"We came in through the choir loft," he finished. "Henri said it would be unlocked and . . ."
"Oh?" the Abbot interrupted. He looked at a guilty Henri. "And just how did you know the door in the loft would be unlocked? I thought I gave orders for that door to remain locked?"
Henri shrugged. "One of the novices told me, Father Abbot. I forget whom."
Abbott Dauret nodded gravely, not believing Henri's evasion. "Well, well." He cupped his chin in his hand as he stared hard at the boys. "Maybe a week of serving penance with Frère Stephan will help you remember, Henri?"
Henri groaned, and Gabriel felt bad for his friend. Frère Stephan ran the abbey's infirmary, and helping out with the sick was one of the least favorite 'penances' available since the infirmarian used his young helpers to empty and clean the bedpans.
"It was David, Father Abbot," Henri said hopefully.
The abbot nodded. "Thank you for your honesty, Henri. I hope you will contemplate its virtues as well as the pitfalls of gossiping instead of attending to your prayers over the next week and a half in the infirmary. And as for you, Jean-Claude and Gabriel-Nicholas . . ."
Gabriel looked at the Abbot with horror,
". . . I think you should join your friend in the infirmary while you contemplate the consequences of being out of bed after hours."
Gabriel and Claude groaned. But, Gabriel realized, at least the abbot believed they hadn't destroyed the triptych.
"Father Abbot," Father Pierre's hard voice said, "about the triptych . . ."
Abbot Dauret nodded. "Yes," he said, turning to the thickset novice master who oversaw student discipline, "However, I think for the moment . . ." He turned and gave the boys a stern look, ". . . we shall proceed as though everyone here is innocent until proven guilty."
****
"Tough luck, guys," Charles said as he helped himself to his third pastry from the tray in front of the boys. Another tray, empty of everything but crumbs, rested at the other end of the huge table Gabriel shared with his friends in the half-empty refectory. "At least Father Abbot didn't expel you. You would have caught it then. I told you not to go. All this trouble for a stupid picture!"
"A stupid picture that might mean something more than tax-farming or marrying some pockmarked heiress," Gabriel said bitterly. If Their Majesties had liked the triptych enough to grant Limoges their patronage, then maybe Gabriel could do something other than marry the heiress his parents had betrothed him to and spend his life as a provincial magistrate. Something special for France, like Monsieur Holmes or the Vicomte de Turenne.
"Well, now it's ruined," Charles said, reaching for a fourth pastry, but Claude slapped his hand away. "And it doesn't matter anyway. My father told me there isn't going to be a Dauphin except for Monsieur Gaston, and Queen Anne is going to be locked in a convent with her bastard."
The boys groaned, Charles's father, a tax farmer, was a convinced Orleanist.
"That's foolish," Gabriel said. "And anyway, it doesn't matter. What matters is that Limoges' gift to the crown is gone, and there's no way the craftsmen could make replacements in time."
Charles snickered. "They'd have to replace Saint Anne with Saint Marguerite, anyway. Madame la Duchesse won't want a portrait of someone else's saint."
"Will you shut up, Charles?" Gabriel asked angrily. "I think we should find out what happened to the icons."
Henri shook his head. "My great-uncle will do that. There's no need for us to get involved."
"I agree with Gabriel," Claude said. "After all, Father Abbot suspects us—you, me, and Gabriel—of destroying it. If we can find out who really did it, we can prove it wasn't us."
Henri smiled as he nodded. "And maybe get out of carrying bedpans for a week and a half?"
Gabriel shuddered. It wasn't that he hated the sick, or thought the poor who inhabited the abbey infirmary were bad, but the stench of anyone's chamber pot was enough to make him retch.
"All right," Gabriel said to Henri and Claude. "If we're going to do this, we've got to have a plan. We've got to be methodical and thorough in our investigation, like Monsieur Holmes."
The other boys rolled their eyes at Gabriel's mention of the English sleuth, but Gabriel ignored them and reached for his notepad and pencil. The notepad was thin newsprint and expensive, but the abbey school required each student to purchase several to take notes in class and write reports.
"Who's our first suspect?" Gabriel asked, writing "Suspects" at the top of the page.
"Frère Joseph," Claude and Henri said together.
"Not even Frère Joseph should have to take a piss when he's been praying and fasting since Nones." Charles snickered.
Ignoring Charles, Gabriel put Frère Joseph's name beside the numeral 1. "What about David, Henri? The novice who told you the choir loft would be unlocked?"
Henri nodded. "Now that I think about it, how did he know? Put Father Pierre on the list, too Gabriel. He was so determined to point the finger at us."
Gabriel nodded and added Father Pierre and Novice David to the list. "Anyone else?"
When the other boys shook their heads, Gabriel sighed and pointed at Henri with his stylus. "Henri, since David is your friend, why don't you ask him some questions? Ask him where he was, that sort of thing."
"No, really?" Henri asked sarcastically. "We read those up-time detective stories too, Gabriel. Remember, it was all of our money that paid for the Mystery Book Club subscription? Though I liked those ones about the Belgian more, not to mention the ones about the English monk."
"Welsh," Charles corrected him, "not English. Frère Cadfael was from Wales."
"Claude, why don't you tackle Father Pierre since Charles isn't interested?" Gabriel asked, ignoring Charles. "And I'll investigate the crime scene and talk to Frère Joseph."
"Why do you get to investigate the crime scene?" Claude whined. "You don't even know what you're looking for, or have any of the materials to do it. How are you going to photograph the scene or dust for fingerprints? You can't even draw."
Gabriel nodded. It was a definite problem.
"Photographing the scene won't help us even if we could afford a camera," Charles said, looking superior. "As for fingerprints . . ." Charles pulled a box out of his satchel. "I . . . um . . . borrowed . . . this from my mother the last time I was home. For science experiments."
The other boys grinned as they saw the unmistakable red tint of rouge in the box.
"Yeah, science experiments," Gabriel said. "Funny though, I haven't seen you taking any prints."
Charles flushed. "Do you follow me around every second of every day, Gabriel? Besides, I haven't figured out how to transfer the prints to something that'll stick yet. Do you want me to help or not?"
Gabriel glanced at the other boys, who nodded, then held out his hand to Charles. "The game's afoot, my friends!"
****
"So, Frère Joseph, where were you when the triptych was damaged?" Gabriel asked, trying to sound ingenious. Gabriel knew that Frère Joseph had told the abbot where he was, since Gabriel had been there, but Gabriel wanted to be thorough.
"What does it matter to you?" the monk asked sourly as he adjusted himself on the chapel's stone floor.
The chapel was only a little warmer in the day than it had been last night, Gabriel thought, as the cold ate through his doublet and up though his shoes. Gabriel had no idea how Frère Joseph could stand kneeling on the icy floor day and night.
"You novices are all the same," Frère Joseph said, hitching at his robe. "Nosy about things that don't concern you, in places you shouldn't be. Take my advice, young man, and stay out of the abbot's private rooms."
"I'm not a novice, Frère, I'm one of the students. I'm asking about the triptych the bishop commissioned for the Dauphin. I'm . . . doing a report," Gabriel lied, looking over the monk's shoulder to where Charles was brushing furiously at the chapel altar, which had begun to turn pink. Gabriel doubted Charles had found anything yet.
"W
hat dolphin?" Frère Joseph shouted, and Gabriel winced. The old man's voice was loud enough to wake the dead.
"The Dauphin, Frère Joseph. Queen Anne's baby. She's supposed to deliver any day now," Gabriel said, trying to speak loudly and clearly enough.
"Nonsense, boy, you've got it wrong. The novice master ought to be whipped, and you along with him! Fancy a novice not knowing who the Queen of France is! Well let me tell you, whoever you are, the Queen of France is Marguerite de Valois!" Frère Joseph said with an air of finality as he clapped his hands together and screwed his eyes shut.
Gabriel stared. "Ummm, Frère . . . La Reine Margot is dead . . . And she was divorced . . ."
"Nonsense!" Frère Joseph countered, opening one eye. "Young boys these days! If my poor bowels ..."
The monk suddenly blanched and ran for the side door. Gabriel followed, motioning to Charles. Even if he had to put up with the stink of an old man's plumbing, Gabriel vowed, he'd find the truth.
Frère Joseph barely made it down the short hallway to the necessary before crouching down to relieve himself with a groan. Gabriel perched in the doorway, trying to breathe through his mouth. "Frère Joseph, you must remember the other evening? My friends and I came into the chapel to see the triptych . . ."
Frère Joseph groaned. "Young man, if I could remember what I had for dinner I probably wouldn't be in such pain now. Will you please leave?"
Frère Joseph let out a loud fart, and Gabriel retreated into the corridor, holding his nose.
"At it again is he? Poor old man," a voice said from behind Gabriel.
Gabriel turned and saw one of the lay brothers standing nearby with a mop and bucket.
"Was he here last night?" Gabriel asked, pulling out his notebook.
The monk shrugged. "Not my night on duty. Matthew usually cleans up after Frère Joseph, poor sod."
"Who's Matthew? What does he look like?" Gabriel asked as he pulled his pencil out from behind his ear. There were so many lay brothers, he thought. The students had little to do with the monks who did the work of running the abbey, except at mealtimes. Mostly they interacted with their teachers, who were all choir monks.
The monk snorted and shrugged. "Tall guy, red hair. If I could find him, I'd strangle him for leaving me to take care of the old man like this."
"Where did he go?" Gabriel said, his ears picking up.
The monk shook his head and slung his mop over his shoulder. "Last time I saw him he said he was done with this place. Can't say I blame him," the monk said, pinching his nose at the stink coming from the necessary.
Gabriel gagged and ran down the hall toward the garden where he found Henri and Claude. "Heh, guys! Learn anything?"
"Yeah, Frère Pierre did it with the Dante in the cupola," Claude said sarcastically. "Frère Pierre told me to get lost, and I wasn't about to argue, not when he was chewing out Marc for throwing spit wads in the scriptorium. Not a conversation I really wanted to interrupt if you know what I mean."
"I found out something," Henri said, kicking at a pebble on the path. "My friend David said the choir loft door is regularly left unlocked. The choir master keeps forgetting to lock it, and the choir doesn't like reminding him. They'd rather practice in the music room where it's warmer, but the master wants to practice in the chapel because of the acoustics. But the choir master is supposed to lock the choir loft even though the main doors are left open. Father Abbot doesn't want someone breaking a limb on those stairs in the dim light."
Gabriel nodded and scribbled the information down. "Great. At least one of us got something."
The other boys nodded gloomily. So far, Gabriel thought, their investigation was turning up nothing.
Then Gabriel heard shouting coming from behind him.
"Ah, guys?" Henri asked. "Where's Charles?"
****
"I can't believe you deserted me like that," Charles said as he emptied a bedpan into the garden cesspit. "I thought we were supposed to be in this together like the Three Musketeers."
"We never said 'All for one, and one for all,' " Henri said as he emptied his pan. "And that book has been overdone since the Ring of Fire!"
"Guys, come on!" Gabriel said, joining his friends. "We've got to come up with a plan. So far the only things we've learned is that the choir loft is left unlocked, the lay brother who regularly helps Frère Joseph is gone, Frère Joseph has a bad case of the runs, and rouge powder turns the chapel altar pink. We don't have a clue what happened to the missing icons, let alone the jewels in the frame."
"They must have fallen out," Claude said. He scratched his head. "My father's always complaining about the quality of Limoges jewelers whenever I'm on a visit."
"They may have fallen out," Gabriel countered, "if the frame fell or someone broke it trying to get the icons out." Gabriel sighed. "It would have been so cool if Charles had been able to find some fingerprints, but I think we should stick to Monsieur Holmes's method of observation and logic."
The other boys nodded in agreement.
"Here's what could have happened," Gabriel continued. "Someone entered the chapel between the time Frère Joseph went to the necessary and the three of us entered. They ruined the triptych frame and either stole or destroyed two of the icons."
"And stole the jewels from the frame . . . maybe," Henri interjected. "They could have fallen out. It isn't as though we got to look around before the Father Abbot caught us."
"I hate to interrupt your skull session," Frère Stephan said dryly, "but those bed pans aren't cleaning themselves."
Gabriel looked at Frère Stephan thoughtfully. The monk had been with the abbot when the destroyed triptych had been found . . .
"Frère Stephan," Gabriel said, trying, not very successfully, to appear angelic, "we were wondering about what happened to the triptych . . ."
Frère Stephan sighed. "Boys . . . please leave these matters to your elders and God's hands. His Grace the Bishop will make sure Limoges is not forgotten when a Dauphin is christened or a king crowned."
"Yes, but, Frère," Henri said, pushing forward. "One day we'll be peers of the realm, magistrates, or officials. I might be Bishop of Limoges like my great-uncle. Don't you think . . ."
"No, I don't. I think you should mind your own business, which, my fine gentlemen, is how you ended up under my supervision." Frère Stephan said. "Matthew!"
The boys traded glances as an older lay monk walked over with a stinky bucket. He was taller than the boys and the other lay brother Gabriel remembered, but Gabriel wouldn't describe his hair as red so much as orange.
"Yes, Frère Stephan?" Matthew answered politely.
"Our young penitents need some supervision, if you please. See that they stay on task," Frère Stephan commanded as he swept away.
"Frère Matthew?" Gabriel asked as the monk handed his bucket to Henri to empty.
"Yes. Gabriel, is it?" Frère Matthew answered with a small smile.
"Yes sir. I was wondering whether to look after Frère Joseph?" Gabriel asked, trying not to breathe in the stink of the bedpan he still held. It seemed to be getting worse the longer he held it. Frère Matthew reached out and emptied it into the pit, after setting his bucket down.
"I do sometimes, poor soul. Frère Stephan and I think he's not long for this world if his bowels remain so loose. He's not keeping enough inside to keep a bird alive." Matthew shook his head. "And he sleeps all day then insists on keeping vigil alone all night in the chapel even though the abbot says he must follow Frère Stephan's advice and rest."
"Why don't you send him to Italy or the Germanies where he might get up-time medical help?" Charles asked.
Frère Matthew shook his head. "There's no cure for old age, even among the up-timers. You should have emptied these bedpans into a bucket like I did, then changed them for one of the newly cleaned ones. Come along, boys."
Gabriel and the others followed Matthew through the main infirmary to the corner where the monks kept the cleaning supplies. The cots on
either side of the center aisle were practically empty, Gabriel thought resentfully. There shouldn't be a pile of bedpans waiting to be cleaned with sand and vinegar.
"But did you see Frère Joseph go to the necessary that night? If you were looking after Frère Joseph why weren't you in the chapel or with him when he came back?"
Matthew raised his eyebrows, but unlike Frère Stephan, he smiled. "I did see Frère Joseph go to the necessary that evening, boys. I did my best to help him, and when he finished I stayed behind to clean up. Now are there any other questions?"
"Did you see the triptych? What about the jewels from the frame?" Henri asked.
Matthew's face became closed and stern. "I did see the triptych and the jewels in the frame. It's a pity what happened."
"What did happen?" Gabriel asked eagerly.
Matthew shook his head. "I've said enough. You need to get to work cleaning the bedpans."
"That was suspicious," Charles said as they turned to follow Matthew. "You'd think he'd just say 'The abbot knows everything, everything's all right.' And tell us what happened. Why all this secrecy?"
"I think it's because they don't want both settlements finding out their gift to the royal family was stolen," Claude said, leaping over a branch. "I think we should take a look at the necessary."
Gabriel wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Even if it hasn't been used lately it'll still stink. Charles, while you were trying to dust for fingerprints did you see anything, any clue?"
Charles shook his head, and stopped in the path. "Nothing. But then I wasn't looking. Maybe I should take another look while you guys are looking in the necessary?"
"No. Any evidence that might have been there is probably long gone by now." Gabriel scratched his head, trying to think of an idea that might work. "Charles, why don't you try Frère Pierre? He might talk to you since you weren't in the chapel the first time."
"I have a better idea," Charles said. "Why don't I go with you and Henri goes to see Frère Pierre? He's the bishop's nephew and you know how Frère Pierre respects connections."
The boys grinned at each other. It was an open secret that Frère Pierre wanted to be abbot when Abbot Dauret died or stepped down and hoped to convince Bishop de Lafayette to support him. It was an equally open secret that the Bishop didn't interfere with the chapter vote.
Grantville Gazette, Volume 71 Page 2
