The Devil's Door (32 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General

BOOK: The Devil's Door
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Catherine fell against him as she stumbled on a brick, fallen from a wall into the street. She smiled at him gratefully.
After that she tried to watch her step, but her thoughts kept chasing down other streets, the crooked streets of Troyes, for instance. A slight man and a larger one, carrying a body. A slight man and a larger one attacking Paciana. Rupert, who hunched over and looked away when one spoke to him and let other men command in his household, could he be brave enough to murder? But why? What did he gain? Or, what did he have to lose?
She tripped again. Thank goodness for Edgar. What he must think of her, clumsy, always stained with mud or ink, or worse. Dragging him into situations that could get them both killed. She was sure that wasn’t the life his family had had in mind for him. Could he be happy with someone so maladroit?
As they started across the Petit Pont, Edgar asked, “Astrolabe, where are we going?”
“I’m going to the cathedral school to talk with another of my father’s old pupils, who’s about to return to the papal curia. I want to see if he will still give us his support. My father has been deeply hurt by the way old friends and students have turned on him. Where are you going?”
“I believe we will go back to the home of Eliazar,” Edgar said. “Their Sabbath will be over just after sundown. Merchants hear all the gossip. Perhaps he can give us the information we lack to bring these murders home to Rupert of Quincy.”
Catherine squeezed Edgar’s arm. All this time, he’d been speculating on the same problem she had. And kept her from absentmindedly walking into the river as well. Now, what could she do for him in return?
“Edgar,” she said. “Did you know that Eliazar also has a covered tub in his garden, and next to it a charcoal brazier to heat water? At the convent, Saturday was always the day to wash hair.”
“Really?” he said, quickening the pace. “Well, the best of luck, Astrolabe. We’ll come Monday to hear Master Abelard and Canon Gilbert debate.”
Astrolabe bid them good-bye and headed for the south end of the Île, where the cathedral school lay. Catherine and Edgar went on to the Juiverie. Edgar was having almost as much trouble as Catherine watching where he stepped. All at once, his imagination seemed to have overtaken his common sense. Steam, soap and a curtained tub. Finally. He imagined Catherine’s braids undone. What had he done to deserve such contentment?
Nothing.
When they reached the house, they found Hubert waiting for them. He greeted them briefly, then came at once to the point.
“The countess Mahaut wishes to see the both of you,” he told them.
“The countess?” Catherine said. “But she’s in Troyes, isn’t she?”
“Count Thibault has sent word to her that he and King Louis are returning from Reims and he wishes her to meet him here,” Hubert explained. “Apparently, the countess has also learned a great deal about your activities. More, I might add, than anyone has bothered to tell me.”
He glared at them both and Edgar felt his bath evaporate under the heat of his anger.
“Abbot Suger has given the countess the house the abbey keeps for his visits to Paris,” Hubert continued. “She would like you to meet with her privately before the evening meal.”
“But I have nothing appropriate to wear!” Catherine moaned, thereby proving she was not entirely alien to Constanza.
“Samonie and I will find you something,” Johannah told her. “I’ve discovered that she has been trained to do the finest embroidery, so I’m sure she can stitch you into a pair of sleeves.”
“I will be there, as well,” Hubert told them. “The countess was kind enough to invite us to eat. Agnes is particularly looking forward to it.”
“Agnes! I’m so glad,” Catherine said. “I didn’t know if there would be any way for me to see her, and I’ve missed her so.”
“One reason I am going to see the countess,” Hubert said sadly, “is to petition her intercession with the abbess of Tart, that your mother might be admitted there. Your sister has borne the burden of her care too long.”
“Tart? Will mother go?” Catherine asked.
“I believe so,” Hubert said. “She isn’t … that is, she’ll be happier there. The women will care for her and let her pray whenever she likes. And I can’t bind Agnes and your brother’s wife to her much longer. They have their own concerns.”
“Father, are you sure?”
“Yes,” Hubert said. “We have all discussed it. This is for your welfare, too. Remember, as long as she remains, you can’t come home.”
Catherine paid little attention to the clothes she was being sewn into that evening. Johannah had no children and she was delighted to finally have the chance to bring out her old finery and share it.
“Yellow, I think,” Johannah said. “And red. You’ve been in quiet colors too long, Catherine. Don’t you agree, Samonie?”
“Yes, I do,” Samonie said decidedly. “If you are going to dine with the countess, you need to stand out.”
“I think I stood out quite enough the last time,” Catherine shuddered. “I’m surprised she wants to see me again.”
“Hold still,” Johannah told her, “or we’ll stick you. So your sister will be there. Does she look like you?”
“I forgot, you’ve never met her,” Catherine said. “No, Agnes is nothing like me. She looks more like Samonie, pretty and small and much fairer than I am. More like our mother.”
Poor Mother! Catherine was quiet again. Agnes had been left with most of the work, not only of caring for Madeleine, but also attending to the duties of the mistress of a household. She was nearly seventeen. She must be eager to have a household of her own. She thought again of Paciana and Alys. What would have happened if Paciana had stayed and married Raynald, as he had wished? Would Alys still be alive? What would have happened if Catherine had remained at the Paraclete as Madeleine had wished? Would her mother be still running the household and Agnes settled in her own home?
Speculations are pointless, Catherine,
her voices interrupted.
What will happen is all that matters.
“There, all finished,” Johannah got up from the floor, where she had been kneeling to adjust the length of the
bliaut.
“You look beautiful, my dear. I think I have a gold band to put over the veil. It will rub your forehead a bit, but it will set off your coloring perfectly.”
Hubert was waiting impatiently below for them to be ready. Edgar had put on his black braies and red
chainse
again. He had not had a chance to shave, but he had washed his face and combed his hair. With his gold chains and black boots, he looked like a courtier again. Hubert raised his eyebrows in approval. The change in Catherine’s appearance left him speechless.
“What do you think of your beautiful daughter?” Johannah asked.
Hubert’s eyes filled. “You look just like your grandmother,” he told her. “I have no higher praise. Now, shall we see if you can reach the countess without falling in a puddle?”
“That may be difficult,” Edgar said. “It’s starting to rain.”
They wrapped up tightly in thick wool cloaks. Catherine sat sideways on the horse in front of Edgar as they crossed the river back to the right bank. Around them, there were others on horseback similarly bundled. As they approached the house, Catherine noticed a figure that seemed familiar. She nudged Edgar.
“The man over there, by the gate, just arriving, do you see?”
Edgar nodded. “Yes, I don’t know him, though.”
“Are you sure?” Catherine said.
The man was still hooded. One servant had taken the reins and another stood beside the horse to assist the man, who dismounted gingerly, moving with obvious pain. He leaned heavily on the servant, who gave him a stick to aid him. Even with that help, it was clear that every step was agony. His right leg dragged as he walked.
“Poor crippled man,” Edgar said. “No, I don’t recognize him.”
“He doesn’t deserve your pity,” Catherine said. “He wasn’t crippled the last time I saw him, but a deep cut from a hoe must take a long time to heal. Edgar, I’m sure that’s Rupert of Quincy.”
“Rupert? What’s he doing here?” Edgar tried to get a better look, but the rain and deepening twilight made it impossible. “Do you think Constanza is with him?”
“She tried to murder me!” Catherine was shocked at the thought of seeing her again. “How could she dare show her face?”
“I don’t know,” Edgar replied. “But I think we are about to find out.”
They entered the courtyard, where an ostler waited to stable the horses of the guests. Edgar dismounted and lifted Catherine down. Hubert had already arrived and was waiting for them in the entry.
“Did you see the man who just entered?” Catherine greeted him.
“The one with the limp?” Hubert said. “Yes. He seems familiar, but I can’t place him. Is he a friend of yours?”
Catherine was spared the need to explain by the distraction of a shriek in her ear.
“Is that you, Catherine?” Agnes grinned in disbelief. “Not a spot of ink! You never dressed yourself in that!”
Catherine grinned back in relief. Agnes was as beautiful as ever. She didn’t look bowed down by duty or, thank goodness, resentful. She hugged her sister, thinking again of Alys.
“Oh, Agnes,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Agnes returned the hug. “That’s a very odd thing for you to say to me. Why shouldn’t I be safe?”
“Never mind,” Catherine turned to Edgar. “You’ve never properly met my sister. Agnes, this is Edgar. We’re married now.”
“So I heard,” Agnes said. “At the convent. You couldn’t even have a normal wedding. But I’m glad you’re back. I hope you’ll be home more, now. I’ve missed you.”
Agnes smiled at Edgar. “I think I remember you,” she said. “You look much better without a layer of dust.”
“Thank you,” Edgar said.
“We’re supposed to meet with the countess before dinner,” Catherine said. “Do you know where?”
“Of course, I’ll show you,” Agnes said. “Father, are you coming, too?”
“Yes,” Hubert said. “Countess Mahaut seems to think I might have to stand surety for Edgar.”
“For me? Why?” Edgar’s hand went instinctively to his knife. He suddenly remembered that he was in a foreign country with no kin to defend him.
“That’s why you’ve been summoned. There have been charges brought against you,” Hubert told him. “That you and Walter of Grancy abducted two women by force from the keep of Rupert of Quincy.”
They had reached the door to the countess’s chamber. A guard stood outside, waiting for them to give their names. Catherine ignored him.
“You can’t be serious, Father!” she said. “How could Rupert and Constanza have the audacity to make such an accusation? They must know that I’ll tell the countess the truth.”
Edgar tapped the handle of the knife. “It’s very clever, you know, to accuse first those who might incriminate you. It will confuse the issue. What if you do tell the countess that I rescued you? You wouldn’t be the first woman to abet her own abduction. What puzzles me is, how do they know me? Someone might have recognized Walter, but I’m a stranger to them. And who told them Catherine was your daughter? Héloïse gave them nothing but her name.”
“Countess Mahaut knows who we are,” Catherine said. “But she never told Constanza, at least not in my presence.”
She had another thought.
“Father, you aren’t really worried by this, are you? You know that the countess doesn’t believe the charge. Why is she letting them make it?”
“I can’t speak for her,” Hubert answered. “I only know what her messenger told me. Why don’t you ask her, yourself?”
“Very well.” Suddenly, Catherine was nervous. She adjusted her headband and smoothed her skirts. “Guard, would you please announce Hubert LeVendeur and his family?”
The door opened and they were led in. The countess Mahaut was seated again with her advisors, Girelme and Father Conon, at a long table. On the far side of the room stood the lady of Quincy. Next to her sat Rupert, his injured leg propped up on a cushioned stool.
“Sieur Hubert,” the countess greeted him. “It’s good to see you again. Thank you for coming.”
Hubert bowed deeply. “I am always at your service, my lady, and that of your husband. You remember my daughters, Catherine and Agnes?”
Both curtseyed to the floor. Catherine wobbled a bit, but Agnes steadied her.
“And I believe you have met my son-in-law, Edgar,” Hubert continued. Edgar bowed, not quite as deeply.
Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw Constanza start. So, their information wasn’t complete.
Mahaut acknowledged them all with a nod. She glanced at Girelme, the chamberlain, who rose, holding a piece of parchment.
“The countess wishes to inform you that she is in receipt of a letter from the abbess of the Paraclete,” he announced. “Complaining of the treatment of her guest, Catherine LeVendeur, at the hands of Constanza of Quincy. The letter states that it was only through the efforts of Walter of Grancy and Edgar of Wedderlie that Catherine escaped with her life.”

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