The Merchant's Daughter (24 page)

The coroner began searching the bailiff’s clothing for hidden pockets or items that may have been concealed, but he found nothing. Next, he lifted the bailiff’s empty hand, turning it over. He seemed to start and stare harder, bending low over the man’s appendage.

Ranulf kept his eyes fixed on the coroner. “Do you see something?”

“Indeed. There appear to be bite marks here.” Sir Clement pointed at the meaty part of the hand between the thumb and forefinger. “If we find who made these teeth marks, we may just find who wanted the bailiff dead.”

Ranulf’s blood seemed to go cold in his veins.

“You say you are the one who discovered the body?”

“Yes, around vespers Sunday evening.”

“Do you know anyone who hated the bailiff and might want him dead?”

Ranulf shrugged. “I have only been here a few weeks.”

“Did the bailiff have an argument with anyone recently?”

“Not that I know of.”

Sir Clement raised himself to his full height. “It’s impossible to say whether the bailiff will recover. If he does, he may not be able to speak or otherwise be able to function normally again. And due to the suspicious circumstances, I shall have to summon the hundred bailiff — you are familiar with the procedure — so he can gather a jury for an inquest. I appreciate any help you can give, Lord le Wyse.”

“You shall have my full cooperation, Sir Clement.” He bowed respectfully.

“You’re a good man. Now I’ll have that ale you promised.” The coroner smiled, his usual amiability replacing his business face, and they walked together back to the manor house.

He would have to be shrewd indeed to keep anything from Sir Clement.

Chapter
12

After staying hidden in the kitchen all day,
Annabel hated the thought of facing everyone in the upper hall for supper. The coroner would be there, and so would Lord le Wyse, whom she hadn’t spoken to since he embraced her and then spoke so rudely to her.

She helped Mistress Eustacia set the table with food and drink. The usual frumenty, bread, and ale had been replaced with roast pheasant, pork, and fruit pudding.

As the workers began filing in for their evening meal, Annabel continued filling the cups with ale. Her glance went to the door repeatedly until she spotted Lord le Wyse, followed closely by a sandy-haired, balding stranger: the coroner, no doubt.

Lord le Wyse seemed to look around the room until his eye met hers. With him staring straight at her, the pitcher of ale slipped out of her hand to the floor. The vessel shattered, scattering shards of pottery in all directions.

How could I be so clumsy?
Now the whole room would stare at her. And she had wanted nothing more than to go unnoticed.

She bent, her hands trembling, and started picking up the shards.

Adam came running toward her. “Can I help?”

She took one look at his bare feet and held up her hand. “Adam, stop. You’ll cut your foot.” His father caught him by the arm and pulled the boy back to his place on the bench beside him.

Annabel paid little heed to the sharp edges of the pottery
fragments as she raked them up with her palms and placed them into her apron. Maud knelt to help, picking up a larger piece of broken pottery then mopping up the spilled ale with a cloth. Her hands were shaking too, and her face was red and puffy.

Annabel dumped the contents of her apron into a refuse bucket and hurried over to finish cleaning up the rest of the ale. What should she say to Maud? A wave of guilt pressed down on her as though the stone that had hit the bailiff was sitting on her shoulders.

But Maud’s mouth was pinched and set, and she didn’t seem in the mood for talk. She grabbed another pitcher, filled it from the barrel in the corner, and topped off the rest of the mugs.

Annabel wiped her hands on her apron, which was now splattered and dirty. A pricking sensation on her leg, like the poke of a thorn, drew her gaze down.

A triangle of pottery was sticking out of her leg, with a trail of blood oozing into her shoe.

“Annabel.”

Mistress Eustacia waddled toward her, a clean cloth in her hand. “You’re bleeding, lass.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I broke the pitcher—”

“Never you mind. Come and let me wrap it up.”

They moved to the bench that stood against the wall, and Mistress Eustacia carefully pulled the piece of pottery from Annabel’s leg. Getting down on one knee, the older woman wrapped the cloth twice around the leg.

“Oh, pray don’t bother with it, Mistress Eustacia. It’s nothing.” Her vision swam like a fish, and she propped her elbow on her knee and put her head in her hand. This was what she got for not eating anything all day.

Mistress Eustacia patted her shoulder. “You’re tired. Go down to the undercroft and crawl into bed, and I’ll bring you a choice bit of pheasant and some ale, I will.”

She didn’t relish being alone in the dark undercroft, but the thought of escaping from Lord le Wyse’s and the coroner’s presence made the air rush back into her lungs.

“Now, you go and get some rest. I’ll accept no argument, I won’t.”

Her legs a bit wobbly, Annabel headed to the door. Lord le Wyse and the coroner stood directly in her path. She looked down at her dirty apron and prayed,
Let neither of them take notice of me.
She told herself to breathe as she walked past the men and soon was almost to the door.

“Annabel.”

She turned quickly then had to blink the black spots away. “Yes, my lord?”

“I would like you to read to us tonight.”

“Yes, my lord.” She felt her heart lift, and her joy caused the words to come out in a whisper. It was a great relief knowing that he still wanted her to read to him.

She didn’t intend to look at him, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing up into his face. He actually had a pleasant face when he wasn’t angry, and his features were evenly proportioned, almost regal. His dark hair suited his skin color perfectly. He was quite a contrast to the balding, slightly paunchy coroner.

As she left the room and started down the steps, she had to grip the railing to keep her balance. But her mind was even more unbalanced, or else she wouldn’t have been lingering on her lord’s features. She was becoming completely daft, with all the horrors that had happened of late.

Following supper, Sir Clement stretched his legs as he sat in the upper hall of the manor house, sipping his ale while he talked with Ranulf.

Ranulf nodded, his mind wandering away from the fire investigation.

He had probably made a mistake by requesting that Annabel read to them, but his intention was to behave as usual. Or, at least that was one intention. He also wanted to keep her as near to him as he could. He could see she was rattled, even more than he expected, and he hoped to be a calming influence on her.

Truthfully, he simply wanted to be near her.

It was useless to deny it. After his wife’s betrayal and death, after being assured that no beautiful woman could love anyone as disfigured as he was, he’d determined to go through life alone, childless, without the heartache of rejection. No woman would touch his heart again. No amorous feelings would complicate his thoughts.

Now he was willing to deceive the king’s coroner to protect a beautiful girl.

If he hadn’t forced her into the position as a lowly servant, she wouldn’t have been so vulnerable to the bailiff’s lecherous attentions. She would have been safe at home. Now, she was tormented with fear and guilt and worry, wondering if the bailiff would die, compelled to protect the person who had protected her.

It was his duty to look out for Annabel’s safety and wellbeing, as he would for any servant. His emotions, frustrating as they were, would not and should not be a factor.

He realized he had not been listening to Sir Clement. He blinked at the coroner, who sat staring at him, his tankard of ale halfway to his lips.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“So I see. Your mind is on something — or someone — else.” He grinned and took a large swill from his tankard. “Who is she? The beautiful daughter of a knight? A lady in His Majesty’s court? Or a comely lass from the village?”

Ranulf grunted and tried to keep the gruffness out of his voice. “You know that I of all people have no such pleasant thoughts.”

Sir Clement raised his eyebrows then frowned. “Nonsense. You’re a man of flesh and blood, aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

Mistress Eustacia brought a trencher with a large piece of pheasant, as she had promised.

Annabel sat on the edge of her bed and ate, forcing the small bites down her tight throat, while her mistress revived the dying fire in the fireplace at the back wall.

“The coroner is Sir Clement. He seems a kind sort, he does. Knew Lord Ranulf since they were lads together. I’d say we couldn’t ask for a better man for the job. He’ll soon find out what happened to Bailiff Tom, and then this whole nasty business will be over and done, more’s the better.”

“Do people think it wasn’t an accident, then? That someone was trying to hurt the bailiff?” She glanced up to see Mistress Eustacia’s expression.

“Aye, they do — that is, Maud thinks so. She was quite distraught, poor girl.” Mistress Eustacia shook her head, her hands on her plump hips.

“Perhaps it was only an accident.” Annabel stared down at the piece of pheasant. The last bite seemed to be stuck in her throat.

“’Twill be up to Sir Clement to decide. Come now, finish your morsel of supper and go tend to Lord Ranulf’s bandage. He should be nearly finished and waiting for you.”

She had forgotten about his bandage. She changed it every night. Why should tonight be any different? She must behave as though everything was normal.

But everything wasn’t normal. Besides the fact that Lord le Wyse was behaving strangely, how could she bear the presence of the coroner when the very thought of him made her hands tremble?

She couldn’t eat another bite. “Let me go to the well. I must wash my hands and get a drink.”

“Of course, child.”

As Annabel washed, she took several deep breaths and said a prayer. She tried to think of more words, but all her muddled brain could think to say was “God, help me. Help me.”

She willed one foot in front of the other all the way back to the upper hall, then opened the door and stepped inside. Most of the people were beginning to depart, the mood much more
quiet and somber than usual. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord le Wyse’s gaze lock onto her.

I forgot to get clean bandages and honey from the kitchen storeroom.
She clenched her teeth to keep from groaning. As she turned to go back out, Mistress Eustacia halted her.

“Where are you going? Lord le Wyse is waiting for you. I have the clean water ready.”

“I forgot the bandages and honey.”

“Oh, I have those all ready for you. Come.”

Annabel obeyed and followed. Her heart seemed to weigh as much as a horse and to take up almost as much room in her chest, forcing her to breathe harder with less intake of air.
Please let me not get dizzy again.
With God’s favor, perhaps Lord le Wyse and the coroner would ignore her, as they would a candle or a table or a stick of firewood, and let her work on the burns without engaging her in their conversation. Any other lord would treat her that way all the time. But Lord le Wyse wasn’t any other lord. Usually he was kind to her and treated her as if she had intelligence, as if she was more than just a servant.