Page 47 of The Herald's Heart
“Will it take long?”
“Nay, not if enough wick remains to light and burn a candle for a few moments.”
“’Tis good that we may soon know the truth of what killed the earl,” Timoras said.
“Aye,” Talon said. “But will that truth lead to any others?” He begged Larkin with his eyes to say what she’d done before it was proven. To show some small amount of remorse for taking a life, even one as loathsome as the earl’s.
But Larkin remained silent, her back straight and her stare defiant. Since the moment he’d met her, she had done little but lie and deceive. If she denied her guilt, he could not possibly believe her.
The cook returned and placed a bowl full of candle stubs in front of Mother Clement.
Using a cloth that she pulled from her bag, Mother Clement picked through the stubs until she found a fist-tall piece of candle with a good wick. She set the candle on the table. “Stand back and cover your faces. If smoke comes from the candle, none must breathe it.”
She took a brand from the fire and touched it to the candle. The wick sputtered and caught. By the time Mother Clement returned the brand to the grate, a small stream of smoke issued from around the candle’s tall flame. Approaching from behind the stream, the abbess reached out and placed her arm directly into the path of the smoke. When a good-size smudge appeared, she withdrew her arm and snuffed the candle.
“Is that all?” Timoras asked.
“Nay,” she replied. “Now we wait.”
“What for, Lady Abbess?” asked Timoras.
“To see if I develop the same rash as the cook.”
“What do you think will happen?” Talon knew but asked anyway. Mother Clement’s word was unassailable. He’d seen her concern for Larkin, even experienced the abbess’s gentle wisdom himself. Yet despite her concern for Lady Rosham, the abbess offered herself as the means to prove the cause of the earl’s death. In the process, she could well condemn Larkin as a murderess.
“Only God can know for certain. But if I develop a rash, then we too will know what killed the earl.”
“Preposterous,” Timoras objected. “Candle smoke cannot give a rash or kill.”
“True, Father, were this normal candle smoke. But I believe it is not. I believe the whole candle, especially the wick, has been soaked in oil crushed from the berries and leaves of itchweed.”
“But how is that possible?” the priest asked, clearly frustrated by something he did not understand.
Talon continued the explanation all while staring at Larkin, praying that he was wrong. “Whoever murdered the earl knew that exposure to itchweed had once nearly killed him and hoped this time the earl would succumb.”
“Indeed, Sir Talon, the murderer must have known the earl’s habits as well,” said Mother Clement. For these candles could not kill even such a one as the earl were they not placed in a room where the smoke could not escape easily. Father Timoras, did the earl spend long hours in prayer?”
“Aye, Mother Clement, from the moment he arose ’til noontide every day, sometimes more.” Timoras’s mouth pursed and his brow wrinkled. “I still don’t understand how smoke could kill anyone, let alone the earl.”
“’Tis a matter of the earl’s sensitivity,” explained Mother Clement. “Some of the ancient healing texts in the abbey contain accounts of people stung by bees who sicken and sometimes die.”
“Now you say that a bee sting killed the earl?”
“No Father, that is just an example. Many healers believed that those bees had excessively strong venom. Some few believe that the particular person who died was weak in relation to the bee venom. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes. But what have bees to do with the earl and itchweed?”
“The earl was weak, if you will, in relation to the oils in the itchweed that cause the rash. In addition, I believe that the smoke intensifies the problem because the oil is inhaled.”
“That is incredible.” Timoras leaned back, disbelief still writ clear on his face. “Whoever would do such a thing is most deceitful.”
“’Twould seem so.” Talon still looked at Larkin.
Timoras continued as if he hadn’t heard him speak. “The person must have had access to the candles and itchweed, and known the earl’s past and habits and when I would be gone. More often than not, I would join the earl in his prayers. Had I been here, I might have saved him,” Timoras ended in a guilty screech.
“Now, don’t think yourself responsible for the earl’s death. You did your duty as the earl requested.” She patted his arm.
The priest squared his shoulders. “Indeed, Mother Clement, you are correct. I am not responsible. There is only one person I know of who could be.”
