Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

While I considered this new and unwelcome notion Kate set a footed pan upon the coals of the hearth and began preparing hanoney for our supper. She continued her part of the conversation but I confess to inattention, being lost in apprehension of more deaths at Bampton Castle. Her words finally penetrated my musing, and I asked her to repeat what she had said.

Kate frowned in exasperation. “Something is at the eggs. I found three this morning broken and eaten.”

“Nothing has taken a hen?” I asked.

“Nay, they are all accounted for.”

“Then ’tis no fox or badger that has been in the henhouse, or a hen or two would be gone. I will see to the coop after supper. Perhaps a board has come loose and a rat has got in. A rat was seen in the castle not long past.”

“There will be more eggs in your hanoney if you can stop the thief.”

“Sir Geoffrey wishes to bury Sir John this day,” Lord Gilbert said when I greeted him next morn. “What say you? Have you any objection?”

I had none. John Chamberlain was in attendance upon Lord Gilbert when I arrived at the solar, and he was sent to tell Sir Geoffrey that there were no objections to burying his companion this day.

When the chamberlain had departed the solar Lord Gilbert turned to me. His face was unreadable, but his silence spoke as well as words might. He was not pleased.

Few nobles can contain their ire for long, being accustomed to seeing retainers act to satisfy them when they are vexed. We did not face each other mute for more than a few heartbeats. “How many more men will die in Bampton Castle before you seize the felon?” he said.

I dared not tell Lord Gilbert that the same question had filled me with dread since last evening. Perhaps a calamity feared may be more likely to occur. On the other hand, to ignore an approaching evil will not deflect it. I was much torn.

“Sir Roger would have had Squire William off to Oxford Castle dungeon by now,” I said. “But that would not have prevented Sir John’s death.”

“Oh? Did not Sir John and the squire quarrel? And did that not lead to Sir John being weak and abed when he was slain?”

“Aye, it did. But whoso wished to do away with Sir John would have found opportunity even had he not lain wounded in his bed. A man who seeks to do harm to another will find his chance sooner or later. And Sir Roger’s rash arrest of William would have served only to do an injustice.”

“William had nothing to do, then, with either death?”

“I do not know. I think not. I have an aversion to seeing an innocent man sent to Oxford Castle dungeon.”

“Ah, no wonder, as you were sent there yourself. But do you think I wish to see an innocent man do the sheriff’s dance? Not so.”

“Then yield me time to do justice. If you demand haste you may compel me to error.”

Lord Gilbert chewed upon his lip, then spoke. “My wits are clouded. I wish Lady Margery and her household away, which cannot be if you are to find a murderer. I want two things, but can have but one.”

“One at a time,” I said. “I will be diligent. Discovering a felon, or two, must come first, and then Lady Margery may be away. She wishes it as much as you, I believe.”

“We agree on few other things,” Lord Gilbert muttered.

John Chamberlain reappeared at the door to the solar and announced that all was ready for Sir John’s funeral, and would Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla be pleased to walk with Lady Margery and Lady Anne in the procession to St Beornwald’s Church?

Lord Gilbert turned to me. “That was swift.” To John he said, “Lady Petronilla is with the nurse and our children in the nursery. If she is at leisure, tell her to join me here.”

She was, and appeared a few moments later. Together Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla descended the stairs to the hall and I followed. I had no obligation to Sir John, to mourn at his funeral, but thought attending the burial could do no harm and might be an occasion for learning something which might resolve the puzzles cast upon me.

No one spent even a farthing to hire mourners for Sir John, so only the Lady Margery’s household, Lord Gilbert, Lady Petronilla, and I would follow the bier to the churchyard. Sir John lay upon two planks, shrouded in black linen. Lady Margery did not even rent a coffin to see him to his grave.

Walter and three of Sir Henry’s grooms lifted Sir John, and the small procession set off for St Beornwald’s churchyard. Lady Margery set up a wail, which lady Anne copied, but ’twas plain their hearts were not in it. By the time we passed Galen House their lament had faded to a whimper.

When the funeral mass was done, I was no closer to discovering the guilty than when the day had dawned. No man showed any indication of pleasure or satisfaction when Sir John was lowered into his grave, there to await the Lord Christ’s return beside Sir Henry. No man gave much evidence of grief, either. Not even Sir Geoffrey.

I took my dinner at Galen House, having grown weary of dining in Bampton Castle hall, watching others to see if I could detect some guilt in their eyes or actions. This exercise came near to ruining my appetite, which, as Kate would tell you, is not easily done.

Kate had not known whether or not to expect me at our table for dinner, so had prepared but a simple repast for herself and Bessie. But I did not regret my absence from the castle hall. The pottage I consumed that day was improved by the companionship of my wife and child, which was much to be preferred over that of a shrewish woman, a haughty knight, and a covetous maid.

But I would discover no felons at Galen House, so when I had eaten my fill I kissed Bessie and my Kate and set off for the castle. I had in mind to seek Isobel, Lady Margery’s lady-in-waiting, to gather more knowledge of Sir Henry’s family and retinue.

Lady Petronilla, Lady Margery, Lady Anne, and their ladies and servants were all together in Lady Petronilla’s chamber when I returned to the castle. So John Chamberlain said. He did not appear pleased when I told him to visit the chamber and pluck out the maid Isobel.

I awaited Isobel in my old bachelor chamber off the hall, where I had earlier questioned her before William and Sir John shattered the castle’s peace. Isobel seemed less apprehensive than when she had entered the room on Sunday. Perhaps I did not seem the ogre she had first feared.

I bid her be seated upon the bench. She peered at me with some suspicion as she did so, but I did not see fear in her glance. Whether or not this was a good thing I could not decide. Most bailiffs believe their task of keeping order upon their lord’s estate to be best accomplished if those who live upon the manor have a healthy fear of displeasing them. Some years past, when I was newly come to Bampton, a villein who owed four days’ week work claimed illness and would not do the ditching the reeve required of him. I told the man I might cure his complaint with surgery. It was remarkable how readily he regained his health. But in the case of Isobel I could see no cause for surgery so could but trust her honesty.

“You who serve Lady Margery must speak of the deaths of Sir Henry and Sir John,” I began. “What is said of these felonies?”

Isobel shrugged. “There are as many opinions as there are maids in Lady Margery’s service.”

“Very well. What are these theories?”

“Lady Margery has convinced Hawisa that Sir Henry and Sir John are dead of your incompetence. Judith believes that Sir Geoffrey must have had a hand in one of the murders. Perhaps both. But she does not speak of this before Lady Margery. Philippa thinks William, mayhap with Robert’s assistance, and Lady Anne’s knowledge, is guilty.”