Chains of Folly (11 page)

“Would any of you gentlemen know Sir Linley of Godalming by chance? I know he serves the earl of Surrey and your badges say you do also.”

“What do you want Linley for?” the man to the right of the dark man asked. He was younger, brown-haired and blue eyed, scowling now, but otherwise pleasant looking.

“His whore was killed on Thursday and, for my sins, I am bidden ask him if he knew any reason for anyone to kill her.”

A chorus of voices. “Nelda? Nelda is dead? Where? When? How?” Shock was written on every face. Bell would swear that none of the men had known of the whore’s death before he announced it. So Linley either did not know before this morning or had kept the secret very well. Bell confirmed the death without details and asked again for Linley.

“You mean Linley is suspect?” The third man at the table frowned, knitting pale blond brows.

Bell shrugged. “She was his woman. He knew her best. And nine times out of ten it is the closest to the dead who make them that way.”

The dark man shook his head, “Not Linley. He had no reason to harm Nelda.” He then waved toward an empty chair and added, “Sit, if you will. I am Sir Filbert. I’ve known Linley for years and he is not violent toward women.”

The blond snickered. “He’s not violent toward anyone.”

Sir Filbert scowled at the blond. “Besides, Linley and Nelda got along very well.”

“He certainly wasn’t jealous of her,” the blond said, his lips pursed as if he tasted something unpleasant. “He owed me a small sum and offered her favors as payment. I told him I would rather wait for the money.”

“Well, what you both say is interesting,” Bell said, “because someone beat Nelda severely several days before she died. Oh, my name is Bellamy of Itchen.”

“Not Linley,” Filbert repeated. “In all the years she has lived in his house, he never laid a hand on her. I used her once or twice when Linley was away. He had suggested that I visit her to see if all was well. I think he genuinely liked her…but there was no heat between them. Anyway, I do not understand why you have been ordered to examine the death of a whore—they die all the time in the stews.”

Bell raised his hands and shoulders in a gesture of helplessness—implying that he was a man following orders he did not understand.

Filbert also shrugged. “If your master really desires an answer, I would look for whoever it was who beat her.”

Bell nodded. “Well, that is one of the reasons I would like to speak to Sir Linley. It may be that he can tell me who would be likely to mistreat Nelda.”

The brown-haired, fresh-faced man laughed. “You can find him readily enough by stopping at the mercery of Rhyton of Guildford. His place is in the East Chepe—”

“Bereton, why can you not keep your mouth closed?” Sir Filbert snapped. “Linley will not be best pleased to have a sheriffs officer inquiring about his dead whore at Master Rhyton’s house when Rhyton has just agreed to permit Linley to be betrothed to his daughter.”

“And heiress,” the blond said, and lifted his pale brows at the man called Bereton. “Looking to slip into Linley’s place? Rhyton won’t have you. Linley will be lord of Godalming when his father dies and Rhyton wants a baron, not a penniless knight.”

“Hmmm.” Bell did not correct Filbert’s mistake in thinking him the sheriff’s officer. He preferred to keep the bishop out of any discussion of Nelda’s death. “About to be betrothed, is he? Perhaps being rid of Nelda was one of the conditions?”

All three men looked at him as if he had grown a second head, and the blond, despite the fact that he obviously did not like Sir Linley, was the one who asked a surprised, “Why should Master Rhyton care about Nelda?”

“That could not be a reason,” Filbert said. “Linley did not pay her, beyond letting her live in the rooms above the rag shop. Surely you do not think the rich mercer would care so long as Nelda cost nothing or that his daughter would be jealous? And even if she were, all Linley would need to do was tell Nelda to go.”

“Sometimes it is not that easy,” Bell remarked. “Nelda might not have been willing to be put aside.”

“Wait, wait,” Bereton said. “When did you say that Nelda died?”

“On Thursday,” Bell replied.

“Then Linley had nothing to do with it,” Filbert said with satisfaction, nodding and smiling at Bereton. “He was at Rhyton’s house on Thursday. He went mid-morning, stayed for dinner and most of the afternoon and evening. He and the mercer were working out the details of the betrothal agreement. Then Linley came here to the Cask of Wine to finish celebrating. Plenty of men saw him and so did Mistress Pechet.” He nodded toward the woman who served the wine.

Bell frowned, seeing the easy solution to Nelda’s death disappearing. “Are you sure? Were you here? And how do you know that he did not go to his house in Southwark after he celebrated here?”

Filbert laughed. “Because he was dead drunk, and I mean
dead
drunk. I was not here while he was drinking. Thursday was a duty night for me, but Bereton and Radley had to carry him to Surrey’s lodging because neither of them knew where he lived and he was too drunk to tell them. He lay there until morning, when I was able to rouse him and get him home.”

“I would have left him,” Bereton said. “I told him that he had had enough, but he said he was toasting his lady’s fortune. Then he fell across the table and started to snore. Mistress Pechet wanted him out of the house before he began to spew.”

Radley laughed aloud. “She even lent us a barrow to carry him to Surrey’s lodging. That will make a tale to be spread among Mandeville’s men. The gate guards saw us bringing him in.”

Bell grimaced. “All I wanted was to know where Linley was, and I find my best suspect declared innocent. I hope you will all forgive me if I confirm your tale with Mistress Pechet, who might have less interest in protecting Linley.”

The chorus of “Go ahead” and “Please do” and “Be my guest” only confirmed to Bell that the men were speaking the truth. Nonetheless he carried his half-full wine cup to the back of the room. When Mistress Pechet reached for it, Bell put his hand over the mouth of the cup but drew a penny from his purse. He held it in his hand without proffering it.

“I have some questions to ask you about Thursday. You were here, were you not?”

“I am always here. But I sell wine, not information.”

“This will harm no one and I could ask it of any of the men here. Do you know Linley of Godalming?”

The woman snorted a laugh. “Didn’t know him except as one of the men who drink here until Thursday. You want to know if he was here that night? Damn near emptied a half-barrel by hisself. And he wasn’t walking altogether steady when he came in, either. Already drunk. Wouldn’t have served him, but there was sign on him that he’d spewed already, so I didn’t send my man to push him out.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No more than that he wanted a whole flagon. I thought a bit about giving it to him, but he had the silver in his hand and I figured the worst he could do was bring back the wine. He’d clearly emptied his belly before he came in.”

“Do you know when he came in?”

She shrugged. “It was dark. Can’t say better nor that.”

“Nothing else?” Bell lifted the penny suggestively.

The woman shook her head. “Unless you count when he joined a couple of his friends, he raised his cup and said, too loud—you know how drunks are—that he drank to Claresta and her dear papa, Rhyton.”

Bell sighed and handed over the penny. Nothing was ever easy. Unless Mistress Pechet had truly remarkable hearing, she could not have overheard what Linley’s companions had told him, yet she had given almost identical evidence. Her testimony as confirmation of that from Linley’s fellow officers must clear him.

Leaving the half-filled cup—the wine was nothing to rave about—Bell started for the door. He would have to go and tell Magdalene that their principal suspect could not have committed the crime. For some reason that did not make Bell feel at all discouraged. At the door he paused to look at the sun. It was near setting. If he took his time riding back, he should reach Magdalene’s house after the second set of clients was gone… He hesitated and then shook his head. It was Sunday; there would be no clients. Involuntarily, Bell smiled. He would arrive just about the time they ate their evening meal.

“You.” A finger poked his back so hard that Bell staggered a step forward; he whirled around, his hand on his knife. “Did you say that Linley’s woman Nelda was dead?”

Bell looked up and up farther—a most unusual situation because he was very tall compared with most men. This one was almost double his width too. His clothing was not as fine as that of the knights and bore a few more stains and smudges. Bell saw the man glance with little concern at his hand on his knife. He would be a master-at-arms. Bell guessed, and the badge on his shoulder was Mandeville’s.

“Yes,” Bell said neutrally, “Nelda is dead.”

“Deserved it, the thieving bitch,” the giant said, and pushed past Bell into the street.

“What with Linley cleared of Nelda’s death, I suppose I should have tried to stop the man,” Bell said to the women at the table, who were listening intently, when he reached that point in describing his afternoon’s activity.

“That would not be nice if he wanted to leave or was, perhaps, in a hurry.” Ella’s round eyes were worried.

“No, Ella is quite correct,” Magdalene said, controlling twitching lips with an effort. “It is much better that you did not. Likely he would have struck out at you, you would have responded in kind, and either you would have been responsible for causing a riot or having a dead witness.”

Bell laughed. “I thought much the same and that since he is Mandeville’s man, he will be easy enough to identify. And if I speak to his captain first and the captain bids him answer my questions we will not come to blows over it.”

“I do not remember seeing such a person while I lived with Nelda,” Diot put in, pulling a platter of sweet and savory tidbits toward her.

“A new client, I suppose, and sharper or more suspicious than others,” Magdalene nodded.

“New clients need special care,” Ella said with great seriousness, also nodding agreement. “But why should this man want to hit you for just asking a question?”

Bell looked appealingly at Magdalene. It was Sunday night and none of the women had clients coming to keep them busy. They were all sitting around the table, completely at ease, picking at the remains of a very satisfying evening meal. Bell was full and content, but he had more to discuss with Magdalene and since he would not share her bed, he had to talk to her here.

He was fond of Ella, but her presence made it very difficult to explain what he had learned about Nelda’s death. He knew he would slip and mention killing or murder and Ella would be terrified and require extensive soothing.

“Some men are like that,” Magdalene said quickly in response to Bell’s look of appeal. “You do not need to worry about it, Ella. We do not allow such men to come here. Tom Watchman does not let them in.”

Ella’s fair brows knitted. “It would be better if Bell stayed. I do not think Tom Watchman is strong enough or brave enough, although he is a nice man.”

Letice touched Ella’s arm, pointed to Bell, and then showed her fingers rushing here and there around the table. Then she touched Ella again and gestured for her to come.

“Letice says that Bell is very, very busy right now,” Magdalene interpreted. “That is true, and he must stay near the bishop, who is in danger and may need him. You know Bell’s first duty is to the bishop. And Letice would like you to go with her, my love. I think she has some mending that is too difficult for her. You will do it, will you not?”

“Oh, of course,” Ella said, smiling at Letice and getting up at once. “I love to mend Letice’s things. The cloth is so smooth and so beautiful. It calls for my smallest stitches.”

A silence followed until Letice’s door had closed, then Diot said, “Letice will keep her busy. She came back with a new gown but—” Diot laughed. “—it would have fit two of
me.
You can imagine what it looked like against Letice. Hmmm. Ella is very clever about stitching. Perhaps she can fit it to Letice so that another gown can be salvaged from the extra. I think I will join Ella and Letice.”

After she stood up, she added, “If there is anything you think I can add about Nelda’s death, you can tell me later.”

When she had disappeared into Letice’s chamber, Bell shrugged. “Now that the shock is over, she doesn’t care even though she knew Nelda well.” He hesitated, looking into Magdalene’s misty-sky eyes. “You care,” he said.

Magdalene’s lips thinned. “Because she was a whore. Because if she had not been carrying Gloucester’s letter, if she had not been used to embarrass the bishop, no one else would have cared. Because when you no longer need her body, it will be cast into some pit somewhere—”

“No, Nelda has escaped that. She is decently buried…not in the church, of course, but right beside it. I almost forgot to tell you that, and it may be important. The man whose crucifix she had among her stolen trinkets paid for her burial…and took away the clothes she had been wearing.”

“Who?”

Bell hesitated and then said, “Father Holdyn, the episcopal vicar of London.”

For a moment, Magdalene did not react, then she said, “That is for you and the bishop to sort out. He has never been in this house. I can swear to that. If you wish, I can ask about him…”

“No. At least not until Winchester has spoken to him tomorrow. Interestingly, Holdyn is also a very big man, and strong, too. He does not spare himself in the building and repair of churches in London.” Bell slowly shook his head. “That a man like Holdyn should slip with a woman like Nelda…yes, it could happen and she could steal his crucifix and he not notice until later. But that he should kill her to save confessing a sin and then put the body in the bishop’s bedchamber… I cannot believe it. He does not admire Winchester, but—”

Magdalene put a hand on his arm. “Do not condemn the man before you hear him. I guess from your being so troubled about him that he is a good man. There are other ways Nelda could have got his crucifix and other reasons for his burying her than that he murdered her. Come back to the more likely suspect. About this other man?”