Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

Sir Reimund opened his mouth to protest.

“Let us hear what you have to say, Brother.” The steward seized the sheriff’s arm with such strength that the man winced.

Thomas nodded gratitude for the permission. “The night the groom was killed, Master Huet and I shared a straw mat in the kitchen near the hearth. Since we had huddled closer to retain warmth from the dying ashes as the night went on, I awoke when Master Huet rose to attend a call of nature. I saw the cook in the kitchen, fast asleep on the nearby bench. That was the same place I had seen her lie down before I, too, fell sleep.”

Eleanor overheard an abrupt intake of breath behind her but instinctively pretended she had not heard Huet’s reaction.

“She could have left the kitchen and returned either before you awoke or after you had fallen back to sleep, Brother,” the sheriff replied, his voice tense.

“Since I am accustomed to rising for the early Office, I stayed awake and prayed until just before dawn broke. Only then did the cook leave the kitchen but for no longer than it might take anyone to visit the latrine or do a quick morning wash before returning. By then others were about. I could hear them.”

Master Stevyn raised a questioning eyebrow at the sheriff.

“That does not give her an excuse for much earlier in the night, Brother.” Sir Reimund’s voice shook.

Was his visible dismay caused by anger or doubt? Eleanor wondered.

“Since you surely examined the corpse and noted the extent of its stiffness, you must know that he could not have been killed too close to the time the sun set.”

Instead of replying, the sheriff glowered at the guard he had assigned to the prioress, as if he had expected him to prevent interference from all others as well.

Fortunately, the man failed to see his lord’s displeasure since he was bent in close conversation with a young woman.

Eleanor lowered her eyes and prayed that Thomas would rein in his tongue. She may have decided to get involved in this crime for reasons she deemed proper, but she also knew they had no explicit right to do so. Giving testimony in private was one thing, but they must tread lightly and most certainly must not reveal so publicly that they knew details they should not. Justice might be cruelly thwarted if a protest was raised because of Church interference in matters rightfully under the king’s authority.

“As for witnesses, Sheriff,” Huet called out, “I can add my testimony that the cook was asleep when I went to the privy. Since my bowels were loose that night, I spent some time there, or pacing nearby in discomfort, and neither saw nor heard anything untoward. Hilda was snoring when I returned. Brother Thomas was on his knees in prayer.”

Thomas blinked and then nodded in silence.

“Thus we have a highly regarded witness to her probable guilt and reputable witnesses to her possible innocence,” the sheriff muttered. “Where there is conflict…”

“…there is reason for caution and doubt,” Master Stevyn finished. “As to the testimony of the first witness?” He turned to his eldest son. “Can you swear it was our cook whom you saw? Can you give an hour?”

“A woman slipped into the stable. When I saw her, I thought she was Hilda. Tobye greeted her with a laugh and, although I could not hear their exact words, I did note her wheedling tone. I remember thinking it odd that our cook would have any honest cause to seek out the groom at such a time and place. I confess I did not see her face, nor can I tell you the hour of the night.” He folded his arms. The gesture was defiant, but his face was ashen and he could not meet his father’s eye. “I was on my way to pray.”

Eleanor felt a chill shoot through her. Ranulf’s testimony suggested far more than a woman simply being in the general vicinity of the stable.

Mistress Maud briefly touched the steward’s arm, and he bent an ear to her whisperings.

Ranulf glared at Huet. “When I rise from my bed, my sins trouble me more than my bowels, but then I am more abstemious than certain sinners amongst us. I go to the chapel from my bed, not the privy because I have gotten drunk.”

And, of course, you would never stop in your rush to seek God’s mercy to eavesdrop on how others are progressing in their many lusts, Eleanor thought, disgusted at the man’s hypocrisy. She was not sure whether Ranulf or his wife was the more tiresome, but the former was no longer a minor irritant. Anyone who tried to shove a woman, possibly innocent of any wrongful act, to her hanging was a grave threat to justice. Yet was she so innocent?

“May I suggest a compromise, Sir Reimund?” Stevyn now asked.

“I always listen to a reasoned voice,” the sheriff replied, his teeth visibly clenched as if fighting a feverish chill.

“I do not believe my eldest son’s statements can be dismissed, yet we have all heard equally compelling stories that cast doubt on their precise accuracy.” He looked over to Eleanor. “Since we have the Prioress of Tyndal here as an honored guest, I would like to ask her permission to involve Brother Thomas in this matter.”

Well practiced in restraint, Eleanor did not visibly react. After delaying a suitable amount of time to suggest reflection, she nodded her agreement.

Stevyn bowed, then continued: “May we not keep our cook here under close guard and ask Brother Thomas to speak with Hilda about the future of her soul? A guard would make sure she did not escape, and you would have time to resolve any discrepancies between the statements given. If Hilda is guilty, she may well confess for the good of her soul or you may find a satisfactory resolution of the conflicts.”

The sheriff remained silent but glanced at Eleanor as if she were to blame for this.

“Your proposal holds merit,” she replied to the steward. How fortunate these people were, she thought, to have Master Stevyn to preside over the manor courts. The jury might decide the matters at hand in such situations, but his considered opinions would surely tilt them to a more just conclusion.

“Very well,” Sir Reimund replied. “Let me know where the cook will be housed, and I will set a proper guard.”

Stevyn pointed at a low hut nearby. “One door. No windows. It was storage, but we’ve just finished a larger building. This one is empty.”

Mistress Maud walked to the bedraggled cook, gently lifted her to her feet, and directed Hilda through the crowd.

Eleanor noted the kindness but then grew troubled. Her vague impression that the widow had left the chambers, where Mariota lay, on the night of the groom’s murder would not fade. Surely she was wrong and the memory false. Yet she could not set her question aside. If Ranulf had seen a woman with Tobye that night, a woman who was not Luce but bore a resemblance to Hilda, might she have been Maud? In truth, she hoped neither the cuckolded steward nor this healer was involved, but she knew she dare not base a fair judgment of either on such short acquaintance.

As everyone dispersed and the steward walked away with the sheriff, Brother Thomas made his way to Eleanor.

“Do you believe in Hilda’s innocence?” She kept her voice low enough that the guard, who was still talking to the woman next to him, would not hear.

“I do, my lady, but I am troubled.”

The prioress held up her hand for silence and walked over to her guard. “Brother Thomas has asked that we go to the chapel to pray for Hilda. Will you be kind enough to accompany us there? Afterward, I will make sure you get a good supper.”

A mother’s smile could not have been sweeter, but Eleanor did feel properly contrite over her use of prayer as deception.

Mistress Constance drew back from the window overlooking the courtyard, but her legs trembled so that she could not stand. Slipping down to sit on the narrow stone step, she clasped her hands together and gnawed on her reddened knuckles.