The Final Toll

by Denise Domning

  The widow stopped beside the head of the bed, then looked back at her Crowner as she waited for him to join her. Faucon stripped off a glove to finger the rich green-and-gold curtains in appreciation. "These are beautiful."

  "They're part of my dowry," Idonea replied as she pushed aside the fabric panels, the wooden rings scraping along their supporting pole.

  The earthly remains of Sir Robert of Offord rested close to the edge of the bed atop a well-worn coverlet. Although his body had been arranged for winding, legs close together and arms crossed over his chest, he wore only a linen shirt that reached to his knees. A single narrow strip of linen had been wrapped beneath his chin and tied atop his head, meant to keep his jaw tight to his skull.

  As always, death left the man's features strangely flattened. Nonetheless, Faucon could see Sir Robert's pretty daughter favored him, not only in her well-made features but also in hair color and height. The knight had been a short man, but his shoulders were broad, his waist flat, and his hips narrow. Sir Adam had not lied about his kinsman's fitness.

  Idonea picked up a strip of linen from the pile near her husband's head. "We washed him this morning, but Sir Adam forbade us from dressing him in his tunic. Nor would he allow us to bind more than his jaw," she said, her voice still quavering.

  Offering a quiet sound in response, Faucon lifted the hem of Sir Robert's shirt as high as the man's stiffened limbs would allow, then rolled the rigid corpse onto its side. There was nothing unusual about the knight's remains save for any warrior's share of scars and the occasional mole. As he resettled the dead man onto his back, Faucon eyed Sir Robert's widow. Idonea stared blankly at her husband. No sign of grief, or any other emotion, touched her thin, bruised face.

  "My lady, I understand you hail from Rochester."

  "London, actually," she replied softly and offered a trembling smile. "My father is a canny merchant and knows how good court is for trade. He rented a house in Rochester during the court, hoping one of the better-born might be in need of a place to stay. He brought my mother to serve, and she brought me."

  "Ah," Faucon said, nodding. A canny merchant, indeed. "How was it you came to be wed so swiftly to Sir Robert of Offord?"

  Releasing a slow breath, the widow stirred herself from her thoughts and looked up at him. "It was Sir Robert who rented the bed in our borrowed house. On the day of his arrival he joined us at our table for our midday meal. Over that meal he told my father the tale of his two previous wives, and how he had only one surviving daughter from them."

  Idonea's gaze drifted back to the body of her husband. "My father was at his wits' end over me. Although many among London's other tradesmen crave a union with our house, none would consider me as a wife for their sons."

  She turned her gaze to her folded hands. "Why should they when they all knew how I have ailed over the years? But Sir Robert didn't know anything about me. After much discussion over the following weeks, my father finally proposed a union.

  "My mother was furious. She told Papa it was dangerous to cheat his better. But Papa insisted that Sir Robert could see my shorn head. He said that if the knight didn't ask questions about me or my health, that was the man's choice. Papa said that my dowry, which is thrice what my younger sister will get when she weds, was enough to compensate the knight if I should continue to ail. He insisted this marriage was good business, then he reminded Mama no one can offer for my sister until I am wed and any child of my body would lift our line into the gentry. I think all Papa cared about was that he would be able to boast to our neighbors that he had wed me to a knight after they all rejected me."

  Faucon nodded at that, wondering why Sir Robert might have been in such a panic to wed that he wouldn't even ask the usual questions. He again fingered the bed curtains. They were almost the quality of the curtains that hung in his uncle Bishop William's bed. Fabric this fine was worth its weight in gold. Perhaps that had been enough to sway the knight into taking a sickly child as his wife.

  Idonea gave vent to a harsh breath. "Fearing for my life if I went to live so far from her, my mother called my father a dreamer who would bring ruin on our whole house. My father took her words ill, and beat her for her boldness."

  With a trembling breath, Lady Offord opened her hands, once again placing her palms on her swollen belly. Her chin quivered. "What if I am not with child? How will Papa like it when I return barren, having lost the title he craved?"

  "You have lost nothing, Lady Offord," Faucon replied swiftly. "Not only do you keep your dowry, but you now have the dower Sir Robert gave you as part of your marriage contract."

  For the third time he dared to trespass where he had no right. "Sir Robert did offer dower as part of your contract, did he not?"

  She gave a tiny nod at that. "If I bore him a son, I was to get half of Offord's yearly profit as well as the full value of the wool from the manor's flock for my lifetime. If I bear only daughters, I may live in the hall as lady until the eldest is of age to wed, but the profit of the manor goes to Lady Joia and her son. If I am childless, I get the bell as my dower and nothing more."

  "A bell?" Faucon asked, startled.

  "Aye," Idonea replied with a nod. "Sir Robert has a large handbell. It's all that remains of the treasure he brought home from Ireland, the same treasure that won him Offord and Lady Joia's mother. He keeps it in a fine coffer in the storeroom below us. It is very beautiful, all decorated with images and a pretty stone in its handle."

  Faucon eyed the widow, beyond surprised. And Idonea had called her father a canny merchant? Dower was meant to support a man's widow for her lifetime, then return intact to the husband's line upon her death. If it was a piece of land, the widow could gather whatever grew upon it for her table. If it was a mill, she had the right to the profit it generated. A house she could live in, or rent as she saw fit. But what she couldn't do was sell her dower, which seemed to Faucon the only way a bell could benefit Lady Offord.

  "He showed it to me the day the servants took my dowry chest down there," Idonea was saying. She pointed toward the half-barrel chair.

  Only then did Faucon notice the outline of a trapdoor in the floorboards beneath the chair. Not only had Sir Robert turned what should have been his home's final refuge into a bedchamber, he'd made a treasury of the space that should have housed both armament and foodstuffs. Curious, Faucon crossed to the chair and pushed it aside. The trap door had a rope handle.

  Lifting the door, he peered into the lower chamber. A well-made ladder led down into the darkened storeroom, suggesting frequent visits. He breathed in the smell of garlic and tang of salty brine. He was wrong. This was still where the manor stored its foodstuffs.

  Laying the door back on the floor to allow more light into the lower room, he eyed the space. It was cluttered with stacks of bags, barrels, and bundles. Two large chests stood close to the ladder. One was open, revealing that it contained garments or fabric. The other was locked. Sitting atop the closed chest was a much smaller coffer a little longer than the length of his forearm. Even in the dim light he could see it was richly carved. That made it seem more like the reliquaries in which Churchmen housed their bits and pieces of dead saints.

  Idonea joined him at the edge of the opening. "Huh," she said, as she noticed the open chest. "Lady Joia must have forgotten to close that when she went down to fetch Sir Robert's best tunic. For shame! She knows well enough that rats cannot resist getting into fabric."

  That made Faucon smile. For just an instant Lady Offord was no longer an ill-used child-bride, but every inch a cloth merchant's daughter. "Well, we cannot have that, can we?" he said. "If you will it, I'll go below and close it for you, my lady."

  "If you please," she replied shyly.

  Faucon climbed down the ladder. His foot slid as he stepped off the lower rung, for the tower's stone floor was covered in a layer of dirt and grit. The lid was heavier than he expected, what with brass fittings on all its corners and a metal binding strap wrapped around its midd
le. Once the chest was closed, he latched its metal tongue over the brass loop. "Is there a lock for it?" he called up to Lady Offord as he glanced around the chest.

  "There is. It should be nearby," she replied as she came to kneel at the edge of the opening to better see him. "There!" she called, pointing to the little coffer. "I see it. It's on top of the bell box."

  Faucon moved around the ladder to the other chest. That took him deeper into the storeroom's windowless dimness. He ran his hand across the top of coffer. It was indeed fine. Where it wasn't carved, the wood had been sanded to silky smoothness. His fingers found the metallic bulk of a large lock. As he lifted it, his knuckles brushed against something. Whatever it was slid over the edge of the coffer and clattered onto the top of the lower chest. He snatched it just as it started to tumble to the floor. It was a second, smaller lock.

  He again looked up at Idonea. "There are two locks here. One is smaller."

  She stared blankly down at him. "That's not possible," she told him. "Lady Joia only opened one lock this morn. Is my chest locked? It's the one beside you."

  He touched the face of the chest at his knee. There was a lock threaded through the latch on its front. That brought his attention back to the bell coffer. Like both of the larger chests, it also had a metal tongue and loop. The tongue was latched over the loop, but there was no lock to hold it shut.

  Once more, he looked up at Idonea, this time holding up the smaller lock so she could see it. "It seems that Lady Joia also opened the bell box this morning."

  "Nay, she never touched it. I was watching." Then Idonea gasped. "The bell! Is it still inside its box?"

  Setting both locks on the chest, Faucon brought the coffer into the shaft of light near the ladder. He lifted the lid. The little metal hinges made no sound as they moved. The interior of the box was lined with thick, felted fabric. Watching from above, Idonea moaned. The coffer was empty.

  Faucon's eyes narrowed. Why did it not surprise him that Sir Adam might wreak his vengeance on an innocent, a woman he despised and whose child he wished to kill, by stealing what was rightfully hers? Dishonorable knight!

  Then anger twisted into harsh amusement. Unfortunately for Sir Adam, in his need to prove Idonea a murderess, he'd invited into his home the very man responsible for identifying and accusing those who committed burglary.

  Locking the large chest, Faucon carried the empty coffer and its lock up the ladder. Idonea had retreated to the bed to stand with her back to a bedpost, her face buried in her hands. "I want to go home," she cried into her fingers.

  Faucon closed the trapdoor and replaced the chair, setting the coffer and the lock onto its seat, then joined the widow at the bed. "My lady, it's not only my duty to examine the bodies of those who died under suspicious circumstances, but I also identify those who burgle. But if I'm to discover who took this bell of yours I'll need your help. If, as you say, the coffer is always locked, then whoever took the bell must have had the key, for the lock is undamaged. Where is that key kept?" he asked.

  Releasing a shaken breath, the widow dropped her hands, then slid down the post to sit at its foot, her knees drawn up to her chest. She pulled her skirts down to cover her shoes, then leaned her head back against the bed and looked up at him. Distress had only made her face seem grayer.

  She pointed to the bedpost behind him. "It hangs on a peg there," she said flatly.

  Faucon pushed his way behind the bed curtains. A ring of large metal keys hung from the peg driven into the post. Taking the ring, he retreated out from the curtains and showed the keys to her. "Is the key here?"

  She only shook her head. "I don't know," she replied. "I was never allowed to use the keys. If a chest needed opening, Sir Robert opened it."

  Faucon carried the ring to where he'd left the box and lock. Of the four keys, the smallest was the length of his palm. He fitted it into the coffer's lock. It turned with ease.

  So not only had the one who took the bell known where to find the key to the coffer, he must have been well known to the residents of Offord. No stranger could make his way unnoticed through the hall and into Sir Robert's bedchamber. Nor would any sane man show a stranger how to steal from him by revealing where he hid his keys.

  That made Faucon frown. But why had this well-trusted man taken only the bell and left behind the valuable coffer? And why, after taking the bell, hadn't he returned the lock to its proper place and closed it? That was akin to advertising that a theft had taken place.

  Taking up the coffer and lock, Faucon returned the key ring to its peg, then stood in front of the young widow. "If you please, Lady Offord. Tell me everything you recall about what happened last night."

  "I don't know what happened for all of yestereven, only what happened before I ran away," she said, her voice still emotionless. She kept her gaze on the floor as she spoke. "We gathered after midday to celebrate Lady Martha. Sir Adam and Lady Joia had quibbled earlier in the day."

  She paused to slant a sidelong glance at him."But this was not unusual. They don't much like one another, but at least Sir Adam stays his hand, doing so because Sir Robert requires it," she said quietly, taking no note of the irony in what she said.

  "Once we were at the table Lady Joia and Sir Adam set aside their discord to make merry for little Martha's sake. After a time I rose to go to the privy. That's when Sir Adam called out before all the household that I had sinned and carried another man's child. I cried that this wasn't true, that I didn't know if I was even with child.

  "That only enraged Sir Robert. He caught me by the arm and demanded to know who my lover was. I told him no one, but he said I lied and began to beat me. That's when Sir Luc threw himself at my husband and told me to run."

  Her expression was as lifeless as her voice, showing no passion, no trace of guilt or outrage. "He shouldn't have done that," she almost whispered, giving a tiny shake of her head. "What else was everyone to think save that he was the one?" Her voice trailed off into silence.

  "Sir Adam tells me your husband had looked for you prior to the meal that day and couldn't find you," Faucon said. "Where were you?"

  "Hiding," she said with a sigh. "It's what I do here."

  "Why were you hiding earlier?" he asked, frowning.

  Idonea looked up at him. She watched him for a moment as if she weighed whether to confide in him, then again lowered her gaze to the floor. "Sir Adam's brother Sir Luc was visiting. Whenever he comes, he pursues me even though I have begged him not to."

  Thus did Sir Adam seek to convince his Crowner that this sickly child was a wanton temptress. Faucon wondered if the knight had purposefully set his brother after Lady Offord. After all, in instances such as this, fault only fell upon the pursuer if he were caught in the act. Otherwise, it was only the pursued who paid the price.

  "And where did you go to hide?" Faucon asked.

  "To the dairy," she replied, rubbing her bruised temple. "It's where I always go. I can bar the door from the inside. Cold it is, but I keep blankets in an empty barrel. I like it there. There's always cheese to nibble on and wine to drink." A tiny smile lifted the corners of her lips at that.

  He smiled back at her. "A boon, indeed. Did you leave the dairy any time after you entered it and before your husband passed from this world?"

  "Nay, I remained there until Eustace sought me out in the wee hours. I'd fallen asleep and he had to pound on the door to awaken me."

  Surprise lifted Faucon's brows. "How did the bailiff know where you were hiding?"

  The widow shrugged. "Everyone knows where I go, at least all of those who care to know. Last night when Eustace came, he said Sir Robert was dying and I needed to be in the hall when my husband passed. Eustace said if I wasn't there, nothing would prevent Sir Adam from stealing everything that should be mine."

  She paused, then added at a whisper, "As if anything in this place might actually be mine, no matter who said what."

  Faucon supposed it shouldn't surprise him that the English baili
ff might prefer his common lady over his master's daughter. "So you returned to the hall. What followed?"

  "Such was the chaos that no one paid me much heed," she said with another shrug. "Sir Adam was at the tower door, the one you barred. He was pounding on it, shouting that Prior Thierry must open it for him. Lady Joia was kneeling at his feet, weeping. They were so noisy they had awakened the little ladies. They had climbed into their parents' bed, and Martha was wailing as well. I started to go to them when that priest— Father Otto— called me to him at the high table. He had seen my face and asked after me."

  "A kind man," Faucon commented.

  "He is," Idonea agreed, gently pressing her fingers around her swollen eye. "He made Eustace send one of the maidservants to fetch water and a cloth so I might wash. I was surprised that she did his bidding without first asking Lady Joia's permission."

  Turning her gaze in the direction of the open doorway, Idonea stared as if she could see into the hall through the separating wall. "Save for Eustace, all of Offord's servants treat me as an unwelcome foreigner. They taunt me for my accent and pretend that they cannot understand me when I speak. This, when we have the same language and I have no trouble understanding them. I hate it here," she finished quietly.

  Although her story added nothing to what Sir Adam had already told him, Faucon once more sifted through what he knew. No amount of twisting or turning led to a trail worthy of following, at least in the matter of Sir Robert's death. Now finding the missing bell was at least some sort of hunt.

  "Are you ready to return to the hall, my lady?" he asked. "I think Sir Adam must be told that this bell of yours is gone."

  She groaned at that. "Can I not remain here by myself?"

  He shook his head and offered her his hand to aid her in rising. "Your bailiff is correct. You are Lady Offord, a widow of some consequence. It's no good for one such as you to hide like a child."

  "You say that as if it were true," Idonea replied as she put her hand in his.