Page 50 of The Herald's Heart
Dame Margery blinked at him. “One does not create the finest candles by making mistakes.”
Well enough. He would take the holy woman’s word that she would know the materials she used in her work. But if Larkin did not provide the itchweed, and the anchoress would have noticed, how did the stuff get into the candles?
“Do you ever make candles at the request of one person?” Perhaps the anchoress did make the poison candles deliberately but was ignorant of their intended purpose.
“Other than for the chapel in the keep, where enough candles are ordered to make the effort worthwhile, no. I make these lights for the abbey. They sell the candles and supply all my needs in return. Taking a commission for one person would benefit the abbey not at all.”
“Not even for someone you know well?”
Dame Margery looked down her nose at him. Which was quite a trick since she was tiny by comparison to his height. “The answer is the same. Now I am late to my prayers; are you finished with your questions?”
“Just one or two more. Do you wrap and seal the candles before they are sent to the earl?”
“Well, the candles are wrapped and sealed before being sent to the keep, but I rarely do that.”
Talon felt any remaining hope of Larkin’s innocence begin to dim. If she had access to the candles before being sealed, she could have substituted the deadly for the pure.
“Who does?”
“I could not tell you. The nuns take them in exchange for the food they leave me.”
“But the carter said she got them from you.”
“Indirectly, I suppose she does. She always stops to thank me and chat with an old woman before going on to the abbey.”
A spark of hope still burned. With the abbey and the anchorage being so close, Larkin might well think of them as one and the same. He would question the nuns and discover if she had been inside the abbey long enough to make the poisoned candles or substitute candles made elsewhere. Larkin got the candles from the abbey, but Mother Clement had sent him here. Why?
“You are welcome, sir.”
“And I do apologize if I startled you the last time we met.”
Her brow wrinkled. “We have not met, my son.”
“Aye, but we have, lady.”
“Come closer. My vision is not as good as it once was.”
Talon approached.
Her eyes widened and her lips rounded. “Na-ay.” She wailed and lifted her hand as if warding off a demon. “You are dead. She told me you would be dead and could taunt me no longer.” The woman whirled in panicked circles until she bumped up against the altar. The small statue of the Virgin toppled from its shelf and broke in two. The anchoress fell on her knees and lifted the pieces to her breast, sobbing. “Holy Mother, forgive me for I have sinned against the Son.” The prayer continued in a confused babble of pleading and confession accompanied by much tearing of hair and thrashing.
Talon backed away. Dame Margery’s reaction was a complete mystery. He knew of nothing that could prompt such behavior. Who had told the woman he was dead, whoever he might be? The earl was the only dead person in Talon’s knowledge. Yes, some physical resemblance existed between his father and him, but surely age would have made them different enough not to be mistaken for one another. Now Talon had more questions to ask, but as long as the anchoress reacted thus, he would never discover if she knew anything about the earl’s death.
He mounted his horse and rode away. He let the steed wander, not caring where he went. ’Twas the third time he’d inspired fear in the holy woman. Was she mad, or did she act like this with all who sought her blessings? If the chance existed that she was somehow involved in the earl’s death, how was that possible? More importantly, why? She was locked away from the world and could not leave her anchorage until a physical death claimed her, but where the will existed, a way could be found.
The horse ambled to a halt. Talon found himself staring at the door to the abbey. If anyone could fill in the gaps in the anchoress’s information, it would be Mother Clement. He dismounted and knocked.
Minutes passed before the window in the gate opened in silent invitation to speak his piece.
“I need to see Mother Clement. ’Tis most urgent.”
The window slammed shut.
Was he being refused?
He heard clanging followed by a great groan as the gate swung inward. He tied his horse’s reins to a ring in the outer wall, then entered the abbey.
Inside, a nun waited for him. “This way, sir.” She set off toward an area behind the main buildings.
