‘Shirlok,’ she repeated softly. ‘There is a name from the past!’ She shivered, and pulled her cloak around her shoulders.
‘I will guard Lady Christiana while you go to the kitchen with Cynric and Matt for a hot posset,’ offered Michael generously. ‘It is cold in here, and your fingers are blue. Do not worry about propriety – her virtue will be quite safe with me. I am a monk, after all.’
‘But you are also a man, and Hamo said-
’ ‘Hamo will not mind me playing chaperon,’ asserted Michael firmly. ‘I am a Benedictine, so my morals are above reproach. Go to the kitchens, child, and warm yourself before you take a chill.’
Sabina hesitated only a moment before nodding her thanks, and Bartholomew thought he saw a sparkle of tears as she turned to leave. He wondered whether she was touched by Michael’s ‘thoughtfulness’, or whether she still grieved for the deaths of old friends. Obediently, Cynric rose to escort her, although Bartholomew was not so easily dismissed. He hovered in the shadows.
‘Do not gulp your posset,’ called Michael after Sabina, as he moved towards his quarry, ‘or it will do you no good. And I am in no hurry to leave.’
In the still silence of the chapel, Bartholomew watched Michael stalk towards Christiana, and kneel next to her, placing his hands together in an attitude of prayer. Christiana glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and Bartholomew saw her start to smile. Michael was not the most handsome of men, and was too fat to be truly attractive, but he possessed a certain allure that appealed to women. Bartholomew lingered uncertainly, not sure whether to leave them to their own devices – they were both adults, after all – or whether he would be a better friend to Michael by staying.
‘Good evening, Brother,’ simpered Christiana. She turned in surprise when she heard the rustle of Bartholomew’s cloak. ‘Doctor! I thought you had gone with Sabina.’
‘So did I,’ said Michael meaningfully. ‘He invited me to pray with him,’ lied Bartholomew, suddenly determined not to go anywhere.
‘I am sure I did not,’ said Michael, eyeing him coolly. ‘And Prior Roger wants you to visit his hospital. There is a perplexing case of tertiary fever.’
‘He said nothing to me,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And it must be very perplexing indeed, since nobody has tertiary fevers at this time of year.’ He expected Christiana to be irritated by his stubborn refusal to leave, and was surprised to see a flash of amusement in her eyes.
‘Do not stand so far away,’ she said, ignoring Michael’s frustrated grimace. ‘Join us. We can talk about something Hamo told me – that we all have a mutual acquaintance in a lady called Matilde.’
Bartholomew nodded as he approached. ‘Hamo remembers her living in Lincoln six years ago.’
‘I arrived here about a month before Mayor Spayne asked Matilde to be his wife,’ said Christiana. Her expression became distant, as though she was lost in memories. ‘I was preoccupied with my own troubles at the time, but I recall that quite clearly – a woman made an offer of marriage by a man she did not love. It was at that point when I realised the same thing might happen to me, once the King decides I have had long enough to recover from my grief.’
‘Matilde did not love Spayne?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘How do you know?’
She regarded him in amusement. ‘We women can tell such things, Doctor. Besides, she would have accepted his offer had she loved him, given that he is handsome, rich, kind and gentle. Her standards must be very high. As are mine.’ She included Michael in her next enigmatic smile.
‘You have avoided being trapped so far,’ said Michael. ‘
’Yes, but my period of grace is coming to an end. His Majesty is beginning to be exasperated.’ Christiana sighed. ‘I adored my first husband, and would like to feel at least a modicum of affection for the second. My mother was on the verge of marrying a man she despised, and I saw how miserable it made her.’
‘Kelby,’ said Michael, remembering what Suttone had told him. ‘Unfortunately, she died before the ceremony could take place.’
‘She did not “die”, Brother,’ said Christiana softly. ‘She took medicine to ease a cough, and it killed her. She was with child, you see, but did not tell anyone. She swallowed the electuary she was given, but it contained cuckoo-pint, which is dangerous for ladies in such a condition-’
‘That was your mother?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘We heard Ursula de Spayne had prescribed an inappropriate remedy to a pregnant woman, but no one told us her name.’
Christiana nodded. ‘It was her. Matilde and my mother were friends, and Matilde was furious when she learned what Ursula had done. But, perhaps Ursula was as much a victim as anyone. My mother was deeply unhappy about the match with Kelby, and told me she would rather die than marry him. She would never have taken her own life, so she did the next best thing: she asked Ursula for a tonic, and she neglected to mention her pregnancy.’
