Aude de Neyrat asked in a frosty but polite voice:
‘I see no bundle, nor any package, Madame. Does this mean that you have not yet recovered them? Our mutual “friend” will be most upset when he hears.’
‘No. I have them.’
‘All three?’
‘Yes.’
‘What joyous news. Where are they?’
‘At Clairets Abbey. It took me a long time to find the whereabouts of the secret library.’
‘Do you not receive generous compensation for your pains?’
Aude retorted with deceptively casual irony before going on: ‘So, the much coveted manuscripts are still at Clairets … This hardly constitutes progress.’
‘You see, our Reverend Mother has ordered a thorough search of every cart and every person leaving the abbey, regardless of their destination or their duties. I couldn’t risk …’
‘This is an infuriating setback, which will displease our Italian friend. As for your Abbess, Madame de Beaufort, she is becoming more and more of a thorn in our side. We must have these papers urgently. Is there any chance of her lifting the restrictions soon?’
‘On the contrary, I’m expecting her to order a careful search of the whole abbey any minute now.’
Aude de Neyrat’s mouth set in a fold of displeasure.
‘What an appalling thought. Do you think she might find them?’
‘I don’t think so …’
‘But …? Isn’t that what you were about to say?’
‘There have been a lot of strange goings-on recently.’
Aude raised her pretty eyebrows quizzically. Her guest went on:
‘The suspicious death of the Grand Inquisitor who was meant to help me … to help you – I don’t believe for one moment in those rumours of a violent encounter. The unconditional pardon granted to Madame de Souarcy in the name of God. That accursed apothecary, whose self-importance is proving more dangerous than I had thought. The rape and strangulation of the servant girl Mabile, who belonged to Eudes de Larnay’s household. Mabile was of great use to me. She led her master right where I wanted him, to the late Nicolas Florin’s door. She also procured several pieces of glass for me from a window in Madame de Souarcy’s antechamber. Crushed and added to a meatball or a slice of bread, they become a lethal weapon. If necessary this could be used to further incriminate Madame de Souarcy, thus killing two birds with one stone. There again, I’m not convinced by the theory of a murderous vagabond. Mabile was not easily fooled. At the very least she would have fought tooth and nail to defend herself. Another thing bothers me. When the bailiff’s men found her body at the forest’s edge, they noticed she was wearing several layers of clothing, as if she were preparing for a long journey. Something’s being hatched, Madame, and I’m worried.’
Aude studied her in silence for a few moments. Honorius had shown an astonishing lack of judgement in recruiting this woman. As she had commented during their last meeting at the Vatican, fear and envy were the traits of a coward and it was folly to trust in them. She insisted, again in a polite voice:
‘You must get the manuscripts out and bring them to me as soon as possible so that I can take them to our friend.’
The other woman felt a sudden rush of anger and snapped back:
‘Do you think it’s as easy as clicking your fingers? I’m the first to be affected by this sudden imposition of the cloister at the abbey. I should have followed my instinct and moved the money I’ve earned through my thankless toil to a safer place.’
‘Thankless perhaps, but lucrative nonetheless.’
‘Do you consider killing an easy task?’
Genuinely taken aback, Aude replied:
‘The first corpse is the only one that counts. Thereafter it is mere repetition.’
The other woman breathed in disgust:
‘You’re …’
‘A monster? Perhaps.’ Madame de Neyrat, suddenly wistful, added: ‘Even so, few are born monsters. Most I have met turn into them.’
She quickly pulled herself together and pealed with laughter:
‘Oh but guilt does not become me. Moreover it causes the face to wrinkle prematurely. I confess that in my case the whole process is quick and relatively painless. Going back to the subject of Madame de Beaufort, she is growing … tiresome.’
She noticed the other woman grow tense, and remarked softly:
‘You have turned quite pale.’
‘She’s an abbess.’
‘What of it! Doesn’t this tiresomeness to which I refer blight the days and nights of an archbishop soon to be Pope?’
‘But … That hag of an apothecary watches over her like a hawk.’
‘We all have our cross to bear. However, I have something that will lighten yours.’ She pointed to a velvet purse sitting on a flimsy table in her chamber.
As the other woman snatched it greedily, Aude ventured:
‘A piece of friendly advice from a stranger: be sure to earn it.’
The woman perceived the implied threat behind the casual delivery, and assured her:
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Do it, and do it quickly and efficiently. After that we’ll need to talk – on an equally friendly basis, I hope – about another obstinate acquaintance: Madame Agnès. What is she like, this woman whose elegance I have heard praised so highly?’
‘She is beautiful and clever if that’s what you want to know.’
‘Indeed. The description is a terse one. Could you elaborate a little, please? I’m dying to know more. Describe her to me.’
‘She is quite tall, taller than me, slim but strong. Like you she has fair hair, but with a coppery sheen. Her blue-grey eyes are striking and her skin is as pale as befits a lady of her standing, even though Madame de Souarcy is content to work outside in all weathers like a serf,’ she added curtly.
‘A very pretty picture so far. Why then do I have the impression that portraying her displeases you?’ quipped Madame de Neyrat. ‘Pray, do go on.’
The other woman’s face tensed and she replied through gritted teeth:
‘I’m sick to death of that Souarcy woman! The whole world it seems is ready to jump to her defence. Everybody sings her praises and lists her endless virtues. But what is she, this Souarcy woman? She’s comely to be sure, and pious and elegant and erudite and undeniably intelligent.’
‘Goodness! And yet you complain that she is undeserving of praise?’ Aude de Neyrat declared mockingly. ‘My dear woman, jealousy and envy are unreliable weapons. Do not trust them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Jealousy drives weak people to look for the source of their failure or unhappiness in others when it lies within themselves.’
The scarcely veiled insult stung the woman, and her cheeks flushed. She detested this pretty monster and would gladly have made her swallow her words. But she detested and feared her. Aude de Neyrat went on: