Thomas’ forehead furrowed with doubt as he turned to the crowner. “So you think she died accidentally from taking too much yew, perhaps in an attempt to rid herself of the child if not to commit self-murder?”
The crowner nodded.
“I still cannot believe Ivetta would choose to abort her child,” Eleanor said.
“I concur.” Anne moved slightly closer to her prioress.
The crowner did not reply but instead walked over to the body and lifted the cover to expose the face.
Thomas whispered what sounded like a prayer.
“May I be blunt?” Ralf asked, still studying the body.
“Were you otherwise, I might fear you were sickening.” The prioress’ lips turned up with a brief smile.
“Few men pay to swyve a woman big with child. How, then, would the whore live if she had no means to feed herself? To my knowledge, she was not one to hide coin in some hole under her straw pallet for the day she must earn her meat other than on her back.” He dropped the cloth back over the dead woman’s face. “That said, I shall assume I am wrong and she was more prudent. Even then, I must ask how she could care for the child with neither family nor maid to help while she plied her trade. There are few women in a village as small as Tyndal who would be willing to serve a harlot.” His expression flickered with pity. “Maybe she did love the child but realized both of them would die if she birthed it—and chose to save herself.”
“Once a woman holds life within her, she does not let go of it effortlessly.” Anne’s words were sharply spoken. “Never so casually dismiss the depth of love a mother holds for her child.”
“A woman of Ivetta’s profession does not commonly debate moral questions,” Ralf retorted.
Anne’s face turned scarlet. “You were not her confessor, nor were you the one drenched with the tears of those women John and I saved from death when they tried aborting.” She took a deep breath. “If you condemn Ivetta because she was but a wretched common woman of the village, go back to court, Crowner, where whores come in finer dress and eat enough in one day to keep any poor but honest mortal content for a week!”
“I have never thought a woman more virtuous just because she dresses in brighter colors and softer cloth, Annie. That you should know.” Ralf’s eyes softened. “I have no argument against anything you have said, but surely you must agree that some women do not rejoice when they quicken with child. I meant only that Ivetta was such a one.”
With obvious reluctance, Anne nodded. “Yet even among those who willfully rid themselves of the quickening, because they believed there was good reason for their act, most bewailed the loss far more than the sin. Motherhood holds a woman’s heart with a fierce hand, Ralf. I have known women to smile at the sight of their new babe while they lay dying of the birth.”
“Forgive me, Annie,” Ralf whispered. “I should have thought on my wife before I spoke so cruelly.”
“I think we might consider a different way of looking at this situation,” Eleanor interrupted.
“We are getting nowhere as it is.” Ralf nodded, his expression betraying hope that the conversation would move in another direction.
The prioress gestured at the crowner. “For the sake of argument, let us conclude for a moment that this death is murder. With that assumption, I have some questions for consideration.”
“Please continue, my lady,” Ralf said.
“After I talked with both the innkeeper’s niece and the prostitute, I discovered there was ill-feeling between them, and I did not sense that the reason was simply Ivetta’s trade. Can you tell me what other reason Signy would have to dislike Ivetta, or why the latter would attempt to cast suspicion on Signy in Martin’s death?”
“The matter of the whoring at the inn,” Ralf suggested. “Signy did not approve. Martin, if not Ivetta as well, profited from it.”
“Is that cause for killing?” Anne asked.
“Even if it were, how are both deaths connected? Now that Martin is dead, there would be no more whoring at the inn and certainly not with Ivetta,” Thomas added.
“That is the trouble,” Ralf said. “I do not think the deaths are related. Even if each is murder, the killers must be different.”
The sub-infirmarian pointed to the corpse. “Poison was used in both cases, and it is probable that the poison is the same one. The reasons might be different for each death, but I suspect the murderer is the same person.”
Thomas turned to Ralf. “And as you said, the method is unique. Therefore, Sister Anne must be right. There is only one murderer. Would you agree?”
“I admit there is merit in the argument.”
Eleanor began to pace. “Despite all, I cannot see what motive there could be in slaying both Martin and Ivetta.”
“The blacksmith said Martin planned to replace Ivetta with Signy. If Martin was more to Ivetta than a source of steady business, would she have seen the innkeeper’s niece as a rival?” Anne asked.
“Then she might have killed Signy, Annie, not the reverse.”
The prioress stopped and considered her words before continuing. “If the two women were rivals for the cooper’s affections, Signy might have sought retribution for something said or done before Martin was killed. What if she knew that Ivetta was pregnant and decided to destroy the prostitute’s child in revenge? What if she gave the woman some herb in a drink and left, not knowing the result would be more calamitous than she intended?”
Ralf shifted uncomfortably. “Signy would never do such a thing, my lady. A woman may have poisoned Martin, but I think it far more likely that the harlot killed herself, willingly or no.”
“Do you think Ivetta killed the cooper and then herself?” Thomas asked.
Ralf shrugged. “I would not be surprised.”
“Although my meandering thoughts may be flawed, Crowner, I am equally convinced that Ivetta would not kill either her child or the father of that babe. She mourned the death of Martin and found comfort in bearing his child.”
“She was the Devil’s creature, my lady.”
“As are all of us, Ralf. Never forget that. Robert of Arbrissel, our Order’s founder, followed the example of God’s Son and spent time winning over the souls of many prostitutes. Their eagerness to listen to him suggests that their hearts might be more likely to understand God’s message than many deemed less sinful. For this reason, and charity, I cannot condemn Ivetta more than others.”
The crowner opened his mouth, seemingly to protest, but then fell silent. Instead, he nodded.
Eleanor went on. “You may dislike the idea of a man using poison as a murder weapon, but that might also be a clever device to avert discovery. For instance, Will might have wished to kill Martin after the latter publicly mocked his manhood. Could the blacksmith have felt his humiliation so keenly that he killed the cooper and then Ivetta, a woman who witnessed his impotence and possibly ridiculed him as well?”
“Although Will may be obsessed with his sexual failures, I never thought him quick enough in wit to be that devious, my lady.” Ralf suddenly turned to Thomas. “I forgot to ask you. Did you ever query the old woman about what she might have seen at the inn that night?”
“Her pain has been too great when I came with her potion. I did not wish to trouble her with murder.”
“I was hoping she had seen some odd thing that might lead us to a killer we have yet to consider.” The crowner shrugged. “But if she suffers that much, I doubt she would remember anything of value. Pain that severe must sharpen the soul’s fear of God’s judgement while it dulls interest in more trivial worldly matters.”
“What of Hob?” Eleanor asked. “Might he have had reason to kill?
“Of the two brothers, he is possessed of greater wit. He is also loyal to his brother, even if he does not always follow his lead any longer. Maybe he did something to protect…” The crowner angrily rubbed his eyes as if they annoyed him. “The suspects grow in number. Will
cannot be entirely discounted. Nor, it seems, can Hob.”
“Nor Signy,” Eleanor added with sadness.
Ralf bowed his head in weary resignation.
Silence fell with the bleak chill of sea fog on everyone in the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The day had dawned with pleasing warmth, tempered by a cool breeze from the coast.
Eleanor, however, was not soothed. “What am I failing to understand?” she asked, seating herself on the stone bench in the middle of the cloister gardens.
The previous night had been a restless one for the prioress, her dreams filled with writhing shapes and troubling images. This time, the creature shattering her sleep was not an incubus in the shape of Brother Thomas but the tormented soul of Ivetta. Even now the woman’s screams echoed sharply in her ears.
The sight of the blackened burns from Hell’s fire on the woman’s naked body was terrible enough, but her piteous cries had so distressed Eleanor that she abruptly awoke with hot sweat streaming down her trembling body. Mercifully, sleep failed to return. The prioress could bear no further meetings with the dead woman’s spirit.
Eleanor now shut her eyes, but the most terrible image from the night remained as if burned into her eyelids lest she try to forget it. In the dream, Ivetta had held the image of a perfectly formed but tiny child in her hand, stretching it out for Eleanor to take. “I promised her to the priory when she was born,” the spirit had howled. “I may deserve this eternity of fire, but she never had the chance for salvation. For pity’s sake, take her to your heart!”
The voice, as piercing now in bright daylight as it had been in darkness, chased Eleanor from her seat. She ran a few steps, then dropped to her knees and wept.
After a few minutes, she calmed, breathing in a fragrance of almost holy sweetness as if the breeze from the North Sea carried the scent of Heaven. “I shall find your murderer,” she whispered. “To deny a soul the chance for absolution is grave, but to deny a babe baptism before death is an unspeakable and most cruel sin.”
Prioress Eleanor rose and walked back to her chambers with a determined step, swearing that she would do more than she had in this matter. Martin’s murder may have been a secular concern, but God had made it quite clear that Ivetta’s death was her responsibility.
As she walked into her private room, her attention was drawn to the tapestry hanging on the wall at the end of her bed. The depiction of Mary Magdalene at the foot of Jesus never ceased to fascinate her, the expression of love and compassion between the two figures bringing comfort on dark nights when the wind howled outside her window. Now they seemed to rebuke her for not casting aside all other concerns when justice should have been the foremost one.
“Had I dealt with Ivetta differently, she might have repented and sought our cloister, thus saving her life and that of her child. I must find the killer,” she murmured, closing her eyes to banish all possible distractions.
“My lady, do you have need of anything?”
The prioress spun around and faced Gytha.
Her maid did not need to express her concern. Her eyes conveyed it eloquently enough.
“Stay, if you will. I have need of your advice,” Eleanor said, smiling as an idea struck her. “Indeed, I may even ask for gossip.”
“Of that I have some knowledge, my lady.” Gytha grinned with both humor and evident relief.
“It is about a priory matter. What does the village say about Sister Juliana?”
“Most believe she is a holy woman who speaks as if blessed with the tongue of Heaven’s Queen. A few are troubled that she sits by her window only at night. These voices are the same who question whether it is seemly for any woman to go to her after the sun sets. Yet others counter with the argument that our anchoress’ virtue might be more truly doubted if most of the visitors were men.”
The prioress reached down and petted the cat now rubbing against her robe. “Men do not seek her out?”
“I know of only two from Tyndal village, although a few strangers may have visited. Each of our local men came away uneasy, wondering why she did not seem to welcome them. My brother spoke with her and left as terrified as if God Himself had spoken. When he told me about it afterward, he said her words may have been wise but he could not convey the tone with which she spoke them. The very thought of returning filled him with dread. He mentioned only one other man from here who had sought her out. It was he who told my brother that he understood at last what it must have been like to talk to God in the burning bush.”
“Tostig is not a man who frightens easily,” the prioress remarked. “Who among the women have told any tales?”
“Signy. When she visited, she found both welcome and comfort in our anchoress’ words, unlike my brother and his friend.”
Eleanor clutched her hands tightly, hoping to hide her delight in the way this discussion was going. “She felt no terror?”
“Sister Juliana did beg her to kneel farther from the window, but Signy was not disquieted, believing that our anchoress would rightly fear corruption from a mortal woman if she came too close to her.”
“Did the innkeeper’s niece say why she had sought counsel?”
“I did not ask, my lady, nor did she offer to tell me.”
“Has anyone mentioned if Ivetta visited Sister Juliana?”
“Aye! Signy herself told me that she had seen the woman once or twice and wondered why a harlot, who did nothing to change her ways, would seek out an anchoress. As you must know, the innkeeper’s niece and Ivetta were not friends. There was no reason for either to confide her reasons for visiting or even acknowledge that one might have seen the other. If it would help you find who committed this crime, I could ask about. Someone might know why Ivetta wanted to speak with our anchoress.”
Either I have failed in subtlety or else Gytha is too clever by half, Eleanor thought with affection as she noted her maid’s eagerness to be involved in hunting down a killer. “I will not involve you in murder, and the asking of questions might bring you harm.”
The cat gave up trying to gain his mistress’ full attention, went to sniff at Gytha’s shoes, then left the chambers in pursuit of those things deemed important by his ilk.
“I am troubled by accusations against our anchoress, Gytha. As you are also aware, I am also concerned with two deaths, one of which we know to be murder and the other I believe must be.”
“We have a market day, my lady. No one would question my presence there as your servant, and I could carefully listen for any tales that might be abroad about the deaths. That would be safe enough if I do not show undue interest.”
“I will think about consenting to that but only if you promise to take care.”
Gytha eagerly agreed.
“In the meantime, I may be glad that Sister Juliana has been of service to the village, a mercy that most seem to agree upon, but Sister Ruth complains she cannot find any proper woman who is willing to wait upon her. I hear that our anchoress can be most frightening when she is possessed of this spirit that may be most holy.”
“If I may be honest, my lady…”
“…as I have always permitted.”
“Sister Ruth chooses servants much like herself. If our anchoress wishes to pray quietly all day and serve as a conduit of God’s wisdom by night, she does not need a woman in attendance who loves the sound of her own voice. Nor should she be cursed with a woman more desirous of a heightened reputation because she waits on a holy woman than any longing for true service.”
Eleanor laughed. “Methinks you have touched upon the truth of it. Nonetheless, I have no solution to the problem. Our sister cannot wait on herself and still spend every hour serving God. In addition, she has expressed horror at the very idea of any servant.”
“If I might suggest someone, my lady?”
The prioress looked delighted. “You know of a woman?”
“A cousin, my lady. She is younger than tho
se Sister Ruth has recommended.”
“Not a young girl, surely? Will she not be terrified when our anchoress falls into her fits? And what of marriage? She could not continue serving an anchoress when a husband would need her by his side.”
“My cousin has no expectation of marriage and is possessed of a quiet, calm temperament. She will be content to sit until called upon and will not tremble when God’s spirit enters Sister Juliana.”
Eleanor frowned. “Why has Sister Ruth not suggested her to me?”
Before Gytha had any chance to reply, the door to the public chambers flew open and crashed against the stone wall. The aforementioned sub-prioress stormed into the room like Satan’s imp cloaked with the form of a wild-eyed horse with a stitch in its side.
“My lady, you must come immediately!” Sister Ruth’s face was gray.
“What has happened?” Eleanor exclaimed. The genuine fear in the woman’s urgent tone chased all annoyance from her heart.
“Sister Juliana has murdered a lay sister!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Troubled?” Ralf stood at the door to the smithy.
The fire in the pit burned low while Will leaned against the wall, his eyes staring at nothing. One hand played absently with the tongs. At the sound of the crowner’s voice, his expression refocused with sharp anger. “What’re you doing here?” he snarled.
“Ivetta is dead.”
“And you’re now accusing me of her murder too?” Although the smith’s tone hinted at outrage, his brow furrowed as if he were more befuddled than wrathful.
“Did I say anything about murder?”
“Why else would you come with this news? Not out of some recently discovered courtesy. I know that much.”
“We were lads together, Will, and I knew Ivetta as well. Should I not share your grief?”
“Perhaps you knew her as we all did,” the man snorted, “but that was the sum of your acquaintance of her. As for any affection you claim to bear me from some boyhood shared, I’m not that slow of wit to believe your tale.”
Forsaken Soul Page 14
