The Lord Bishop's Clerk by Sarah Hawkswood Page B

choir monks were facing in the same direction as he was, and all were largely hidden by the rood screen. Leastways, he could see the visitors. Then he groaned, for the great west door had creaked open, and townsfolk keen for the well-being of their souls came in. Bradecote’s silent prayer that there should be few of them was answered, and none looked viable as murderers come to view the result of their misdeed. There was a bent and wizened old woman, leaning heavily on a stout blackthorn stick, and supported also by the arm of a skinny, sallow girl of no more than fourteen; grandmother and granddaughter had come to prayers. Behind them came a young woman with the waddling gait of the heavily pregnant, and a tattered, gap-toothed beggar with a crutch. A pompous-looking burgess, glancing round to make sure everyone noticed his rotund presence, entered and stood some distance apart from the others. He was accompanied by a wan and worried dame and three sulky youths, who clearly expected no spiritual benefit from appearing in church with their parents, and would have preferred to have been with their peers cooling themselves in the shallows of the Avon. All of the newcomers gazed with blatant incomprehension at the blanketed form before the altar. Relief flooded through Hugh Bradecote, and he raised his eyes heavenward in mute thanks.
    Across in the north transept, Serjeant Catchpoll tried not to smirk. It did not take a reader of minds to see what the sheriff’s freshly appointed acting under-sheriff was thinking. Well, it mattered not what he thought, as long as he kept from interfering. Catchpoll had served the sheriff many years, and each had a healthy respect for the other’s abilities and a knowledge of each other’s shortcomings. He suspected the new appointment had been made from a mixture of social nicety and pure mischief, and certainly did not expect Bradecote to be more than a cypher.
    Bradecote was mercifully unaware of his subordinate’s insubordinate thoughts, and had turned his attention to those who had been present in the enclave when the sheriff’s party had arrived. The two nuns, who had remained kneeling in the cloister during the exchange with the abbot, were easy to identify. The younger, who had seemed more poised in the cloister, was now obviously shaken. Her eyes had, if it was possible, widened even more, and were fixed upon the covered corpse, her cheeks ashen. It seemed that the enormity of what had taken place had now sunk in. By contrast, the taller and older sister was impassive. Bradecote was mildly surprised, for he would have expected her to be more disturbed. She had, however, given the blanket-hidden form a long, pensive stare as she took her place, and thereafter had ignored it. Indeed, she seemed to find the office particularly fulfilling, and at one point drew a breath and smiled unexpectedly, as if taking in the perfume of a sweet flower.
    The lady behind her had none of her quiet poise. She was a woman about whom everything was pallid. Her pale, red-rimmed eyes swam with tears and her delicate, white hands fidgeted constantly. She was so thin and wraith-like that Bradecote wondered if she were in search of a miracle to cure some deadly illness. He recalled her as the female indulging in incontinent sobbing, though mercifully this had ceased. Her expression now was less of horror than of awe. A little behind her stood the perplexed brute, who he decided was her guard dog. Beside her stood a much younger lady dressed in fine fabrics of a sober hue, who did not concentrate upon the service. At first she looked at the dark heap before the altar, but appeared to tire of it and let her eye rove about the church, passing over Catchpoll and resting briefly upon Hugh himself. Seeing that he was himself regarding her, she gave a small, self-satisfied smile. Here was a woman well used to admiring glances. Her features were fine-drawn, her skin without fault, her figure slim but curvaceous. She