The Lord Bishop's Clerk (16 page)

She looked down at her hands, and then full at Hugh Bradecote. ‘My lord, the man who was murdered was no loss to the world, excepting perhaps to the lord Bishop of Winchester. I did not kill him, that I swear, but if what I know of him was as he was with others, then it is not surprising to me that he should meet such an end.’ Her eyes flashed for an instant. ‘Not that I am one to gossip, but when I tell the guild of this in Winchester, well there’s many will want to know I saw the body, for they would think the weasel was just at his tricks again, and not really dead.’ She sniffed. ‘If you find anyone who tells you they liked the man, then I will show you a liar, my lord, and that’s a fact. I doubt even the lord bishop’s grace himself actually liked him.’

This was more than the sheriff’s men could have anticipated. Bradecote looked noticeably cheered.

‘Tell us, if you will, Mistress Weaver, everything that you know about the dead man.’

Margery Weaver settled herself more comfortably, reminding Catchpoll even more of the brooding fowl. She spoke calmly for the most part, though on occasion her bitterness showed through.

‘I only came upon Eudo the Clerk after my husband’s death – in person, that is. My Edric was a master of his trade. We … he … provided the finest woollen cloth for Henri de Blois himself. Cleric he may be, but the lord Bishop of Winchester is of royal blood, the Conqueror’s grandson, and not one to be chafed by lowly garments. It was good business, and my husband was proud of the connection. When he died there was a roll of cloth in preparation. When it was delivered, Eudo the Clerk visited me to make payment.’

She halted for a moment before continuing. ‘That nasty little man tried to threaten me with “do this or else”. Yes, you could call it no less. He “suggested”, and that was his term, the wyrm, that it would be unsuitable for his bishop to purchase cloth from a woman.’ She snorted. ‘As though I might be a contamination of his grace’s holiness. However, if, after a period of devout mourning, I were to go to the master goldsmith and commission a gold chalice and patten for the New Minster, in memory of my husband of course, it would be seen by all that I was a devout and righteous dame, and a few discreet purchases might be made by the lord bishop once again.’

She clamped her mouth suddenly shut, as if to prevent an unseemly utterance. ‘I told him, Eudo the Clerk, that my husband’s business had always been done openly, and on the quality of his cloth. Never had he engaged in anything underhand, and I would not betray his memory by doing so now, even if it meant the loss of a valued customer. That horrible little toad told me that it was only to be expected that others would follow his master’s example. He threatened me. How dared he!’

The widow shook her head, still stunned at his temerity. ‘Well, I sent him about his business, assuring him that quality of cloth would keep the business going, whatever he put about. And so it proved.’ She sat more erect. ‘If trade dropped briefly, it returned well enough, and our business was spared in the ruination of the Great Fire, and prospers.’

‘Thank you, Mistress Wea–’

‘That is not all, my lord.’ She interrupted him without compunction. ‘I had no more dealings with him direct, but Winchester, however great, is not so large that rumours do not spread like licking flame. The lord bishop has, shall we say, changed his tone according to whosoever held best grasp on the crown. In Winchester, I heard from differing sources, aye, and ones I’d trust, that it was his clerk that Henri de Blois used as his trusted man in dealings with both sides, and that he used information as a bargaining tool with each. Eudo the Clerk was, my lord, almost certainly, Eudo the Spy.’ She finished on a note approaching triumph, knowing that she would surprise her auditors, and was not disappointed.

Catchpoll and Bradecote stared at the Winchester widow, not in disbelief, but astounded none the less. Catchpoll exhaled slowly, a whistling sound coming from between his teeth. Bradecote wiped his hand across his mouth, frowning. The serjeant recognised it as an habitual gesture.

‘What you have told us, mistress, may be of great importance. But I must caution you to keep this knowledge within this room, for your own safety. Will you do that?’

Margery Weaver, her tale told, paled at his words, but nodded resolutely. ‘As you direct, my lord, but …’ she bit her lip, ‘I cannot vouch for its not being known already. I was speaking with my lady Courtney, who has … had … her own reasons to dislike the dead man.’

‘Did anyone else hear this confidence?’ Bradecote tried to keep the urgency out of his voice.

‘I cannot say for sure, my lord, though there was nobody close by that I noticed.’ She paused. ‘Is that all, my lord?’

‘Thank you, yes. Escort Mistress Weaver back to the guest hall, Serjeant Catchpoll.’

Bradecote wanted time, and his piece of vellum. When the serjeant returned, he found the acting under-sheriff had at least furnished himself with the latter.

‘The more we find out about our victim, the more I see why he ended up dead. A nasty piece of work, Eudo the Clerk.’ Bradecote sounded almost relieved.

‘Indeed, my lord, but the more he got people’s backs up the more complicated it is for us. For a start, nobody really wants the killer brought to justice when they think he, or she, was doing the rest of the world a favour.’ Catchpoll shook his head sadly. ‘Give me a nice simple killing, where the man does away with his wife so he can marry his neighbour’s pretty niece.’ He stifled a yawn.

The bell had tolled for Compline some time since. It was twenty-four hours since their arrival, and although he had learned much, Bradecote felt that he was a long way from discovering the killer.

‘Do we speak to anyone else tonight, my lord?’

‘I think not, Catchpoll. The monks will have their silence undisturbed. We will speak to the other guests tomorrow. The retainers that haven’t been examined can be seen by Gyrth or my man Wilfrid. We will only see them ourselves if anything important turns up. We can let everyone get their sleep, but first of all I want to address them all. We can catch most if not all after Compline and see the others individually.’ He paused, and frowned as an unwelcome thought occurred to him.

‘My lord?’ Catchpoll’s eyes had narrowed.

‘What Mistress Weaver told us about Eudo being a spy makes a possible difference. If whoever killed him was engaged in the same business, they may be quicker and more dangerous than we think. It might be obvious to us, but the guests should be told, clearly, to bring information only to us.’

‘Fair enough, my lord. I’ll make sure the servants and workmen get the same message, if you give me leave.’

Bradecote’s weary eyes narrowed. Catchpoll was being remarkably correct for once, but it was too late in the day to question why, so Bradecote merely gave his assent.

Serjeant Catchpoll gave a nod that might just have been deference but was probably simple acknowledgment, and the pair parted.

Not all the guests had attended the final office. Lady Courtney and the nuns from Romsey were present, as was Mistress Weaver, but the lady d’Achelie and both de Grismont and FitzHugh were elsewhere. The thought occurred to Bradecote that two of that number might be found together, and it would not be lord and squire.

The scene in the cloister at the end of Compline was much the same as the previous evening, but the atmosphere was wary rather than shocked. The assembly were attentive when he cleared his throat to speak, but regarded him with, he decided, gloomy anticipation. I am become a harbinger of ill tidings, he thought to himself.

‘It is only right that I should warn all of you that in the case of such a crime as this, it would be most unwise of any of you to confide any suspicions you might have to others. If something does occur to you, come only to me or Serjeant Catchpoll.’

‘You are saying that one of us is the killer, my lord.’ Mistress Weaver’s voice was matter of fact.

‘I am saying,’ Bradecote replied with emphasis, ‘that nobody who was not within the walls of this abbey is under suspicion.’

Sister Edeva gave him a cool, slightly mocking look. ‘Much more circumspect, but the same thing underneath. Do you expect us to lie quaking in our beds, and screeching at shadows? Are you perhaps going to confiscate Sister Ursula’s darning needle?’

Sister Ursula looked horrified, but the sheriff’s officer permitted himself a fleeting smile and his eyes, for all their weariness, flashed understanding. Sister Edeva was not one to be daunted by his words, and saw no benefit in spreading panic. She clearly thought his pronouncement over dramatic.

‘I hardly think so, Sister Sacrist. Just be on your guard, all of you, and show sense. I do not desire you to “quake” but nor do I desire any further fatalities.’

‘Heaven forfend.’ Abbot William crossed himself and his cheeks paled. He had clearly not considered such an awful possibility.

‘Then I will bid you all a safe goodnight. Father Abbot. Ladies.’ Bradecote made a small obeisance that took in all present, and departed with a firm step. He was conscious of the gesture, and also that it would be understood and appreciated by the Benedictine sister. If he wished to be dramatic, he would be so, regardless of her opinion.

Isabelle d’Achelie was not cold, for the evening was warm, and so she had no excuse to request Waleran de Grismont’s arms about her except perturbation. They stood in the long shadow of the wall to the abbot’s garden as the heavy scent of herb and flower lay contained within its bounds, conversing in low voices.

‘I am frightened, my lord.’

‘Surely not here and now, my love.’ His voice was honeyed, soothing.

‘I might be murdered in my bed.’

‘I have an answer to that, my lady. Share mine. I can promise to protect your body with my own.’

‘My lord!’ She blushed, outraged yet flattered. ‘We are within the confines of the cloistered.’

‘You do not ask me to let you go, though.’ His hold tightened, and he lifted her chin. ‘You would be safe with me.’

‘I am not sure any woman is safe with you, my lord.’

‘Let us say, safe from danger.’ He kissed her, slowly, seductively. Why wait for a king’s agreement if she would give herself now?

She fought the urge to relax into the seduction. Of all her animal instincts, self-preservation was still the most honed.

‘Mmm, my lord, this is not the time for love.’

‘When better? The night is warm, and I am hot for you.’

She pushed her hands against his chest.

‘Waleran, this is not the time. There is a murderer in this place.’

‘Why assume that anyone else must die? You and I both know the snivelling Eudo was the sort none love and many must have wanted silenced. I am not afraid. I just sleep with a dagger beneath my blanket, and I am not playing with words.’ He was serious now. ‘My offer stands, and if you will not accept it, keep your eating knife by your bed.’

‘I could not kill a man, my lord.’

‘If you feared enough, you could, my lady. I offer you the choice of sleeping with a warm body or cold steel, and I know which I would prefer you to select, but it is your choice.’

‘I … I cannot … Not here. It would curse us to do so within the abbey walls.’ She crossed herself.

He frowned. He did not think her an overly religious woman.

‘And lies are sins also, my heart. You fear that if you say yes, I shall not bother with wedding you? You are the most beautiful woman I have ever encountered, but a wife is not just a woman, she is also a dowry, and the provision of sons. I would wed you, and delight in all three.’

His words took her aback. They were true enough, and yet vaguely shocking.

‘I shall bed with the steel tonight, my lord, and hope to come to you with the second, and, God willing, provide you with the third.’ She took his face between her hands, kissed him as if to seal the promise, and flitted away.

Waleran de Grismont leaned against the wall and pondered long on the inconsistencies of the weaker sex.