Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

It seemed sure that Walter had not yet presented my demand to Lady Anne. He had no opportunity to do so before dinner, and when the grooms and lesser folk had finished their meal he left the hall with the others.

But as we who remained finished the void I saw him peer from the screens passage and knew he waited to deliver to Lady Anne the requirement that Lord Gilbert’s silver be returned. There was nothing now for me to do. I departed the hall and left Walter to the onerous task I had assigned him.

One hour passed slowly. When the time was nearly gone, and I was about to seek the screens passage, I saw Walter walking toward the marshalsea and hastened after him. He feared I would challenge him about Lady Anne, I think, and so when I came within earshot he said, “I repeated your words to Lady Anne. Does the silver not appear as you wish, ’twill be no fault of mine.”

The valet was defensive, but in his place I might have been as well.

“There is another matter I wish to speak to you of,” I said.

Walter’s face, already somber, fell even more as he imagined other disagreeable labors I might assign him.

“Sir Henry,” I began, “lay awake nights. I was asked to provide a potion which would help him sleep. When I asked you what caused his wakefulness you did not reply. It is now time for you to do so. You cannot be charged with betraying your lord. He is in his grave.”

The valet did not answer at once, but looked about, and beyond my shoulder, as if to see if some man might appear who could extricate him from an uncomfortable place. No man did, so he finally spoke.

“S’pose can do no harm to Sir Henry now. He was penniless. Had debts ’e couldn’t pay, an’ gentlefolk an’ bankers he’d borrowed from who wanted their coin.”

“Could he not sell lands from his manor?”

“Tried. But others knew of ’is embarrassment an’ thought to gain from him cheap. Wouldn’t sell to such folk. Said ’e’d not give his house or lands away to any man.”

Sir Henry was not the only gentleman to suffer financial reverses these past years. Since plague took so many lives, grain has declined in price, and with it the value of the land upon which to grow it. A knight who needs money will raise little from his lands.

“His debts were greater than his worth?”

“Probably. Didn’t speak of such things when the common folk was about. Heard ’im arguin’ about it with Lady Margery once. Shoutin’ at each other, they was… not like I was tryin’ to hear.”

“What was Lady Margery’s complaint?”

Walter’s mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “What does most ladies want of their husbands? Silks an’ furs for new gowns, an’ shoes an’ such, an’ more servants to care for it all.”

“Sir Henry could not afford these?”

“Nay. Said he’d told her before there was not a shilling to spare for new clothes, an’ why would she not accept that.”

“What was her reply?”

“Said if she’d known he was so poor she’d not ’ave wed. Wealthier men had sought her hand, an’ still would was she free of him.”

“Lady Margery spoke of being free of Sir Henry?”

Walter’s eyes were downcast, and he moved a pebble with his toe, then said, “Aye… she did.”

Holy Church permits no divorce. The only way an unhappy wife may be free of her husband is through his death, or annulment of the marriage. But annulment requires the good graces of a bishop, generally gained by a liberal contribution to the bishop’s purse. Walter knew this well. I had another question.

“Did Lady Margery have any new husband in mind, you think, if she was free of Sir Henry? Was that another reason for Sir Henry’s wakefulness?”

The valet was again silent for the space of a dozen heartbeats before he said, “Not for me to say.”

“But you have, all but the man’s name. Was it not so you would not have hesitated. Who is it who has caught the lady’s eye?”

“Don’t know,” he protested. “Just talk.”

“You’ve heard gossip, but are unsure ’tis true?”

“Aye.”

“What does gossip say? What name is tied to Lady Margery?”

“More’n one.”

“She’ll bring little estate to any new husband. But more than one man is rumored to have an interest in Lady Margery if she were free of Sir Henry?”

“So I’ve heard. An’ even a small estate is of value to ’im as has none.”

“What names, then?”

“Haven’t heard that.”

“No names? From whence do these rumors come?”

“I speak to Lady Margery’s servants. Hear talk from them… but never names.”

“What do these women say? Was Sir Henry a cuckold?”

“May be. Isobel Guesclin, what’s Lady Margery’s companion, said as much.”

Worries about money and a faithless wife might cause any man to stare at the ceiling of a night. I remembered then the reddened cheeks of the Lady Anne, and asked Walter what he knew of the lass.

“Children may sometimes cause a man to lose sleep. Lady Anne is a thief. Has she done other mischief which might have brought distress to her father?”

Walter’s face twisted into a sardonic grin. “What lass don’t cause ’er father worry? ’Specially be she as pert as Lady Anne.”

“How did she bring worry to Sir Henry?”

“Wanted to wed, I heard.”

“Who?”

“William, the squire.”

This explained the stolen glances and pink cheeks I’d seen at table. “Sir Henry objected?”

“Aye. Wished her to wed another.”

“Who?”

“Dunno. A wealthy knight of Sussex, is all I know. Needed money, did Sir Henry, an’ thought to use ’is daughter to get ’is hands on some. So I heard.”

Where Sir Henry would gather funds to provide a suitable dowry for his daughter was another question, but one Walter could not be expected to answer.

The valet, who had been at first reluctant to speak of his employer’s family, had become loquacious, as if he found it a release to unburden himself.

“If any other reason for Sir Henry’s sleepless nights occurs to you, I would hear of it,” I said.

Walter touched a forelock and I bid him “Good day,” confident that an hour had now passed since dinner had ended, and that I knew better how matters stood in the family and household of Sir Henry Burley, deceased.

The hall had long since been cleared of tables, and stood empty and silent. My footsteps echoed from the walls as I crossed the great room to the screens passage and looked toward the pantry door. The space is dark, even on a bright day, for the only light which penetrates there comes from windows in the hall. But when I looked toward the pantry I saw a white parcel upon the flags. A piece of linen cloth was wrapped about two spoons and four knives. Lord Gilbert’s property was returned.

I set out to seek Humphrey, and found him a moment later, where he sat before the oven gossiping with John Baker, a groom nearly as ancient as the pantler.

I held the returned silver out to Humphrey and told him to replace the items in the locked pantry forthwith. “And perhaps count Lord Gilbert’s spoons and knives more regularly in the future,” I said.

Humphrey rose, took the silver from me, and hobbled off toward the pantry. I bid John “Good day,” and set off for the solar where I might find Lord Gilbert to tell him that his property was recovered. ’Twas then I glanced to the white linen cloth which had been wrapped about the silver. It seemed to me much like the bloodstained fabric which I had plucked from under the fireplace mantel of the squires’ chamber.

My route to the solar took me back through the screens passage and the hall. I stopped in the empty hall, withdrew the bloody linen from my pouch, and spread it upon the ewerer’s table. I then took the cloth which had been wrapped about the silver and unfolded it next to the stained fabric. When I placed the two side by side I saw readily that they were parts of the same piece. They had not been sliced square, across the warp and in line with the woof, but on a slight angle, as if whoso wielded the blade which had divided the portpain had slashed through the fabric hurriedly. The angle of the cut on the two cloths matched perfectly.