Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

“Does not God curse us when we sin, even out of suffering?”

“Only if we do not regret those errors.”

“What would He say, do you think, if a woman lied to her husband about a quickening womb?”

That question most certainly caught Eleanor’s interest. The woman’s words were cutting with sarcasm, but the question required honest reply. “If the lie was given in hope and kindness, the sin is minor enough and might be overbalanced by good intentions.” She hesitated, weighing the chance of an answer if she continued. “Are you not pregnant?”

“I have demanded payment of the marriage debt often enough, but my husband has not filled my womb with life.”

“Why did you tell your husband otherwise?”

“I had hoped to give him a son anyway.”

“By other means.”

“You are perceptive, my lady.”

“And that means has gone…”

“…to Hell.”

“Your husband has two sons. Was he so eager for another?”

Luce’s mouth twisted with anger. “He was not, even though his eldest has no issue and his youngest was sent to be a priest. It was I who needed the son to be my comfort and support.”

“I know your husband is much older and may well leave you a widow. Yet surely you could remarry, if he dies before you, and thus gain the protection of another spouse?”

“And how old may I be then? Will not another man hesitate to wed me if I prove barren in this marriage? And if I fail to have a son, who must tend me when I am so aged that I can only sit in a corner and drool like some babe myself?”

Although the words rang with anger, Eleanor heard terror quivering just behind them. “Master Stevyn has two sons,” she said, “either of whom must take care of you. In addition, you will inherit a widow’s due.”

Luce snorted. “A widow’s due? Aye, that might pay for a servant to feed me pap, should I grow helpless, but only blood kin care enough to make sure toothless crones are handled with kindness.” She shuddered. “As for Master Ranulf, it might be a mercy if he left such charity to his wife. Yet there would be little benevolence in that. You have met her. Do you think her hands know aught of tenderness?”

Eleanor tilted her head to suggest sympathy.

“A dry husk inhabits the place where her heart should beat. The servants even jest that her husband must crawl on his knees and beg like a dog before she’ll ever lie with him.” She hugged herself as if chilled.

“What of Master Huet?” Eleanor shifted the object of the discussion, yet she wondered why Luce spoke in such a venomous tone and what had caused the hatred to grow between the two women.

“What should I think of him? He went off to be a priest. Now he is back, his tonsure gone, and he drifts without purpose, plucking his lute with a plectrum of horn. Perhaps he is not as eager for chastity as he once was, but I know not the direction he will take. A handsome man, for cert, but…” Falling silent, she lowered her eyes.

Eleanor shivered with a horrible thought. Might the steward’s wife and her son-by-marriage have just become lovers? Huet had seemed indifferent to his stepmother at dinner, when she boldly tried to get his attention, but that lack of interest could have been feigned.

Might Tobye have become jealous and threatened to tell tales if they continued their incestuous beddings? Or did he demand coin? Might Huet have killed to silence the groom?

Growing frustrated with the ever-changing nature of the crime, Eleanor suddenly lost patience. There were so many evasions and veiled hints, too many paths to follow. Or was her imagination simply becoming overheated to compensate for this cold weather and thus she was making matters out to be worse than they were?

“You have committed adultery, Mistress,” she snapped, tucking her hands into her sleeves to ease the chill. “Confess and repent, if you have not done so already. God forgives the contrite soul, and you may yet find yourself pregnant by your lawful husband.”

“And if I do not quicken with a boy?”

And why should you be so terrified of this? Eleanor wondered, hearing the tremor in Luce’s voice.

“I do not think you understand, my lady. When you are aged, you will have the priory nuns to care for you. I did not have your vocation and must depend on offspring for gentleness when I can no longer tend my needs.”

“Why fear such a distant thing? How could it be worth the sin you committed in trying to ease it?”

Luce sighed with annoyance. “My parents both lost their wits. Sadly, they had borne only two girls, and it fell to my younger sister to care for them. Soon after our mother died, our father wandered into a stream and drowned. My sister had fallen asleep under a nearby tree and suffered so because of her failure to prevent his death that she hanged herself.”

The prioress winced. “Surely there were servants to ease the burden. Kin? Why was she obliged to take on such a labor by herself?” She gestured at the manor lands. “They could have come here and been easily watched over.”

“There were servants, but my sister did not trust them enough. We had no other living kin, and I was about to be married, my lady. How many husbands want to take on the tending of some woman’s parents in their dotage? Even if willing, wouldn’t an older man suffer from such daily reminders of rotting age? I believed Master Stevyn might choose another to wed, one who did not bring thoughts of mortal decay to the marriage bed, if I raised the subject of my parents with him. As you must certainly understand, I had to hide the truth and thus could do nothing to help my sister.”

This time Eleanor knew that her chill had nothing to do with the dampness in the air.

“I would remain alone here for awhile.” Luce now looked at the prioress with narrowed eyes, her manner bordering on insolence.

Eleanor rose and took her leave with more courtesy than was owed. As she, her guard, and his daughter walked back toward the manor house gate, she grieved that she had failed to bring either peace or contrition to the twisted heart of the steward’s wife and feared the evil in this place of refuge was more sinister than she had imagined.

The musty stench of mold was strong in the windowless hut.

“I am innocent of murder, Brother.” Hilda sobbed as she cowered in the corner.

“I would prove that and speed your release,” he said, “but you must answer my questions fully, truthfully, and without hesitation.”

Although she might not see his own tears in the dim light, Thomas rubbed all traces from his cheeks. How could a woman be transformed into this thin shadow of despair within so few hours? Yet, as he recalled his own first day of imprisonment, he knew he should understand well enough just how quickly loss of hope sucked life from a man.

“I swear I left the kitchen but once or twice the night Tobye was cruelly slaughtered. You saw me asleep when you awoke for prayer. It was so cold that my trips to the privy were brief.”

Did she omit mention of Huet’s testimony, knowing he had lied? Thomas was about to ask, then decided she might not want to bring attention to the falsehood, fearing it would weaken her case. Or perhaps she thought the statement of a monk would have greater merit than that of a one who had abandoned the priesthood, and thus it mattered not what the latter might say? Did she wonder why the man had lied? He opted to abandon all those uncertainties and probe for answers to more immediate questions.

“Did you ever meet with Tobye in the stable and couple in sin?”

“I have never known any man, Brother, although I confess I dreamed of it.”

“Did you know the women who actually shared his bed?”