Page 49 of The Herald's Heart
The abbess ignored the priest. “I but wish to make clear that there may be more here than Sir Talon or any of us knows.”
Talon gave Mother Clement a stiff nod. “For that I thank you. Still, I must keep Larkin in custody. She is the most likely suspect. Because of that and the previous attempts on her life, she is in the most danger.”
“But you will question the anchoress?” Larkin asked.
“Aye, I will do that much. I will also look into the earl’s affairs. If there is more to the earl’s death than we have found this day, I will discover it.”
“Thank you.” She was grateful for the crumb of hope he offered that perhaps his trust and regard were stronger than she believed.
Talon’s expression softened a bit. “You are welcome.”
Larkin trembled at the sorrow she saw in his eyes.
“Well, Cleve. What are you waiting for? You have your orders.”
“Aye, sir.”
Despite her aching heart, Larkin gave a stiff nod. “Good night.” Then she turned her back on Talon.
• • •
He hated what he was doing, for he still believed she was Lady Larkin Rosham as she had always claimed. But that made her motive for murder stronger. He despised the actions he felt forced to take, but either she’d committed a heinous crime or she was in danger of being murdered herself, perhaps both. Thank the saints he had never yielded to desire and become her lover. She would have trampled his heart, and he did not know if he would have survived.
Mother Clement thought there was doubt about Larkin’s guilt. He blessed the abbess for providing that sliver of hope. He shook his head. He’d promised to investigate further, and he would. Too much deceit spoke loudly that Larkin was ruthless in pursuit of what she thought was justice. Despite his belief that she really was Lady Rosham, she’d killed any trust he could have in her. ’Twas a great sorrow, but no great leap to believe her guilty of murder.
The others at the table took their leave. Talon made sure that Mother Clement had an escort to the abbey. He begged that she take a message asking Dame Margery to speak with him on the morrow. Then he turned his back on all who remained and mounted to the battlements.
Toward dawn, he decided his eyes were deceiving him. He’d stared too long at the sea and cliffs visible from the battlements. He could swear he saw lights in the cliff face, where no lights should exist. No doubt it was just a trick of the sunrise, and he was too weary with trying to find a reason to believe Larkin to figure out the cause. He knew he needed sleep, just as he knew sleep would not come.
Was there any way to save her? Madness even to imagine that. Still, the slim possibility of her innocence compelled him to try. He turned and descended into the bailey. He would question the candle-making anchoress and put to rest the only remaining doubt over Larkin’s guilt or innocence.
• • •
Talon knocked on the chained door of the anchorage. Would the woman still fear him? Most likely, but he had to talk to her. He had to find the final proof of Larkin’s guilt himself. Some weak part of him wanted her to be innocent and would surely deny any reported evidence against her.
The window shutter opened to reveal the anchoress’s pock-ravaged face. Graying hair curled wildly about her head, and she looked at him with blank eyes. “Did you knock?”
“Yes. I hoped you would speak with me.”
The woman’s smile was beatific. “Certainly, my child. How may I help you?”
She showed no trace of fear. Could this be the same woman? He’d not seen her clearly on his earlier visits. But she’d taken one look at him, screeched incomprehensibly, and fled to pray. Yet how could it be anyone else? Anchoresses were walled in for life, believing that enforced contemplation would lift them to a higher plane of understanding. The closest one could get to God in this world.
“I was told that you make candles for Hawksedge Keep.”
“Yes, I do. But only beeswax candles. Anyone can make tallow candles, but beeswax takes special handling, especially to produce the purity of wax and flame that the earl requires for his chapel.”
“Is the process truly so difficult?”
“Indeed it is.” Whereupon she launched into a detailed account of candle-making so complex it made Talon’s head spin. The variety of conditions, possible ingredients, and implements that she described staggered his imagination.
“Beg pardon, but where do you keep all of this?” Her cell was roomy but simple, as befitted one who had rejected the world, and she could not have stored all those materials within the Spartan walls.
“God provides all that I need through the abbess, and she sends it with the carter.” He swallowed against despair. That Larkin had opportunity to dupe the anchoress into using poison in the candles did not mean it was true.
“Tell me once more how scent and oils are added to the candle yet the color and texture remain flawless.”
She repeated the process. Talon echoed her until he felt he could make such candles himself. “And you are certain you could not possibly mistake one ingredient for another?”
