Justice for the Damned (23 page)

The
spell cast by romantic imaginings shattered, Alys tossed her head in fury at
the slur on her virtue. In doing so, she caught sight of the prioress standing
near. "My lady!" she cried out.

Bernard
and Jhone spun around.

"I
did not see you," the widow said, covering her eyes as if hiding what a
prioress might read in them. "I beg pardon for any offense!"

"As
there was none, there is no need."

"Then
please excuse us, my lady," she mumbled, her face a mix of conflicting
hues. "I have errands to attend with this daughter of mine."

Eleanor
nodded and gave her blessing.

Jhone
grasped her daughter's arm with a firmness that demanded obedience and aimed
her child away from the booth. Although Alys might have been reluctant to obey
and surely felt the defiance of thwarted passion, she wisely did not cast even
one backward glance at her beloved.

"A
tryst?" Eleanor asked, turning to Bernard.

Embarrassment
colored the glover's cheeks. "Alys and I try to meet whenever possible,
but her mother is so clever at discovering our evasions that we rarely have
more than a moment together. How she is able to read our thoughts remains a
wonder to us."

"You
both know that Alys is to marry Master Herbert." Although she had her
suspicions about the glover, Eleanor found herself in sympathy with the young
lovers. Whatever the truth about Bernard, she still did not want to encourage
behavior that could easily lead to less chaste conduct than holding hands.

"Alys
has not given her consent, although I fear she must do so soon.

"Can
you refute the reasons behind her mother's choice?"

"My
heart denies her logic, my lady. If her mother only knew what Alys and I feel
for each other..." His eyes filled with tears. "My dearest one and I
could do so much together to gain the wealth the vintner now has. Mistress
Jhone claims I am nothing more than an impractical boy with no prospects, but
my glove designs are gaining favor amongst those who can pay for carefully
crafted work. Alys has an eye for what her mother should recognize as the more
practical elements of business. We know our union would be blessed."

"If
Alys does not marry as her mother wishes, has she not expressed a desire for
the cloistered life?"

Bernard
shook his head angrily. "In truth she told me that she would take holy
vows only to avoid wedding a man she does not love." As soon as he had
said the words, the glover realized he had just denied his beloved one escape
from a hateful marriage by admitting she had no calling to the religious life.
He groaned and slapped his hand against his forehead.

As
the young man slumped against the table of his stall, his eyes turning dark
with despair, Eleanor's heart softened. "Are you able to prove that your
profits have increased, that your reasonable prospects make you a match equal
to the vintner even if your current state does not?"

Bernard's
expression conveyed utter defeat. "I cannot easily counter the wish of a
dead husband, my lady."

If
that was true, then this man had no pressing reason to chance the theft and
sale of the Psalter, unless he had pressing bills. "Is it that," she
asked, her voice gentle, "or hold you such debt..."

"All
merchants owe something, but my father taught me prudence in business and
thrift in habits."

He
has not taken offense at my prying, Eleanor noted, then changed the direction
of her questions. "I cannot understand why Alys' father and the vintner
were so eager for this marriage," she said. "Although Master
Woolmonger would have wanted a wealthy tradesman for Alys, I do not see the
gain for Master Vintner. He has wealth enough, and wool would be a new trade for
him. Wasn't he deeply wronged by Mistress Jhone's kin? I am as surprised that
the woolmonger dared to suggest the union as I am by the vintner's willingness
to accept it."

"Like
a foul odor, that tale drifts through the village!" The glover frowned.
"I myself overheard Master Herbert tell the story to Alys' father one
night at the inn. Others must have as well for I would never have repeated
something like that. Mistress Eda was an honorable woman and her husband most
assuredly mistaken. I never gave credence to the accusation."

"Did
Master Woolmonger perhaps deny that his nephew was the seducer?"

Bernard
shook his head.

How
very odd this matter is, Eleanor thought. "Were you well-acquainted with
Mistress Eda?"

"As
well as I knew most of my mother's friends, although the vintner's wife was
younger by some years. My mother praised her faith and sweet temper, saying she
wished her own daughters would follow Mistress Eda's example. All who knew the
lady respected her charity and honesty."

Eleanor
had listened to his words most carefully. They did not suggest any untoward
passion between the glover and Eda. "Perhaps she was innocent of adultery,
but what of Sayer? Might he have tried to bed her and been refused?"

Bernard
opened his mouth.

"Do
not claim improbable ignorance of the man as you did before." The prioress
lowered her voice. "Is he not Alys' cousin?"

The
glover coughed as if he had swallowed wrong. "Did I say I knew him not?
Although I am not well acquainted with her cousin, Alys has vouched for his
gentle and honorable treatment of women. I myself have no direct knowledge that
would contradict her opinion," he added quickly.

"A
man who treats women with honor—except tavern wenches. Those he sends to tempt
weak-fleshed monks," Eleanor countered.

"Of
these rumors I should not speak, my lady," he stammered, "but I shall
confirm that Mistress Eda was not capable of being a faithless wife. She was
most devout."

"A
pious woman who committed self-murder?"

"I
may be one of the few who disbelieved that tale, but I am not alone. Even those
who said she must have committed the sin were sympathetic and believed the
agony of her illness brought such deep despair that her many hours of prayer
could not daunt it. Despite his story of adultery, her husband defended his
dead wife, claiming she had fallen into the river and died by accident. He was
quite distraught when her body was condemned to burial in unsanctified
ground."

"How
could he have grieved so if he thought she had crowned his head with a
cuckold's horns?"

"Maybe
he was a most forgiving spouse."

"Was
the woolmonger such a close friend that Master Herbert might confess this
humiliation to him?"

"My
lady, I know not all that transpired between the two men. I have often seen
them together, and did overhear that one discussion, but it is not my custom to
listen to private talks." The glover was showing signs of an uneasy
impatience.

"Forgive
my curiosity, Master Glover. I shall ask no more about that." Indeed, she
added to herself, I doubt you will tell me more anyway.

The
color in the young merchant's face quickly faded to a more natural pink.

"More
to your concerns, I fear you have little hope of gaining Alys' hand if you have
neither coin nor the blessing of a dead husband."

Bernard
sighed. "I do not mean to wrong Mistress Jhone. She most truly loves her
daughter and only wants the best for her as is right. Had my father died,
leaving me more wealth than hope, I might still be able to persuade her to
grant our wish for marriage, despite her dead husband's plan. Master Herbert
demonstrates his prosperity daily by his dress and most public generosity in
alms. In comparison, I am a poor man. My brother and I support our mother, and
I confess we both do what we can to help her recover some joy in life. To that
purpose, we spend our spare coin on things to delight her heart, for her grief
at my father's death has been most profound."

Eleanor's
heart sank. She had hoped to dismiss the possibility that the theft and sale of
a manuscript might be this young man's way of finding the coin to buy his love.
Reluctantly, she put Bernard Glover back on her list of suspects.

Chapter
Thirty

A
man flew backward through the inn door, hitting Thomas with such force that he
landed on his back in the dust of the road.

"Satan's
black balls!" the stranger roared. Struggling to his knees, he gagged and
spat out teeth.

Thomas
grabbed at the man's arm. "Are you not injured enough? Go home," he
urged.

"Nay,
monk, he must stay. He is still alive," a familiar voice scoffed.

Thomas
looked up at Sayer. From the high color of the roofer's face, he guessed the
fellow was drunk.

With
another oath, the unknown man rose and took to his heels down the street. When
he was a safe distance away, he stopped to yell further abuse before quickly
disappearing around a cart.

The
roofer helped the monk up. "Are you hurt, Brother?"

As
he grasped Sayer's proffered hand, Thomas felt a dampness and saw a rivulet of
blood trickling over the man's fingers. "You are bleeding," he said.
"Was the fight worth that?"

"Spoken
like a monk," the man replied, but his tone was gentle.

"I
will buy you a drink. There are some questions I have for you.

Sayer
stiffened and dropped Thomas' hand. "Like a dog you are, sniffing about so
eagerly." Then his mouth twitched into a lopsided grin. "But I would
be foolish to turn down the offer of ale from a monk with coin to buy it. That
is such a rare wonder I will save the story to amaze my grandchildren when I am
too old to keep their respect otherwise!"

Directing
Sayer to a quiet table, Thomas gently shoved the roofer onto the bench and slid
in so close to him that the man was pushed against the wall where he could not
escape. The monk gestured for a serving wench to bring ale.

"Why
did you and your father quarrel?" he asked when it arrived.

"That
was between my father and me."

"There
are those who say you, not some ghost, killed your father."

Sayer
pointed to the inn door. "You saw the last man who suggested that to me,
but I would not strike a monk. I earn bread for my mother and kin from the
priory."

"I
did not say you had done the deed, only that others have claimed it. My
curiosity is not idle, nor do I accuse. I ask only for the truth. Do you not
think the priory that gives you work has the right to know? If you do not
answer me, another may well demand it and with less kindness."

"Two
pitchers are on your bill." The young man tossed back his ale and poured
again. For a moment, he said nothing, then looked at Thomas with unfocused
eyes. "My father did not approve of some of my ways," he slurred.
"Is that enough for you?"

"Was
that disapproval reason enough for you to threaten murder?"

"Ask
yourself why I would kill him. Might I not prefer to find a wife and start my
own family rather than support my mother and my siblings?"

"Yet
you were heard to say..."

Sayer
shrugged with evident annoyance. "I no longer recall the exact cause of
our fight. He was drunk as was I, a condition that offers sweet forgetfulness
after days filled with the questionable joys of unrelenting soberness."

"Had
he enemies?"

"All
men do."

"I
grow impatient with evasion. You know well enough what I mean, and, if you are
innocent, you would serve your cause better by speaking the truth."

Sayer
rubbed at his eyes. "Although I accused the ghost after seeing my father's
corpse, no such creature had any cause to harm him. Queen Elfrida would not
have cared what my father did as long as his labor provided her monks with
enough food to sustain their prayers on her behalf. At that he worked hard,
although he sometimes spoke ill of the priory's religious when his back
ached."

Thomas
nodded.

"As
for Mistress Eda's spirit, my father agreed with my mother that she was wrongly
accused, thus her phantom had no reason to harm him. The vintner's wife was
honest and caring in life. Even after suffering the agonies of the damned, her
soul would be incapable of murdering anyone so foully."

"You
loved her?"

"Even
rogues may honor goodness."

"There
are tales abroad that you bedded her."

"You
say such a story is about?" Sayer's face darkened with anger. "A fool
told that lie, Brother, and a greater one believes it."

"Then
I must ask again about old enemies. Did your father have them, perhaps from the
days when he performed service to men who broke the king's law?"

Sayer
gave the monk a meaningful look as he poured the remaining ale into his mug.

Thomas
waved for more drink.

With
a thud, the serving wench set another jug down on the table.

"There
is no truth..."

Thomas
growled a warning.

Sayer
drank deeply, poured, and drank again. "I knew the stories well enough
from others, but my father never spoke of those times. Most of the men either
died long ago or else returned to more lawful pursuits, as did he." The
roofer fell silent.