She lay still for a few moments, listening to the house snap and creak as it settled into the moors for another night. She wondered that the place didn’t crumple into a heap of stones in its own cellars, a tomb for them all. The eye of the Virgin caught a reflected light from somewhere and glittered for a second, then went dark again. There was no sound. The child wailed softly, and Catherine slid out and rearranged the blankets so that she could hold Veronica in the crook of her elbow. Night came over the room like a curtain being slowly drawn, and Catherine lay watching the dark while the child slept, coal-hot, beside her.
55
Catherine woke with a gasp from a dream of gardens and death. The leaves of the plants had been broad and bright, and when she folded them back, babies’ faces emerged from the flowers’ centers. Then the man was there, saying it again, “Lady, there’s been a body found,” and then he held out the covered head. Catherine was lying in the same position under the great table, and her daughter was awake. When Veronica saw Catherine’s face, she reached out both hands and opened her pink mouth. Catherine slid out and rearranged her skirts on the floor. She was stiff and cold, and her stomach was roiling, but she took up the child and gave her a breast. “Thank God,” she said to the sweet, yeasty-smelling wisps of hair on her daughter’s crown. The baby suckled, but weakly, and Catherine laid the backs of her fingers on the pale cheeks but felt no heat. She lay on her side and watched the sun brighten in the window.
The feathered sound of whispering flew to her from the kitchen, and Catherine wiped up the dried vomit with a towel, tying her bodice closed before she stood and unbolted the door. “Lady Catherine,” said Benjamin, but he did not enter the laundry, nor did he comment on yesterday’s dirty clothing or Catherine’s uncombed hair. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the vicinity of her chin. “You will want to know that the constable has returned, and he has a troop of men with him. He says that soldiers have arrived in the village to examine this house.”
The trio of maids twittered behind him. They retreated to the kitchen, nestled down around the hearth, one stirring a pot of something vile-smelling, and waited.
Catherine came forward. “So early? Why does he come again to disturb us?” She rubbed her eyes with one hand, but they still felt gritty and swollen. Her stomach threatened to heave.
“How does little Veronica this morning?” asked Benjamin.
Catherine felt the anger drain from her heart. “Better. She eats and has slept the night.” She looked past him to the maids. “What in Christ’s name are you cooking over there? It smells like the armpit of Mephistopheles.”
Agnes said, “We are boiling stockings, Madam.” She peered into the pot. “The laundry door was bolted.”
“So it was.” Catherine held her nose. “You should wash them more often.”
Agnes stirred solemnly. “Yes, Madam.”
“Where is Eleanor?”
“Here, Madam.” Eleanor came in from the pantry, her face puffy and white. She had clearly slept there instead of up in her own warm bed. “I’m here.”
Benjamin coughed. “Your husband and sister are already in the dining gallery.”
It was not a command, but Catherine went upstairs before Benjamin, who ushered her by with his arm. Eleanor trailed silently after them. Margaret and William were sitting at table, and Peter Grubb stood nearby. The front door was open. A dozen men milled around the front courtyard, kicking the gravel and comparing their swords.
Catherine stomped into the room. “What do you mean by this? Have you not disrupted this household enough?” Veronica cried out at the cold breeze, a lusty howl, and Catherine said, “You see? You even frighten the baby.”
The constable studied Catherine, up and down. He swung his head like a yoked ox and gave Margaret and William the same look. “I figure you want to know who killed your womenfolk, and the only way for me to find out is to ask questions.”
Something outside fell and shattered. A clay urn, Catherine thought. “You have to arrest us as felons? With hired men? My daughter is ill and we have buried two women. We are tired and sick and sad. Can you not leave us in peace for one entire day?”
“Well, now. I wonder that you, who have been knocking down my door demanding some justice, are suddenly so eager that I get sufficient leisure. I figure that you’re happy enough to have me sniffing at the doors of good people in the village as long as your own stink don’t seep out.”
William was watching the exchange. His hand was over Margaret’s again, the fingers white at the nails where he gripped his sister’s neat little paw. She was nibbling very daintily at her lower lip and staring at Benjamin.
Benjamin stood within touching distance of Catherine’s arm. She thought the nap of his coat was brushing her sleeve, but she didn’t look. Something was thumping in her neck, and the air had gone stale and dusty, though the breath of morning blew freely through the open door. It seemed to carry the shadow of some putrid mass from very far away. The whirr of doves seeking the sky pleated the soft fabric of waking insect sounds. One of the falcons screamed. “William,” said Catherine. “Veronica seems somewhat better. I am going to take her upstairs and leave you to manage this situation.”
“Are you well enough, man?” said Benjamin. He stepped around Catherine, his hand tracing her waist for a moment, and went to the table.
William’s hand came away from Margaret’s. “I’m as well as any man here.” His face was patchy, though, and the hand trembled when it moved.
“Then I figure we can begin,” said the constable. He blew a whistle, and three men came inside. The one in the lead was no watchman. It was the soldier, Adam Hastings, the very one from that day in the convent, and he gave the room a proprietary scan as he entered.
Catherine’s throat closed completely and something clanged in her ears. Was he looking for the boy? She squeezed Veronica and the baby squealed.
“Don’t throttle the tyke,” said Adam. He was studying her face.
Maybe he didn’t recognize her. “You should begin your interrogations with those who speak against this house,” she snapped at Peter Grubb. “They are probably right under your nose. Come with me, Eleanor.”
Upstairs, Catherine fell across her bed. Veronica bounced once and burbled, a happy sound, but then fell to twisting her head as though trying to escape some pain she couldn’t locate. Catherine wrapped her in a fresh blanket and, stripping off her own clothes, lay beside her. “Get some rest, Eleanor. You look as though Satan’s wife has painted your face for you.” Eleanor stumbled to her chamber, but though she lay exhausted in the softness of the feather mattress, Catherine did not sleep. The room again seemed to turn and she closed her eyes. She could hear voices. A door slammed, and Margaret shrieked. Men were arguing, but Catherine couldn’t untangle their words.
“Madam, what is it?” Eleanor came trotting in, tying her apron. “What is happening?”
“I don’t know.” Catherine blinked, pushed herself from the bed, pulled on her shift, and went to the door, but even with her ear pressed to the keyhole, she couldn’t make sense of the noise. “Get your shoes on, quickly now.”
Eleanor scooted off, and Catherine drew on a clean skirt, but she needed Eleanor to fasten it, and she drove her fingers into her hair. The woman in her glass looked wild, black curls all over her shoulders and eyes still inflamed at the rims. “I look like a hag,” she said to her image. She pulled down her lower lids. She had slept badly. That was all.
Margaret screamed again, from downstairs this time, and Eleanor returned, holding the shoes. “Let me do that, Madam,” she insisted, taking the mass of Catherine’s hair and taming it to pins and a coif.
Catherine splashed her face with cold water and pinched her cheeks. She allowed herself a swish of powder, and, turning, dabbed Eleanor’s nose as well. “We had better look like ladies. It sounds like my sister has turned fury.”
Eleanor gathered up the baby, and Catherine, taking a deep breath, opened the door.
> 56
The long hallway was dark and empty. Margaret’s chamber door was open, and a dust-embroidered shaft of light fell across the weave of rushes on the floor. Catherine leaned over the stairs, listening. Eleanor whispered, “What do you hear, Madam?”
“Shh.”
Margaret was below, talking, her voice high and tight. Catherine couldn’t see anyone without descending and showing herself.
“You will not question my maid,” Margaret said. She was closer, her words clear, and Catherine pushed Eleanor back and pressed herself against the wall. Margaret flounced past the staircase without looking up.
William followed. “You must submit,” he said clearly.
Catherine ventured a peek. Margaret had whirled around, and her face was a storm cloud. “You will not tell me what I must do. I must hold my position, Brother, or the entire household will fall to pieces. I am an Overton and I will act like an Overton, even if you do not.”
“Margaret, tame your tongue. Someone will hear you.”
“I don’t care if Beelzebub himself hears me,” she shrilled. “I will not have my personal servants interrogated like common thieves.”
The constable’s voice rumbled from behind William. Catherine couldn’t see him but he was unmistakable. “You figure your people to be more holy than ordinary serving folk? I would say they’ve got nothing to hide, if that be the case.”
“Get that man away from me,” said Margaret. She snatched up her skirts in one hand and pitched herself through the front door.
Catherine hid herself again to listen. “You see that you have bedeviled my sister into a state,” her husband said. “She is a high-strung woman and her moods must be kept in check. She needs quiet and calm.”
The constable’s voice sounded closer. He was probably standing right at the foot of the stairs. “Quiet and calm is what them dead women are feeling right about now. Quiet and calm ‘til the end of time. You want me to stand around cap in hand until some others go finding quiet and calm so that your lady sister there can keep her steady humors? I figure the people will have me stocked if I proceeded in my calling in such a way.”
“Can you find no one else? Do you not have suspicious characters down in the village?”
“I figure we got as many suspicious men as the next town, but that skids about the point, sir. Them women was found on your land, on Overton land.”
“Any man and his dog can walk through our fields. Christ’s nails, that counts for nothing?”
“And any of your servants might have seen such a man and his dog going for their walk, ‘specially if he’s dragging a dead woman or two. No, sir, I can’t leave off. Must have a word with the servants of the house. I’ve talked to the kitchen maids. Figure I need to talk to them all.”
William sighed, and Benjamin spoke from somewhere out of sight. Catherine could not help but look.
“I sat by while he talked to the maids, William. I could do the same with the others.”
“No, there are too many. Our house will be out of order for days.” William was staring at the closed front door.
“Let the man go about his business,” Benjamin urged. “It will be over and done. Perhaps someone did see something.”
William turned around and Catherine shrank back. “You are all against me. Very well, take your informations. Be quick about it, and don’t disturb my sister, do you hear? And keep those rogues of yours out. All of them.”
“I figure I might begin with your lady wife and the other household maids. She has a personal servant, does she not?”
“She does, but she was the caretaker of these women,” said William. “It was she who demanded that we find them. And two of them disappeared while she was away. Our daughter is ill. I won’t have my daughter’s health imperiled.”
Silence for a few seconds. “I will begin with the dairy and the stables, then. Them that runs the outbuildings might be more likely to see suspicious movement.”
“No,” said William. “Start in the house. Have done here first. I need to direct my master of horse about a lame mare of mine just now.”
“Who is lame?” asked Benjamin.
“The little one. The one Catherine used to ride sometimes. You may speak to the stable men later.”
“You say you need to speak with your master of horse?” The constable wore half a grin.
“I said so. How many times do you need to hear it?”
Peter Grubb stretched one eyebrow upward. “Don’t know. What I do know is that your master of horse is in the village with his wife. Been there all the morning.”
All was silent again. Catherine risked a glance. William yanked open the front door and surveyed the front courtyard. His silhouette in the light was bent and thin. She would have taken him for an old beggar, come to the house for a morsel or a drink before he went on his solitary, endless pilgrimage.
“Question whoever you want,” William said. Then he stepped outside, stooping a little under the sun’s sudden glare, and pulled the door closed behind him.
Benjamin said, “You had better make sure you find your murderer, man, or you will answer to me.”
57
The house fell quiet, and Catherine slipped down a couple of steps and peered left and right. No constable or Benjamin. No soldiers. No husband. Not even a chamber maid to be seen. No voices. A door boomed closed somewhere in the back of the house, and Catherine ran back up. “Come with me. I want to see what’s happening.” She trotted to her chamber door, and, Eleanor on her heels, hurried to the window. She stood back far enough not to be viewable from below, but there was no one in the stable yard. Eleanor took hold of the drape on the other side, and Catherine checked her maid’s hand.
“Don’t. They’ll see you. Like this.” Catherine skimmed her hand along the edge of the heavy fabric, easing it back enough to gaze down. The leaded panes were cloudy with grime, and for once Catherine was grateful. The constable thumped along in his bent way. Benjamin walked at his side, speaking and pounding his gloves into his palm. The constable ignored him, not stopping until he came to the stable door. Joseph met them, and Eleanor gasped. Catherine touched her elbow. “You know it was not him.”
The three men stood close together, Joseph with his arms folded tight against himself. He was shaking his head. The constable pointed in the direction of the woods where Joan had been found, then the gorse patches, and Joseph raised his hand as though warding off a blow. Benjamin touched the constable’s shoulder, but the man shook him off and marched past Joseph into the building. The other two men followed.
“Now,” whispered Catherine. She cracked the window on her side, and Eleanor mimicked her. “Now step back.”
They didn’t have long to wait. William came out of the stable, holding one hand against his head, with Margaret. Benjamin and the constable came behind, and Benjamin pulled on the constable’s arm, saying “Stop. Good God, he has told you what he knows.”
“I figure I will stop when the truth is told,” said the constable. “Master Overton, I beg you, don’t walk away or I will have to place some of the household under arrest.”
“Who do you mean to arrest?” asked William, turning to face him. “Geoffrey isn’t under my protection anymore. You know where he is yourself. If you have questions about him, go to his house and ask them.”
Margaret bunched her fists against her hips. “You waste your time here and interrupt our household’s workings. My sister-in-law brought these women here, and if there is anyone you need to speak to, it is she.”
“The Lady Catherine was unchurched yet of her daughter when the first woman disappeared. Is that right?”
Margaret waved her hand to dismiss him. “They were her women and they brought shame and suspicion to our house. Who their enemies were she knows best.”
“That’s enough, Margaret,” said Benjamin. He left the constable’s side and took Margaret’s elbow. “Come along inside.”
Margaret submitted waftily, smiling up as s
he collapsed against him, and her eyes flicked up to Catherine’s window. The two women upstairs stepped back quickly. They exchanged a silent look. Eleanor opened her mouth and Catherine shook her head. She waited a few seconds, then whispered, “Go to your room and take up some embroidery.”
Veronica had been quiet all this time, and Catherine laid her gently on the sheets. The baby was pale, and she had shat her clouts in a stinking, dark mess. Catherine cleaned the small bottom and legs and wrapped her in fresh linen. She took the dirty linen to the light and studied it. She frowned and, wrapping the edges to the middle, placed it in on the sill behind the drape and pulled the window shut.
By the time the knock came on the door, Catherine was sitting in the rocker beside the cradle, humming to herself and nursing her child. William hesitated, his hand on the latch. “The constable would like a word with you before he goes.”
“I have told him everything I know,” said Catherine.
“So I have reminded him.”
Margaret slipped in behind her brother. “I can hold the baby for you.” She was already in the room with her arms out. “I have already told the man that the village is where he will find his killer. But he does not listen to reason. Go, Sister, and have done with him.” She plucked Veronica from Catherine’s arms.
The constable was talking to Benjamin by the front door. William led Catherine down the wide front stairs and delivered her up, but he wavered, grasping the banister to steady himself, as they reached the bottom.
“William, you should lie down,” said Catherine. “I can answer questions myself.” She directed her words to Peter Grubb. “My husband is suffering from a lingering malady and should not be weighted with this matter just now.”
William coughed. “I should likely be in isolation.”
The constable’s eyes flared slightly at this. “You got plague in this house?”
City of Ladies Page 27
