Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

Was Maud the woman seen pleading with Tobye that night? Might she have killed him because he knew of her lust for the master’s younger son and either threatened to expose her as leman to a man who should be a priest, or else demanded payment for not doing so? Did the physician’s widow stab Hilda because the cook knew of the affair or could name Maud as a possible suspect in the groom’s murder?

If so, the woman dissembled well. Eleanor could not call to mind one gesture, look, or word that suggested any dismay in Maud’s heart over the prospect that Hilda could live to give witness against her. She had given the cook her own pallet on which to lie, had tended to her with the utmost tenderness, and had wept at the idea of the woman’s probable death. Was there anything in this behavior to suggest a killer?

On the reverse of that argument, Maud was well-positioned to ease Hilda into God’s hands without anyone thinking twice about it. She was often alone with her and had already expressed her expert opinion that the cook would most likely die. Knowing the cook would never live to point an accusing finger at her might allow Maud to feign the innocence of grief she did not feel.

Eleanor tapped her fingers against the wall in frustration at the extent to which she had been misguided. Surely this proved how vile her arrogance was, interfering in the sheriff’s business when she had no cause? Why did she think she was ordained by God to render judgments on guilt or innocence? Wasn’t she but a mere woman, a flawed vessel?

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor again tried to regain calm and objectivity. Whatever her imperfections, her greatest failing in this situation had actually been the inability to distinguish between facts and conjectures.

I may have been most foolish, she thought, but I doubt God is offended because I care about justice in this matter. Surely He disapproves when mortals conclude that their worldly ambitions are best served by letting the innocent suffer or offering them up as a sacrifice. Nay, God has never shown offence when I interfered in other crimes, and, if I have grown bloated with conceit over past accomplishments, I shall do penance.

She resettled on the bench and considered what to do next. The wisest approach would be to reassess what she had learned and not allow herself to be blinded by womanish impulse when logic must rule.

“Below are two women, walking toward the manor house.” She whispered to herself with that determined simplicity a novice mistress might use to explain a new concept to an obtuse student. “Mistress Luce was Tobye’s lover and is Huet’s stepmother. Those are facts. Mistress Maud may be Huet’s lover. That is most likely a fact but must still be counted conjecture. Although they were discovered in each other’s arms, there might be some other explanation for it.”

She watched Luce and Maud stop and turn toward each other. The physician’s widow abruptly folded her arms and tucked in her chin as if angry or offended. The steward’s wife spun around and walked off alone.

And what of Mistress Luce’s conduct toward her stepson, she asked herself, that evening Huet entertained them all? Was it a fair observation to think the behavior was seductive? It most certainly was not maternal! To conclude that a stepmother would flirt with her stepson, albeit one of similar enough age, was an uncomfortable one, but Eleanor could not dismiss the possibility. If Maud learned of it, might she not be jealous? That might also mean that Mistress Luce was in danger, assuming the widow was the one who killed Tobye, if the wife let the widow know she had discovered the affair.

Eleanor now saw Maud pick up the front of her robe and run to catch up with the steward’s wife. The pair met again just below the window where the prioress sat.

Eleanor leaned over to better see what was happening, praying as she did that they would not look up and see her. Their gestures suggested a heated discussion.

The surrounding commotion, normal in any courtyard, made it difficult to hear what the women were saying. In any case, no one else seemed to pay much attention to the pair. The prioress began to suspect this was such common behavior between the two that it was no longer entertaining to watch.

Suddenly, Luce raised her hand as if to strike.

Maud grimaced in anticipation of the blow.

Luce lowered her fist and drew back.

The widow hurried away. Although she did glance once over her shoulder, her expression was unreadable.

“You have dared to rise above your station,” the steward’s wife shouted after her. “Leave this manor and never show your face here again!”

This time, several women did turn their heads to stare at their master’s wife. A man lowered his axe and then shook his head in disgust before returning to his labor of wood chopping.

Eleanor quickly looked at her guard to see if he had overheard, but he was still leaning against the wall, his eyes shut as if lost in some pleasant dream.

In Mariota’s room, the servant continued to stitch.

The prioress turned back to see Maud’s reaction. Surely the woman had heard Mistress Luce’s words, but the widow neither replied nor stopped before disappearing around the side of the stable.

Glancing down, Eleanor saw Mistress Luce cover her eyes with one hand as if struck with a headache. The gesture lasted but a moment before she quickly lifted the hem of her robe out of the mud and climbed the stairs leading to the manor house entrance.

Eleanor decided to meet her at the door.

“My lady!” Brother Thomas called out, then saw her guard close on her heels as she emerged from the entrance to the stairwell. “I must speak with you, for my spirit is most troubled and needs guidance,” he quickly added.

This was the one time Eleanor might have preferred not to meet her handsome monk, despite the joyful look on his face when his eyes met hers, but he was a man disinclined to idle talk and must have discovered something noteworthy.

With regret, she bowed her head as Mistress Luce approached.

The steward’s wife hurried on without acknowledging the courtesy.

Eleanor watched the woman hasten up the stairs leading to the chambers above the hall. The lack of response was surprising. What had happened between widow and wife to cause such extreme distraction?

And what emotion could she read in the woman’s face? Mistress Luce passed by so quickly there had been little time to observe her. Were those damp cheeks indicative of sorrow, or had a bitter wind caused the eyes to tear? Were the pinched lips suggestive of anger?

Perhaps she should follow, or would that gesture be interpreted as rude interference in a private matter? God’s comfort might be turned aside, she decided, but no honest soul would call it impolite. She would hear Brother Thomas’ news and seek to learn more about what she had witnessed between the two women in the courtyard.

“Follow me, Brother, and tell me what you have discovered,” she said in Latin, and then nodded to the guard before beginning the climb back up the stairs in search of Mistress Luce.

“I have learned the hour of the attack,” Thomas muttered.

“Thanks be to God,” Eleanor replied with a brief look heavenward.

“I met a boy who lives with his parents near the place where our poor woman suffered her grievous wound.”

“Continue,” she said, grateful that he understood the need to omit names that might be recognized by her guard.

“They own a…” Thomas hesitated on his phrasing. “…a hound of Hell, one who cries out if some strange mortal draws nigh.”

“May God protect us from such wickedness.” Eleanor glanced back as she reached the top of the stairs. Her guard was walking a few steps behind Brother Thomas. Was his head bowed in prayer, or was the young widower thinking of a certain young woman who had clearly caught his interest? With gentle amusement, she assumed the latter.