Chambers of Death (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

“My lady!” Brother Thomas called out, then saw her guard close on her heels as she emerged from the entrance to the stairwell. “I must speak with you, for my spirit is most troubled and needs guidance,” he quickly added.

This was the one time Eleanor might have preferred not to meet her handsome monk, despite the joyful look on his face when his eyes met hers, but he was a man disinclined to idle talk and must have discovered something noteworthy.

With regret, she bowed her head as Mistress Luce approached.

The steward’s wife hurried on without acknowledging the courtesy.

Eleanor watched the woman hasten up the stairs leading to the chambers above the hall. The lack of response was surprising. What had happened between widow and wife to cause such extreme distraction?

And what emotion could she read in the woman’s face? Mistress Luce passed by so quickly there had been little time to observe her. Were those damp cheeks indicative of sorrow, or had a bitter wind caused the eyes to tear? Were the pinched lips suggestive of anger?

Perhaps she should follow, or would that gesture be interpreted as rude interference in a private matter? God’s comfort might be turned aside, she decided, but no honest soul would call it impolite. She would hear Brother Thomas’ news and seek to learn more about what she had witnessed between the two women in the courtyard.

“Follow me, Brother, and tell me what you have discovered,” she said in Latin, and then nodded to the guard before beginning the climb back up the stairs in search of Mistress Luce.

“I have learned the hour of the attack,” Thomas muttered.

“Thanks be to God,” Eleanor replied with a brief look heavenward.

“I met a boy who lives with his parents near the place where our poor woman suffered her grievous wound.”

“Continue,” she said, grateful that he understood the need to omit names that might be recognized by her guard.

“They own a…” Thomas hesitated on his phrasing. “…a hound of Hell, one who cries out if some strange mortal draws nigh.”

“May God protect us from such wickedness.” Eleanor glanced back as she reached the top of the stairs. Her guard was walking a few steps behind Brother Thomas. Was his head bowed in prayer, or was the young widower thinking of a certain young woman who had clearly caught his interest? With gentle amusement, she assumed the latter.

“This creature howled at a certain hour last night as if possessed. The boy’s parents were awakened, but only the boy saw the shadow of wickedness enter the place where our poor sinner lay. His parents said it must be Satan and that their son should say nothing about it, lest the Devil seek vengeance.”

“Let us praise God for granting them such wisdom.” The prioress nodded, continuing along the corridor.

“But I told him he could safely tell his tale to a priest but only to me.”

“God will surely reveal who was abroad with the Devil at that hour, for there must be some other sinner as witness.”

“Amen,” Thomas replied.

Eleanor gestured for him to stay back while she approached the chambers of the steward’s wife. She raised her hand to rap at a closed door.

“You needn’t disturb my mistress. She has no wish to see anyone.”

Eleanor spun around.

A heavy-set woman stood behind them, her narrow brow furrowed. In her hands was a tray with a pitcher and two cups.

The prioress swallowed her indignation at the servant’s curt manner. Perhaps this woman had been trained in service to the sheriff’s household where she learned to treat God’s servants with such disrespect?

The woman pushed past Thomas and the guard. Now face to face with the angry prioress, however, she paled. “I’ll ask if she will receive you, my lady,” she muttered, her voice dropping nervously, and then she knocked at the door.

It opened just far enough to let the servant edge her way through before shutting with a firm thud.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. From behind the door, she heard raised voices, although nothing of the words spoken. Close by, her guard shuffled uneasily. Her monk was silent.

Then the door opened wide enough to let Mistress Luce emerge. She stood before them without speaking, hands folded across her stomach as if protecting a quickened womb.

Eleanor gestured at the two men with her. They stepped away to give the women privacy. “I did not wish to disturb you,” she said gently, “but if I might offer some words of peace…”

“You are kind, Prioress Eleanor, and I fear my servant has been less so. For her offense, I do beg pardon and have admonished her. She will not repeat that affront. As for God’s peace…” She bit her lip.

What has troubled you so, Eleanor wondered, noting that the woman’s eyes were red with weeping and her face pale as if she had just received some shocking news.

“I regret that I am unable to speak with you at the moment. This is the time of day I have vowed to remain silent in contemplation of my sins.” Luce turned away as if eager to be alone, then looked back with an expression drastically changed. “Might you come again tomorrow?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Your comfort would be most welcome then.”

“Of course,” Eleanor replied. She wished to say more, but caution held her back. She had read two conflicting messages in the wife’s manner: dismissive annoyance and a deep need for the solace offered. Since she had just chastised herself for giving too much credence to flawed impressions, she decided she must obey the wife’s reasonable request to return tomorrow even though her heart suggested otherwise.

The steward’s wife bowed her head and quickly slipped back into her room.

Eleanor stared at the closed door. Again she heard speech from within but no distinct words. Did one of the voices belong to a man, or was it the servant, whose quality of voice had sounded deeper than most women? Realizing that she had stood there too long, she walked away, gesturing for Thomas to approach.

“We should go to the chapel, Brother,” she said. “I fear we have often missed the Offices with all the turmoil since our arrival.” She switched to Latin. “I have news for you as well, but let us truly turn our souls to God for a while. All of a sudden, I have grown very weary of the world.”

And the deceitful nature of mortals, she thought as a curious detail suddenly came to mind. If Mistress Luce had dedicated this time to solitary silence, why had the servant just arrived with two cups?

***

The time spent on her knees did nothing to ease Eleanor’s spirit. That night she slept fitfully, her overwrought mind racing in frantic circles like some kitten chasing his tail—and with just as much effect. If only she were back at Tyndal in her chambers where her own cat, a creature far too wise to chase anything without purpose, might settle into her arms and soothe her path to sweet dreams with his rumbling purrs.

Instead, a dog barked outside. Half in jest, she blamed the beast for chasing away what remained of slumber, as it most likely had some wandering nocturnal thing.

She sat up, arms about her knees, and listened to the rasping breath of Mariota sleeping nearby. Not wishing to awaken the recuperating young woman, Eleanor did not rise and pace, a method she often used to increase fatigue and thus fall back asleep with ease.

So she prayed, then prayed some more. There were enough sins of which she was guilty to spend many dark hours telling God how much she abhorred her mortal weaknesses. Yet her remorse was forced this night, and she knew God would not be fooled. Her thoughts were less on her sinful nature than on the guilt of whoever had attacked two people and had most certainly killed one of them.

In any case, Mariota is safe enough, Eleanor concluded, as long as I am with her. The killer has only attacked solitary souls, at least so far.

Panic grabbed at her heart. All around her, wavering shadows taunted her. Satan owned the bleak hours and peopled them with his imps who took joy in infecting men with terror. Shaking her head to dispel fear, she repeated what her aunt had taught, that shadows were but illusions, crafted by demons, and would melt away with the sun’s rising. She willed her thoughts away from fallen angels and back to mortal murder.

What was she missing? She felt as if she had been given a skein of spun threads, knotted and hopelessly tangled, to unwind. There were too many answers to the question of who killed Tobye, although perhaps too few to the identity of Hilda’s attacker.

The most obvious choice for the groom’s murderer remained the steward, but his demonstrated concern for the cook argued against his involvement in the violence against her. Perhaps he was unaware of the adultery, although Eleanor found it odd that he would be. Yet some husbands did refuse to give credence to slanderous tales for reasons known only to themselves, and others in this place certainly had equal cause to kill.

Tobye might have tried to gain something from either Mistress Luce or Mistress Maud in exchange for his silence. As for the steward’s wife, she could have killed him if he had grown bored with her body and had found a fresh bed partner. If either woman was guilty of cutting his throat, however, the only reason for attacking Hilda was if she were witness to the crime. That was not improbable. Sadly, the possibility that the cook might soon regain consciousness and reveal the name of the person she saw was growing ever more unlikely.

Yet Maud had surrendered her own bed to Hilda, swearing to stay by her side until Death came or God granted a healing hand. That act still spoke more of kindness than murderous guilt, especially since Hilda had not yet been conveniently smothered. Eleanor did not discount the use of clever deception, but her heart refused to cease its strong argument for innocence behind caring acts.

On the other hand, had the steward’s wife shown any interest in Hilda one way or the other? Eleanor had not raised the matter with Mistress Luce, but wasn’t it odd that the steward’s wife had not even mentioned that she would add Hilda’s name to her solitary prayers today? Whatever their own sins, most wives cared enough about those who served them to at least list their names for God’s attention whenever something dire occurred. This omission by the steward’s wife therefore troubled the prioress.

As for Huet, she dare not dismiss the possibility that he was a killer. He had lied, knowing Brother Thomas would catch him out, a likelihood he seemed not to mind. On brief acquaintance, he appeared a clever, talented, and pleasing young man, but the Devil was charming too, Eleanor thought ruefully, and the reasons for Huet’s abandonment of his priestly education as well as the details of his wanderings outside England remained unknown. Perhaps he lied simply to see what her monk would do. This younger son might yet prove to possess a heart grown cancerous with disinterest toward anything not of direct value to himself.

Now, of course, there was reason to suspect he was the widow’s lover—or perhaps his stepmother’s—or even both. Eleanor cringed at the latter. Like his father, however, he had also defended Hilda, albeit with a lie, and she truly could see no reason to do so if he had then tried to kill her.

The prioress could no longer bear to remain so still. She rose and quietly slipped to the window. Easing open the wooden shutters, she looked down on the silent courtyard. Storm clouds must have shrouded the moon, she thought. Even that dim light had been banished.

A rude wind from the north nipped at her cheeks, and she drew back. Shuttering the window to keep the cold from her sleeping charge, Eleanor sat back on her heels and rubbed grit from the corners of her eyes.

And what should she conclude about the quarrel she had witnessed earlier between the steward’s wife and Mistress Maud? Why had Luce summarily ordered the older woman from the manor grounds? Was it a petty thing or had she learned something malign such as an affair between the widow and Huet? Was the cause of the dispute something else entirely with nothing to do with murder? Perhaps she would learn more from Luce in a few hours.

In any case, Maud had not left that night. The prioress had seen her enter the room, where Hilda lay, with a small tray containing the ingredients needed for potions and poultices. Perhaps this quarrel was nothing new between the two women and Eleanor should dismiss it as irrelevant.

As for Mariota’s care, the usual servant had arrived with instructions from the widow on the herbal doses needed for her recovery. Both herbs and portions seemed safe enough, she thought, grateful to Sister Anne for teaching her something more of healing than a woman’s usual knowledge.

And then there was the question of the second cup on the servant’s tray when Eleanor was refused entrance to Mistress Luce’s chambers. Was there someone in that room, a person the steward’s wife did not want the prioress to see? Or was she expecting another visitor soon whom she did not want Eleanor to meet on the way? She shrugged and hoped she did not really need to resolve this particular question.

At least Brother Thomas had found a witness who saw a person enter the storage hut. With a start, however, Eleanor realized that she did not know what shape the presumed imp had assumed. Was it a man’s or a woman’s? The boy had not said. Would he have mentioned it if he thought it was a woman’s?

“How could I have been so foolish?” she groaned softly. They could have eliminated suspects if only she had thought of this one simple question. Brother Thomas might have gone back to ask the boy yesterday, but now that detail must wait for resolution until morning. Could he find the boy alone again? In fact, despite his argument that the lad might safely tell tales of seeing the Devil to a priest, the boy’s parents might not want their son to speak anymore on this matter.

If only she could count on Sir Reimund to seek the truth of what had happened here, a man far more knowledgeable about the details of life and relationships in this manor than any stranger. Even if she and Brother Thomas discovered the killer’s identity, would the sheriff listen unless the perpetrator was someone guaranteed not to offend the owner of this manor or his steward? How could she force him to render honest justice? She must find a way.