Chapter Fifteen #2
The queen took one and bit into it. “Delicious. I am glad you survived the battles, Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn snorted softly. At least she had a purpose. She felt morbidly amused that the queen was glad she wasn’t dead, in order to make the rolls she enjoyed. At least she seemed to trust her, despite all their past history with poisoning.
She nibbled delicately as Sir William took a roll as well. “And are we any closer to finding out who is behind the attacks on Sir Robert?”
“I’ve taken the matter in hand, Your Grace,” Sir William said. “I’ve arrested the guilty party.”
Bronwyn almost dropped the platter. “You have? Who?”
“That squire, Rupert, said you’d been hurt by someone in the brewery, but we didn’t find anyone.
I figured out who was behind the attacks on Sir Robert—easily too.
Sometimes the simplest answer is the right one.
It’s that nun who’s always skulking around, Sister Joan.
She’s been nosing around him again at odd hours, when she shouldn’t be. Wouldn’t leave him alone.”
“But surely, she was just praying for his good recovery,” Bronwyn said.
“Not likely. Besides, it was you who found her there before, wasn’t it? When the so-called ghost first made an appearance?” he said.
“Yes, but—”
“What’s to say she didn’t make it all up?”
“You’re accusing a nun of lying, Sir William,” the queen pointed out. “Isn’t that against her faith? The Commandments?”
Sir William shrugged. “That’s as may be, but I warrant she’s up to no good. Why else would she be constantly by his bedside? There are other men to pray for. No, I know a culprit when I see one.”
Mistress Agatha nodded and rubbed her hands together. “I never trusted that woman. Always too secretive for her own good.”
Bronwyn swallowed. She set the platter aside and excused herself, then fled down to the jail. She found Sister Joan, sitting quietly in a cell all alone. “Sister,” she said. “What happened?”
“I was praying by his bedside when I got into a disagreement with the monk who manages the infirmary. He told me to leave and then called Sir William of Ypres to throw me out, saying I was acting strange and hysterical. He accused me of having inappropriate thoughts about the man, as if I would ever. Sir Robert is old enough to be my father.” She sniffed.
“So they tossed you in here.”
“Yes. I don’t know what to do. Can you speak to Sir William or the queen and explain it was all a big misunderstanding?”
“I’ll try.” She felt that Sister Joan was innocent but could not ignore, however, the thought that whenever Sister Joan did wish to say more, the other nun seemed to always be in a position to interrupt and stop her. She wondered why. Were they hiding something? And if so, what could it be?
Bronwyn returned up to the queen’s chamber just as Sir William was leaving. “What do you want, girl?” he asked.
“I’ve spoken with Sister Joan. It was just a misunderstanding,” she said.
“Of course she would say that. The monk was certain she was planning something. It wasn’t right, her not leaving his bedside like that.” He scratched his head. “You don’t think she’s one of his bastards, do you?”
Bronwyn blinked. “I doubt it.”
“Her special attention to him doesn’t make sense, then. And I don’t like it when things don’t make sense. Don’t like it at all.” He set his shoulders. “She can spend the night in jail, then I’ll talk to her. See if a night behind bars loosens her tongue.”
“But she didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe not, but I hear she was telling tales about a ghost. You know as well as I do that ghosts don’t exist, so why is she lying?
Either she’s telling stories or she’s actually seeing visions, which makes me worry about her mind.
In any case, a night in the cells won’t do her harm. Nothing can happen to her there.”
Bronwyn relayed the news to Sister Joan, who gripped the bars and crossed herself. “What if… What if the ghost gets me? The brewer said the ghost walks these corridors, even down in the jail.”
“Ghosts don’t exist, Sister Joan.”
“This one does, Bronwyn, I’m telling you, I saw it.” Her eyes were wide.
Bronwyn looked at the sister and offered a slight smile.
She hoped it was reassuring. But from what she had seen, or rather hadn’t seen, it all pointed to the suggestion that Tristan was still alive, or that his body had been moved.
Either way, he was not a ghost. But she couldn’t trust the nun not to spread the word if Bronwyn did reveal that his body was missing.
That would just make the nun worry more and perhaps even support her argument for the existence of ghosts.
“You probably saw someone who was hoping to rob him or maybe tell his friends he saw Sir Robert of Gloucester. He is well known.”
Sister Joan’s face contorted in anger. “You don’t believe me. You don’t think I saw a ghost at all, do you?” Her eyebrows knit together.
“I believe you saw someone. I just think it was a real person, not a ghost.”
“Then what about the brewer? Why is he talking about ghosts as well?”
Bronwyn glanced over at the other cell. “I think his time down here has affected his brain.”
Sister Joan let out a noise of frustration. “Fine. Mark my words, Bronwyn, but there is a ghost here. I know it, he knows it, and soon everyone else will too.”
“I’m sorry I angered you. I didn’t mean to.”
“No, you mean well, as does everyone else. But none of you believe me. You think I’m hysterical. When I’m not. I’m telling the truth.” Sister Joan wiped away a tear.
“I’m sorry, Sister.”
“Go. Leave me. I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned her back on Bronwyn and waited for her to leave.
“All right. Good night, Sister.” Bronwyn walked on. She paused outside of Theobold’s cell, but he was silent. She couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not, so she kept walking. She would tell him Sir Robert’s message when he awoke.
The next morning, Bronwyn nipped to the kitchen and prepared platters of food to take to the prisoners.
Noting her arms full of food, the guards said, “More food? The prisoners will be getting fat at this rate.”
Bronwyn paused. “What do you mean? They haven’t been fed since yesterday, I thought.”
“You’re wrong. A fellow came through here with food for them last night. A gift, he said.”
A creeping suspicion went down her spine. Bronwyn stopped and set down the food. “I didn’t hear about anyone getting extra food for the prisoners.”
She went into the cells. The people were quiet. But as she passed by the brewer’s cell, Peter grabbed her wrist and said, “The ghost, the spirit, he’s back, he’s back. He came and now he’s gone and it’s too late, too late to save her.”
“What? Who?” She pulled her wrist back.
“Don’t touch it. Don’t touch it,” he warned.
“Sister Joan,” Bronwyn called. “Sister Joan.” She hurried to the cell. “Sister?”
A small form lay on the floor.
“Sister?”
There was no sound.
She took a torch from its sconce in the wall and lowered it to the cell. Sister Joan’s lifeless eyes looked up at her, a bread roll in her hand.