The Tarnished Chalice

‘ … is the pity of it,’ came Christiana’s clipped tones. ‘I do not know what else to say.’

‘It was an accident, I swear,’ replied Ursula, her voice unsteady. ‘I did not mean to harm her.’

Bartholomew frowned, wondering why Christiana should be visiting the sister of a man she so obviously despised. He put his eye to the gap under the shutter, to see inside the house.

‘You did harm her, though,’ Christiana was saying flatly. ‘Matilde was right.’

‘She was not,’ shouted Ursula. ‘She was misguided and spread vicious rumours about me.’

‘You have been telling everyone that your mother asked Ursula for cuckoo-pint deliberately,’ came Spayne’s voice. He sounded confused. ‘You believe she wanted to die.’

Christiana’s voice was colder than Bartholomew had ever heard anyone speak. ‘My mother had everything to live for. She would never have entertained suicide. I spread that tale so no one will look to me when Ursula dies.’

A dark chill gripped Bartholomew as he knelt in the snow. He had hoped for proof that Christiana was the killer, but he had not expected it to come in the form of another death. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Spayne would not allow his sister to be dispatched – or would he? He recalled what Simon had told him: that Spayne had been an abbey oblate, and knew nothing about arms and fighting. Perhaps he would be powerless to pre vent it.

‘Your mother and I were friends,’ said Ursula wheedlingly. ‘Why would I harm her?’

‘Because she was going to marry Kelby,’ said Christiana in the same icy voice. ‘And her dowry would have made him stronger and richer than your brother. You could not stand the thought of that, so you intervened in a spectacular way. You killed her.’

Bartholomew poked the window shutter with his knife, grateful to find it rotten. Quickly, he bored a hole, so he could better see what was happening within. He winced when the hinge protested at the pressure, but the room’s occupants were more interested in each other than in strange sounds from outside. When he put his eye to the hole, he was astonished to see not three people, but four. Spayne and Ursula sat side by side on a bench on the far side of the hall, while Christiana stood near the hearth. Hugh was with her, and Bartholomew saw he held a small bow – the kind children used when they learned archery. His face was alight with curiosity, and Bartholomew supposed he should not be surprised the boy would be out when mischief was in the air.

‘The sadness is that it was unnecessary,’ said Christiana quietly. ‘My mother did not love Kelby and would never have wedded him. She was going to ask Prior Roger to marry her secretly to the man who had captured her heart – the man whose babe she carried.’

‘Did she tell you?’ asked Spayne, and the expression on his face was both stricken and guilty.

‘I am her daughter,’ said Christiana. ‘Of course she told me.’

Bartholomew’s thoughts reeled as he tried to understand what they were saying. Then he looked at Spayne, and had his answer in the way the mayor’s eyes flicked around the room: a man who enjoyed prostitutes, but who had declared himself celibate. Bartholomew found his hands were shaking, and wondered whether Matilde had known that Spayne had lain with her closest friend.

‘My mother was pregnant with your child,’ said Christiana softly. ‘But Matilde held your heart. You were in a quandary. Should you do the dutiful thing and allow Prior Roger to marry you to my mother? Or should you put your own happiness first, and wed Matilde?’

‘It was not like that,’ said Spayne miserably. ‘Not so … sordid. And I did not want to hurt either-’

Christiana’s voice was loaded with disgust. ‘My mother’s death left you free to take Matilde, as well as preventing Kelby from getting her dowry. You were even vulgar enough to propose on the day of the funeral. I am not surprised Matilde refused you. She fled the city, and I lost a valued friend.’

Suddenly, there was a rap on the door. In his agitated state, Bartholomew jumped violently enough to rattle the window shutter, but the occupants of the room did not notice.

‘If you call out, I will kill you,’ said Christiana sharply and, for the first time, Bartholomew noticed that Spayne and his sister were bound hand and foot.

‘I must answer,’ said Spayne desperately. ‘It is probably Miller, and talking to him will give me another opportunity to urge him to stand down. And then you and I will discuss ancient history.’

‘It is not ancient,’ snapped Christiana. ‘It was six years ago. But I have finally obtained the evidence I need to convict you, Ursula. We all know you fed my mother cuckoo-pint – that was never in question – but we have never been able to prove you did it knowing it would kill her.’

‘That is because I am innocent of malicious intent,’ insisted Ursula. She licked dry lips.

‘Why have you waited so long to voice these vile accusations?’ asked Spayne. His strangely furtive expression suggested to Bartholomew that he had known exactly what his sister had done.