The Clerk’s Tale (7 page)

Frevisse had readily understood that nothing he was being asked was any surprise to Master Gruesby nor were his answers any surprise to Master Christopher but now she looked sharply aside, past Lady Agnes and over Nichola’s head to Stephen standing with all his attention on what was passing below but faintly smiling, as if it was a show put on particularly to entertain him.

‘… and his late mother’s sister Cecily Bower, presently wife to James Champyon, esquire of Henley.“

The couple who had stirred Lady Agnes’s ire sat a little straighter, conscious of heads and murmurs turned their way. But Frevisse noted that the only surprise seemed to be her own. The matter was generally known, then. Except to her and perhaps Domina Elisabeth.

But Master Christopher was now asking, “Do you know of anyone who might have been interested enough in Master Montfort’s death to murder him?”

Master Gruesby ruffled through his papers uneasily and must have whispered something that reached not even to the table because Master Christopher asked, “What?”

A little louder, enough to be heard, Master Gruesby said, “There have been people angry at him over the years.”

That was gravely mis-saying it but all Master Christopher asked was, “Was there anyone angry at him now? Here?”

Master Gruesby shook his head, then probably remembered from his own clerking that the clerk writing away at the table would not see that and said, barely to be heard, “No one. No, there wasn’t anyone. He’d only just begun here.”

Goaded by his uncertainty, Frevisse would have prodded him for more. Master Christopher only said, “Thank you. You are welcome to sit down,” and Master Gruesby did, with the heavy suddenness of legs giving way.

The priory’s gardener, Master Garner, was called next, an elderly man who rose stiffly from his place on a rear bench and came forward to stand before the jurors and answered Master Christopher’s question as to his name and all with a briskness that suggested he more probably demanded his plants to grow rather than simply encouraged them. When asked, he swore to deal in no lies and when questioned agreed that, yes, there was a lock to the side door to the infirmary garden and, yes, it was kept locked and there were but two keys to it, that he knew of.

‘Who has those keys?“

‘The infirmarian be one who does, I understand. The other be my lady prioress. It’s my lady gives it to me when there’s work needed in that garden there. Turning garden beds, carrying out refuse, things like that. Only she didn’t have the key that day, I know.“

That made an interested stir among most of the onlookers but Master Christopher merely asked, “Do you know who did?”

‘She did.“ Master Garner pointed up at Lady Agnes. ”Still does, for all I know.“

All heads turned and lifted to look at her. Undiscomfited, Lady Agnes slightly bowed her head to Master Christopher who slightly bent his in return but turned back to ask Master Garner, “So you were never at the door that day and so far as you know, it was locked or should have been?”

‘Aye, sir, it should have been.“

Master Christopher thanked and dismissed him and held out a hand toward his clerk, who handed him a paper from which he read a sworn statement from Sister Joan, presently infirmarian at St. Mary’s priory, that the key to the infirmary garden’s door had not been out of her possession that day nor any other and to the best of her knowing the door had been locked as it should have been. That done, he handed the paper back to his clerk and turned again to look up at Lady Agnes.

‘My lady, rather than ask you to come down, may we give you oath and have your answers from up there?“

‘With thanks for your kindness, sir, yes,“ Lady Agnes granted.

When she was sworn, Master Christopher asked, “ ”Is this true you presently hold the prioress’s key to the door in question, my lady?“

In a carrying voice, easily heard throughout the hall, she answered, “It is.”

‘Why?“

She explained with admirable briefness about her visits of kindness to Sister Ysobel.

‘Has the key ever been out of your keeping?“

‘Not since Domina Matilda trusted it to me. I keep it with my own household keys and they are always with me.“

‘Did you use the key the day that Master Montfort was killed?“

‘Did I go to the infirmary garden, you mean. No, I did not.“

Master Christopher thanked her, she welcomed him, and the stableman was called who had seen Montfort cross the stableyard; but, no, he swore it was only Montfort he’d seen go that way until Master Gruesby came and, yes, he’d been there in the stableyard, at one task and another, a good half of an hour and more and would have noticed anyone else going that way, he was certain, sir, and was certain, too, that no one had come out from there either, not until Master Gruesby did, calling for help, almost as soon as he’d gone in.

He was thanked and dismissed in his turn and Master Christopher looked at a paper in front of him, then looked to Master Wilton as master juryman and asked, “Have you made inquiry if anyone was seen entering the garden from the outside of the nunnery?”

The man stood up again. “No one says they saw anyone anywhere near there through the midpart of that day.”

He sat down again without being bidden. Master Christopher nodded thanks to him, then nodded to his clerk, who had been waiting and now straightened in his place to declare to the hall, “Master James Champyon is called before the court.”

The man on the forward bench rose from beside his wife, took a pace forward, ignoring the rustle of people shifting and craning to have better view of him, and announced firmly, “Here, sir.”

‘And be damned to you,“ Lady Agnes said under her breath. Nichola twitched with a suppressed laugh.

Master Christopher’s questioning of him was brief and to the point, neither man seeming to expect much of it. He affirmed that he was indeed Master James Champyon, esquire of Henley-on-Thames, and that he was presently husband of Cecily Bower, widow of Rowland Englefield and sister of the late Rose, who had been wife of the late Sir Henry Lengley, knight. No, he and his wife did not live in Goring but were come, with her grown children by her first husband—here he somewhat turned and made a small nod at the younger man and woman beside his wife—in the matter of his wife’s manor of Reckling…

‘His wife’s manor?“ Lady Agnes hissed under her breath. ”I think
not.“

‘… presently in dispute,“ Master Champyon rolled on, ”after the death of my wife’s sister’s son, Sir Henry Lengley’s heir, Henry Lengley the younger.“

‘Tedious bastard,“ Lady Agnes muttered.

Stephen leaned behind Nichola to whisper with smothered laughter, “Grandmother, no. It’s me, not him, who’s supposed to be the bastard.”

Lady Agnes made an angry noise at him, while below them Master Christopher asked, “This is the matter that the escheator Master Montfort was here to deal with?”

‘It is,“ Master Champyon agreed.

‘But no decision had yet been reached?“

‘No. He had only come to town the day before his death.“

‘Did you see him the day of his death?“

‘I saw him in the morning, at the inn where my wife and I are presently staying. The Swan in High Street.“

‘Did you see him in the afternoon of that day?“

‘No, sir. I spent the day at the inn with my wife and never went out.“

‘And were seen there by various servants and other folk, I suppose?“

‘Yes.“

‘Thank you. Pray, be seated. Clerk.“

Frevisse saw Master Gruesby’s head twitch to attention before he must have realized he was not being summoned. It was Master Christopher’s clerk, as Master Champyon took his seat again, who declared, “Master Stephen Lengley is called before the court,” and looked around and up.

So did everyone else in the hall, and Stephen calmly moved to the head of the stairs, made a slight bow toward the clerk or maybe the onlookers in general, then leaned forward, grasped the rope railings on either side of the steps, and in a single, long movement, swung himself out and down, to land gracefully and a small flourish at the stairfoot. A ripple just short of open clapping ran through the onlookers while Stephen, seeming to notice nothing, strolled around to the front of the table, bowed deeply to Master Christopher, and said, “Here, sir.”

‘Yes,“ Master Christopher observed flatly. ”Thank you,“ and set to questioning him much as he had done Master Champyon, with Stephen’s answers coming as readily as Master Champyon’s had. He affirmed he was indeed Stephen Lengley, younger son of Sir Henry Lengley, knight, resident here in Goring, and, yes, he was on the opposite side from Master Champyon in the dispute over this manor of Reckling but, no, he had not seen Master Montfort the day of his death. ”He questioned both Master Champyon and me the day before and told us he would summon us again when he’d found out more. That was the last I saw or knew of him until after he was dead.“

‘Where were you the afternoon that he was killed?“

‘Here, visiting my grandmother, from dinnertime until the servants came exclaiming there was a man killed at the nunnery.“

‘And you were seen here during that time?“

‘Neither my grandmother nor her servants being blind, I was certainly seen here, yes.“

There was laughter at that. Ignoring it, Master Christopher said, “Thank you,” and dismissed him.

The questioning of both Master Champyon and Stephen had been a makeweight, Frevisse decided, watching Stephen bow and return up the stairs two at a time. She could see the outward purpose of it—they were the foremost concerned in the matter that had brought Montfort to Goring—but their testimony had done little more than add bulk to the inquest. Why? she wondered. Unless Master Christopher wanted, for some reason, to have on record where they claimed to have been when Montfort was killed.

With a wink for Nichola and a grin at his grandmother, Stephen took his place again, Master Haselden whispering something from his other side that made Stephen force down a smile and Nichola giggle, while below them Master Christopher was asking the jury if they could come to a conclusion based on what they knew by their own seeing and what they had heard here. Obediently, the men twisted around and toward each other on their benches, bringing their heads together. Around the hall a buzz of talk started up, only to fall away a few moments later when the jurors straightened themselves around into their places again and Master Wilton rose from among them to say into the waiting hush, “My lord crowner, from what we know and have here heard, we conclude that Master Morys Montfort, esquire and of this shire, was murdered by someone unknown and at present unknowable.”

It was as safe and unfortunately as fair a conclusion as could be made from what had been presented to them here, unless they wanted to bring accusation against Master Gruesby, the only person known to have been in the garden with Montfort that afternoon and apparently they did not. Master Christopher accepted their conclusion as if he had expected nothing else, thanked the jurors for their service, and formally closed the inquest.

What Frevisse expected then was a great deal of standing about and talking, but several of the crowner’s men moved from their places near the door, one of them going to open it wide, the others beginning to shift the onlookers toward it, skillful as sheepdogs working a herd of sheep. Even Master Champyon and his wife had just time to speak briefly to Mistress Montfort before one of them was beside them, courteously urging them away and Mistress Champyon’s son and daughter with them. They went, Master Champyon and his stepson in immediate talk together and no backward look from either of them or the daughter. Only Mistress Champyon paused to cast a long glare upward to the gallery, at Lady Agnes and Stephen, Frevisse thought, returned in kind by Lady Agnes though Stephen met it with a slight bow from the waist that probably accounted for the increased anger with which Mistress Champyon turned and swept after her family.

‘Ill-bred b—“ Lady Agnes began but broke off with a glance at Frevisse and said instead at Stephen, ”Help me down the stairs, boy. I want to have a word with Mistress Montfort if I may.“

‘My lady,“ Letice put in. ”You’ve been on your feet a long while. Should you maybe lie down before dinner?“

‘I’ve never needed to rest before I ate in my whole life and I’m not starting now,“ Lady Agnes snapped. ”Stephen.“

Her tone left the choice between quarreling or agreeing. Frevisse saw Stephen exchange a look with Master Haselden, who shrugged, holding in a smile, and Stephen said cheerfully, “As you wish, dear Grandmadam.”

He went down the stairs as he had before and turned around to wait while Lady Agnes turned around, too, to make her way down backward, saying aside to Frevisse as she went, “Slow but certain. That’s how I am these days.”

Beyond them the hall was almost emptied and Master Christopher had given over being crowner and gone to his mother, had taken her by the hands and was speaking to her as he led her toward the door, Domina Elisabeth left behind. Over Lady Agnes’s slowly descending head, Master Haselden said, “I’m afraid her son is seeing Mistress Montfort out. The nun is coming this way, though, if that helps.”

‘Fie.“ Lady Agnes looked over her shoulder ”She won’t have visitors and she won’t stay to talk. What ails the fool woman?“