A Rose for the Crown (20 page)

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough in music and more work in the dispensary. Elinor was anxious to have sufficient quantities of dried herbs put up for the winter, the cough and cold season. She treated Kate with indifference and only once turned on the girl to criticize her for spilling some precious seeds. Both girls were relieved when she left the room.

Elinor had also seen Geoffrey smuggle food from the table and was curious as to his whereabouts. “He ought to be learning his letters with Brother Francis,” she muttered to herself as she swept into the great hall.

There was, however, no sign of either Geoffrey or the cleric, who usually gave his lessons to the boy at the high table. She frowned and went into the stairwell. She paused at Richard’s door but was spared the necessity of knocking by the timely appearance of Brother Francis descending the staircase from the chapel.

“Brother, is this not the time for your tutoring of Geoffrey Bywood?” She kept her voice low, as she did not want Richard to be disturbed unless her suspicions were correct and Geoff had indeed neglected his lessons.

“Aye, madam. I have searched upstairs, including the chapel, but he is not there. Maybe Alfred needed him in the kitchen.”

Francis had been disappointed by Elinor’s behavior with the boy that morning. He had charged her to tell her beads one more time than the usual five and made her kneel on the bare floor of the chapel to discharge her penance. The boy was an apt enough pupil, but mainly the chaplain felt sympathy for the lad’s position in the house. He prayed that she would find Geoffrey toiling in the kitchen. He moved past Elinor, knocked on the office door and silently slipped into the room at Richard’s bidding.
Elinor went back to the kitchens, but other than a couple of scullery boys who were grinding dried peas for a pottage, the kitchen was deserted.

“Have you seen Master Bywood?” Elinor surprised the boys, who jumped nervously at her voice. “Answer me, have you seen Geoffrey this afternoon?”

The servants shook their heads, looking frightened. “Last I saw him, mistress, he were out in the courtyard talking to Ralph,” one of them ventured, “but ’twere after the midday dinner, ma’am, an it please you.”

“It does not please me, John. I’ll wager the young varmint has skipped his lessons to climb that beech tree.” She grimaced and turned on her heel, determined to find Geoff. The boys bowed their heads and rolled their eyes at each other, relieved they were not the target of Elinor’s ire.

The weak winter sun had already set when she stomped out of the gatehouse and over the moat, passing the flower and herb gardens. The stone-hard ground now yielded withered, frostbitten stalks. She took the path along the stewpond and climbed the small slope to the upper lake towards what was unofficially known as Geoff’s beech, trying to be as quiet as her long skirts allowed. The gathering dusk would usually have deterred her from a walk alone at that hour, but she was too intent on her purpose to be prudent. Ungrateful boy, she thought as she walked. Perhaps this time Richard will take my part and believe he is naught but trouble and should be returned to his father. She did not see Geoff on either bank, but, suspecting he was skulking in the leafless branches of the beech, she made her way to where the stream emptied into the lake and the woods began.

The twilight and absence of distinctive leaves made it hard for her to pick out individual trees, and she paused, looking around for the copper beech. She had taken a warm cloak upon leaving the house but had not bothered to remove her high jeweled headband. She did not notice the shadow behind the very beech she was looking for until it was upon her petite person, grabbing at her headdress and the necklace at her throat.

Elinor was angry, screaming that the boy must stop or he would get a beating he would really remember. Her screams were piercing, and her antagonist panicked. He struggled with her as she tried to pull herself away, and the swaying bodies tussled closer and closer to the water’s edge. With a final violent push, the thief shoved Elinor backwards into
the deepest part of the lake, her weight shattering the thin ice. He had succeeded in stealing the headband, but as Elinor’s screams for help were loud enough to raise the alarm, he took off running, forsaking the more valuable necklace.

Elinor gasped as the icy water seeped into her heavy fur-lined cloak, long woolen dress and linen chemise. Unable to swim, she flailed around, trying to gain a foothold in the sucking mud on the bottom of the lake. But her clothes dragged her farther into its frigid depths. She fought valiantly to rid herself of her cloak, and, pumping her legs up and down, she resurfaced briefly, grasping at the flimsy ice and crying again for help. Too late she loosed the cloak from around her neck with her last gulp of air, and now like a soggy blanket it floated over her, further encumbering her efforts to lift her head above water. Her weighted arms had no more strength to pull her up, and the cold numbed her legs. Her lungs were bursting, and she could hold her breath no longer. The air rushed out of her mouth and nose and the water poured in as she frantically clawed at the mantle above her. Losing consciousness, she sank like a stone to the bottom, the floating cloak a tragic marker.

A stable lad heard her cries, but the first one had sounded angry, not frightened, and he thought it was naught but a couple of servants having a tiff, and precious seconds were lost. The second frightened scream alerted him into action. He raced up the steps of the gatehouse and pulled on the bell rope, sounding the alarm. Several minutes passed before men with lighted torches ran out of the house and barns. A crowd gathered round the stable lad, who described the woman’s screams with a fine flair for drama. Richard commanded several of his staff to follow him with lights and a weapon or two. He held his broadsword, the closest thing to hand when he had heard the bell, and he was ready to do battle for the damsel in distress. He and his crowd of helpers hurried along the path Elinor had taken not fifteen minutes earlier. Kate and Anne, wrapped in their cloaks, followed close behind.

When the group reached the lake, the last of the day’s light revealed a dark shape floating in the water. Richard ordered two of his burliest servants into the freezing lake to pull out the garment and then to wade in as far as they dared to try and find the unfortunate victim. The body was not far from shore. The men found it quickly and formed a human chain
to pull it in. In the rush, no one had noticed Elinor’s absence, so when the eerie light of the torches flickered over her ghastly green-white face and staring black eyes wide with fear, Richard’s shock brought him to his knees. He desperately tried to slap life back into Elinor’s cheeks, and he turned her over and began to push the water from her lungs, crying out to God for help. But it was no use: Elinor was gone. Anne ran to her father’s side, her eyes full of tears and her hand over her mouth.

“Mother! Oh, Mother! Wake up, wake up, I beseech you! Oh, mercy, whatever shall I do without you? Sweet Mary, please do not take her away!” she prayed, forgetting Elinor’s failings in her natural anguish. “Father, save her! Save her! Do it! Do it!” She screamed at Richard and urged him to push harder on Elinor’s back. There was no reaction save a trickle of water that oozed from the dead woman’s mouth.

“Elinor! Elinor! Oh, God, what mischief is this?” Richard was distraught. He turned her again on her back and stroked the chalky cheek, willing Elinor to breathe.

Edgar stepped forward, smoothed the lids over the glassy eyes and gently covered the inert form with his cloak. He lifted Richard to his feet. Father and daughter held each other, and Kate came forward to put her arm around Anne’s shivering shoulders. By this time, the rest of the household had arrived on the scene and were shaking their heads, doffing their caps and crossing themselves. Some of the women were weeping out of fear, some out of loyalty to their mistress.

“Who could have done this?” Edgar’s booming voice echoed over the lake. The assembled company shuffled nervously. As they looked from one to another, the kitchen boy remembered that Elinor had been searching for Geoff.

“Where be Geoff?” he whispered to the servants nearest him. “Mistress Elinor were looking for him.”

A murmur of “Where’s Geoff Bywood” began to run through the crowd from person to person until it reached those standing by the corpse. Kate heard it before Richard and Anne, and a frisson of fear went through her. Where was Geoff? She had not seen him since dinner. Oh, God, she thought desperately, do not let him be the one! He could not—her mind was racing now—he is too young, too small, only one good arm. He is only a boy. Oh, God, let him be here and not be the one! Her
eyes flew around the familiar faces, some in shadow, some in the full light of the torches, but Geoff was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s this I hear?” bellowed Richard, releasing Anne and stepping towards one group. “Geoffrey Bywood, where are you?” He swung around from cluster to cluster of frightened, whimpering servants and waited for Geoff’s voice to pipe up. Silence met his query.

“He is the only one of my household not present. He must be found, for I do believe he has killed my lady wife through spite after his beating today. That is the only explanation.”

“Nay! Geoffrey would not harm a flea!” Kate cried, stepping forward.

Anne pulled Kate aside angrily. “What are you saying? You cannot protect Geoff anymore. If ’twas he who killed my mother—” She broke off on a wail and ran to her father.

“Of course he did not kill her.” Kate’s voice rose in indignation. “He
could
not kill anyone. He is just a boy—and with only one good arm. You must believe me!”

Anne turned away.

“Kate, say no more. This matter must be investigated. You and Geoff are my kin and are dear to me, but as Geoff is our only suspect and you are here on our charity, you would do well to hold your tongue for a change,” Richard said sternly, but he took Kate in the crook of his arm with Anne and held them close.

Edgar organized four of the men to form a litter with his cloak and carry Elinor ceremoniously back to the Mote, motioning the rest of the household to follow at a respectful distance. Several of the servants jostled one another for a look at the pallid features of their erstwhile mistress, and many of them crossed themselves again, knowing she had met her death unshriven. They were convinced she was dancing in hellfire now. Richard and Anne followed the body hand in hand, Richard staring stoically ahead and Anne at the ground. Kate traipsed behind, her eyes searching the crowd for Geoff.

Anne’s young heart felt drained, and only her father’s strong, loving clasp prevented her from stumbling and swooning on the path. The love she had for Elinor was dutiful, but her gentle nature had cringed at every harsh word uttered to Kate and Geoff. She was guilt-ridden by the many hateful thoughts she had had about her mother all her life, and she
wondered if God would ever forgive her. Her tears increased with her despair and spilled onto the ground in great drops.

“Sweeting, go now and warm yourself,” said Richard when they reached the house. “Kate will attend you, and I will arrange for Masses to begin this night for your mother’s soul, and I shall keep vigil tonight.”

The men carried the litter into the great hall on their way to the chapel, and as if by some heavenly hand, the chapel bell began to toll. In the excitement of the discovery of Elinor’s body, no one had remembered it was vespers hour. Now the bell reminded them. Richard strode through the front door, calling for Brother Francis.

The chaplain had not been at the scene of the drowning. He was in his sparse attic room, preparing for vespers. He heard the alarm bell, but as no one came up to find him, he had presumed he was not needed and had proceeded down to the chapel to light the candles. His consternation at the lack of a congregation for the evening service was turning into annoyance when he heard Richard’s loud summons. He hurried downstairs and met the litter-bearers as they came into the stairwell. His face grew pale when he saw what appeared to be a corpse under the cloak. He crossed himself.

“What has happened?”

Edgar lifted the cloth from Elinor’s face, and the priest recoiled in horror. “Dear Jesu, poor lady!”

He was given a brief account, and then Richard appeared behind them in the doorway. “Move along, sirs. Brother, we must set up a bier in the chapel, and you shall begin masses for her soul as soon as supper is finished. My dear wife has been drowned—by some murderous hand. We will do everything in our power to ensure her place with God.”

Francis was startled. “Murdered! Why think you she has been murdered? ’Tis more likely she slipped and fell into the lake.”

“Nay! She was pushed. Young Simon heard her screams. She was fighting with someone. And we do believe it was young Geoff Bywood, who is nowhere to be found.” Richard watched the men bear his wife slowly upstairs. “Mary! Where is Mary? She must help me get Elinor out of those killing garments.”

Mary, whose red eyes testified to her genuine sorrow at losing her mistress, hurried past Richard to the upstairs chamber.

Richard followed her. Anne and Kate were already in their chamber,
and Kate was wiping Anne’s swollen eyes with a cold, damp cloth and murmuring soothing words to her. She felt so protective of this quiet, sweet girl, and she knew the pain of losing a mother. Kate’s thoughts were a jumble of emotions: sadness for Anne’s and Richard’s pain, guilt for the many wicked thoughts she had harbored about Elinor, relief at the removal of a thorn in her side and Geoff’s, worry over Geoff’s disappearance, anger at the inference that Geoff was guilty of the murder and yet panic over his possible culpability. If Geoff were found and believed to be guilty, he could hang.