Candace Robb - A Trust Betrayed

Margaret nodded.

“She is at peace?”

Why would you care ? “She is.”

A long, indrawn breath. “I knew that Agnes hid their robes and the men themselves when they asked, but I did not think she cared so much.”

“What robes? Friar’s robes?” asked Margaret, confused.

Besseta glanced at the outer door. “James Comyn is truly watching?”

“His men, yes. Why, Besseta?”

“I loved Jack so. You can’t imagine what it was like. I woke and he was twitching and shaking in my bed. But his blood was all over me, all over the bed, all over Agnes. She had slit his throat. She had killed my Jack. My God, my God,” Besseta moaned, burying her face in her hands.

The truth was so unexpected, Margaret took a moment to absorb it. Agnes Fletcher. Dear God. Margaret crossed herself. Agnes Fletcher had murdered Jack. Those gaping wounds-a woman’s work. Just weeks ago that emaciated corpse had summoned such strength. Sweet Jesus, Agnes had done that to Jack. Margaret was strangely numb-having seen Agnes’s shrunken shell, she could not summon the hate for the woman that the act deserved. She wished for a strong drink, for both her and Besseta. She could not imagine what it was doing to the woman to relive the horror. “Do you have anything to drink in the house?”

Besseta shook her head.

Awkwardly, with trembling hands, Margaret searched through Celia’s basket. She said a silent prayer of thanks to find a flask of wine. She drank a little, then handed the flask to Besseta. “Come. Tell me everything. You must long to. You must tell someone.”

Besseta began to drink greedily. Margaret pulled the flask away. It would not do for her to sleep.

In a little while, the wine composing her enough to speak, Besseta began to pour out her tale. Margaret sat quietly, urging when the woman hesitated, nodding when the huge eyes stared into hers.

Agnes and Tom, her husband, had been staunch supporters of Balliol, deeply involved in Comyn’s campaign to restore his kinsman to the Scottish throne. And even after Tom’s death, Agnes had remained committed to the Balliol cause. While carrying her child she could do little, but she did what she could. When Besseta arrived, unlooked for, to care for her widowed, pregnant sister, Agnes had tried to continue in secret, but soon enough had to tell her sister what she was doing. Until Jack’s arrival all was well, though Agnes’s deep mourning after Tom’s death caused her to sicken and lose the child. She began to slip away. Besseta slept with Agnes in the bedchamber, Jack on the pallet in the small anteroom.

Several days before Davy and Harry were to slip into the abbey Agnes had taken out the friar’s robes to air them and steam out some of the wrinkles-they must look like proper friars to gain entrance to the abbey. Agnes was beginning to regain her strength, but the work exhausted her. Besseta finished the chore for Agnes while she napped, and Jack began asking questions about the plans.

“I told him too much. I did not realize the danger at the time, but the following day I saw him talking to Harcar in the market square. I had heard the rumors that Harcar sold information to the English and told Jack to avoid him. But Jack laughed at me.

“Harry, Davy, and two other men came the afternoon of that awful day to take their robes. James Comyn came with them, to thank Agnes for all she had done for them. Jack and I were told to stay in the bedroom. He persuaded me that as we were soon to wed we could bed. He used all his charm to woo me. Such sweet words…” She was quiet a moment. “Sometime, I don’t know when, Agnes listened at the door, heard enough to understand Jack had betrayed them. Comyn had returned to tell her what had happened at Holyrood, she had just learned of Davy’s and Harry’s deaths, but I noticed nothing but Jack. He was so beautiful.” Besseta glanced up at Margaret.

“Yes, he was like an angel,” Margaret whispered. “What could Agnes have heard?”

“Jack said Harcar owed him some money, and as soon as he had it he would take me away from here. We would go to Carrick. Jack would fight for Robert Bruce. And we would have more riches when the Bruce became king. I was frightened, and I suppose I knew in my heart that he must have betrayed my trust-and that of my sister. But I loved him and I chose to trust him. I believed him when he said all would be well.”

Quite a damning conversation. “What happened then?”

“We fell asleep. Agnes was mad with grief over Harry and Davy, and now she knew it was Jack who had sold the information that had condemned them. Sometime in the night-”

Besseta stopped, staring at the horror as it unfolded in the air before her.

Margaret handed her the flask. Celia and the priest should be here by now. She prayed their arrival did not silence Besseta.

“He was already dead when Agnes slashed his stomach open, I think he died with her first blows. She was shouting the names of Tom, Davy, Harry, and ”my baby.“ Would that I had killed her then.”

Margaret jumped as the door opened. Celia, Father Francis, and a clerk entered. The priest carried the sacrament. He was tall, his robes hanging loosely from broad but fleshless shoulders. His bald hawk face was solemn.

Besseta shrank from the priest.

“Where is Agnes?” he asked.

“I will take you,” Celia said, leading him through the inner doorway.

“He will curse me,” Besseta moaned.

“Did you starve your sister?” Margaret asked.

Besseta’s nod was jerky, as if uncertain. “I fed her a purge and then gave her nothing to eat or drink. I did dampen her lips when she slept, though she ordered me not to. They were so dry they cracked and bled. I could not bear it.”

Margaret crossed herself. “Agnes asked you to withhold food and water?”

Besseta looked surprised. “She was not a murderer by nature, Margaret. She could not live with what she had done. To me, to Jack. She asked me to help her die.”

How would God judge that? Margaret wondered. Who was guilty, Agnes or Besseta? Both? Neither? Margaret took a deep breath. “How did you get Jack’s body out to the tron?”

“I wanted all to see what Agnes had done. I dragged Jack out into this room. Agnes was hysterical. I locked her in the bedchamber with Jack’s blood soaking everything. I prayed that his spirit would rise up and kill her. But Comyn returned. He had been uneasy about Agnes, and he took charge here. He took Jack out to the tron late that night. He took the bloody mattress away, brought another.”

“How did Jack come to be clutching the loom weight?” “I pressed it into his hand to have with him in the grave.”

In the long shadows of late afternoon the inn alley was dark, smelling of damp and urine. Margaret and Celia had left the Fletchers in the hands of Father Francis and two neighbor women who had agreed to prepare Agnes’s body.

Margaret’s stomach was queasy, her head pounded. Had she guessed at Besseta’s suffering she would not have pushed her so. But now she had the answers-once her mind could grasp all that she had heard.

“I’ll go and prepare a cool compress for you,” Celia said.

“What of you? This has been no easier for you.”

“I’m not ready to think about it. I want some work, to keep my hands and mind busy.” She headed for the tavern kitchen.

Sim lounged in the doorway of the tavern.

“Dame Kerr, Master Murdoch asked that you go to him as soon as you returned. He is in the storeroom.”

From forbidden to invited, that was puzzling, but perhaps now that she had seen the room Murdoch felt he did not need to hide it from her, as long as she was not left alone to explore. She wondered whether he had lured Comyn with the chance to see his spoils. “Is James Comyn there?”