Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

Was Master Stevyn such a brutish spouse that resentment had bloomed like gangrene in her heart? Was she truly deficient in her duties, as Ranulf’s wife had suggested? Was she so ruled by lust that she let others, like Mistress Maud, take over what she herself should do? And why allow an outsider, a physician’s widow, perform a wife’s duties and not some longtime servant? Yet this adulterous wife did not strike Eleanor as a frivolous or even a lazy woman. Her wiry, albeit short, stature almost vibrated with energy.

She realized she had remained silent for too long. “I will add you to our prayers for this profound generosity,” the prioress said aloud. Although she questioned much in this manor, Eleanor knew she would have to quiet her curiosity since neither the health nor the safety of her charges was at stake.

“Such repayment will be sufficient. We have no need for more. My husband manages this land quite profitably, and the Earl of Lincoln shows his pleasure in useful ways,” Luce replied. “Now I must attend my husband who is resting after his arduous journey home.” With that, she turned abruptly and left the room.

Perhaps she had no cause to pry into Mistress Luce’s soul, but Eleanor could not resist following her quietly and peeking around the door to see which direction the steward’s wife had taken.

After the woman disappeared down the steps, Eleanor went to the window and waited until she saw Luce in the courtyard below, walking toward the stable. Unless Master Stevyn had chosen to nap amongst his horses, his wife was probably going to meet her lover.

Although night is the time when imps lewdly dance in the guise of shadows and the Prince of Darkness fills wicked souls with the desire to do evil unto other mortals, it is also the hour of dreams, often bitter but on occasion sweet.

Some claim that soft dreams are God’s way of reminding us that good may still rule during the season of Evil’s dominion. Others believe that such sweetness in the dark hours comes from Satan himself, cursed by the memory that he was once one of God’s most powerful angels.

Whatever the truth might be, the dreams of those mortals, safely surrounded by the walls of Master Stevyn’s manor, were gentle enough that following night.

Mariota fell into the deeper sleep of healing, her dreams perhaps reflective of hope that she might still live.

The Prioress of Tyndal remembered only one dream in which Mistress Maud, who had taken over the sick watch, slipped from the room. A dream it most certainly was, she decided, for the physician’s widow was sitting by Mariota’s bed when Eleanor woke for prayer.

As for Thomas, he fell asleep once again in the arms of Huet who seemed to hold him even closer than he had the night before. At some time in that night the young man left their mutual but chaste bed, and the monk awoke to regret the resultant chill. Then he too rose to chant the early Office and thank God that he had been blessed for once with no dreams at all.

And what were Tobye’s dreams that night, sleeping alone in the warm straw of the stable, before a figure crouched over him and slit his throat?

Was it a scream that woke Eleanor, or the shouting from the courtyard?

She sat up and stared through the darkness of morning toward a flickering light. Someone was standing in the doorway.

“Have you heard, my lady?” Maud’s voice trembled.

“What has happened?” Eleanor slipped out of the linen cover on her mattress and quickly glanced at Mariota.

The girl turned over and mumbled but did not fully awaken.

“I’m not sure,” the widow continued in a low voice. “Yet I did hear a cry of murder and knew you must be told.” She pressed a hand to her throat and leaned back to look outside the door toward the stone stairs.

An old servant, puffing and red-faced even in the torch light, appeared at Maud’s side. “Stay within, for God’s sake,” she hissed. “There is evil about!”

“Wait!” Eleanor said, hurrying to the entrance. “Explain what evil you mean?”

“Tobye, the groom, is dead.”

The widow remained expressionless for a long moment, then gasped. “What cause? I noted no signs of illness when I saw him yesterday.”

“Murdered, my ladies, murdered.” With the promise of an interested audience, the servant began to elaborate, waving a dimpled hand in enthusiastic emphasis. “Blood splattered everywhere. Gutted like a deer, I’ve heard.” She bent forward, fingers cupped at her mouth as she whispered hoarsely: “Someone else said his privates were chopped…” Suddenly remembering that one of her listeners was a nun, the servant coughed, then finished her tale but omitted the other rumored details. “Master Stevyn had ordered horses for an early hunt. When they were not at the manor door, he went to the stable and found the body. Now, Sir Reimund is here with his men.”

“Then he shall want the hall made ready, with table and benches down and ale for his throat, so he can speak with us all,” Maud interrupted. “On what task were you sent?”

“To tell the mistress the news.”

“Do not forget to ask her what orders she has for preparing the hall downstairs.”

“She won’t…” The servant’s mouth puckered eloquently enough, but she fell silent as she looked sideways at Eleanor, perhaps fearing further speech would reveal a household secret to a stranger, even if the outsider was a religious.

“Then seek Mistress Constance.”

The woman grimaced.

“And if you cannot find her, come see me here.”

“That I shall,” the woman replied before scurrying off.

Eleanor and Maud retreated into the chamber and shut the door. “Methinks she will return soon enough for direction from you,” the prioress said, splashing icy water on her face, then reaching for her wimple.

From the courtyard, they could hear increasing commotion.

“I am an old friend of the family, known by the household servants even before Mistress Luce was born. Although I hold no authority here and do know my place…But you have met both Mistress Luce and Mistress Constance, thus most certainly understand the difficulty.”

The dilemma I do, even if the root cause remains hidden from me, Eleanor thought as she touched her face around the wimple to make sure both head and neck were properly covered. “The servants will need your guidance and counsel today. Mariota seems well enough to be left alone in my care. If you will instruct me on the dosage of her medicine and…”

“You are most kind, my lady, but I would be wise to remain here myself. In doing so, I may escape condemnation as a meddling creature but shall be where any servant, who needs advice, can find me swiftly.”

“Then I will seek those who may need God’s comfort in the face of this horrible and most unnatural deed,” the prioress replied, keeping her expression free of her appreciation for Maud’s clever ploy.

The widow looked away as if fearing her blunter views of the two women might be read in her eyes.

What was her true opinion of Mistress Luce? The steward’s wife had referred to Maud’s assumption of authority with sarcasm, albeit with a hint of respect compared to the blundering of Constance, but the widow had been reasonably cautious in her own comments about the true mistress of the household. Was Maud aware of the relationship between Tobye and the steward’s wife? If so, she must know how Luce would react to the news of her lover’s death.

How grieved might the master’s wife be? As the image of Brother Thomas came to mind, Eleanor knew that his death would shatter her heart. On the other hand, if Luce’s affair with the groom was simply a means to ease a throbbing between the legs…