Read To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Online

Authors: Sharan Newman

To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (5 page)

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

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She stopped her musing. De Barre was regarding her with a look half of amusement and half of surprise.

“Your wife has the stomach of a man,” he commented to Edgar.

“Actually, somewhat stronger,” Edgar said. “Except when she’s pregnant.”

Catherine made a face at him.

“Master Evrard.” A new thought struck her. “Did all the knights come here expressly by command or was the number of one hundred thirty simply those who happened to be here on the day of the convocation?”

“We put out a call for all in the area to meet here,” de Barre said. “Some will go back to the Holy Land with me now, and the others are to accompany the king and his army when it sets out later this month. The number was never exact. More may yet arrive.”

“So there could have been another who came to Paris but never reported to you,” Edgar said.

“Yes, of course.” De Barre shrugged. “But all of our men are known by someone. If a man were expected and didn’t appear, I would have been told.”

He thought a moment, and then his face creased in consternation.

“Here now!” he said. “That’s enough! I’m supposed to be questioning you!”

From her corner, Margaret stifled a giggle.

Catherine gave the master a look of wide-eyed innocence.

“But we know nothing, my lord,” she said. “I assumed you wanted our help.”

Even on short acquaintance, de Barre wasn’t deceived.

“My Lady Catherine.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t have considered it until a few moments ago. Now, I think it possible that you and your husband might well be able to assist.”

Edgar stood.

“I doubt that very much, my lord,” he said. “It was simply our misfortune to own the place where your knight was found. We’ve been gone for several months and are ignorant of events in Paris.”

The master had to look up a bit to meet Edgar’s eyes. The two men faced each other unblinking. Then de Barre smiled.

“Perhaps you should find out about them,” he said. “It would be only natural for you to ask about this incident. I’m sure you want to be cleared of all suspicion in the matter. You know how easily scandal erupts.”

They did. Edgar turned to Catherine. He could see how much she wanted to solve this dilemma. Her face was more alive than it had been since they had lost little Heloisa. That alone decided him.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll find out what we can and report to you. But we have a family whose safety is my responsibility.”

“I understand.” De Barre rang a bell hanging on a hook behind him. “I shall be gone soon, but this matter will be turned over to one of my most trusted men to investigate. I’ll send him to you when I’ve told him the situation. You may bring whatever you discover to him. Any action will be on his decision.”

The door behind them opened, and they realized that they had been dismissed. Once they were out in the street again, Catherine led her horse close to Edgar’s. She started to ask him something.

“Not here,” he answered. “When we’re home.”

He sank into consideration, turning over the matter in his mind, and said no more for the remainder of the way back.

At the preceptory, Master Evrard and the marshal were in council with the preceptor of the Paris house.

“Did you believe them?” The preceptor asked.

“Not entirely,” de Barre answered. “They’re an unusual family. I’ve been asking about them. The man came from Scotland to France to study and ended up marrying a merchant’s daughter whose mother came from a good family in Blois that has little left in the way of land. His family is somewhat more exalted than hers, but he’s the fifth son and unlikely to inherit.”

“That doesn’t seem unusual,” the Marshal commented. “Happens all the time when boys are far from home.”

“There’s more,” de Barre said. “Her father was in partnership for years with a Jew of Paris. There was some gossip about the strength of this Hubert’s faith, although he seems to have gone on a pilgrimage now and left all his effects to his daughter and her husband.”

“Seems?” the preceptor noted the stress on the word.

De Barre nodded.

“He returned just after the Nativity, they say. And, after arranging for the transfer of property to his children, he is said to have spent the rest of the time in the company of Jews.”

“To close out his business dealings with them?” the preceptor suggested.

“Perhaps,” de Barre said. “But perhaps there’s more to these people than first meets the eye. They could be just what they say, travelers who returned to an unpleasant occurrence, their house chosen because it was empty. However, I sense that, whoever this dead man was, he has some connection to Hubert LeVendeur and his family. If he was one of our brethren, then I want to know what that connection is.”

“So you want us to watch them,” the preceptor said.

“Not only that,” the master told him. “Encourage them to share information with you. Let them know as much as you think best of what you discover. If they’re honest, they might be of help. If they aren’t, then eventually they’ll stumble, and we’ll have them.”

Catherine was amazed at the work Samonie had managed to accomplish in the short time they’d been away. The floors that had been left bare were now strewn with rushes and herbs that masked the lingering scent of death. The kitchen had been scrubbed and the fire lit. In the
hall, tables and chairs had been set up, wall hangings brought out of the chests and hung. It was beginning to look like home again.

Nervously, Catherine looked up the stairs.

“I’ve done the sleeping chamber,” Samonie told her. “And Willa and some of her friends got the children’s floor ready. But we’ve none of us gone into that room. It gives me shudders.”

Catherine agreed, but she needed to see it once more before bucket, broom and blessing made it fit for use again.

As she entered the room, Catherine wondered if the men sent to fetch the body had heard the rumors of the treasure Hubert was supposed to have left behind. The counting room would have been the most likely place to store gold coins and jewels from the East.

Everything seemed undisturbed. Only the scuff marks on the floor showed that anyone had been in the room in months. Catherine knelt and opened the lock on the book cabinet. The large account book that her father had kept since before she was born was still there, wrapped in a silk cloth. Next to it were the few books she had managed to acquire: a psalter, Macrobius, Boethius’
Arithmetic.

At the bottom was the last present from her father, a copy of one of Master Abelard’s final works, a debate on religion between a philosopher and Christian and a Jew. The Christian had won, of course, but the others had been allowed fair and reasoned arguments for their beliefs. In hindsight, she now wondered if the gift had been a sign of Hubert’s intention to return to the faith of his fathers. Perhaps he had been trying to tell her for years of his decision, and she had simply not wanted to listen.

She shut the chest. No one had disturbed the books, thank the Virgin. She looked around. Nothing had been scrawled on the walls, no threat or symbol of evil. But there must be a reason the man had been left here. If the killer had only needed a place to hide the body, it might have been dumped in the hall or the woodshed. Why go to the trouble of unlocking a room and then carrying what must have been a bulky, heavy load all the way up the stairs?

Nothing in the small chamber gave her an answer. There was little more in it than the book cabinet, a table and chair and an inkpot
and pen box. The walls were bare of hangings. Because of the danger of fire they never even lit a candle in here. All work was done by the light from the window.

Catherine went to look out. From the window she could see over the wall and into the garden of their neighbors, a grain merchant and his family. She should go over and speak to them, although she didn’t know them well. Perhaps they had seen lights in the house in the past few weeks or noticed strangers.

Catherine sighed. If her father hadn’t been so protective of his secret, they might have known the neighbors better. Unusual activity would have been noted at once and a cry raised.

“Catherine!” Margaret’s voice was shrill with panic.

“What is it? I’m coming!” Catherine nearly tripped on her skirts in her hurry to get down the stairs.

“Are you hurt?” she asked as she reached the hall. “Margaret, what’s wrong?”

“He’s leaving tomorrow, Catherine,” Margaret wailed. “For Saint-Florentin, and then back to Troyes. We have to reach him today! Catherine, what shall we do?”

“Count Thibault?” Catherine asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Edgar had it from one of the merchants.” Margaret started to cry. “I can’t miss him, now that I know who he is. Please, help me.”

“Oh, Margaret,” Catherine tried to think. “We have nothing proper to wear. None of the boxes has been unpacked. We don’t even know where he’s staying or if he’ll see us.”

“We have to try, don’t we?”

Looking at Margaret’s tear-streaked cheeks, one rivulet running down the scar that had so horrified Marie, Catherine knew that they did.

“Very well,” she said. “Where is your brother now?”

“He went out again, something about the water merchants, he said,” Margaret told her.

“You know how angry he was last year when we went to see the countess without his knowledge,” Catherine reminded her.

“But we can’t wait for him to get back,” Margaret pleaded. “You know how he is; he’ll see a group of men building a house and stand and watch them for hours, forgetting everything else.”

Catherine knew.

“Wait a moment,” she said, calling to the housekeeper. “Samonie! Can you send Martin to find out where the count of Champagne is staying and then take a message to him that his granddaughter would like to meet him?”

She turned back to Margaret.

“We’ll have to wash and see what we can find to wear that’s remotely respectable. I wish the jewel box weren’t still at Saint Denis. And, if Edgar comes back before Martin returns, then we must tell him where we’re going. Is that understood?”

Margaret wiped her eyes and gave Catherine a joyous smile and a hug. “Yes, I’m sure he won’t try to stop me. His pride isn’t that cruel.”

Catherine knew the strength of Edgar’s pride. Secretly she hoped they would be gone before he returned.

Thibault, count of Champagne and Blois, had been a ruler for nearly forty of his fifty-eight years. His land was five times as extensive as that governed by the king. Although, as a grandson of William the Conqueror, he could have also claimed the throne of England after the death of Henry I, he was happy to relinquish it to his younger brother, Stephen. Seeing what a mess that had become, he’d never regretted it.

In his youth he’d been somewhat profligate, causing his mother worry; but the loss of so many of his kindred in the tragedy of the White Ship had abruptly sobered him. For a time he had wanted to enter the monastery of his friend, Bernard of Clairvaux, but he had been counseled to take up his duties as a secular lord. His marriage to Mahaut of Carinthia had been happy. But he had never forgotten the child of his first love.

When Martin arrived with his message, the count was busy with representatives from Saint-Florentin, who were trying to convince him that a local lord had been dishonest with them.

“I shall decide the matter when I hear both sides,” Thibault told them. “And not before.”

He noticed Martin.

“Yes, boy. What do you want?” he shouted.

Martin opened his mouth but was too scared to speak. With an effort, he pushed the words out.

“My lord Count, my mistress, Catherine, daughter of Hubert LeVendeur and her sister-in-law, Lady Margaret of Wedderlie, would like permission to see you later this afternoon.”

Thibault’s eyes lit. Mahaut had told him of the girl’s visit the previous year.

“Bring them at once!” he ordered. “The rest of you, go away. I don’t want to hear any more until the trial.”

So, hastily washed and combed and still in their travel garments, Catherine and Margaret appeared shortly thereafter before one of the most powerful men in the land.

He was standing in a small anteroom, quite alone. The servant who admitted them left at once, drawing the curtain behind him.

For a moment, Margaret hung back. He was so much larger and more vital than she had imagined. Not much older than Catherine’s father and straighter, as a lord should be. Mastery radiated from him. His back was to the light so that she couldn’t make out his face.

As she moved toward him, the sun fell on her face and she heard his gasp. Was it the deep red scar across her cheek? She knelt before him, raising her clasped hands.

“My lord Count,” she whispered.

He stepped forward and put a hand beneath her chin, tilting it up. He smiled.

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

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