For a bare moment, at mention of Cristiana, Alice faltered, briefly betraying the control with which she was holding her brisk certainty in place, but the next moment her smooth mask was in place again and she turned away from the parlor, saying, “The butlery, then. That’s out of everyone’s way.”
She was going as she said it, taking Mistress Say with her. Over her shoulder, Mistress Say said back at Frevisse, “Master Fyncham wants to talk to you, my lady.”
Without looking back, Alice added, “Best tell him the change of plans, so he can make the cook happy.”
Left standing alone, Frevisse supposed that if she waited there in the hall Master Fyncham would find her or someone who could tell her where he was, but she was in no humour to wait for anything and followed Alice and Mistress Say from the hall. In the screens passage Alice and Mistress Say were already gone into the butlery. Frevisse went past it and out the rear door to the wooden stairs down to the small cobbled yard between the hall and kitchen where sight of Master Fyncham coming up saved her going down.
He had the harassed look of a man who had been dealing with a cook unhappy over too much to do in too little time, but he was not immediately pleased with Frevisse’s word of the changed plans either, saying at her disbelievingly, “It’s to stop? Everything Cook has in hand is to stop? None of it’s going to be needed?”
Frevisse saw the double danger of telling a cook that not only was everything thus far planned now changed, but that everything thus far done was no longer wanted, and she said hastily, “Just say that nothing else should be started. Finish what’s in hand and then wait to hear what Lady Alice and Mistress Say decide.”
Master Fyncham looked hardly happier with that, but since it let him shift trouble away until later—and maybe altogether to Mistress Say—he said willingly enough, “Wait here, pray you,” and returned down the stairs and across the yard to the kitchen. Soon thereafter Frevisse heard what sounded like a heavy pot-lid crashing down on a heavy pot, and immediately after that Master Fyncham came from the kitchen in haste, across the yard and up the stairs and past her without pause. She followed him into the screens passage where he shut the door between them and the kitchen yard, drew and released a long breath, and said, “Done.” He settled his ruffled dignity, gathered his thoughts, and asked, “Do you mean to go on with your questions from yesterday despite today’s grievous trouble?”
Hiding her surprise at his thought she might stop, Frevisse said only, “Yes.”
“Then …” Master Fyncham began, but they were at the foot of the stairs to Cristiana’s bedchamber and as he spoke her door opened and a servant with an empty tray came out and started light-footed down the stairs. “Nol,” Master Fyncham said, “I was just about to speak of you.”
A cheery-faced young man, Nol sobered at the sight of
Master Fyncham and came more slowly to the stairfoot while Master Fyncham asked, “You served Mistress Helyngton and her brother in her chamber the day she first came here, didn’t your
Nol went from sober to wary, and well he might, Frevisse thought. To be suddenly questioned about a man who had just been murdered was very good reason to be wary. But after his pause, Nol remembered to bow to her and answered, “Aye, I did. I took them wine, I think. Like I did just now to that Ivetta. She’s in a bad way.”
“You remember that day, though?” Frevisse asked. “When Mistress Flelyngton first came here?”
“Oh, aye, I remember,” Nol said, beginning to be brightly confident again.
Frevisse wished she was. What was she supposed to ask him? Did you happen to listen outside the chamber door? Are you the duke of Suffolk’s spy ? Did you betray Sir Gerveys yesterday? She settled for, “Tell me how it was. You went up to their room …”
She left that hanging and Nol’s eagerness took over. “Aye. I went up the stairs, that Ivetta right on my heels. Thought she’d go right over the top of me, the way she hurries, you know. I nipped quick to stay ahead of her and went in.”
“You knocked and went in,” Master Fyncham said.
“I didn’t, I don’t think,” Nol said. “The door was standing open and …” At Master Fyncham’s look, he reconsidered and said quickly, “I must have knocked. I did, surely.”
Before that could go farther, Frevisse asked, “How did they seem to you when you went in?”
Nol paused to think about that. “Worried, I’d say. Tired, too. Her anyway. Is he dead, her brother, the way they’re saying?”
“He’s dead,” Frevisse said. “Yes.”
“Sawnder, too. That’s bad all around.” Distress took over Nol’s face. “How’d it happen? Nobody—“
“We’ll know more when Master Say returns,” Master Fyncham said. He looked at Frevisse, but she slightly shook her head; she had no more questions for Nol just then, and Master Fyncham dismissed him with, “That’s enough for now. See if there’s any help you can give in the kitchen.”
Nol screwed his face into a mock distaste at that but bowed and left, and behind him Master Fyncham said, “I fear he talks more than he listens, does young Reignold. A young man with ability enough but making no effort to put it to good use.”
“Reignold,” Frevisse said. She’d have known Nol was only a slighting of his name if she had troubled to think about it. “You said something about Reignold yesterday. In the hall.”
“Did I?” Master Fyncham sifted through his memory. “I did, yes.”
“You said he was gone, drunk, for two days.”
“In Wormley. In the alehouse there. The alewife finally sent to ask he be removed, he was in the way. He was brought back sodden. If he does as much again, I’m not sure we’ll keep him.”
“When was this?”
“When?” Master Fyncham searched his memory again. “He went missing just after Mistress Helyngton came. He had his half-day off and didn’t come back. It was two days later the alewife sent to be rid of him.”
Frevisse hoped she hid her hot glow of triumph. If this Nol’s half-day was added to his two other days, he had been gone almost three days. Time enough for what she thought he might have done. “I need,” she said to Master Fyncham, “someone to ask more closely about his days in Wormley. Someone who’ll question closely and find out certainly whether he was truly there or not. Not from the alewife but others. And if he wasn’t there, did he hire a horse somewhere?”
“You think Nol has something to do with all that’s been happening wrong here?”
“There’s chance, yes. But don’t say that to anyone. Not before we know more.”
“Assuredly. I’ll see to it. I’ll go myself. The household will hold itself together that long. If you’ll make it well with Mistress Say?”
“I’ll make it well,” Frevisse promised.
Master Fyncham gave a firm nod and left, leaving Frevisse to hesitate at what to do next. If Nol was Suffolk’s spy, that was one question answered, with maybe more answers to come from it. But this was too soon to hang all her hopes on it and she went up the stairs to Cristiana’s chamber, stopped outside the shut door and listened, able to hear Domina Elisabeth urging Ivetta to lie down, to rest. Frevisse knocked and went in.
Domina Elisabeth was standing near the window. Ivetta was pacing the room’s length, hands wrung together, tears and grief still marring her face. As she turned at the far wall and began to pace back, Frevisse asked, “Ivetta, the servant who was just in here, have you seen him before this?”
Ivetta stopped where she was, staring at Frevisse as if the question confused her.
“The man who was just in here,” Frevisse insisted. “Did you know him?”
“The man?” Ivetta groped through her grief. “He’s one of the household.”
“Have you seen him here, in this room, before today?” Ivetta looked at her blankly. Frevisse tried again.
“The day Mistress Helyngton first came here, she and Sir Gerveys talked in here together. Only the two of them. That man brought them wine. He went up the stairs just ahead of you and
then left again. Do you remember?”
Ivetta finally took hold on what she was being asked. “That man. That day. No. I didn’t see him go up the stairs. I heard him, is what. Heavy-footed as a plough-horse he was. It was going down he passed me going up. I don’t remember he brought any wine.” She looked suddenly surprised, then her eyes narrowed and a flush of anger covered the mottling of her tears on her face. “There was the other time, too. When Pers and I . . .” Her tears rose again. “Pers and I, we saw him skulking at the foot of the stairs here two days ago. When
Mistress Helyngton and Sir Gerveys were talking in here then. Pers went after him to see what he had to say for himself, but all he said was he was wondering what we were doing on the stairs. Pers thought it was more than that, though. Pers thought he was hoping to spy and said he’d keep an eye on him after that. Only he . . . Pers . . .” She gulped on returning sobs and said with a burst of fierceness, “You ask that fellow some questions! You ask him hard.”
“Pers went after him,” Frevisse said, unready to leave her to her tears just yet. “But you stayed at the door, yes?”
“What? Stayed? Yes. Right there. He never got near, he didn’t. He never . . .”
Ivetta gave up and collapsed in heaving sobs on the chest at the bedfoot. Domina Elisabeth went to pat her shoulder. Frevisse stayed where she was, considering that if Ivetta was to be believed, Nol might well have heard what passed between Cristiana and Sir Gerveys the first time they talked here together but neither he nor anyone else could have heard them here two days ago. That meant it must have been Sir Gerveys’ talk with Master Say afterward that was overheard. Or that it was Master Say who had betrayed them.
Chapter 20
Frevisse came down the stairs from her talk with Ivetta troubled by her thoughts. She did not want to ask the questions she needed now to ask of both Alice and Master Say, because even if she heard answers that freed them from her suspicions, she was afraid she might likewise hear the lie behind the words. Voices could treacherously give away what someone meant to keep hidden. What if she heard a lie behind either Alice’s or Master Say’s voice? What then?
But Alice had set her to this. She had to believe in Alice. And Master Say? If she were honest with herself, she had to admit she didn’t want to find him treacherous. Given a choice, she would rather lay everything on Laurence Helyngton.
But if she could find no way someone had overheard Sir Gerveys in talk with Master Say . . .
* * *
In the screens passage Mistress Say was just coming from the butlery. If not happier, she at least looked less desperate than earlier as she said, “Dame Frevisse, my lady of Suffolk was just saying she would talk with you.”
“Frevisse,” Alice said from the butlery doorway. “If you please,” and drew back into the small, windowless room where the daily supply of wine and ale was kept under lock and key, and there were shelves of the household’s platters, plates, cups, and goblets of everyday use and the locked chests of greater valuables. Alice in her gown of finest linen and her cauled headress with soft trailing veil was so ill-matched to the workaday place that Frevisse paused in the doorway. Alice, able to see her face by light of the shallow oil lamp burning on the narrow desk set to one side of the room, asked impatiently, “What is it?” Then added, without waiting for answer, “Come in. Close the door. We’ll be as private here as anywhere.”
Frevisse obeyed but said as she did, “I was only wondering how long it’s been since the duchess of Suffolk was in a butlery.”
“Two weeks ago at Ewelme,” Alice said with asperity. The manor she had inherited from her father. “Discussing with Master Gallard if we had wine enough on hand to last until the autumn wine fleet comes from Gascony. Would I were there now, with naught to think about but how the harvest is going, rather than all this.” She stood up. “What have you learned? Anything of use?”
Frevisse matched her asperity. “It’s very likely your spy here is a servant named Reignold, usually called Nol. It also seems //wlikely he knew Sir Gerveys was going to Ware.” Alice waited for more. When nothing more came, she demanded, “That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“But you suspect . . .” Alice left a gap for Frevisse to fill. “Yes,” Frevisse said. “I suspect.” And did not go on. “What?” Alice demanded. “Say it.” And then, sharply, “I already know it. Ask it.”
“Did you tell anyone that Sir Gerveys would go somewhere to collect this paper? Or set someone on to watch him when he went?”
“I did not. Not either of those things.”
“Did Master Say tell you about his talk with Sir Gerveys that evening? That Sir Gerveys would be going the next day for the paper?”
“Master Say told me nothing about it. No one did. I didn’t know when Sir Gerveys would go, or where. Nor did I speak to anyone at all about what passed in the orchard with Mistress Helyngton.” Alice’s voice sharpened more. “Nor— before you ask it—did I have anything to do with the murders last night. Once I had the document, Sir Gerveys was no longer a concern of mine.”
Returning sharp for sharp, Frevisse challenged, “He was someone’s concern. Someone who maybe feared he had read the thing and had to stop him from ever telling what it said. Someone not willing even to risk the possibility he’d read it.” Eyes and voice cold, Alice said, “Yes, that has to be considered, doesn’t it? But I haven’t even read the thing myself. Look.” She slipped her right hand into the close-fitted wristband of her gown’s left sleeve and brought out the packet Sir Gerveys had given her yesterday. She held it out. “I haven’t even opened it. My lord husband ordered me not to open it,” she added with a bitterness perhaps more betraying than she meant it to be. “Do you truly think I’d order a man’s murder—two men’s murders—for any reason, let alone for a thing I haven’t even read?”
Frevisse went very near to her and said at nearly a whisper, urgently, “Alice, not you. But someone could have come here with you already ordered to murder if there was need.” Alice went deeply still. Except her eyes widened. Then she closed them and pressed a hand over her mouth.
“Always remembering,” Frevisse said, watching her face, “that the order may have been to kill anyone who might have read the thing, not simply Sir Gerveys.”
Eyes still closed, Alice said, “God forgive me.”
Cold clenched around Frevisse’s heart. There were some answers she did not want to hear, but she asked nonetheless, “What?”
Alice opened her eyes, lowered her hand, and said in a voice as cold as Frevisse felt, “God forgive me for what I thought just then. That my husband could have ordered such a thing. That he could have sent someone with me with order to make sure anyone who might have read the letter had no chance to tell what it said. For just that moment I believed it possible.” She looked down at the packet in her hands; turned it over; turned it over again; then held out a hand to Frevisse and asked, “Might I use your knife?”
Meaning the short-bladed knife carried in a small sheath in the pouch hung from Frevisse’s waist, mostly used at meals. Most people had them, but Alice was too fine a lady to be troubled with a belt pouch, and Frevisse silently handed her own to her. Equally silent, Alice slid the blade under the packet’s cord, slit it, then slid the blade under the wax seal, breaking it and letting its pieces and the cord fall to floor.
“Since I was more than halfway to believing my husband could have given such an order,” Alice said, handing back Frevisse’s knife, “I mean to see what has us all so frighted.” She began to unfold the packet.
This was Alice as Frevisse had mostly known her—a woman clear of thought and quick of decision. And finally she understood why Alice had seemed not herself here. These few days past she had been more than merely worried. She had been afraid.
For her husband? Or of him?
Alice let the packet’s cloth wrapping fall to the floor, too, only the small-folded paper that had been inside it in her hands now. She unfolded it to the black-ink
ed writing on it and began to read. Unable to see the words, Frevisse watched Alice and by the oil lamp’s soft glow saw the stark deepening of every line of Alice’s face, aging her out of her carefully kept middle years into seeming of the woman she would be if she lived to grow old. Her beauty was still there, kept by her bones, but laid over it, etched into it, was . . . grief. Grief first. Then anger. Made the worse by Alice letting neither of them loose.
Instead, she seemed to draw them inward, where their burning must have been scalding her heart, if her eyes, when she looked up from the paper to Frevisse, were anything by which to judge. “He’s betrayed us,” she said. “He’s betrayed the king and us and everyone.”
“Who?”
“Suffolk. And the duke of Somerset. The two of them together.” Stiffly, carefully, Alice began to fold the paper closed again. Her voice stiff and careful, too, she said, “Shall I tell you what it says?” But the anger was beginning to burn through her control. She did not wait for Frevisse’s answer but went on, bitter and harsh. “It’s a rough writing out of an order to Somerset in France. He’s the king’s governor of Normandy. Of all our towns and castles and fortresses and troops in France. This orders him to set Sir Francois de Surienne . . With hands that trembled now, Alice unfolded the paper again and read, “ ‘set him to that Breton business we agreed to ere you went into France, that an end may be made once and for all to this.’ “
She stopped. Frevisse waited, but Alice only stood staring at the paper, until Frevisse asked, “What does he mean by ‘an end’? An end to what?”
Alice looked up from the paper. “To the French war. That attack on a border town in Brittany this last March—the attack and the sacking afterwards that broke the truce so badly there was no mending of it—it wasn’t some piece of over-bold foolishness by Surienne, the way the first reports told it. He’s has been one of our best captains of mercenaries for years. He was even made a Knight of the Order of the Garter two years ago. I never understood why. Now I do. They were readying him—my husband and Somerset. Even then they were readying him for this.”
The Widow's Tale (Sister Frevisse Medieval Mysteries Book 14) Page 21
