To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (32 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“What did these people do to you?” he asked Jehan.
The knife was flung across the room, ripping the thin wall hanging and landing on the floor with a clang.
“They stole everything I had,” Jehan said. “Even hope. They have taken my life and twisted it like a wet cloth until every drop of happiness was wrung from it. I have nothing left.”
“
If
that is so, they must be truly as evil as you say,” Lambert said gently. “No wonder you hate them.”
 
Clemence was finding life in Paris a revelation. At home everyone knew she was the castellan’s daughter, but they treated her more as a much loved pet than a noblewoman. Here she felt one place removed from the queen. Bodille and her husband were eager to please her, sending out for meat dishes and elegant pastries that she never got at home.
The room she was given had been swept thoroughly before the
bedding and other furniture Catherine had loaned her was brought in, but Clemence still found herself sneezing all the time from the wisps of felt that permeated the air in and around the house. She couldn’t understand why no one else seemed to notice it.
“I hope you haven’t taken cold, my lady,” Bodille said when she brought Clemence’s midday meal. “It’s all these foreign—” She stopped in mid-sentence. “Well, some broth will help, I’m sure. There’s good local wine in it, and I sprinkled it with mint and rue.”
Clemence thanked her. “Oh, yes,” she added. “Is there anyone who can take a message to Catherine LeVendeur and wait for a reply?”
“Of course,” Bodille said. “Willa can go. She’d probably like a chance to see her mother.”
But when Clemence asked for a tablet and stylus, she was greeted with a blank stare.
“We have no such things. Can’t you just tell her the message?” Bodille asked. “Willa can remember whatever you want to say.”
So Willa was summoned and Clemence explained to her that she wanted to be allowed to visit Catherine that afternoon if it was quite convenient.
“She may be going to a meeting at one of her neighbor’s houses,” Willa said. “The wives of the merchants want to form an alms society for the poor of the parish. Catherine said something about having to go.”
“Perhaps you could deliver my message and find out for me,” Clemence answered. “Tell her I would like to speak with her.”
“If they’d found your husband, they’d have told you,” Willa coughed deeply, covering her mouth. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Thank you.” Clemence said. “I don’t doubt it. But I would still like to speak with Catherine.”
Willa shrugged. She’d done her best.
“I shouldn’t be long,” she said.
Clemence was wondering if she’d ever get started.
It was only a little while though, before Willa returned with a note from Catherine inviting her to dine with them that evening.
“She told me she’s got to go to the blasted meeting or the other
ladies will gossip about her, but she’d much rather have spent the afternoon with you,” Willa added. “My brother, Martin, and Lord Edgar will come to escort you after Vespers.”
Clemence wondered how much of Catherine’s message had been intended to be repeated. Nevertheless, she thanked Willa again and went to work making the few pieces of clothing she had brought with her into something appropriate for a dinner.
 
“Chaim, don’t be so glum,” Abraham told Hubert. “You’re lucky to find a party going south in the spring, instead of north to the fairs.”
“Thank you, Abraham,” Hubert replied listlessly. “It will be good to get back to Arles, where I belong.”
Abraham refused to pity him. “If I can’t be in Eretz Israel, I’d be happy living in the south, with fresh olives, mild winters and dozens of scholars to learn from.”
“Yes, I know.”
Abraham sat across from him. “Chaim, stop this. Your children are all well. You have grandsons. You’ve lived to see them. A man can’t ask for more.”
Hubert bent his head. “I know. It was my choice. Now I regret that none of my grandsons will ever make the covenant of Abraham.”
“You don’t know that,” Abraham answered. “Perhaps it will happen when the Messiah comes. Then men will fight for the chance to become Jews.”
That made Hubert laugh, despite himself.
“That’s better,” Rebecca said. She had come in while they were talking. “Edgar and Solomon are here to see you.”
One look at their faces sent Hubert’s mood back to gloom.
“Hubert, what was written in your accounts book?” Edgar surprised him by asking.
“Accounts, of course,” he told them, bewildered.
“Then why was there so much in Hebrew?” Edgar went on.
“I’ve tried to explain it to him,” Solomon added.
“It’s an old practice,” Hubert said. “Even my Christian stepfather used it. He learned it from my father. The letters stand for numbers.
They indicate the price we paid as opposed to the selling price. That’s all.”
Edgar glanced at Solomon, who nodded.
“And there are no prayers or incantations to take advantage of competitors?” he asked.
“I wish I’d known some,” Hubert said. “I’d be a richer man today. Now what’s this all about?”
They told him.
“But no one could have got into the house and the counting room,” Hubert said. “Unless someone helped them.”
“I know,” Edgar said. “Catherine would almost prefer to believe that evil spirits stalk the house. Only Samonie or Martin could have let the thief in.”
“But why would they betray you after so many years?” Hubert was incredulous.
“I don’t know,” Edgar answered. “Catherine made me promise to ask you before I questioned Samonie, in case you had given a key to someone else.”
“No, only Catherine and I have had keys since Agnes left to live with my wife’s father,” Hubert answered.
“Did she leave hers with you?”
Hubert thought. “I think so. I don’t remember. You don’t think she would have given it to Jehan?”
“Or he might have found the key and copied it,” Solomon said.
“I’d prefer that to thinking that our servants were plotting against us,” Edgar said. “But I’ll still have to ask Samonie about it. If nothing else, she should have heard someone enter.”
“Be careful not to accuse her unless you have proof,” Hubert said. “Samonie knows far too much about us.”
The tightening of Edgar’s jaw told Hubert that he already knew this.
“Yes, I know,” Hubert concluded. “My fault again.”
Abraham had been pretending not to listen to this exchange. Now he had to add his opinion.
“What if the thief were hunting for the Torah, not the accounts
book?” he suggested. “Then, if he tried to use it to denounce the family, he’d look like a fool, as well as a housebreaker.”
“I think that finding Jehan would answer all our questions,” Solomon said. “Everything we’ve discovered so far leads back to him. We know he’s a blustering lunatic. How hard could he be to find?”
“Catherine already saw him,” Edgar told them. “For a wonder this time she didn’t confront him alone. You may be right. I don’t care if the man is a pilgrim festooned with crosses. He has to be stopped.”
The city bells began ringing as he spoke, almost to emphasize his vow.
Solomon nudged him. “Edgar, shouldn’t you be going?”
“Damn,” Edgar said. “Yes, I’m supposed to meet Martin at the felt maker’s and see that the girl from Picardy makes it safely to our house for dinner. As if there weren’t enough going on.”
 
Edgar and Martin appeared at the appointed time. Edgar’s eyebrows rose at the change Clemence had wrought in herself, but when he saw her slippers he frowned.
“Catherine didn’t think we needed to order a chair for you,” he explained, “But you can’t walk through the streets in those.”
Bodille offered a pair of her own clogs, but Edgar decided that it would be better to wait while Martin fetched a chair and bearers.
So it was that, as Lambert was crossing the bridge to walk up to Montmartre in his quest for Clemence, he had to wait while some fine lady was carried across in a sedan chair. The curtain was lowered, so he never even saw her face.
Paris, Tuesday evening, 6 kalends June (May 27), 1147; 26 Sivan, 4907. Rogation day, Commemoration of the death of Saint Frederick, bishop of Liege, 1121, believed to have been poisoned by the count of Louvain for the offense of being unbribable.
 
Et hoc est principale religionis nostrae, ut credeat non solum animas non perire, sed ipsa quoque corpora, quae mortis adventus resolverat, in statum pristinum furtura de beatitudine reparari.
 
And this is essential to our religion that one believes that not only does the soul not die but that the very bodies, which the coming of death had released, are returned to their pristine condition in the blessed state to come.
 
—Boethius
“On the Catholic Faith”
 
 
“
W
elcome, Clemence,” Catherine greeted her in the courtyard as the bearers set down her chair. “Thank you for coming. We plan a quiet dinner tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I shall enjoy it,” Clemence replied. “Your kindness is already more than I can repay.”
Catherine made all the proper responses to this and took Clemence into the hall, where the table had been laid and chairs set for four.
First Catherine took Clemence to a side table where the soap pitcher and water had been set out for them, with towels Catherine had embroidered herself back at the convent.
They all stood for the blessing and then sat, while Martin brought in the bread and a fresh fish stuffed with dried fruit and covered in a cinnamon sauce. After it had been admired, he took it back to the kitchen for Samonie to cut up into manageable pieces. Catherine poured the wine. Margaret passed the cup to Clemence.
“Should I?” she asked. “It is a fast day.”
“That’s why we’re having fish,” Catherine said. “But if you prefer water, I’ll get you another cup.”
“No, this is mixed well enough,” Clemence said. She didn’t wish to appear ignorant of the customs of Paris.
They ate and chatted quietly about things calming to the digestion.
After all the pleasantries custom demanded, Clemence finally could stand it no longer.
“Have you learned anything about where Lambert is, or my father?” she asked.
“We may have located the man Lambert is staying with,” Edgar told her. “And we did leave messages for him at all the places I promised. I’m sure you’ll be together soon.”
“And then what will you do, when you find your husband?” Margaret asked. “It appears that your father may already have left to join the pilgrims.”
“I suppose we shall have to return home,” Clemence admitted. “And pray that Lord Jordan will respect Father’s wish that I hold the castellany with Lambert to manage it until we have a son who’s of age.”
“It’s not unheard of,” Catherine said. “Would Lord Jordan be so perverse as to deny the desire of one who has gone to serve God?”
Clemence smiled. “I think he would. And you must admit, that’s not unheard of, either.”
“Perhaps you could get the king to grant you the castellany before he leaves?” Margaret suggested.
“Louis has little power in Picardy,” Edgar said. “Even though he’s supposed to be overlord there.”
But Catherine thought it a good idea. “If not the king, then why not the pope or the bishop of Amiens? There are so many important people in Paris now. One of them should have some influence with this Jordan.”
“And how am I to be given a chance to petition Pope Eugenius?” Clemence asked.
Catherine and Edgar looked at each other, then at Margaret.
“I think we could find someone who will speak on your behalf,” Catherine said.
Clemence suddenly remembered who these people were and why she should be more wary of them. They seemed so natural that it was easy to become complacent. She decided that it was time to confront them.
As casually as she could manage, Clemence took out the knife that had been her mother’s.
“Oh, is the bread too tough?” Catherine asked. “I’ll send it back and get you something else.”
“No, not at all,” Clemence said. “Just a piece that’s a bit hard to tear. I can use this for it.”
She held up the knife. The other three smiled and went on with their meal.
Disappointed, Clemence tried again.
“This was carved in our village.” She held it closer for them to inspect. “A matching pair for my parents.”
“Nice workmanship,” Edgar commented.
Clemence was confused. If Lambert’s friend, Jehan, were right, they should all have started guiltily. Were they conscienceless or, might they possibly be innocent?
“Hmm …” Edgar said. “That looks familiar. May I see it?”
He wiped his hand on the napkin and took the knife from Clemence, holding it up to the light.
“You know,” he said, “this looks just like that one that the intruder dropped right after we got here. Remember, Catherine?”
He handed it to her.
“Yes, how very strange,” Catherine said. “When Samonie comes in again, I’ll ask her what she did with it.”
“You admit you have my father’s knife?” Clemence was incredulous.
“We’ll have to compare them to be sure,” Edgar said. “It’s your father’s? Did you already know we had found it? Why didn’t you say something before?”
“I … well … I … tried,” Clemence said. She took a breath. “Lambert and I saw it when we came to the house the first time.”
“Is that why you ran out?” Margaret asked. “Did you think we’d stolen it?”
“No! I mean, Father was missing,” Clemence said. “And there it was.”
Catherine got up and went over to her.
“You poor brave girl.” She hugged her. “Now don’t tell her again that she’s been foolish, Edgar. If she’d been a man, you’d expect her to try to find out how we came by this.”
“But if it was left here by a stranger, then my only hope of finding my father is gone.” Clemence’s lips trembled. Catherine handed her a clean napkin.
“I don’t suppose we could assume that it was Lord Osto who was our thief?” Edgar said.
“Of course not!” Clemence was aghast. “My father would never behave like a common cutpurse.”
No one wanted to utter what they all were thinking. That the intruder had taken the knife from Lord Osto and killed him.
“The knight in the counting room wasn’t bald,” Catherine said.
“Father has been as long as I can remember,” Clemence said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s still alive. I think it’s time I accepted that.”
Catherine knelt next to her and spoke to her as if she were Edana.
“You mustn’t say that,
ma douz.
All we have in this life is faith, and we must hold to it as long as we can. We’ll all pray for Lambert’s return and your father’s safety. Until then, you mustn’t despair.”
To her astonishment, Clemence threw herself into Catherine’s arms sobbing hysterically.
Catherine held and rocked her while Edgar and Margaret gathered around, patting her now and then in sympathy.
“There now,” Edgar said uncomfortably. “It will be fine. There’s no need for all this.”
“She’s just lost her mother and can’t find her father,” Margaret told Edgar. “She’s alone and frightened. I think she should cry all she wants.”
The noise brought Samonie from the kitchen, followed by James and Edana, who had been ordered to stay out of sight for the evening.
“Mama! What’s wrong?” Edana tried to displace Clemence in Catherine’s lap.
“Edana, go to your father,” Catherine said sternly.
Clemence lifted her head. “No,” she gulped. “I’m sorry, Edana. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Edana wiped her grubby hands on Clemence’s cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” she said. “My papa will make it better.”
Edgar rolled his eyes.
“Thank you, Edana” he said. “Now go back to the kitchen with Samonie and wash your hands.”
Catherine mopped up the tears and grime from Clemence’s face.
“I don’t think it’s as hopeless as you fear,” she said. “Samonie, when you’ve taken care of Edana, could you bring that knife we found on the floor when Astrolabe scared off the robber?”
“First we’ll compare them, to be sure,” she told Clemence. “But then, I think we’re going to have to ask Samonie a few questions. One person getting into the house at night is possible, but the way we’ve been invaded, it could only be if someone was leaving the door unlocked for them.”
 
Samonie stood before the four of them, ranged at the table like judges.
“I was never gone long,” she said. “And I would never have left at all if I’d known someone was watching for a chance to get in.”
“But why didn’t you simply tell me,” Catherine protested. “I would have given you leave to see your … uh … friend.”
“I had good reason,” Samonie insisted. “But I am truly sorry that my stupidity put you in danger.”
Now she faced Edgar. “I thought the guards would be enough, but someone must have got past them.” She knelt before him. “I swear I didn’t know. I owe you everything. I would gladly die to protect you all. Please don’t turn me out!”
“And the knife?” Edgar asked. “You had no idea it came from this girl’s father?”
“Her father?” Samonie stared at Clemence. She seemed taken aback by the news. “I don’t see … no, why would he have come …”
She turned back to Edgar.
“No,” she said. “Why would I have thought a lord would break into our house?”
“Samonie, you know more about this than you’re telling us, don’t you?” Catherine asked.
“No,” Samonie answered too quickly. “There’s always such a jumble of people visiting you that it’s no wonder I become confused. It was terribly wrong of me to leave the house unprotected just because
I wanted to sneak out to see my lover. I’ll take any punishment you set, only don’t blame Martin. He knows nothing.”
Catherine started to speak, but Edgar held up his hand.
“I’m not satisfied with your answer,” he said. “But I’m not going to turn you out. Not yet. Catherine and I will discuss the matter. Clemence should have a say, as well, since by your silence you’re keeping her from finding out the truth about her father.”
“He’s not the one!” Samonie blurted.
“One what?” Clemence asked.
“The man I’ve been seeing,” Samonie said.
“Oh,” Clemence said. “Of course not.”
“We didn’t think it was,” Edgar said. “Samonie, why won’t you tell us the truth? Can’t you see how worried Lady Clemence is?”
“I can’t tell her anything,” Samonie said. “Please, do what you will, but stop badgering me about her father. I don’t know how his knife came to be in our house. Ask Master Hubert, Mistress. He’s the one who would know.”
She stood, untied her apron and threw it on the table.
“I’m going to Willa’s,” she announced. “If you want to have me charged with burglary, you’ll find me there.”
“Samonie!” Catherine shouted.
“Let her go,” Edgar said. “That’s where Clemence is staying, after all. Samonie isn’t thinking clearly. Perhaps none of us is.”
He laughed without humor.
“I suppose I might as well take you back, if Samonie is going that way. Or would you rather stay here?”
Clemence stared at them.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “My mind is all in disorder. Do you think that woman knows my father?”
“Not carnally, I’m sure,” Catherine said. “She was too adamant for me to doubt her. But she may well have met him, if not recently, then when he came to see my father on earlier visits. I can’t understand why she won’t tell us. What is she afraid of?”
“I don’t know, Catherine,” Edgar said. “But, until we can come to some sort of understanding in the matter, you and I will have to see
that our children are tucked in for the night. Samonie is far too upset. Margaret, will you see to Clemence?”
“I don’t mind helping,” Clemence spoke up. “I like children.”
“Thank you,” Catherine said absently. “Edgar, I think you should be sure Samonie does go to Willa’s. And stays there.”
Edgar thought about this, then nodded. “You may be right. I’ll get Solomon on the way. He’s had too many good nights’ sleep lately.”
 
“I don’t need a guard,” Samonie said indignantly, when Edgar proposed to go with her.
“I know that,” he answered. “We still trust you.”
“Master, I beg you.” She sighed. “I mean no harm to any of you, I swear on the bear-chewed bones of Saint Perpetua. I would slit my own throat before I let anyone hurt you.”

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