Chambers of Death (12 page)

This time Eleanor knew that her chill had nothing to do with the dampness in the air.

“I would remain alone here for awhile.” Luce now looked at the prioress with narrowed eyes, her manner bordering on insolence.

Eleanor rose and took her leave with more courtesy than was owed. As she, her guard, and his daughter walked back toward the manor house gate, she grieved that she had failed to bring either peace or contrition to the twisted heart of the steward’s wife and feared the evil in this place of refuge was more sinister than she had imagined.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The musty stench of mold was strong in the windowless hut.

“I am innocent of murder, Brother.” Hilda sobbed as she cowered in the corner.

“I would prove that and speed your release,” he said, “but you must answer my questions fully, truthfully, and without hesitation.”

Although she might not see his own tears in the dim light, Thomas rubbed all traces from his cheeks. How could a woman be transformed into this thin shadow of despair within so few hours? Yet, as he recalled his own first day of imprisonment, he knew he should understand well enough just how quickly loss of hope sucked life from a man.

“I swear I left the kitchen but once or twice the night Tobye was cruelly slaughtered. You saw me asleep when you awoke for prayer. It was so cold that my trips to the privy were brief.”

Did she omit mention of Huet’s testimony, knowing he had lied? Thomas was about to ask, then decided she might not want to bring attention to the falsehood, fearing it would weaken her case. Or perhaps she thought the statement of a monk would have greater merit than that of a one who had abandoned the priesthood, and thus it mattered not what the latter might say? Did she wonder why the man had lied? He opted to abandon all those uncertainties and probe for answers to more immediate questions.

“Did you ever meet with Tobye in the stable and couple in sin?”

“I have never known any man, Brother, although I confess I dreamed of it.”

“Did you know the women who actually shared his bed?”

She turned her face from him, and in the feeble light he saw the profile of her hand pressed against her mouth as if to stop words from tumbling out.

“You must tell me what you know or have heard. Let me decide what information might best save your life and what can be forgotten here.”

“I am a servant to this family and owe them loyalty. To speak ill of any amongst them would be a betrayal.”

A most revealing response to his question, Thomas thought, considering what he had already learned about Mistress Luce. If the wife’s adultery was so well known, there was little reason to doubt that Master Stevyn was also aware of the cuckoldry and, like any husband, would be disinclined to ignore it. Who might she be trying to protect: master or lady? “If you distinguish what you know from what you have heard as rumor, there are few who would find fault with you. Most certainly not I.”

“What is my life worth if Master Stevyn casts me out because he learns what I have said? Even if I am found innocent of his groom’s murder, I shall suffer the shame of being condemned as a faithless servant while I starve.”

“Let God be the judge of your words. If your heart holds no malice and your testimony brings to light some relevant family sin, your act will have been a righteous one. He will surely protect you.” Yet how reasonable was that? Thomas asked himself, knowing full well she had cause enough for fear in a world ruled by mortals. He tried unsuccessfully to silence that blasphemous whisper from his soul.

Hilda closed her eyes and silently moved her lips as if praying that the burden of this moment be lifted from her shoulders. Tears glistened on her cheeks in the pale light, but she ignored them. “I lied in the courtyard, Brother. I was jealous. Tobye had other women, for cert, and I envied them even though I could never have bedded him even if he had truly wished it. I feared Hell too much. Why is it that we long for something that we fear with equal strength? Will God forgive me for that?”

“Did you ever harm his bedfellows in any way?”

“Only in my heart, Brother, but that alone must make the Devil leap high with joy.”

Sin enough perhaps, but he knew far graver ones than this woman could even imagine. “If Satan did, his prancing was short-lived. God is gentler with faults that never hurt another mortal.” He waited for her to continue.

“Isn’t confessing my lie about the jealousy enough?” Her voice wavered.

Thomas hoped she could see understanding and forgiveness in his smile despite the gloom. “He had other women. Who were they?”

Rubbing her hands together in tortured agony, Hilda groaned, then bent closer to him and whispered, “Mistress Luce. I know that. Once I saw her coupling with him against the wall like some common woman, but methinks there was another who came from the manor house that horrible night.”

Thomas tried to hide the surprise as he asked: “Who was she?” Doubt took residence in his heart. She had heard Ranulf’s claim that he had seen her in the stable. Was she now claiming that she had seen a woman too? To corroborate the testimony of the steward’s eldest son, and suggest that he had been wrong only in the identification of the woman, was a clever ploy. Nay, he thought, she was not possessed of such crafty wit.

“Who was this person?” he asked again, wondering how vague her answer would be.

“I was coming out of the privy and saw a woman’s shadow near the stable. Then she slipped inside. I saw only her shape, never her face.” She flinched and turned away. “Aye, Brother, once or twice I did spy on him, but my intent was never to betray his lovers even though my heart ached with envy. Maybe that pain was my penance for the wicked longing of my flesh?”

“Quite possibly,” he said gently, “but your sin is light enough. Tell me what else you saw or heard. You might find a readier forgiveness if the eavesdropping reveals a killer.”

“In truth, my sight was limited by the hour and weather. I knew it was a woman by the length of her heavy cloak, but I could not determine if she were young or old. When I slipped up to a window and pressed my ear as close as I dared, I was unable to recognize words. She spoke too low, but I thought she whined with piteous begging. Tobye must have grown angry, for I did hear him exclaim that his member withered at the very sight of her. Then I ran away out of shame for what I was doing.”

“Did her voice remind you of anyone?”

“Aye, Brother, but I would never swear it in God’s name.”

“But you can confide it to me in confidence, Hilda, and let me consider what is best to do next. I promise I will do nothing that will bring harm to you for a mere supposition.”

She bent to his ear.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped into the room.

“How does Hilda, Brother?” the steward asked.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“My lady!” the guard’s daughter cried out.

Eleanor and the child’s father immediately turned to discover what had caused her to shriek so. When they saw the reason, both laughed out of amusement as well as relief.

With both arms, the child was waving at an equally small girl standing inside the manor gate. The object of this enthusiasm now bounded toward them.

“Would you give my friend your blessing as well?” The child’s hazel eyes, round with anticipation, looked up at the prioress.

“With much pleasure, especially since you ask it,” Eleanor replied. Just beyond the gate, near the hut where the cook was confined, she also saw Brother Thomas in close conversation with Master Stevyn.

Although the two little girls must have played together often, they bounced and squealed with happiness as if they had been separated more years than they had been on earth.

The sight chased some of the darkness from the prioress’ heart, a sorrow that the violence of murder always brought her. If only we could keep that innocent joy of childhood and never be touched by cruelty, she thought, and smiled at the children who looked up at her with solemn faces, their hands dutifully folded. As she gave her blessing and felt God’s love flow through her to touch the girls when she kissed each on the cheek, Eleanor hoped that they would grow old together with that same delight in friendship and comfort in each other’s company.

“My lady, may I ask favor for myself?” Her guard shuffled and his face reddened as they walked into the courtyard.

From the corner of her eye, Eleanor saw a young woman and recognized her as the one he had been talking to when Hilda was arrested. She nodded, knowing quite well what his wish might be.

“I would take but a minute to greet the mother of my daughter’s friend. As you see, she is near, and I promise not to cease careful watch over you.”

The prioress now caught her monk’s eye. “With Master Stevyn just there and Brother Thomas on his way to my side,” she said to her guard, “I will be safe enough from any mortal ill. He and I shall remain here, for we must discuss some prayers we have promised.” She lowered her eyes with modesty. “You need not cut short your courtesy.”

With an appreciate word and grateful grin, the man walked over to see the lady whose obvious joy at his arrival betrayed her own delight in his company.

“My lady, you amaze me,” Thomas said, looking in the direction of the departing guard. “How did you manage to send him away?”

“Love is a most powerful emotion, whether it be for God or another mortal. In this case, I simply bowed to the great enticement of the latter.” She turned her eyes heavenward. “Let us speak in Latin,” she continued in the suggested language. “Have you learned anything of interest? We must be brief, lest someone convey to another that our conversation was longer than expected between monk and prioress.”

Thomas knew that anyone in that busy courtyard might find profit in relaying information to the sheriff. He inclined his head slightly in the direction of the small hut. “She witnessed the adultery, of which we were aware, and thus confirmed how wide-spread the knowledge was.”

Eleanor bowed her head and nodded.

“She continues to maintain her innocence.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I would swear to it for many reasons, but she does corroborate what one other claimed to have seen. Although it was not the night of the murder, she also saw an unknown woman meet the man long after sunset. She never heard her words, only the tenor of the plea, and thus she concluded that the woman was quite sotted with him. He, on the other hand, rejected her cruelly, telling her that he would never bed a woman too old to bear children.”

“Did she recognize the voice?”

“She hesitated to guess, but when I pressed her further, she was about to suggest a name. Then her master entered, and she drew back. With him there, she would say nothing more to me.”

“I saw you speaking at length with him. Did you learn something in that?”

Thomas frowned. “I tried to determine if he was vexed about the conversation I had had with his cook, but I failed. Either he is clever at hiding his thoughts or he had no concern. My own belief is that he is not a man to betray his feelings. Although he must surely know that his wife has been unfaithful, for instance, I have seen little evidence of it.”

“Amen.”

“He did tell me that the cook will be removed from here in the morning. The king’s man claims there is little more to learn about the murder. Although I have stood witness to her innocence, as has another, he believes there is cause enough in other testimony to hold her in the castle prison.”

“How quickly he decides such things,” Eleanor snapped. “Does he think this frightened woman will flee to the forest and seek protection from brutish and lawless men?”

“Perhaps he hopes she may die of a fever in a dank cell,” Thomas replied, remembering all too well some who had. “If that happens before a hearing, the true wrongdoer will escape.”

Eleanor frowned as she pondered whether that person was Master Stevyn, his younger son, or even the unknown woman. “I do wonder who she thought visited a man at such a dark hour and begged so piteously.” She glanced at Thomas, her eyes questioning.

“Before she is taken away, she might long for a priest to comfort her, my lady. With your permission, I will go to her.” He bowed.

Her lips curled into a thin smile. “The moment for confiding a mere guess may have passed, Brother. Fear of dungeons and hanging cause mortals such terror that the need to cleanse the soul predominates over such matters, but let us pray that she still clings sufficiently to hope and thus confides the name. In any case, convey my blessing. Tonight I shall beg God to let us find the true killer before this poor innocent is condemned to an undeserved and shameful death.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The night before execution, some condemned may fall asleep, hoping to awaken from the nightmare of certainty into the dawn of improbable reprieve. Others stare with unblinking eyes at the dark walls of their prisons, begging for sweet moonlight’s conquest over the blood-red sun.

Hilda saw little difference between an immediate hanging and a slow death, gnawed by rats in a dripping cell beneath a castle moat. She beat her fists against the hard, indifferent earth, her eyes wept dry and her heart drumming with terror. Words for prayer had long since failed her. Instead her soul quivered, unable to think any longer on her many sins that might send her to Hell, even if she was innocent of murder.

Suddenly, she froze.

There was a scraping noise outside the door.

That was no rodent, she realized. Was someone unbarring the door?

The wood creaked, and the door did open slowly.

A shadow slipped inside. It had a clear and mortal form.

The cook began to sweat, first from fear and then irrational hope. “Why…?”

“To save you from hanging,” was the warm reply.

“You believe me?” She gasped. Her hand now pressed against a heart thundering with inexpressible gratitude.

“Are you not innocent?”

“Full of sin I most certainly am but not of the crime of murder.”

“But are you guilty of unseemly gossip?”

“I do not understand.” Hilda shook uncontrollably.

“Come now! Women are wont to chatter like squirrels, accusing anyone, not in their current company, of sins born solely in the fens of their unreasoned minds. Have you never done that? Do not lie, for I have overheard the chittering often enough amongst the servants.”

The cook opened her mouth to speak, but she was unable to form words.

“What did you say to that priest from Tyndal? Did you prate on and on as is the wont of creatures like you?”

“He took my confession, only that!”

“Only a confession of your own frailties? Nothing of your fevered imaginings about the sins of other souls? I think you are lying, Hilda.”

She shook her head.

“Give me your hand.”

The cook did so but felt no comfort in the warmth of the strong grip.

“Do you swear that you did not impugn anyone?”

Eagerly, she nodded. Her hand was released.

“But you wanted to do so, didn’t you?”

Hilda looked away.

“Of course you did, you frightened and wretched one. Most people would be willing enough to point the finger at someone else to save themselves from choking on the noose.” The laughter that followed held no mirth.

“I did not try to save myself by so doing,” the cook whispered. Her words were greeted with a long silence.

“Come with me then. You shall be freed of this place.”

Hilda now eagerly took the proffered hand, rose, and turned toward the door.

That was the last thing she saw.