“Who told you that?” Thomas raised an eyebrow. Was the sheriff deliberately spreading this falsehood to suggest Hilda had done so out of guilt for the murder of Tobye? Must the cook remain condemned even if she was innocent?
Huet raised a matching eyebrow. “The man who protects your prioress, Brother. After she heard the commotion, and refused his advice to remain in safety, he followed her. When he reached the hut, he heard the sheriff loudly proclaim our cook had stabbed herself.”
“So he hoped!” Thomas realized he had been foolish to openly criticize Sir Reimund and quickly amended his words with: “Or rather believed.” What a poor attempt to change his meaning, he thought, and one not likely to fool the steward’s observant son. He silently cursed his brief show of temper. “No weapon was found. I examined her and said plainly enough that she could not have wounded herself so grievously, then disposed of the knife from a hut with no windows and a door barred from without.”
Huet pursed his lips and nodded.
“Why would anyone have wanted to hurt her? I have little acquaintance of the woman, but she seemed a gentle enough soul.”
Perhaps Hilda had witnessed something that pointed to Huet as Tobye’s killer, and the man had tried to kill her for that. After his strong defense of her in the courtyard, others would be less likely to suspect him as the true murderer.
But how could he know in advance that Sir Reimund would choose the cook as his suspect over, say, the pig boy or a laundrywoman? Surely Huet must be innocent.
Or had he simply taken advantage of the situation and found the imprisoned cook easier prey than she might otherwise have been?
In any case, until the killer was caught, Thomas could not risk casting aside any suspicion and knew that his peaceful nights, falling asleep in this man’s arms, were over. If he wanted to avoid any chance of a slit throat, he had best find a bed where there were too many witnesses as protection.
“Yet you have the measure of her, Brother. Her greatest sin was giving out bits of manor food to those of us who knew her soft heart and danced like puppies for treats. She had no children of her own and adopted us all with an eager love.”
“No enemies then?”
“Remember the story of devilish imps who infested the herd of swine, causing them to lose all reason and leap into the sea where they drowned? Satan may so drive a man to madness that he does things he might not otherwise do. Barring such a fiendish act, there was no one who had cause to injure her, any more than she had grounds to kill the groom.”
“Maybe he tormented her more than anyone knew and she could take no more, thus cut his throat. A moment of madness, perhaps, as you have just described.”
“Well argued, Brother, but I have rarely known a soul with so little anger in it. The sheriff must look elsewhere for the one whom Satan drove witless.” Huet’s smile was most engaging.
Thomas felt his face turn hot but was determined not to surrender to the man’s charm. “You know everyone here. Had anyone more cause than she?”
“Why do you ask, Brother? It is not your concern.”
Thomas swallowed hard, then forced a sheepish look. “Monks often find the world’s ways incomprehensible, and we ask too many questions about it. In addition, the Prince of Darkness may not disport himself more often in the world than in priories, but we are inclined to pretend otherwise and look for reasons to support that belief.”
Huet threw his head back and laughed. “You must whet your skills if you would become a teller of tales! Let me demonstrate a more persuasive demeanor.” He mimicked a sly, inquisitive monk. “That look you gave me would not lead any man to conclude you were like the religious you describe.”
Thomas willed himself to smile as if he had only intended a jest. “But I did make you laugh. Have I not learned that from you at least?”
Huet nodded, his expression much bemused.
Thomas sighed. “Nonetheless, the matter is certainly not my concern. I am but idly curious.”
“With all due respect, Brother, I doubt that. Your question is founded in true caring, not the idle prying from which so many suffer. In reply, I would say that several had more reason to kill Tobye than Hilda. He breached maidens and rode wives. The women may have been willing enough, but their gates were owned by others, and he had no right to enter as he did, whatever the invitations. If I were Sir Sheriff, I’d look to cuckolds and angry fathers before I laid a hand on our cook.”
“Any in particular?” Thomas asked, knowing he had just pushed his claim to trifling inquisitiveness a bit too far.
Huet shrugged. His eyes narrowed.
“None?”
“If you wish to satisfy what you name your idle curiosity, you had best ask others to raise questions. I have been too long away to know the most recent offenses. But, if you continue, I advise you to take care. There will be mortals aplenty who might not consider your interest but a simple failing of a cloistered monk.” He bowed. “Now, if you will forgive me, I promised to meet with my father for our long-delayed discussion about my abrupt return home.”
Thomas watched the man leave the kitchen. Were those parting words a threat or a kind warning? Rubbing his forehead, he concluded only two things after this talk with the steward’s younger son: he himself had been dangerously unwise in his speech, and Master Huet was far less ignorant of manor affairs than he pretended.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mistress Maud was not in the chamber.
Although Eleanor’s temper had waned during the short walk here, she knew it might wax again if fed by the sight of one whom she must call a suspect, no matter how unwillingly. Eleanor exhaled with relief when she saw that Mariota’s sole attendant was the usual servant.
The woman set aside her mending and rose to acknowledge the entrance of the prioress. “May I serve you in any way, my lady?”
Eleanor refused but thanked her, grateful for the woman’s gentle manner. It drove away the last of her unwomanly raging, allowing her to conclude that she had surely exaggerated the murkiness of the problems. Later, and with calmer spirit, she would carefully apply reason to each issue. As her aunt had taught her, anger only distorted facts. The situation could not possibly be as complex as she had thought under the influence of the Devil’s fury.
“How fares this child?” she asked, turning to look at the bed.
Mariota opened her eyes. “I feel much stronger, my lady,” she whispered hoarsely. “I walked to the door and back today.”
Surprised at the response, the prioress cried out with delight and rushed to grasp the girl’s hand.
“She also took some soup but an hour ago,” the servant added as she returned to her work, the stitching so skillful that the tear was becoming quite invisible.
Eleanor studied the girl. “Then you are most certainly healing.” Although Mariota was still pale, her cheeks had regained some of the healthier pink they had previously borne.
“Shall we leave soon?”
There was a sadness in the girl’s voice that caught Eleanor’s attention. Was she still suffering over what she had recently confessed? “Not until there is sufficient lull in the storms, and you have enough strength to travel back to the priory without further endangering your health.”
Mariota squeezed her eyes shut as if the meager light stung.
Eleanor gestured to the servant that she might leave them.
“I will remain outside should you have need of me,” the woman replied.
The prioress waited until the door was firmly shut. “You seem troubled, my child.”
“Are we alone?”
Eleanor nodded. “Speak freely and tell me what burdens your spirit.”
A slight flush dusted the young woman’s cheeks. “I would not speak ill of those who are kind.”
Fear numbed the prioress, but she knew she dared not show it. Her mind now raced through the possible meanings, and her heart began to pound. To disguise her alarm, she carefully released Mariota’s hand, patted
it gently, and drew back a step. “Let me take that weight from you. If your spirit be honest in its speech, I shall decide whether those who seem benevolent are truly so or only don the convenient robes of compassion.”
Mariota stared up at the ceiling and began to speak. “This morning, Mistress Maud brought Master Huet to this chamber and sat while he played most beautifully upon the lute. His gentle songs of love, both worldly and spiritual, quite raised my spirits.”
“I have heard him, and he owns much talent.” Eleanor smiled encouragement.
“After a while, I slipped into a pleasant sleep, dreaming that my brother’s friend greeted me with great happiness.” She looked at the prioress as if searching for some sign, either of hope or censure.
“As we all know, God can tell us things in dreams, and this may suggest that matters have changed in your family of late,” Eleanor said, then quickly added a caution. “I am not, however, as blessed as Joseph who read God’s word in Pharaoh’s dream.”
The girl nodded. “When I awoke, I felt at peace and decided that God might truly be merciful in this matter. Then I opened my eyes.” She began to tremble.
Eleanor took the girl’s hand and held it with a gentleness she hoped would make further speech easier.
“I dare not draw any conclusions, my lady, but the sight did startle me.”
“Tell me in simple words exactly what you saw?” The prioress fought not to betray her own apprehension.
“Mistress Maud and Master Huet were standing near the window. They were holding each other in close embrace.”
Sweat trickled down her sides as if the room were overheated, but shock had numbed Eleanor to such petty sensitivity. She could only feel terror for Mariota’s safety. Her mouth was too dry when she swallowed, and she repressed a coughing fit.
“Did they know you had witnessed this?”
“I think not, my lady. His back was to me, and she could not see over his shoulder. I quickly closed my eyes. After waiting a while, I made a noise as if just awakening, then hesitated until I heard some sound. When I opened my eyes, they were apart and staring out the window as if something of import had caught their interest.”
Either they assumed they had escaped her notice by jumping away from each other or they knew full well she had witnessed their sin. It was the latter she feared and believed more likely.
Solutions raced through her mind and were just as hurriedly discarded. Mariota was too weak to move, yet she must no longer be left in the care of another from this household. Of course, she could take on most of the young woman’s care but even she needed sleep.
“You were right to tell me of this, but there may be an innocent enough explanation,” the prioress said. “Until I find out more, however, speak to no one at all about it. Should any person, including the sheriff or the two themselves, ask if you have witnessed anything curious while lying in this room, I give you permission to lie and claim ignorance. It is unlikely anyone shall do so, but wisdom forbids speaking further of it now.”
Mariota nodded, but the renewed pallor in her cheeks and furrowed brow spoke eloquently enough of her thoughts.
Surely the girl has heard some of the details of the crimes committed here, the prioress thought. There was no way to keep the stories from her, and Mariota was not foolish. She knew well enough that her life was in danger once again.
Now another horrible realization struck Eleanor most forcefully
She had not exaggerated the complexity of the crimes recently committed after all. They were far more intricately entangled than she had imagined.
Chapter Thirty
As Thomas walked through the busy courtyard, melancholy fell on his spirit with the weight of a pall over a corpse. He tossed his head like a horse bitten by a fly, as if that would free him of the malignant gloom, but the darkness only dug its claws more firmly into his soul.
“A lover could not be more faithful in attendance upon me,” he groaned, “or show greater jealousy over my joy in another.”
That other was the rare happiness he had experienced on this journey from Tyndal.
Melancholia had been the usual disorder in his humors since his imprisonment. It was briefly banished after some months at Tyndal, only to return during his journey to Amesbury Priory. The agonies he had then suffered grew so unbearable that he begged Prioress Eleanor to grant him permission to become a hermit, at least for a time, after the poisoning of Martin the Cooper last summer. She refused, ordering him instead to accompany her on this matter of priory land boundary disputes.
The journey was ill-advised due both to the pestilent season and harsh weather, but his prioress rejected all argument. Rarely had he seen her more adamant and never as unreasonable. When the company set out on a blustery day, the chill wind was only a foretaste of trouble to come. Oddly enough, an increase in his anguish had not been part of it.
He had found pleasure in unknotting legal issues and providing his prioress with options for equitable solutions. Her approval of his work had been most evident, and he had enjoyed the times when they took opposite sides of each argument to establish which solution might be best. Once the issues were resolved, and the party had begun their ride back to the priory, Thomas was shocked to find he had discovered contentment.
Then Mariota fell ill, and the storm had forced them all to seek shelter at this manor. Bedded down in the kitchen, Thomas easily fell back into a pattern of life he had lived as a child. His mother dead before he could even remember her, a cook had taken him on and raised him until she also died, just before his voice broke. Kitchens had always meant love and security. Hilda, the cook, reminded him much of the woman who reared him.
And now she was dying.
He cursed. She did not deserve this. Why did some grow corpulent in the service of corrupt men while those like Hilda suffered under the heavy boot of injustice? Why did God allow it? As bitterness soured his heart, he curled his hand into a fist and raised it to shake at the sky.
Something nudged his leg.
He looked down, his thoughts instantly pulled back from that chasm of irrevocable misery where Satan delighted in pushing him.
A brown dog of mixed breed was sitting in front of him, its expression expectant as if the creature had just asked a question.
“Where is your master?”
Seeing that it had gained the monk’s attention, the dog dropped the stick it held in his mouth at Thomas’ feet.
“Here, Brother.”
Thomas looked around and saw the speaker, a lad no older than nine summers, gaunt, with scabs and scars covering his face, neck, and hands. The boy was still recovering from a pox.
“How long have you had this fine creature?”
The boy grinned. “He was the gift promised if I lived, Brother.”
The monk nodded and his heart grieved at the roughness still evident in the boy’s voice.
“We came for your blessing, if you would be so kind.” The boy knelt and steepled his hands.
The dog looked hopeful.
If God has let this child live, Thomas thought, surely the boy was already under His safeguard. As for the dog, the monk suspected he had the same protection as any sparrow in God’s kingdom. He gave them both the peace of a blessing nonetheless.
“Are you training him?” the monk asked after the boy had risen from his knees.
“Only to fetch sticks,” was the wary reply. “My father says our master would not approve if he learned to hunt.”
A father who will nevertheless teach the beast to track down conies when the steward is abroad, the monk concluded. He picked up the proffered stick and threw it.
The dog spun around, scattering clumps of mud as he did, and raced after it, albeit with a limp and a hop. Now Thomas understood why this boy had been allowed to keep him. The beast was too lame to hunt.
“A clever creature?”
“He’s a good watchdog.”
“Barks, does he, when a stranger comes nigh?”
Thomas raised his eyebrows in wide-eyed approval at such valor.
The boy misinterpreted the look. “Ask my father if you do not believe me.” His jaw set with resolute certainty.
“I did not doubt your word, lad, but now I must ask when this fine hound chased the Prince of Darkness away. I do love a good tale!” Thomas crouched on his heels so his eyes were on the same level as the boy’s.
“Last night!” The boy puffed his chest out on his dog’s behalf.
“Verily?”
“See that hut over there?”
Thomas looked in the direction the lad was pointing. It was a crudely built hut near the storage shed where Hilda had been held. “Oh, yes,” he whispered.
“My scabs were itching too much to sleep, and I tried not to wake my parents while I scratched. I could hear the rain had stopped and, through that window, I saw the clouds had broken. The crescent moon was just there.” He pointed to a place in the sky that suggested a time perhaps an hour before dawn.
“Aye? Aye?” As his hopes increased that this demon might turn out to be a mortal killer, Thomas lost any need to feign interest in this story.
The boy reached down and stroked his dog, now resting his head against the lad’s leg and panting with the effort of retrieving the stick. “Suddenly, Rabbit began to howl in such a way that my parents awoke. My mother began to whimper and even my father moaned. A lost soul was passing, they said.”
Thomas had fallen into thought, calculating how long before the sheriff arrived that this had happened. If the boy was right about the position of the moon, there would have been time enough to attack the cook and escape before most were awake, but not so long that Hilda would have died from her wounds.
All of a sudden he realized the boy had grown silent and was looking at him as if expecting some reaction. “But it was not a soul, was it?” He rested his chin in his hand and concentrated on what might be said next.
“Nay, Brother. My father gestured for me to be quiet, which I obeyed, but I did roll toward the window and look out with due caution. The Devil was outside!”
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