by J G Lewis
Again, that tone of mild exasperation.
Could Elizabeth Brice have driven the cows to the dairy last night, then come home and killed John Brice herself rather than discovering his dead body? She couldn’t have killed him beforehand because there would be blood on her clothes and she could hardly have gone to the dairy like that.
Ela realized that they needed to speak to the girls at the dairy and discover what time Morse had come and gone himself.
“He was killed here in this spot?” The wet area was quite large, near the hearth, to the left of the front door.
“Yes. Left to bleed out like a dead calf.” Her voice shook, making Ela feel bad for her sudden suspicion. “That Morse is a fiend! I hope he burns in hell.”
“God will be his last judge,” said Ela solemnly. “But he might not be convicted if we can’t find solid evidence that he was here.” She watched closely for Elizabeth Brice’s reaction.
“What?” Brice’s eyes widened. They were pale blue, with sparse lashes. “He might go free even though he’s murdered two people?”
Ela nodded. “The justice can’t convict a man on hearsay.” She hesitated for a moment. Did she dare? “They might start to think that you murdered him yourself.” She did dare. Though she said it apologetically, as if it was an outrageous suggestion.
“Me?” Brice’s reaction was as intense as she’d expected. And twice as loud. “Me kill my own beloved husband?” Her face turned crimson except around her lips, which whitened as they flattened against her teeth.
“You do have motive,” said Ela quietly. “After all, you were seen berating him in the market square. Everyone in Salisbury knows he cheated on you.” She knew she was twisting a knife. But what if her hunch was correct? “I can’t help but observe that you’re bigger and possibly stronger than him.”
“Me stronger than a man? Never!” Her fingers were now mottled red and white, gripping her scrubbing brush so hard that it suddenly flew from her hand and clattered on the wet floor. Ela jumped back instinctively and realized how tense and on edge she was.
“I never killed him! Never!” Elizabeth Brice let out something between a scream and a roar and rushed past Ela and Houghton to the door, and out into the daylight.
Ela looked at Houghton, whose eyebrows were raised slightly. “Too much?” she said just above a whisper.
“Your words would be offensive and objectionable coming from the lips of a man, but since you are a woman—”
“I feel confident that she still finds them offensive and objectionable. Especially if she’s guilty.” Ela looked at the open doorway, a bright rectangle of light.
“Don’t you find the manner of stabbing odd?” asked Ela. This issue preyed on her. “It still doesn’t make sense to me that a big man like Morse would stab Brice in the side and not cut his throat as if he were a calf ready for slaughter.”
“I thought the same, my lady,” said Hale. “I saw the body before we came to meet you this morning. I don’t like to say it, but those stab wounds seem more like something…like…” He hesitated.
“Like wounds an angry woman might make,” finished Houghton gruffly. “Stabbing again and again in her fury.”
Hale harrumphed. “Her husband broke their marriage vows and made a fool of her in front of all Salisbury.”
“You could argue that she made a fool of herself,” said Ela. “No one told her to cry her business in the town square.”
“Perhaps she couldn’t stand to see him get away with adultery and have no one any the wiser,” suggested Hale.
“Or perhaps she wanted to see her straying husband accused of Katie Morse’s murder,” said Ela. “Since no one had made the connection between the two before.” People didn’t credit women with such artful calculation, but she did.
Ela looked around them. There was a large rusty fire iron by the hearth, and she walked toward it. “She could have bludgeoned him with something like this.” She wrapped her hand around the knob at the top. “Perhaps as he walked through the front door. Then while he was down she cut him to make sure he’d bleed to death.” Her voice grew louder as the scenario unfurled in her mind, and she glanced at the door and shushed herself. “Would you arrest her for killing her husband?”
“Yes. She has as much motive as Morse.” Giles Haughton took a handkerchief out of his sleeve and blew his nose.
“Oh dear. They’ll be down in the dungeon together.”
“Can’t be helped. And we can have the guard listen in on their exchanges.”
“One of them is innocent.”
“Not necessarily. We have two murders.”
“I suppose locking them up is the only way to guarantee that we aren’t setting a killer loose.” Ela did not take depriving someone of their freedom lightly, but she didn’t plan to make the same mistake twice. “I’ll order the guards to take her back to the castle, and we can go on to the dairy to talk to the girls.”
“What about the cows?”
Ela exhaled. “Let’s leave them here. I’ll have someone sent from my nearby manor to drive them for milking as usual until we come to some more conclusions.”
“That’ll cost you money, for the herder and the milking.” He looked dubious.
“I shall make sure accounts are settled when guilt or innocence is proclaimed.”
“You’d be within your right to keep the cattle.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke, but was tucking his kerchief back into his sleeve.
“I’m coming to understand that is tradition, but I’m not looking to enrich myself in the pursuit of justice.” She swept out of the room. The guards stood in the doorway and she quietly asked them to take Mistress Brice prisoner and escort her back to the castle.
They all looked around. She was gone. Ela wanted to scold them for letting her run right past them, but they were trained to wait for orders.
“Find her.”
There was a lot to learn in this job, first of all to be highly suspicious of everyone around you. Second, ask your guards to stop anyone who runs away from you.
She fought the urge to laugh. It would be easy to become a tyrant in this position. She’d have to pray for humility and compassion and the strength to not arrest all the citizens of Salisbury in the pursuit of peace and safety for the half dozen left in freedom by the time she was done.
Bright midday sunshine illuminated the dairy as Ela and Giles rode into the main yard. Since it was the middle of the day the milking barn was empty, but the milkmaids were hard at work churning milk into cream and butter while a boy of about twelve shoveled manure out of the barn and yard and piled it on the midden.
Philip Nance, the owner, came out at the sound of their horses in the yard. Ela rode up to him. “God be with you, Master Nance. You’ve heard about John Brice’s death?”
“Aye, his widow told me this morn.”
“I’m afraid she’s now in our custody.”
“What? Lizzie Brice a killer?” He rubbed his face. “All this murder is bad for business. I’ve lost half my custom if they’re gone too.”
“I’m arranging to keep the Brice’s cattle in place and have them driven here for milking.”
“And who shall pay me?”
“I’ll send my steward to work out arrangements. I presume that the usual payment is in milk for your butter and cheese.” Was he hoping to cash in on this tragic circumstance? “He’ll look at the Brice’s books to determine how things were set up.” She doubted the Brices had books of any kind, or that they were even lettered, but she didn’t want him making up some new milk-the-countess rate for her.
“Oh, aye.” His face had a curious expression. “So we’ll just milk them and take the products to market, like always, then?”
“Yes, continue with business as usual until you hear otherwise while we wait for the assizes.” Ela shifted position in her saddle. Freya was falling asleep under her. “What time did Alan Morse drive his cows here last night?”
“I don’t pay much a
ttention to the time.” Nance adjusted his belt. “It was before dark, that’s all I know.”
“And did Morse come before or after Elizabeth Brice?”
“Elizabeth Brice? John Brice drove the cows here last night. Said she were home with a headache or something.”
How odd. “But who was here first? Or were they at the same time?”
“Oh, no, never at the same time. That wouldn’t do, would it? All the cows would get mixed up, and my poor maids would have their hands full. Morse is always first at night.”
“I see.” She turned to Haughton. “In my mind this makes it even more likely that Elizabeth was the murderer. She was at home waiting to set upon him when he returned.”
Nance crossed himself. “Well, I never. I heard he was stabbed in the back.”
“In the side,” corrected Haughton in his deep voice. “But he was bludgeoned first.”
“She is quite a woman,” said Nance, eyebrows raised. “I wouldn’t want the managing of her.”
“Do you have a wife, Master Nance?” Ela was curious. How much did he know about the intrigue amongst his customers?
“Nay, she died giving birth to my last little one. I hired a nurse to look after the baby, and she performs most of the functions of a wife for half the money and trouble.” His face creased into a grin, then he remembered who he was talking to—or saw the unamused expression on Ela’s face—and wiped his expression blank.
Ela shifted in her saddle again. She needed more padding over the leather if she was to have long conversations while seated up here in her role as sheriff. “Were you aware that Katherine Morse was involved in an adulterous affair with John Brice?”
“No. It wouldn’t be good business to meddle in the affairs of my customers.” His response was a little too quick to be convincing.
“Or perhaps it would be good business to be aware of the events unfolding in their lives,” she said coolly. “Your dairymaids pondered how Katherine Morse became pregnant when her husband was known to be infertile.”
Nance shifted from foot to foot. “I know nothing about that. That’s business between a man and his wife.”
“Indeed. Thank you for your time. May we speak to your dairymaids?”
“They’re very busy right now. They must get all the milk churned before it spoils. On a sunny day like this—”
“My question was a mere formality, Master Nance. I intend to talk to your dairymaids.” Ela didn’t like to sound imperious, but did he really think they’d just leave? And these were hardly summertime temperatures.
“I see. I’ll go fetch them.” He scurried away with his tail between his legs.
Giles Haughton muffled a laugh. “You do command respect, my lady.”
“And that’s amusing to you?” She used a teasing tone of voice. It didn’t pay to appear completely humorless, even though she saw nothing to laugh at in the situation.
“Your late husband was a lucky man,” said Giles more seriously.
“Nonsense. I was a lucky woman.” She fiddled with her reins, suddenly uncomfortable. Would she always be seen a woman and not simply the sheriff? Would she always be William’s wife and not Ela of Salisbury? Emotion—or was it simple frustration?—churned in her chest, and her horse rose from its slumbers and grew restless as the girls hurried out into the yard.
They both bowed their heads to her awkwardly. “Good morning, my lady,” said Annie. “God be with you. Such shocking news.”
“Indeed. Did you notice anything odd in John Morse’s behavior last night?”
They looked at each other. “Not that I can think of,” said Annie. “He’s always a bit of a grump, if you know what I mean.”
“What about John Brice?”
“He was cheerful,” said Mary, the quieter fair one. “Said his wife was finally in decent spirits today.”
“She’d been scolding him something wicked before that, he said,” added Annie. “We heard that he was sneaking out with Katie Morse and that she found out when he wouldn’t stop sobbing after he learned of her death.”
Ela turned to Houghton. “It doesn’t sound like John Brice would have killed Katie Morse if he cared that much about her.”
“He wouldn’t hurt a flea,” said Annie. “His wife on the other hand—”
Ela frowned, still looking at Houghton. Maybe the same person had killed both people. “Could Elizabeth Brice have killed Katie Morse, perhaps in a jealous rage?”
He lifted a salt-and-pepper brow. “It’s not impossible.”
“But her anger in the market square suggests that she only just found out about their affair. If she didn’t know they were together, she’d have no motive to kill Katie weeks ago.”
“Unless her rage in the market square was feigned.” Ela pressed a finger to her lips. Freya was now getting antsy and dancing under her with impatience. “She must have known Katie was pregnant. And I suspect she would have guessed who was to blame. A woman knows these things.”
“And she saw the chance to kill her cheating husband and lay the blame on Morse,” exclaimed Annie. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth when both Ela and Giles turned to look at her. “Sorry for speaking out of turn.”
“I appreciate your assistance,” said Ela.
“Girls! Hurry, the milk is turning!” Nance called from the doorway.
Annie looked apologetic. “He’s very upset about all this, you know,” she whispered. “Lost business and all.”
“Understandable,” murmured Houghton. “But I have one more thing to straighten out. Morse came here after Brice?”
“No, Morse was first. He likes to be last in the morning and first in the evening so he gets the best light.” Annie looked anxiously at Nance.
“And was Morse directly before Brice or were there other customers in between?”
“Both of the others were in between,” said Annie quickly. “Like they always are, morning and evening.”
“In the morning Brice is first and Morse is last, and in the evening Morse is first and Brice is last, and the other two are always in the middle?”
“Aye.”
Haughton looked at Ela. “Being first he’d have had time to get home with his cows, then make his way to the Brice farm to kill John Brice.”
Nance was now walking across the yard. Mary had already started to back away toward him. These poor girls must fear losing their jobs, especially if there was suddenly less work to do. “Always the same.”
“Master Nance,” said Ela, briskly. “I believe we’re done with your girls, but I have a question for you.”
Nance shooed the girls off to their work, then turned with a look of considerable annoyance on his face. “What’s that?”
“Why did Morse have the best time for daylight both morning and evening?”
“He’s my oldest customer.”
“Are you sure that’s the only reason? He was a large man. Did he ever try to threaten or intimidate you?”
Nance’s eyes narrowed and his mouth made a weird shape like it wanted to say something but it wouldn’t let him. “No.”
His denial was strangely unconvincing. Perhaps he didn’t want to admit to being cowed by a customer. That, too, was probably bad for business.
“Thank you, Master Nance,” said Ela. “We appreciate your assistance. We shall visit your other two customers.”
“Why? So you can scare them off?” He looked angry again.
“We didn’t bring this disaster into your midst,” said Houghton coolly. “We’re trying to restore peace to this hamlet. Do you know their names, my lady?”
“Dawson and Lesser.” Once again she thanked God for her excellent memory, honed by the governess who’d drilled her in the Psalms at a tender age. “I tried visiting Dawson last week, but he wasn’t at home. Let’s ride there now. God be with you, Master Nance,” said Ela.
“I hope so. I’ll need all the help I can get,” he snapped. Then he remembered himself and bowed his head. “God be with you, my l
ady, and you, Master Houghton.”
Ela nodded, and turned her horse rather brusquely out of his yard. When they were out of earshot she turned to Houghton. “There’s something about Nance that bothers me. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“He gives an air of being a bitter man who feels he deserves more than he has.”
“Sometimes it seems everyone feels that way these days.”
“Do I seem that way to you?” His eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Absolutely,” said Ela, with the barest hint of a smile. Then she spurred her horse to a trot.
“And you, my lady?” He trotted after her, fast, and came alongside her. “Do you believe you deserve more than you have?”
He had a nerve. But then she rather liked that about him. “God has blessed me in many ways, sir.” She didn’t turn to face him. “More than I deserve.”
“But?” His horse now trotted in time with hers.
“My husband died under unnatural circumstances and it haunts me.” Now she turned to look at him.
Don’t!
Internal alarums warned her not to voice her suspicions. Haughton was part of the grand web of justice that spread across the land and spiraled back to De Burgh.
“Unnatural, you say?” He reined in his horse. “How so?”
Chapter 15
Ela’s conscience pricked. What if Haughton could investigate the circumstances of her husband’s death and find justice for him? She’d love to see De Burgh knocked off his high horse.
“William’s illness was strange and sudden, not natural at all.”
“Are you saying he was poisoned?” Haughton rode close. Ela was conscious of the soldiers riding behind them.
“I can’t help suspecting it. He’d just recovered from his long journey home and was going from strength to strength. He was a man in his prime, as you know.”
“What were his symptoms?”
“Vomiting, delirium, bloody flux.” It pained her to recall his suffering. “He knew he was going to die. He spent fevered hours in penance with Bishop Poore. When he lost consciousness it was a sleep like death—he could not be roused—and then he died.”
