Belladonna at Belstone by Michael Jecks Page B

chest now.
    It was fortunate that young Moll was no longer able to poke her nose in and ask about the financial discrepancies, she thought.
    Closing her eyes, she shuddered at the recollection. The silly girl had come here and asked what had happened to the beadle’s money, stating that she had seen the money brought in - and yet it wasn’t listed in the accounts. Fortunately, the quick-thinking Margherita had been able to discredit her memory, saying that she was thinking of money brought in by the warrener, not the beadle. At this Moll had become confused, for she hadn’t expected so confident a denial, and she didn’t dare make any further comment. However the scene had scared Margherita: she hadn’t realised her assistant was both lettered and numerate. She must be more careful in future.
    She turned from the unpleasant memory. There were more important affairs for her to consider: she must decide the best means of persuading her sisters to support her and not the prioress.
    Her familia, the women who regularly messed with her in the frater some little while after Lady Elizabeth and her own little coterie of hangers-on had left, were already for her. It was the others Margherita needed to convince. The woman curled her lip at the thought of them: mostly they were fools and incompetents, yet sprinkled among them were a few Margherita would be happy to subvert, and some of these were wavering. They might be persuaded to join her camp. She had declared that her desire to run the convent was based upon a wish to see that it survived; faced with that, what could a nun say? No one could seriously suggest that Lady Elizabeth could look after the place better than Margherita. The very idea made the treasurer give a sardonic smile.
    The trouble was, Prioress Elizabeth knew her well; she was quite well aware that Margherita would be doing just this. And at the same time, Elizabeth would be wooing Margherita’s friends.
    The treasurer idly chewed her reed until she tasted the bitterness and spat out the ink she had inadvertently sucked. Her saliva left a black spot on the flag, and Margherita stared at it. A black spot - like the mark which would be set against the convent’s record soon. She wondered idly what the visitor would do to the Lady Elizabeth. After all, Margherita was able to give the most damning evidence against her.
    Especially since she could explain why the virtuous, the important ‘high-born’ Lady Elizabeth had good reason to want to kill Moll - and Margherita could bear witness against her before the suffragan when he arrived.
    Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she considered her familia. There was no point mentioning Lady Elizabeth’s guilt to other nuns. No, it would be best to win them over by guile, but pointing out how their lives could improve with Margherita in charge, or in the case of the more religiously inclined, she could point out how much more pious she was, and how much more inspiring she would be as leader of the community.
    Yes, that was the right approach: damn Lady Elizabeth before the suffragan and remind the others how miserable their lives had become because of the prioress. And make sure all the nuns got to hear about Lady Elizabeth’s guilt.
    Later, when she had won the most senior position, she could produce her secret funds to make good the dilapidated buildings.
    Bishop Bertrand rode up the long sweeping track to Sir Baldwin’s house at Furnshill with a feeling of impending doom.
    The men Peter Clifford had insisted upon sending appeared dull, impassive types, better than the simple thugs who usually offered themselves for hire, but not as reassuring as men of the Bishop of Exeter’s own retinue. If it had been up to him, Bertrand would have sent to Exeter for more men from the cathedral, but as Peter Clifford had pointed out, not only would that involve an unnecessary delay, it would also mean entering into negotiations with the dean and chapter as to how many men