Frevisse stopped where she was, as much in disgust as horror, then crossed herself as much in penance for the disgust as for the repose of Martha’s soul. Dame Claire, recovering from her own reaction, went to kneel where Father Henry had been.

Frevisse, almost as quickly, went to stand between sight of Martha’s body and Thomasine, who was crouched too near it, whimpers crawling up from her throat and her face pressed against prayer-clasped hands. Carefully, not wanting to bring on hysterics, she took the girl by the shoulders and said as gently as she could, “Stand up out of Dame Claire’s way.”

The infirmarian was feeling for pulse and breath, looking for life where very surely there was none.

“Stand up,” Frevisse repeated, wanting to get her away from the temptation to look again at Martha.

Thomasine responded, letting herself be helped to her feet. With an arm around her shoulders, Frevisse turned her away from both Martha and Lady Ermentrude.

“It was awful,” Thomasine whispered, shaking in Frevisse’s hold. “It was horrible. She had a… fit. She–”

Firmly across her rising voice Frevisse said, “It’s over. She’s not hurting anymore. It’s finished.”

Dame Claire sat back from her fruitless search for signs of life and looked up at Father Henry still standing above her. “What happened?” she demanded. (more…)