directly to Monsieur Monge de Brineux, Seigneur d’Authon’s chief bailiff, informing him of this murder and providing him with the names of two likely suspects. I shall demand that the culprit be given a public beating before being executed. May God’s will be done.’
No sooner had she closed the door of her apartments than her show of authority, her bravado, crumbled. She sat on the edge of her bed, incapable of moving or even thinking. She waited, waited for the hand that would administer the poison, for the face filled with bottomless loathing or fear. She heard a sound in the adjoining study, the faint rustle of a robe. Death was approaching in a white robe, a wooden crucifix round its neck.
Annelette stood in the doorway to her bed chamber. Visibly upset, she stammered:
‘You …’
‘I what?’ murmured Éleusie, her weary voice barely audible.
Trembling with rage, the tall woman roared at her:
‘Why did you make such a claim? You have no more idea who is responsible for this horrific act than I. Why make believe that you do? Have you taken leave of your senses? She will kill you now to avoid being unmasked. You have left her no other option.’
‘That was my intention.’
‘I am helpless to protect you. There exist so many poisons and so few antidotes.’
‘Why did she try to poison Blanche de Blinot? The question haunts me, yet I can think up no answer. Do you think that Blanche …’
‘No. She still hasn’t realised that she was the intended victim. She is too upset by Adélaïde’s death. I have taken her back to her beloved steam room.’
‘The few who possess a modicum of intelligence suspect the truth.’
‘Who would do this?’
‘Don’t you mean why?’ corrected Annelette. ‘We are all in danger until we unravel this deadly plot. We must stop looking at the problem from the wrong angle. I, too, confess to concentrating on scrutinising the other sisters, but it is not the right approach. If we discover the motive, we will have the culprit.’
‘Do you think you will succeed?’ asked Éleusie, feeling reassured for the first time by the imposing woman’s forbidding presence.
‘I shall do my utmost. Your meals will no longer be served separately. You will help yourself from the communal pot. You will neither eat nor drink anything that is brought or offered to you. What were you thinking! If the murderess gives any credence to your declarations and thinks she’s been unmasked, she’ll …’
Éleusie’s exhaustion gave way to a strange calm. She declared resolutely:
‘I have cut off her retreat. Now she is forced to advance.’
‘By killing you?’
‘God is my judge. I am ready to meet Him and have no fear.’
‘You seem to place very little importance on your own life,’ said Annelette disdainfully. ‘Death is a trifling matter, indeed … It comes to us all and I wonder why we fear it so. Life is a far more uncertain and difficult undertaking. Have you decided to renounce it out of convenience or cowardice? I confess I am disappointed in you, Reverend Mother.’
‘I will not permit you to …’
Annelette interrupted her sharply:
‘I don’t give a fig for your permission! Have you forgotten that when you accepted your post you vowed to watch over your daughters? Now is not the time to go back on that vow. What were you expecting? That your time here at Clairets would pass by like a pleasant stroll in the country? It might have but it didn’t. Until we discover the intentions of this monster we will all be in danger.’
‘I thought death was a matter of indifference to you?’
‘It is. However, I confess that I place great value on my life and I haven’t the slightest intention of giving it away to the first killer who comes along.’
Éleusie was preparing a sharp rejoinder but was deterred by the sombre look in Annelette’s usually clear eyes. Annelette continued in a low voice:
‘You surprise me, Madame. Have you already forgotten all those who went before us? Have you forgotten that our quest outweighs any one of us and that our lives and deaths are no longer our own? Would you yield so easily when Claire chose to perish on the steps at Acre rather than surrender?’
‘What are you talking about?’ whispered Éleusie, taken aback by this unexpected declaration. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Annelette Beaupré, your apothecary nun.’
‘What do you know about the quest?’
‘Like you, Madame, I am a link in the chain. But a link that will never yield.’
‘What are you talking about? A link in what chain?’
‘In a thousand-year-old chain that is timeless. Did you really believe that you, Francesco and Benoît were alone in your search?’
Éleusie was dumbfounded.
‘I …’
‘I believe Benoît was aware of every link down to the last rivet.’
‘Who are you?’ the Abbess repeated.
‘My mission is to watch over you. I do not know why and I do not ask. It is enough for me to know that my life will not have been in vain, that it will have been one of many fragments joining together to form the foundation of the purest and most noble sanctuary.’
A silence descended on the two women at the end of the confession. The Abbess’s incredulity was swept away by the sudden revelation. So, others besides Francesco, Benoît and her were working in the shadows and fearful of being discovered. Annelette’s chain conjured up a more far-reaching enterprise than Éleusie had ever imagined. How blind she had been never to have suspected. She wondered whether her nephew had been more perceptive. No. He would never have left his beloved aunt in the dark. This explained the frequent coincidences that had guided Éleusie’s life all these years, as well as Francesco’s sometimes inexplicable discoveries and Benoît’s help, even her appointment at Clairets. Éleusie had never requested the post, and yet it was here that the secret library was located. And Manoir de Souarcy was a stone’s throw from the abbey.
Agnès.
‘Annelette … Tell me more about this … this chain.’
The large woman sighed before confessing:
‘I have told you most of what I know, Reverend Mother. For a time, I believed that our dear departed Benoît was in charge of its organisation. I was mistaken. Indeed, I am not even sure how apt the idea of a chain is.’
‘In that case who ordered you to watch over me?’ Éleusie was growing exasperated.
‘Benoît, of course.’
‘Our Pope, Nicolas Boccasini?’
‘Yes.’
‘How could that be? Did you know him?’
‘I belonged to his entourage when he was Bishop of Ostia.’
‘But he knew nothing about me … I was a mere intermediary.’
‘Perhaps.’
Éleusie’s annoyance was gradually giving way to alarm. She was beginning to feel that they were all unknowingly caught up in an enormous spider’s web. She stammered:
‘Are we not unwitting pawns on a chessboard we cannot even perceive?’
‘What does it matter if the chessboard is glorious? That is not the question. I am convinced that the person bringing death to our abbey is also responsible for the demise of the papal emissary whose apparently charred corpse was found in the forest with no signs of any fire nearby … Ergot of rye.’ Annelette appeared to reflect for a moment before adding: ‘Did you feed that messenger, the one who came here to see you?’
The Abbess understood instantly what the apothecary nun was driving at, and her heart sank at the thought that she might have unconsciously aided the poisoner. She exclaimed:
‘Dear God … you don’t suppose the bread I gave him … Could the oats, barley and spelt wheat used to make our daily bread have been contaminated?’
‘Ergot can infect other plants, though it is rare. And the flour Adélaïde found in the herbarium was unquestionably rye. It remains to be seen who gave the man the poisoned bread.’
Éleusie chided herself for feeling selfishly relieved.
‘It seems likely that the monster also killed the emissaries that were sent before and after the one you received here,’ Annelette continued.
Éleusie stared at her in silence. It was clear to her, too, and she could have kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. Tears of deep despair welled up in her eyes. Clémence, Claire, Philippine … You who have carried me all these years would be so disappointed by my weakness now.
‘Do you think there may also be a connection with Madame Agnès’s arrest and the arrival of that inquisitor?’ she heard herself ask in a muffled voice she barely recognised as her own.
‘It would not surprise me at all, Reverend Mother. However, I must know more before I can decide. Who is Madame de Souarcy really? And why is she so important to you? The secrecy we swore for our own protection complicates matters. You know that my task is to protect you and yet I know nothing of yours. Now that Benoît is dead, I think we must change the rules of the game.’
Éleusie paused:
‘What do you know about … What did Benoît tell you about …’
The apothecary smiled sadly and declared:
‘It is a difficult subject to broach, is it not? You cannot be sure how much I know, and I have no notion of the extent of what has been revealed to you. We observe one another, both reluctant to break our vow of absolute silence. I, too, have been hesitating for a long moment, Madame. I veer between the certainty that in the face of this partially glimpsed danger we must inevitably confide in one another, and the fear of making a disastrous error of judgement by unreservedly giving you my trust.’
Annelette’s words perfectly captured Éleusie de Beaufort’s own thoughts.
‘Then we must be brave, daughter, for it takes courage to trust others. What did Benoît tell you about the quest?’
The apothecary’s gaze strayed towards the window:
‘In truth, not a great deal. Benoît was afraid that too much knowledge might endanger the brothers and sisters who had joined his cause. No doubt he was right. His death is painful evidence of it. He revealed a few of the facts to me, but in such a disjointed way that I cannot be sure of having grasped everything. I can only relate them to you as they were related to me, over time. He spoke of a thousand-year-old struggle between two powers. Since the discovery of a birth chart, or rather two birth charts that are now in our possession, this secret but bloody war has been moving steadily towards its climax. One of the two planetary alignments concerns a woman whose whereabouts will become known during a lunar eclipse. Up until now the estimation of these two birth dates has been hindered by an erroneous astrological calculation. This woman must be protected, even at the cost of our lives. You play a key role in her protection, and I in turn am your guardian. That is all I know.’ Annelette turned her gaze from the gardens and studied Éleusie before concluding: ‘Why did I not think of it before? The woman is Agnès de Souarcy, isn’t she?’
‘We think so … but we are not entirely sure. All of Francesco’s research and calculations point to it being her.’
‘Why is her life so precious?’
‘We still do not know despite our endless speculations. Madame de Souarcy has no link with the Holy Land … Therefore she does not belong to the holy lineage as we had first supposed. Come and sit down here next to me, Annelette.’
The towering woman moved a few paces from the door with what seemed a heavier step than usual. Éleusie enquired:
‘Are you afraid?’
‘Of course I am, Reverend Mother. And yet doesn’t human greatness lie in the ability to conquer that inborn fear which makes us want to hide in a hole and never come out, and carry on fighting?’
Éleusie gave a wistful smile.
‘You might be describing my life. I have always been afraid. I have tried hard to be brave and have failed more often than I have succeeded. I increasingly regret that death spared me and not one of my sisters. Any one of them would have been so much stronger and more resolute than I.’
Annelette sat down beside her on the edge of the bed and said softly:
‘How can you be sure of that? Who knows where or to what end we are being moved on the chessboard of which you spoke?’
The apothecary nun let out a sigh. The two women sat in silence for a moment. Éleusie was the first to speak:
‘I feel as if I am surrounded by an impenetrable fog. I have no idea what to do or which way to turn.’
Annelette sat up straight, declaring in her usual commanding tone:
‘We are not alone now. There are two of us, and I have no intention of allowing that evil snake to strike again with impunity. No! She will have me to contend with, us, and we will show her no mercy!’
The Abbess felt some of the same self-assurance – the same anger even – that she detected in Annelette. She too sat up straight and asked:
‘What can we do?’
‘Firstly, we must increase our vigilance in order to guarantee our own safety. As I told you, Abbess, our lives are no longer ours to do with as we please, and certainly not to make a gift of to any murderess. Secondly, we shall conduct an investigation. Benoît is dead. We are therefore on our own and can expect no more timely help from him. The criminal is cunning. I suspect that she pilfers my remedies from the cupboard in the herbarium, which proves that she is well versed in the art of poison. I plan to remove the contents of certain bags and phials. We will need to store them in a safe place …’
Éleusie immediately thought of the library. No, she would keep the knowledge of that secret place even from Annelette.
‘Then I will lay a little trap of my own for that snake.’
‘What trap is that?’
‘I prefer it to remain a surprise, Reverend Mother.’
Annelette’s caution reassured Éleusie: the apothecary nun would not be taken in by anybody. So she did not insist upon being told her plan and simply nodded.
‘And now,’ her daughter continued, ‘we must turn our thoughts to Blanche de Blinot. Why would anyone want to murder a senile old woman who is going deaf and forgets everything she says or does from one moment to the next?’
The portrait was scarcely a charitable one, but Éleusie was beyond the customary petty reproofs it had been her task to mete out before.
‘Blanche is our most senior nun,’ the apothecary continued, ‘and your second in command, as well as acting prioress during her moments of lucidity, which are becoming few and far between.’
Annelette jumped up. A sudden thought had occurred to her. She pointed an accusatory finger at the Abbess and all but shouted:
‘And she is guardian of the seal!’
‘My seal!’ Éleusie cried out in horror, also jumping up. ‘Do you think somebody might have taken it? A seal breaker!72 My seal can be used to send secret messages to Rome, to the King, to sign deeds, even death sentences … and any number of other things …’
‘When Blanche is not using the seal to authenticate minor documents in your name in order to lighten your chores, where is it kept?’
‘In my safe with my private papers.’
No sooner had she spoken than it dawned on her. Annelette appeared not to notice her unease for she insisted:
‘And is it there now?’
‘No … I mean, yes, I am certain it is,’ confirmed the Abbess, touching her chest to make sure that the key she always wore on its heavy chain was still there.
The sudden change in her voice alerted Annelette, who studied her attentively and waited for her to continue.
‘As an extra precaution, every abbey safe has three keys. The lock will not open without the combination of all three. It is the custom for the Abbess to have custody of one, the guardian of the seal another and the prioress the third.’
‘Am I to understand that as guardian of the seal and prioress Blanche keeps two keys?’
‘No. Our senior nun’s waning faculties induced me to take one back and entrust it to the cellarer nun, who answers directly to me and whose position in the abbey hierarchy makes her the obvious next choice.’
‘That spiteful creature Berthe de Marchiennes! I wouldn’t trust her with my life.’
‘You go too far, my child,’ Éleusie chided half-heartedly.
‘And what of it? Have we not gone beyond polite pleasantries? I don’t trust the woman.’
‘Nor do I,’ the Abbess confessed, ‘and she is not the only one.’ Éleusie paused for a moment before recounting the curious scene she had stumbled upon some weeks before: the exchange between the schoolmistress, Emma de Pathus, and Nicolas Florin, whom she had been obliged to lodge at the abbey.
‘Emma de Pathus actually spoke to the inquisitor whose presence we were forced to endure?’ echoed Annelette Beaupré, stunned. ‘The man is evil. He is one of our enemies. What could they have been talking about? Where might she know him from?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘We must keep a close watch on her, then. But firstly we must ensure that nobody has stolen the key from Blanche.’
‘The safe cannot be opened without my key.’
She could read in her daughter’s strained expression the thoughts that she was keeping to herself. Éleusie voiced them for her:
‘Indeed … If Berthe de Marchiennes … I mean, if the murderess is already in possession of the other two keys, then I am the last remaining obstacle,’ she concluded. ‘Let us go and question Blanche … Dear God, poor Blanche … what easy prey.’
They found the old woman in the steam room as they had expected. Blanche de Blinot sought relief for her aching bones in the only room that was heated at that time of year. She had made a little niche for herself in the corner where, with the aid of a lectern, she was able to sit and read the Gospels instead of standing up on painful limbs. The senior nun looked up at them, her eyes red from crying, and stammered:
‘I would never have believed that I might one day live through such a terrible thing, Reverend Mother. Poor little Adélaïde, a poisoner in our midst, and one of our own. Has the world come to an end?’
‘No, dear Blanche,’ Éleusie tried to comfort her.
‘Everybody is convinced that I am gradually losing my faculties and no doubt they are right. But my mind hasn’t stopped working entirely. That tea was meant for me, wasn’t it?’
The Abbess paused for a moment before admitting:
‘Yes, dear Blanche.’
‘But why? What have I done to make anyone wish to kill me? I, who have never offended nor harmed even the smallest of creatures?’
‘We know, sister. Annelette and I have considered this atrocity from every angle and have gradually come to the conclusion that it wasn’t a personal attack on you. Do you still have the key I gave you? The key to the safe.’
‘The key? So this is about the key?’
‘We think it might be.’
Blanche sat up straight on her lectern, trying not to wince with pain.
‘What do you take me for!’ she exclaimed in a voice that brought back to Éleusie some of the woman’s former determination. ‘My mind might wander sometimes, but I am not senile yet, contrary to what some say.’ She shot Annelette a withering glance. ‘Of course I still have it. I can feel it all the time.’
She pulled a leg out from under the lectern and thrust an ungainly leather shoe at the apothecary nun.
‘Come on. Since you’re still young, take off my shoe for me and roll down my stocking.’
The other woman obeyed. She discovered the tiny key under the sole of Blanche’s foot. The metal had left its indentation in the pale flesh.
‘This can only add to your aches and pains,’ Annelette remarked.
Intent upon scoring a victory, Blanche retorted:
‘That may be so, but I can be sure I’ll never mislay it. Do you really think you are the only one in this abbey with an ounce of common sense?’
The apothecary nun stifled a smile she deemed incongruous in these perilous circumstances, and confessed:
‘If indeed I did entertain such thoughts, you have proved me wrong.’
Blanche acknowledged her sister’s rejoinder with a nod of satisfaction and declared:
‘Your honesty does you credit.’ A sudden sadness extinguished the old woman’s fleeting contentment. ‘You are right about one thing, though. I am very old and prone to falling asleep. No. I do not resent any remarks you might have made about my enfeebled state.’ Turning to the Abbess, she concluded: ‘Reverend Mother, you are aware of the friendship, esteem and affection I feel for you. Pray relieve me of the burden of this key. If I found this painful hiding place, it was because there were times when during my too frequent naps I felt something brush against my neck or waist. Perhaps it was merely an impression, as in a dream. But I took it seriously enough to choose … my shoe.’
‘And it was very wise of you, Blanche,’ Éleusie praised her. ‘Let us entrust the key to our apothecary. We will publicly announce that you have been disencumbered of it at your own request without revealing who its new keeper is and in this way …’
‘No one will try to kill me in order to steal it,’ the old woman finished the sentence for her.
‘What a shrewd idea of yours, sister, to keep it in your shoe. I shall do the same,’ Annelette lied.
She had already decided upon a hiding place. She regretted lying to poor Blanche but continued to believe that the old sister’s advanced age had weakened her faculties and was concerned lest she give herself over to idle and dangerous chatter. Only she and the Abbess would know where she planned to keep the key.
They left Blanche de Blinot, safe in the knowledge that she would sleep more easily.
Back in her study, the Abbess said:
‘Lend me your key for a few moments. I am going to ask the cellarer nun for hers, too. I want to make sure that my seal is safe. I shall see you afterwards, Annelette.’
The other woman understood that she was being dismissed and did not take offence. No doubt the safe contained private documents. Moreover, she had to prepare her little trap, as she had chosen to refer to it.
Éleusie de Beaufort found Berthe de Marchiennes, the cellarer nun, by the hay barn. She was overseeing the counting of the hay bales being stacked in a pile by four serfs. Éleusie was instantly puzzled by Berthe’s expression. She could detect no hint of sorrow on her face, or indeed any emotion whatsoever. Éleusie stifled a growing feeling of hostility. Berthe had not been close to Adélaïde, nor was she to any of the sisters. The cellarer nun was muttering under her breath:
‘For goodness’ sake! What idlers! At this rate we’ll still be here at nightfall.’
‘The bales are heavy.’
‘You are too charitable, Reverend Mother. The men are slothful, that’s all. All they think of is eating their fill at our expense. My father was right to …’
Berthe stopped in mid-sentence. Her father had beaten the living daylights out of his serfs, blaming them for all his own mistakes. He had starved them and left them to die like animals and the Abbess knew it. Just as she knew that the late Monsieur de Marchiennes had taken one look at his newborn baby girl before declaring her ugly as sin, without prospects, and never giving her another thought. Berthe clung to a dream she knew to be impossible. She still aspired to the life she felt she had been deprived of, a life in which she would have been beautiful, the life her name predisposed her to, had it not been for her father’s indifference and stubborn foolhardiness, which had been the ruin of the family.
‘My dear Berthe, would you please lend me the key to the safe which I put in your charge.’
Éleusie thought she saw a flicker of hesitation on the cellarer’s face, and was surprised by the woman’s sudden awkwardness as she stammered:
‘Why, naturally … I … I always keep it with me. Why … Of course it is not for me to question your reasons for opening the safe, but …’
‘Quite so,’ interrupted Éleusie sharply. ‘The key, if you please.’ The Abbess was becoming uneasy, on edge. Was Berthe going to tell her she had lost it? Had her silent reservations about the cellarer nun been justified? She held out her hand.
The other woman’s crumpled, embittered little face creased up even more. She unbuttoned her robe, pulled out a long leather thong and lifted it over her veil. On the end of it hung the key.
‘Thank you, daughter. I shall return it to you the moment I have finished with it.’
*
A quarter of an hour later Éleusie was shaking so much as she jiggled the three keys into position in the lock that it took her two attempts. She scarcely glanced at the seal, but let out a loud sigh of relief as her hand alighted on the pergamênê73 containing the plans of the abbey. It was the only record of the existence and location of the library, and the Abbess was no longer in any doubt that this was what the murderess was looking for.