Chains of Folly (32 page)

“It is even more ridiculous when you consider that your death or hurt were
not
intended. I do believe what Gehard told me. He was particularly angry that I had interfered in the attack because, he felt, it was unnecessary. You would have been safe and free within hours.”

“So there is no reason to suspect Father Holdyn.”

Bell shrugged. “There may be reasons that logic has not presented to me, but there is another that would spring to any man’s mind. If Father Holdyn was obsessed by Nelda and learned that Gehard killed her, he could have desired revenge for her death.” Bell sighed. “I do not believe it, but when I said that Father Holdyn could not have been the man who bought the poison, he being a very large and strong man and not likely to wear a sword, Magdalene also pointed out that he could walk into any hospital or infirmary and take what he wanted without question.”

“Magdalene,” Winchester said coldly, “is sometimes far too imaginative.”

“I agree,” Bell said dryly, “but every time I try to dismiss the idea as utterly out of the question, I remember that Nelda stole from Father Holdyn more than once and he never told his servants to hold her or punish her. And I remember, too, that he arranged for her swift burial in as near to consecrated ground as possible and got rid of her clothes. And when you asked if he knew her…it was a long, long moment before he answered that he did not.”

“Why should he hesitate over a lie if he had already committed murder?” Winchester snapped.

“I do not believe that Father Holdyn committed murder.” Bell was silent a moment and then grimaced. “I do not like Father Holdyn, my lord, but that is because he is so truly a good man that he shows me my black spots and blemishes. Only my head keeps telling my heart that I must know why he lied about Nelda. I will not raise the question again, my lord, if you forbid me, but it nags at me.”

There was a long silence while Winchester stared at nothing. “If he is guilty, I will have lost my right hand in administering London,” he snarled at Bell, and then, “It will nag at me, too, and poison every moment that he and I must work together. Go and get him, Bell, and bring him back here. I will ask and make sure that he answers.”

When Bell arrived at the bishop of London’s palace, he had ample opportunity to understand why Winchester said he would lose his right hand if Father Holdyn was guilty of any crime. He waited patiently for the spate of clerks and petitioners to abate, standing aside and listening to the dispositions the priest made. Bell had to acknowledge that every decision was fair, perhaps a little harsher in penance than the bishop’s judgment, Bell thought, but just.

Bell noted with some dismay, however, that Father Holdyn did not look well. His face was drawn and dark bruises showed under his eyes. At last, as those demanding his attention were satisfied, the priest looked around and noticed Bell. His face became more haggard, but he rose from his seat.

“I am summoned by the bishop?”

“Yes, father.”

“Very well, I am ready.” Holdyn turned to his chief clerk. “I am not sure when I will return. Either I or the bishop will send you word.”

Bell’s heart sank. Holdyn sounded as if he expected to be stripped of his rank and duties. Winchester would be fit to be tied and his own duties would be increased. He found, too, that his spirit was sorely oppressed. If a man like Father Holdyn could commit murder it seemed to Bell there was very little hope for anyone.

Not knowing whether Father Holdyn had a mount. Bell had walked. The return, south from the bishop of London’s palace to Thames Street and then east to the bridge, was conducted in silence. Twice Bell saw Father Holdyn’s hand rise to his chest as if he were seeking his crucifix for comfort and then drop away.

It was a relief to fight the crowd on the bridge; it made the silence between them less palpable. Once free of the bridge, Bell did not need to moderate his stride to suit his companion, who was as tall as he. They almost galloped past the Old Priory Guesthouse and along the wall of the priory until they came to the gate of Winchester’s house.

Phillipe waved Bell and Father Holdyn past him as soon as they approached. Winchester was waiting in the area partitioned off from the main hall rather than in the more intimate chamber above. He had a number of documents open on the table in front of him, but the clerk farther down the table was sitting idle, his hands loosely clasped as if he had been idle for some time. He gathered up his quills and ink without surprise at Winchester’s gesture and left, as he passed raising a brow at Bell, who had stopped near the door. When the clerk was gone, Bell closed the door and then moved along the wall until he could see Holdyn’s face. There he stopped and leaned against the wall.

Winchester wasted no time. Pointing at a stool across from him he said, “Sit, Holdyn, and explain to me why you lied to your bishop about the woman Nelda.”

“I did not lie.”

Holdyn’s voice, which could fill a church, was barely audible. Bell was quite certain of what he said, although he heard it as a faint murmur, not really distinguishable as words. He knew from the expression on the bishop’s face as he leaned forward to hear better.

“And that is a lie,” Winchester snapped, his own voice slightly raised. “You said you did not know her, yet she was the one who stole the gilt cup you replaced, she was the one who regularly took money that you, likely deliberately, left out for her. She was the one who stole your crucifix—if it was stolen. You said you did not lie with her, but…”

An expression of horror twisted Holdyn’s face. “No. Oh, no! I never would. Never.” Tears filled his eyes and spilled over. He hid his face in his hands. “And yet it is all my fault, my sin.”

“What
was your fault? Your sin?”

“I brought her here, you see.” The priest had lifted his head, but his eyes were staring…blind.

“You brought her here?” Astonishment raised the bishop’s voice. “Why? You say you did not lie with her. Then for what did you bring her?”

“Of course I did not lie with her!” Anger and disgust momentarily brought life to Father Holdyn’s pale and tired face. “I brought her to keep my house. To lift my spirit when it was weighed down by labor and hopelessness. To be my light and laughter, as she had always been.”

For a moment Winchester was silent, shocked. Then he said, distastefully, “You sound as if you loved her.”

“Of course I loved her,” Holdyn sighed. “She was my sister. She had always kept my house and made me happy.” He put his face into his hands again and his shoulders shook with weeping. “That was my sin. I knew I should have found a husband for her. But she was such a precious comfort—a good housekeeper and always merry. Yet if I had found her a husband, she would have been alive today, surrounded by her children.”

Or she would have been dead of childbearing, Bell thought; he had two living sisters, but there had been three. He did not move or speak and he kept his face expressionless.

Holdyn lifted his face again, looking pleadingly at Winchester. “But she said she did not wish to marry,” he explained. “She said that she was happy keeping my household. And when London came and elevated me to overseeing the parishes in his diocese, she was thrilled. She greatly desired to come with me.” He closed his eyes momentarily and swallowed hard. Then, as if he could not bring himself to say more about Nelda, he went on, “London said there was much looseness and corruption, the city being what it was and that he was getting too old to oversee matters as he should. But that kept me very busy. I was much away—”

“She was your sister,” Winchester interrupted, voice tight and hard. “Yet when I asked if you knew her, you said you did not! Why did you lie?”

“I did not lie,” Holdyn whispered. “You did not ask if I loved her. You asked if I knew her…and, alas, I had just discovered that I did not know Nelda at all.”

“What do you mean you did not know her?”

“I knew she was light of heart and mind but I thought her clean…as clean as any woman can be…and loved her. When she left me a message that she had found a man she truly desired, I was saddened but not surprised that she had gone…outside of the bond of marriage. She came back to ask for money. I tried to reason with her, to plead with her, to offer a dowry and find a man who would marry her, even soiled as she was. She laughed at me. She said she would never marry a dull common clod. Her man was a knight, and she was as good as married being with him alone, although no priest would fasten the binding.”

“You were jealous. Did you kill her for that?”

Bell frowned at Winchester’s question. Nelda had been living in Linley’s house for several years. If Holdyn was going to kill her out of jealousy, he would have done so much sooner, which Holdyn’s indignant answer confirmed.

“Kill her? Of course not! I would never harm Nelda. And I was not jealous. I was troubled for her soul but I hoped her passion for the man would diminish and she would have time to repent. Meanwhile I saw that she was happy. She visited now and again and she looked well. She said her man was always kind to her, but that he did not have much money. I gave her a little, but the needs of the Church came first.” He hesitated and looked up at Winchester, new tears running down his cheeks. “My fault. My sin. I should have seen sooner that she would find another way to get money.”

“When you learned there was more than one man, you quarreled with her? She fell down the stairs by accident?” Now Winchester sounded sympathetic, inviting confidences.

“I never quarreled with her.” Holdyn’s voice was husky with weariness and grief. “I had not seen her since the Monday when she took my crucifix. I was annoyed, but I knew she would keep the crucifix safe until I was ready to redeem it. There was no great hurry for that. I was very busy. I knew you were coming on Friday and I was making all ready.”

If Holdyn had not seen Nelda since Monday, Bell thought, Holdyn could not have known that Gehard beat her on Tuesday. Likely he did not know of Gehard’s connection with Nelda at all and would not have suspected him of killing her. Thus, he would have no reason to murder Gehard. Holdyn now looked as if he were ready to collapse, as drained and white as any tortured man. And it had been torture for him. Bell thought. There was no point in pursuing him further, except for a direct question about where he was and what he was doing on Thursday night. Bell moved restlessly. The bishop turned his head and glanced at him. Then he sighed.

“Yes, all was ready for me. Holdyn, in the name of God, tell me, without all these delicate prevarications between knowing and loving, where were you and what were you doing on Thursday night?”

“Thursday night?” Holdyn sounded dazed and exhausted, but his voice had become firmer. “Oh, the night before you came? I was at home, working on the accounts and the reports of my oversight of the parishes. My chief clerk will tell you. He was with me working until after Matins, and he slept in my bedchamber on a pallet until we began work again soon after Prime.” He uttered a tired sob. “I did not kill her or cause her to have an accident by which she died. I could not have hurt her, even had I known what she had become. Would I be such a monster as to kill her with all her sins upon her when if she lived I could hope still to redeem her?”

To both Bell and Winchester it was a convincing argument. They had known Holdyn for years and his piety and honesty, the strength of his faith, were long proven. That any man could sin and become entangled and struggle to free himself, was possible. That Holdyn would murder his sister—whose identity could be easily established—because she had become a whore and stolen his crucifix was not. The bishop breathed a huge sigh of relief. Bell nodded. Winchester would not lose his right hand.

Then turning his head, the bishop said, “Are you convinced, Bell? Do you have any further questions for Father Holdyn?”

“I will confirm that Nelda was Father Holdyn’s sister,” Bell said, “but the only other question I have is to ask if he knew the man Gehard fitzRobert.”

“Gehard fitzRobert,” Holdyn repeated. “I know the name, but I do not know why.” He closed his eyes. “Perhaps my clerk will know. I—I find it hard to think.”

“Can you ride, Father Holdyn?” Bell asked. “I will lend you my palfrey. You cannot walk back to the palace.”

“Thank you,” the priest said faintly.

Bell and Winchester looked at each other. Without words Bell conveyed the fact that he would accompany Holdyn. He would make sure the episcopal vicar’s servants took him off to his bed before he spoke to anyone. Once Holdyn was out of the way, Bell would confirm with the clerk where Holdyn was Thursday night and where the late bishop of London had found Holdyn. A messenger could be sent to that parish to determine who had kept Holdyn’s house and whether the woman was known to be Holdyn’s sister. Bell would ask, too, about Gehard.

* * * *

“There are none so blind as those who will not see,” Bell said to Magdalene when he arrived long after Complin. He stretched tiredly and leaned forward to rest his arms along the table. “What she was must have been plain to everyone in the household except Holdyn.” He shook his head. “She dismissed all the servants and hired new just before she left.”

“And you spent the whole afternoon trying to find them.”

Bell smiled. “It was not so difficult. Holdyn kept good records so I was able to find the servants’ families and eventually speak to the servants themselves. I am sorry I never knew Nelda. She must have been a strange person, but Holdyn was not alone in finding her delightful. Even the servants she dismissed liked her…but she was whoring while she lived as his housekeeper. They told me.”

“
Was
she his sister?”

“Are you asking whether he was lying with her, denials to the contrary? I do not think so. The servants certainly did not think so. They all agreed that sister and brother was how they acted. In any event, we will know tomorrow or the next day for certain. Winchester sent a messenger to the village where Holdyn was born. His father was the miller there, a prosperous merchant, and his brother still owns the mill. Holdyn writes to him and has letters in return. The bishop was so sure of the answer, that he sent back Holdyn’s crucifix.”