‘I’ve lost my handkerchief. It must have slipped down somewhere.’
Annelette looked under and around the bed but could not see it. She pulled a replacement out of the reticule attached to her belt, which, besides a handkerchief, contained a phial of antiseptic, a long needle for removing splinters and some tiny pieces of cloth soaked in pine oil.
‘Here, this one is clean. I’ll bring you another later.’
She left Jeanne who, despite her protests to the contrary, was visibly frail and began nodding off. She was careful to lower the thin curtain that screened off her cell from the rest of the dormitory.
Annelette Beaupré walked down the long corridor leading to Éleusie de Beaufort’s study. A familiar figure overtook her. The slim novice turned and gave her a radiant but shy smile. Ah yes, what was her Christian name again? She had said she wanted to take the name of Constantine’s mother, Hélène. Annelette had forgotten. It was not important.
She knocked loudly on the door and was greeted by a violent fit of coughing.
A pox on these chest infections, she thought. They spread like lightning. The Abbess’s age and frail constitution made her an obvious target … Well, now she had a second patient under her charge. She could only hope that there would be no more casualties and that her Reverend Mother would be more cooperative than Jeanne.
The apothecary recalled one spring when she had ministered to over thirty nuns and almost as many lay servants suffering from vomiting, diarrhoea and stomach cramps. She had managed to avoid infection herself, but had feared she might die of exhaustion.
She found the Abbess slumped behind her desk, her head in her hands. Annelette knew she was right the moment Éleusie de Beaufort looked up. Her eyes were streaming, her nose was red and she was sniffing pathetically. The Abbess said in a hoarse voice:
‘This is all we need, my dear Annelette. An epidemic.’
‘So far only Jeanne and you have been infected. Let us hope that it does not spread.’
The Abbess blew her nose loudly and said:
‘I need some fresh bits of cloth. These ones are … terribly soiled. I scarcely have the strength to stand, daughter, and …’
‘Of course. I will go to the linen room at once. On my way back I’ll stop at the herbarium and make you an infusion … Jeanne says they taste foul, but I promise to add an extra dose of honey, ginger and cinnamon to take away the bitterness.’
Half an hour later, Éleusie de Beaufort set down the bowl which Annelette had made her finish down to the last drop, and exclaimed:
‘Sweet Lord, what unpleasant medicine indeed! Is it not the height of injustice to be ill and have to swallow such foul potions as a punishment! Light the oil lamps for me, daughter. Night is already falling and I can barely see. I feel so weak. I hope a good night’s sleep will restore me. Have you advanced in your investigations, in your analysis?’
‘Not as I would wish. Please do not think me indiscreet, but I understand that a messenger came to you this afternoon and …’
The Abbess gave a faint smile:
‘Some good news, at last. My nephew is on his way here. What a relief!’ Suddenly, her pretty, finely lined face darkened.
‘I sent a message back explaining the recent events here at the abbey.’
‘How is it that I didn’t see your nephew during his last visit? Heavens, it would have been a catastrophe if that wretched Florin had found out he was here!’
The Abbess’s face flushed with pride and she declared:
‘Francesco is cunning. He can slip in and out like a cat. Not a wall or door exists that can keep him out.’
A sudden fit of coughing caused the Abbess to choke. Annelette rushed over to slap her on the back. Finally the spasms abated.
They spoke again of the murders and the threat hanging over their quest. Then Éleusie described Francesco in such terms that it seemed to Annelette that she had mistaken him for an archangel, and she marvelled at the power of a mother’s love. The apothecary was about to leave for the dormitory when something in the Abbess’s manner alerted her. Her teeth appeared clenched and her jaw muscles jutted out beneath her pale skin.
‘Reverend Mother, are you quite well?’
Powerless to unclench her jaw, Éleusie shook her head. An interminable list of symptoms ran through the apothecary’s head. A trismus, this was what was known as a trismus. It was found in certain types of tetanus infections or after an inflammation of the tonsils.
‘Reverend Mother!’ Annelette cried.
Éleusie appeared to jump out of her chair. She fell to the ground like a dead weight. Annelette ran over to her and tried to pick her up, but the tiny woman’s muscles were rigid. She was gasping for breath, suffocating. The sweat was streaming down her face, soaking the neck of her robe.
Then it dawned on Annelette. She leapt to her feet like a madwoman and grabbed the empty bowl. She tasted the dregs and thought her legs would give way under her. The excessive bitterness told her that something had been added to her mixture of herbs. She bent double, letting out a sob of grief. She herself had administered the poison that would end the Abbess’s life. That monstrous poisoner had turned her into an unwitting accomplice. For the first time in her life, Annelette was overwhelmed by the desire to kill. She hated her, she wanted to see the murderess dead at her feet.
She knelt down beside Éleusie, who was fighting for every breath, struggling to control her arms, which were sticking straight up in the air. Annelette wanted to take her hand, but just then a terrible convulsion seized the Abbess’s frail body, causing her back to arch before she collapsed again.
‘Are you in pain, Madame?’ the apothecary whimpered. ‘I don’t recognise any of these symptoms. What did the fiend use? Madame, I beg you, please don’t die, don’t leave me! Oh Madame … I lied to you … I’m not nearly as strong as I pretend to be. I only stood firm in order to reassure you, to prove how indispensable I was to you. Don’t leave me, I beg you! Stay with me! I’m afraid, Reverend Mother. What will I do without you?’
A teardrop fell on the Abbess’s pristine white robe, then another, forming tiny damp circles. Only then did Annelette realise that she was crying. She felt as if her life were ebbing away at the same time as that of the dying woman. The apothecary curled up beside Éleusie on the floor and intoned: ‘Bless you, my sister, bless you, my sister … God loves you. He loves you …’
She had no idea how long she remained there. Her thoughts had strayed far away.
The dying woman’s cry made her leap to her feet. Éleusie, teeth still clenched, was staring at her intently, trying desperately to tell her something. Annelette drew close to the Abbess. Another cry resounded from her throat. The Abbess pursed her lips with difficulty and murmured between gritted teeth:
‘Sa— The … sa—’
‘Your safe.’
‘Fran … ces—’
‘Your nephew, Francesco.’
‘Let—’
‘A letter, or letters for your nephew in your safe.’ Éleusie managed to blink one eye.
‘Se— Se … cret.’
‘It will remain a secret, I swear on my life.’
‘Key … Libr— secr—’
‘The key to the secret library is also there. Who must I give it to? Francesco?’
The Abbess blinked again.
The dying woman’s rasping breath puffed her cheeks out sharply at intervals. In a panic, Annelette was unable to think clearly. Should she leave the room, run for