Outside the doorway, they nearly collided with young Robert Fenner, who fell back, his eyes going to Thomasine. “I pray you pardon me, my ladies,” he said.
Apparently Thomasine was no longer afraid of this particular male. She murmured it was no matter and shifted a little, as if she would continue going toward the outer door. But Frevisse held her where she was and said to Robert, “Do you know if word is out about Lady Ermentrude’s death?”
“There’s talk beginning. Montfort is known for quick decisions, but hasn’t made one yet for this. People are starting to wonder, and once that starts it will spread like mold in damp bread.” He nodded at the door behind her. “Sir Walter has only just come but he’s even quicker to move than Montfort. If he believes the rumors about poison, he’ll press Montfort into doing something as fast as may be. If Montfort resists, there will be as fine a display of temper as this place has ever seen. He has that other matter to hand, so he will be doubly anxious not to linger over this one.”
“Other– You mean his uncle’s dying? But surely…”
“A cousin. Lord Fenner. He’s rich three times over, and Sir Walter is his heir. The title is Sir Walter’s for certain but he wants to be sure there’s no ill-written will sharing the wealth with others. He’s been at Lord Fenner’s sickbed this month past, and the talk has been that nothing short of Judgment Day could pull him away. But now his mother’s dead of a sudden, so here he is. Not that Lord Fenner will be making any wills in his absence. His lordship is taking his time about dying and won’t make a will until the bishop himself has assured him there is absolutely no way he can carry any of it away with him beyond the grave. Still, Sir Walter will be eager to get back. He’s a careful man and doesn’t like leaving things to chance.”
“Or being kept from what he wants.”
“No. Best warn your prioress there is going to be hell to pay until his mother’s death is settled.” He looked at Thomasine and paused. This time Frevisse noted that Thomasine did not flinch from his look. More gently than he had been speaking to Frevisse, he said, “We are kin of sorts, my lady. Did you know that?”
“No,” she said softly. Her gaze dropped, but then returned to his face. “How?”
“I’m one of Lady Ermentrude’s rather too many great-nephews. So by marriage at least we’re cousins.”
Thomasine hesitated, then yielded to a worldly impulse and asked, “What will you do now that Lady Ermentrude is dead? Will you go into Sir Walter’s household?”
Robert made a small shrug. “Most likely, since I have to go somewhere.”
“And after all, it will be familiar,” Frevisse said. “He’s very like his mother, I suspect.”
Robert’s dryness matched her own. “You suspect rightly, my lady.” He turned serious again. “I would suggest your lady prioress see to keeping everyone as close in as may be. The fewer people Sir Walter has to strike at when he knows the truth, the better. Pray pardon me, I have tasks to finish.”
He moved away as Sir John and Lady Isobel approached. They seemed not to notice him at all as Lady Isobel closed on Thomasine and folded her in her arms, exclaiming, “Poor girl! How tired you look! All this has been too much for you. Haven’t they left you alone today? That dreadful crowner, with his stupid questions, has he been frightening you? Can’t they see how weary you are?”
Thomasine began removing herself gently from her sister’s hold. “I’m well enough. It will pass,” she murmured.
“You look none so well yourself, Sir John,” Frevisse said. To her eye he looked gray and a little drawn.
“The toothache,” he said. He nursed his jaw a little with one hand. “It comes and goes. That wretched mountebank said he had cured it, and he was gone with our good silver pence before we discovered he hadn’t. All that smoke and seethe and froth, and now the pain’s come back again.” He glanced uneasily around to see that no one was near them, and said, low-voiced, “You know what’s being said about her death?”
Frevisse indicated with a small movement of her head that she thought it best they move away from the door behind her. Its thickness was sufficient to mute but not muffle Sir Walter’s voice.
Sir John flinched slightly and moved away toward the hall’s outer door, the other three following.
“Is it true, what’s being said?” Lady Isobel asked. “That she was… was… poisoned?” Her cheeks’ soft cream reddened at the word.
“Yes. Beyond all doubting,” Frevisse said.
“But why? By whom?”
“That’s what Master Montfort is trying to determine. Will determine very shortly, I trust.”
“But how can he be so very certain it was… poison?”
“Because of all the signs of it on her. And because Martha Hayward died the same. There’s no doubting there was something in her food or wine that killed her, and Martha, too.”
“Not in the wine, surely,” Lady Isobel protested. “We brought it. There was nothing wrong with it. We brought two bottles, and the twin of the one I gave to Dame Claire I poured out for John myself. And you drank it, didn’t you, my heart, trying to ease your tooth?”
Sir John blinked, then said, “Yes, and there’s naught wrong with me.” But he looked alarmed and seemed to take a swift internal inventory. Not yet were the next words nearly off his tongue, Frevisse thought, but he curbed them as Lady Isobel said, “So it must have been in her food. Who prepared it?”
“Thomasine,” Frevisse said. “The poison may have been added to one or the other after both the wine and food were in her room.”
They had reached the end of the hall now. For a moment there were no servants or anyone else near them and Frevisse asked, “How long were you with your aunt last night?”
“All the first watch,” Lady Isobel answered readily. “Then one of her women came in. Maryon, I believe, and I went to bed. It had been a wearying day.”
“Sir John, were you there at all, after Martha Hayward’s death?”
“Only to ask if more wine was needed. Dame Claire said there was some left and it would do.” His jaw was obviously aching and the words came stiffly.
“So the bottle was there then. Did you take it away, then or later?”
“No. But does it matter? Obviously it was emptied and taken away.”
“I don’t know what matters at present. But it is odd that it has disappeared and no one seems to know who took it or to where.”
“I remember seeing it,” Lady Isobel said. “It was there on the table, and I could see there was perhaps a third of the wine still left.” She gave her husband a tender look. “I thought to take it for John. His tooth is like to trouble him after such a day as we had had and I thought he might need its comfort.” Her hand reached sideways, feeling for his. Their fingers intertwined affectionately. “But instead I opened the second bottle.”
“And it worked. After Isobel came with it, I slept far better.” He seemed to imply that it was as much her tender concern as the wine that helped.
Frevisse smiled despite herself. They looked hardly older than Thomasine, standing there hand in hand like young lovers instead of a long-married couple. The bell for Compline began to ring. “My thanks,” Frevisse said. “I ask your pardon for troubling you. Now, pray, excuse us both. We’re needed elsewhere, by your leave.” At their mutual nods, she began to leave, drawing Thomasine with her, then on a thought turned back to say, “You should ask Dame Claire for something to ease your tooth. She surely has something better than your peddler’s frothing potion.”
And Lady Isobel replied, “That’s a kindly given thought. I’ll do so.”
* * * * *
The next day was overcast at sunrise, still dry to please the harvesters but heavy with a warmth that promised to be rain later. Frevisse, moving among the necessities of nearly four score people, with their food and comfort and tempers all needing seeing to, and Thomasine silent behind her, felt a building tension as palpable as the day’s heavy warmth. No open talk that the deaths had been murders had reached her yet, but an unease was there, and an awareness that Master Montfort was going on asking questions past when he should have stopped.
Near mid-morning she managed a quiet word with Robert, wondering how far rumor might have grown. He shook his head and said, “Sir Walter is in a temper. That bodes ill.” His gaze, as usual, went past her to Thomasine. He seemed about to say something else, then thought better of it, bowed, and went about his business.
A little after that Frevisse overtook the woman Maryon. Seeing her go down the passage to the garderobe at the rear of the guest hall, she waited at its end, knowing there was no other way to leave. She was aware of Thomasine curious beside her but said nothing.
Maryon, returning, drew to a sharp stop as she saw Frevisse. Wariness froze her pretty face for an instant, before she smiled and came forward. “You startled me, standing there so still and waiting. You have need of me?”
“Only to ask you about Lady Ermentrude’s last day and night.”
Maryon made a graceful gesture. “As you wish.” Her smooth, dark hair was swept neatly back from her high, white forehead. Her large gray eyes and small, red, shapely mouth were solemn but not taut with any grieving Frevisse could see.
“How long were you with her that night?”
“All the second watch. Lady Isobel was with her the first watch and Maudelyn with her after me. Sister Thomasine was with her all night, I think.”
Thomasine nodded. Frevisse, already knowing that, paid no attention.
“Did you leave her at all? Or did anyone else come in?”
“No one came. That’s the black depths of the night then. Everyone was decently sleeping, I think. And I never left the room. I slept awhile. Much of the while, most likely. But I would have roused if she had had need of me.”
“But she didn’t.”
“She slept soundly, she did, poor lady.”
Frevisse turned the possibilities around in her mind, forgetting she was staring at Thomasine until the girl shifted uneasily. More than once Thomasine had seemed so deep in prayer that she was unaware of anything around her. Frevisse faced Maryon again. “You’ve been helpful. Thank you.”
Maryon nodded, began to leave, then paused. “You know Master Montfort is asking the same questions, my lady? He’s asking everyone, to be sure who was there, and when.”
“I know,” said Frevisse. “And it might be well if he doesn’t know that I’m doing it, too.”
Maryon regarded her with bright, considering eyes. “Yes, my lady,” she agreed.
Only as she started away did Frevisse think of something else. “What have you done with the monkey, Maryon? I don’t know when I last saw it.”
“It’s been gone since Lady Ermentrude died. Or maybe before. So much was happening, I wasn’t paying heed who had it instead of me.”
“Is it capable of carrying off a bottle less than half full of wine?”
“Indeed. I was instructed to pay special mind to any open bottle of wine when the monkey was present, as it would surely try to steal it. It’s a foul little beast. I’m hoping someone has taken their chance and wrung its nasty neck.”
* * * * *
The only relief of the morning was that Sir Walter sent a man to Frevisse offering to send help as well as food to the priory kitchen because his coming had so overburdened St. Frideswide’s. Frevisse gladly accepted on Dame Alys’s behalf, and made bold to ask if there was anyone among Sir Walter’s people who might be able to see to the guest-house chimney. The man said he thought there was, if it pleased her. Frevisse assured him it most certainly did. To have that chimney usable would ease at least some of the problems of the day.
By early afternoon the day’s warmth had thickened to discomfort. The coffins would have to be sealed shortly, and Frevisse knew that beyond the priory walls the villeins would be driving themselves as hard as might be, to have as much of the harvest in as they could before the inevitable rain. But her own concerns were bounded by the overcrowded guests, and she was setting two of Sir Walter’s men to the problem of the chimney when one of Master Montfort’s servants came to say the crowner wished to talk to the novice Thomasine.
Caught up in the bother of her duties, Frevisse nearly said for her to go; she would come later. But as she turned to say it, she saw Thomasine’s face, even more pale than usual and thinner, tight around her bones, her eyes huge and dark. The girl had been no trouble to her all this while, following silently, doing whatever small things Frevisse asked of her, never asking why, suddenly, she was so needed. But clearly the tensions behind the day had reached her, and she was afraid beyond even her usual fears of going alone to Master Montfort’s questioning. So Frevisse said briskly to the man she had been talking to, “See to it as best you may then. I’ll be back shortly. Come, Thomasine.”
Master Montfort had, of course, yielded the guest-hall’s best chamber to Sir Walter. He and his clerk and their papers were now crowded into a smaller, darker chamber off a corner of the hall. It was private enough but not so suited to his own sense of dignity and worth, Frevisse suspected, and he was clearly beginning to use his temper to make up the deficiency. He glared at her as she entered.
“I only needed the girl, not you again.”
“It is not suitable for Sister Thomasine to be alone with men,” Frevisse answered evenly.
“I’m hardly–” Master Montfort began. Then he thought better of it and said instead, “You can wait outside the door then.”
“That would still leave Thomasine alone. I’ll stay.”
Her words were more blunt than she had meant them to be. Certainly they were not what Master Montfort wanted to hear. The blood began to build in his face, going from red to darker red as his temper swelled. Frevisse watched, interested, and said, just before he reached the point of words, “We can send to Domina Edith if you choose, and ask her say on it.”
His face darkened further, but his lips closed down over what he had been going to say. He glared at her, his purpose diverted from Thomasine, and said sharply, “All right, but stand you in that corner out of our way and leave me to my work.”
Annoying him was not the wisest thing she could have done, Frevisse knew, but she did not suffer fools so calmly as a good Christian ought. A little regretful of that, she withdrew to the corner beside the clerk’s table. Without looking up, he curled his arm around his present parchment scrap, to shield whatever he was going to write.
“Now, my Lady Thomasine,” Master Montfort began sharply, “I’ve talked to more than a few folk since last I saw you. I’ve learned things and heard things. So what’s all this about demons at Lady Ermentrude’s bed? You never said anything about demons before. Why not?”
Bright color appeared on Thomasine’s cheeks, but she said steadily enough, “You told me only to answer your questions. You never asked me about demons so I couldn’t tell you.”
“I never asked–” Master Montfort stopped, apparently unsure if he should be offended. Then he decided he was and barked, “Well, I’m asking now. You say you saw demons. How many and what were they like?”
Thomasine’s mouth opened and closed. She shook her head. “I didn’t–” she began.
Master Montfort jumped at her words. “So now you deny you saw them? But you said then, before witnesses, you were seeing them. Now you admit you were lying. Why?”‘
“What she said was that Lady Ermentrude was seeing demons. Not that she saw them herself,” Frevisse said.
For a man with such an ample face, Master Montfort’s black eyes were very small and hard. He narrowed them at Frevisse and demanded, “There’s a difference, Dame? And mind that you’re here only so long as you keep out of my matters. You speak again and I’ll have you out of here no matter how it displeases your prioress.” He looked back at Thomasine with an avid gleam. “So did you see demons or not? You said there were demons come to take Lady Ermentrude for her wickedness and now you say there weren’t. Which is the truth, and why are you lying?”
Tears welled and gleamed in Thomasine’s eyes. She was trembling, but very firmly she said, “Lady Ermentrude was shrieking. She was pointing at something no one was seeing and she was afraid of it. I thought of demons and I said it.”
“But you didn’t see them? Tell me the truth this time, one way or the other, and be done with it!”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I never said I saw any. Not that time. I didn’t see any then. I only saw one and that was later. Not then.”
They all stared at her, even the clerk raising his head stiffly from his parchment to gape.
“You saw a demon, Thomasine?” Frevisse asked. “When?”
Thomasine’s lower lip trembled, but she said firmly, “When you left me with Lady Ermentrude, just before she died. She was rousing, wouldn’t lie quiet. I was going to the door to find you, and looked back at her. And, there was a black… thing on her bed. Creeping up over the edge of her bed and reaching for her.” Thomasine shivered uncontrollably the whole length of her body. “It was small and black and horrible, and reaching for her.” The tears were gone. Only remembered horror was on her face as she said desperately to Master Montfort, “I didn’t see them before. Not during the day. But I saw it then. I truly saw it! It was coming for her soul. I swear it!”
It was more than Master Montfort wanted to hear. He did not need the added problem of a demon in his investigation, but there was no apparent way out of it. His clerk was already recovered and scritch-scritching away at the parchment, putting down what Thomasine had said.
“So. So. You say you only saw one and not when there was anyone else around. Did you tell anyone you saw it? Did you say anything about it then, or save it up for now? To make me forget you’d lied before?”
Thomasine stared at him. Then her chin lifted. Her trembling was gone. “I have not lied. Not before and not now. I did not see demons and never said I saw them, only that they must be there. Why else was Lady Ermentrude so terrified? But I saw this one. I’ll say I saw this one, no matter what you say.”
“But you never told anyone? All this while and you never told anyone?”
“I tried to tell Dame Frevisse then, but Lady Ermentrude began her screaming. There wasn’t time afterwards. And then it didn’t seem to matter. There were so many other things.”
Master Montfort brooded at her, his little eyes half-hooded as he tried to turn this new thing to good account, but before he could, there was a rap at the door and a man in Fenner livery with Sir Walter’s badge on his shoulder came in unbidden.
“Here’s another body for you,” he said and chuckled. He tossed a small, brown, furry bundle at Master Montfort,
The crowner threw up his hands, not wanting the thing. It struck his forearm, fell to the floor with a dull thump, and lay unmoving.
“It’s dead,” Master Montfort said distastefully.
“As old timber,” agreed the man. “One of the men found it in the chimney they’re supposed to be mending. On a ledge above the hearth. You know how they’re made.”
“I don’t,” said Master Montfort with asperity. “Nor do I want this thing. Take it away.”
“Sir Walter thought since it was another body, you ought to have a look at it.” The man was clearly amused.
The crowner was not. “Take it away and dump it on the midden. I don’t deal with dead dogs.”
“It’s the monkey,” Frevisse said.
Master Montfort glared at her. “A monkey? In your priory?”
“Lady Ermentrude brought one with her. It’s been missing.”
“And like the goblet, it’s been found and no one’s the worse for it.”
“Except the monkey.” Frevisse knelt down and prodded at it, then picked it up. It had been dead some while; it was cold and the death stiffness was gone out of it. “But its neck’s not broken. And there are no wounds.”
“Then it died of natural causes, the stupid thing, caught up in the chimney.” Master Montfort gestured at the grinning man. “Take it out of here. I deal in human matters, not foul imitations like this.”
The man picked it up by the long tail, dangling it head downward. Its thin arms fell loosely, limp and long, dragging on the floor. Thomasine drew in a startled breath.
“Close the door,” Master Montfort ordered.
Frevisse obeyed.
“Now, Sister. Back to the matter at hand.”
But Thomasine turned her round eyes to him and said wonderingly, “That’s what I saw on Lady Ermentrude’s bed. It was the monkey, not a demon at all.” She smiled with deep relief.
“How could you mistake a monkey for a demon?” Montfort rapped out.
“Because the monkey is brown, but what I saw seemed black. And when I saw it before it was all curled up on a servant’s shoulder, and I didn’t see how a monkey is all arms and legs. The arm coming out of the shadows was long, very long, and thin, and black…” Thomasine’s breath caught with remembered terror, then she blinked the memory away. “But it was just the monkey, looking black in the shadows. It was just the monkey, not a demon coming for her soul.”
Master Montfort’s frustration was written in large lines across his face. “So now you’re saying you saw no demons at all? You’re saying it was just a monkey coming for a visit?”
“It was the monkey coming for the wine,” Frevisse said, with sudden realization. “Thomasine, where was the wine when you left your aunt? Was she holding it?”
“I’ve told you you’re not to–” Master Montfort began.
But Thomasine said, “Yes! She had been drinking it again after you left. She was holding the goblet. The monkey was after the wine!”
“And took it and drank it and left the goblet under the bed. And then it took the bottle, ran and hid while it drank it. And died of too much drink.”
“Yes, very well, we’re pleased to know that.” Montfort smacked his fist on the table edge to have their attention. “But that’s not the matter to hand here. You’re saying there were no demons, correct?”
The bright relief went out of Thomasine. “There may have been. Lady Ermentrude was so frightened. She behaved so strangely when she first came.”
“Ah yes.” That pleased Master Montfort. “Lady Ermentrude’s behavior. Her desire to take you out of the nunnery, back into the world. That frightened you, didn’t it, child?”
Thomasine looked puzzled at his insistence. “I told you it did.”
“Why?” he rapped.
“I want to be here.”
“She promised you a husband, a fine marriage.”
“I’m to be Christ’s bride. I don’t need a worldly marriage.”
“She said she was going to take you away, whether you wanted it or not.”
“She couldn’t. She had no authority over me.”
“She might have. She had powerful friends. You were afraid, your sister said you were afraid.”
“Because my aunt was loud and hurting me.”
“And so you hurt her back?”
Thomasine’s face froze. Only after rigid seconds did she say, looking as if she wanted to faint, “No. I helped her come inside. I brought her warm milk and bread with honey. I prayed for her. I watched by her bed. I would never have hurt her.”
She knows, thought Frevisse. She knows what Master Montfort is saying, and is holding against it better than I thought she ever could.
But how long Thomasine’s nerve would last was another matter, and Frevisse desperately wanted to have her away from him before the direct accusation came.
The unlatched door slammed suddenly open. Scarcely in time, Frevisse had her hand up to protect her face from it as Sir Walter strode forcefully into the room and without greeting, demanded, “Enough ring a ring a rosy, Montfort! What’s this tale I’m hearing run about my mother’s death? You gave me a song yesterday about exhaustion and drink and temper that did for her, but poison is the word I’m hearing now.”
Master Montfort had backed away quickly at Sir Walter’s coming in. He was outranked and out-tempered by Sir Walter and knew it. With hasty respect and a deep bow, he said, “My lord, we’re about the matter now. If you would be so good.” He gestured toward the room’s other chair, which he had not offered to Thomasine or Frevisse.
“I don’t need to sit. I need answers. My mother yielded to her temper all her life, drank more wine, and exhausted more horses than any man for years without tiring herself beyond what a day’s rest would mend. Don’t expect me to believe it was otherwise here. She came to take a novice out of this hole and now she’s dead. There’s fraud at the heart of it and you’d better have found out who’s to gain from that fraud, because whoever killed my mother is going to hang!”
“My lord, the matter is well in hand. I was just questioning–” Master Montfort started to gesture toward Thomasine, who had shrunk back toward Frevisse.
Sir Walter cut across his words. “You’ve had a day of questioning. Where are your answers?”
“Not fully a day, my lord.” Master Montfort tried again. He cast a desperate glance toward his clerk, who was racing his quill at full speed to keep up with their exchange. “Stop that,” he said a little shrilly. The clerk stopped, obedient but still hunched over his parchment, waiting for more. “My lord, I’ve found out things but these matters take a certain time. I’m crowner here, responsible to his grace King Henry VI for justice to be done. I must have–”
“And I am Sir Walter Fenner, with a score of men-at-arms camped in the field across the road. King Henry is nine years old and he and his government are in France and I am perfectly willing for another crowner to come and inquire about your broken neck if I don’t have a poisoner in my hands before the day is out!”
Master Montfort was still stammering toward some sort of answer as Frevisse gathered Thomasine to her with a quick hand and pulled her backward out the door.
Thomasine went, thankful to be away. But brown-haired Robert with the quiet voice cut across their way to the outer door. Without the bother of greeting, he said to Dame Frevisse, “Sir Walter knows.”
“We just heard.” Dame Frevisse jerked her head toward the crowner’s room and Sir Walter’s rising voice.
“He’s angry. And more angry for it not being Montfort who told him.” Robert spoke at Dame Frevisse, but his gaze slipped yet again to Thomasine. “I’d not frighten you, my lady, but from what he said to me about it, he will revenge himself on someone. You’d best go into the cloister and stay there. I’ll do what I may for you here.”
Thomasine wondered how Sir Walter came to think of her as possibly guilty of murder. Who had put that idea in his head? And what would he do about it? She met Robert’s ardent gaze and said, “Thank you for the warning, sir. God grant us the courage to meet this challenge, I pray.”
She gave way then to Frevisse’s pulling on her arm and went away from him.
The first rain was falling darkly on the cobbles as they hurriedly crossed the yard toward the cloister gate. Not until the gate was shut behind them did Dame Frevisse pause, draw a deep breath, and let loose of Thomasine’s arm.
“Thomasine, you are not to go out of here again until this matter is settled. Do you understand? Not for any reason are you to leave.”
Thomasine’s fear was a swollen clot in her chest, making it hard to breathe or speak. So she only nodded to Dame Frevisse’s order and, not knowing what else to do, followed her as she went on along the cloister walk.
They were nearly to the kitchen door when they came on Dame Claire tying a knot in the last towel to hang on the three hooks behind the stone lavatory outside the refectory. She glanced up at their coming. When Dame Frevisse made a small sign toward the narrow passage where they could talk, she nodded, finished her task, and came into the slipe.
The rain had thickened into a steady patter on the roof. Dame Claire glanced toward the sound and said, “That won’t be good for the harvest.”
“Most of it is in, I think,” said Dame Frevisse. “And if this lasts only a little and the weather clears, the rest will dry. The monkey has been found.”
Dame Claire followed the shift of topic poorly. “The monkey? Was it missing?”
“Since about the time Lady Ermentrude died. And now it’s dead, too, and has been for quite a while. I think, from what Thomasine has told me, it drank the same wine as Lady Ermentrude did and died of it.”
Dame Claire’s reaction was complete stillness. She went on looking at Dame Frevisse, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. It was a thinking quiet that Thomasine had often admired.
“Then we can be sure it was the wine and not the sops,” Dame Claire said finally.
“Nearly sure. From what I know of the little brute, it would not have bothered with anything so bland as milk and bread, but it surely would have taken to the wine.”
“Does this change what you think about Martha’s death?”
“No, I still think it was an accident. Like the monkey’s. No, it was Lady Ermentrude who was meant to die.”
“Has Master Montfort found the reason for it yet?”
“I think he thinks he has. And if he isn’t certain sure, I’m afraid he’s going to let Sir Walter tell him and point out the murderer for him, too.”
Thomasine did not flinch as they both looked at her then. But fear tightened her throat as very gently Dame Claire said, “You’re not the only one he can suspect, child. I mixed the medicine both times. And the wine was from Sir John and Lady Isobel. And there were others in the room who could have done it. You’re not the only possibility.”
But the unsaid words “Only the best one” were in Dame Frevisse’s face, where Thomasine could read them as clearly as she had read them in Master Montfort’s.
Continue with Chapter 10 tomorrow!
