Prince of Darkness

door on the right.
    'Dame Elizabeth!' she called, knocking urgently. 'You have a visitor, a Master Corbett.'
    'Come in, come in.'
    The voice was strident and harsh. Dame Agatha pushed open the door and Corbett walked into a spacious but gloomy chamber, lit only by the weak sunlight filtering through the mullion glass window on the far side which overlooked the priory grounds. Corbett could hear the faint sounds of the community; labourers returning from the fields and gardens, the neigh of horses from the stables and the chatter of nuns as they took advantage of the sunlight before Plain-song.
    The room was luxuriously furnished and, though the weather was still warm, charcoal braziers full of spluttering coals had been wheeled in. Around the walls stood cupboards openly displaying silver and gold filigreed goblets and plates. Corbett thanked God that Ranulf wasn't here: his servant's fingers would have positively itched at being close to so much wealth. A press for clothes stood in one corner, its cunningly devised doors half-open to reveal gowns, cloaks, and other garments, indicating Dame Elizabeth was a woman dedicated as much to this world as she was to the next In the other corner stood a bed, a huge four-poster, its fur-edged curtains pulled back to show a carved headrest large white bolsters and a tawny and silver bedspread. Corbett had heard of the luxury of some religious houses but never witnessed it first hand. So intent was he upon assessing the wealth of the room that the clerk failed to see the diminutive figure sitting in a coffer seat next to one of the braziers.
    'Sir, who are you?' The small, white, podgy face under its brown head-dress was both angry and alarmed.
    Corbett walked across and stared down at Dame Elizabeth. She glared back, her tiny eyes like two black currants in a plate of dough, her face tight and sour as if she perpetually smelt something offensive. Corbett smiled, and in a dazzling show of courtesy gave a bow which would have been the envy of the most professional courtier.
    'Madam,' he began softly, 'the chamber, your august self… unless I'd known differently, I would have thought myself in the presence of the Queen.'
    Dame Elizabeth positively beamed with pleasure, putting down her piece of embroidery and gesturing Corbett to sit on a small quilted footstool beside her. In the face of such flattery, Dame Elizabeth was as pliable as a piece of soft clay in Corbett's hands. The clerk sketched the barest details of his life, lying that a distant relative always spoke so highly of Godstowe and was considering applying to the Prioress for admission. Dame Elizabeth, in truth an old and garrulous woman, drank this in like a thirsty man would the purest water. They conversed about the past, Corbett's nimble wits leading the conversation in the direction he wanted.
    Naturally, Dame Elizabeth was interested above all in her health, with a litany of her aches and pains as long as a psalm, so they discussed the different elixirs: how the blood of a horse mixed with weasel hair was a sure cure for the rheum, and that elk's hoof, if obtainable, could cure the most severe agues. At last Corbett steered the conversation on to the fate of the Lady Eleanor. Dame Elizabeth pursed her lips as if she was the fount of all knowledge and gradually divulged her self-important view.
    'Oh, yes,' she exclaimed. 'The Lady Eleanor had been so ill with an inflammation of the chest that the Lord Edward had sent her special powders.'
    'Rumour has it,' Corbett interrupted, 'these powders were poisons.'
    'Nonsense!' the old nun replied in her quivering voice. 'The Lady Prioress, as well as Dame Agatha, tasted them. No harm befell them,' she added wistfully, as if she would have liked that to have happened.
    'But the lady's mind,' Corbett persisted. 'She was melancholic?'
    'Oh, yes, poor thing. Deserted by her lover, she pined for him.'
    'You think her death was an accident?'
    'It may well have been. The hall was dark, and you have seen how steep the stairs are. I am always complaining about them.'
    'You saw the lady's body?'
    'Yes, yes. She looked as if she was asleep except for the bruise on her neck and the savage twist to her head.'
    'But you don't think it was an accident, do you? How could a lady fall downstairs? Even in the dark, she must have known them well.'
    The old nun wetted her lips and leaned closer.
    'You are correct. There can only be one conclusion,' she whispered. She leaned so close their