Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

“Shouldn’t you be on your knees in the chapel, praying for Mistress Luce’s soul?” Reimund snarled at the monk. “Leave this matter to me. You have a most unfortunate tendency to interfere in secular matters, Brother.”

“If she committed self-murder, she cannot be buried in sanctified ground,” Thomas replied, his voice tense with defiance. “Surely Master Stevyn would find some comfort in knowing that his wife was both innocent of this particular sin and might find rest in a proper grave. Would you deny him that?”

“On what do you base your belief, Brother?” The steward gestured for the sheriff to remain silent.

“If we look at the position of the body in relation to the loft, we can see that she could not have jumped from there and killed herself.”

“Stop!” Master Stevyn shouted up to the man who had begun sawing at the rope from which the dead wife was suspended.

The man hesitated.

Sir Reimund quickly nodded concurrence although his expression suggested reluctance.

“Go on, Brother,” Master Stevyn said.

“If she was determined to kill herself, she would have made sure the rope stretched down far enough to break her neck as she jumped from the loft. Instead, the noose was only a few inches below the planks of the loft. Had she wanted, she could have pulled herself back to safety when she began to choke. In any case, she would have dropped only far enough to bruise her neck and perhaps frighten herself but not to die.”

“Women are deficient in logic, Brother. As distressed as it makes me to conclude this about Master Stevyn’s wife, I fear she may not have understood what she was doing and thus bungled the entire matter.” Reimund did manage to look suitably grieved.

The steward snorted in disgust. “Have you all noted what Brother Thomas has observed and heard his skillful argument?” Stevyn pointed to each man standing nearby. All nodded concurrence. Now satisfied that there would be no finding of self-murder in his wife’s death, he turned in triumph to Sir Reimund. “You may now cut her down.”

The sheriff allowed his man to finish cutting the rope. Mistress Luce’s body dropped to the stable floor with a dull thud, her legs spread and her sex exposed.

Her husband covered his eyes.

Several gaped.

“Have none of you a charitable heart?” Mistress Maud hurried out of the shadows and threw her cloak over the corpse. Then she spun around and glared at the sheriff. “As mortals, women may be both foolish and sinful creatures, Sir Reimund, but that does not mean the body of Master Stevyn’s wife should be left exposed and gazed upon as if she were no more than some common whore.”

“I want her prepared for honorable burial,” the steward said, his voice catching in a swallowed sob.

Maud gave instructions to those who came forward to take the body away.

The crowd began to disperse, their curiosity sated.

“This was no accident?” Maud suddenly cried out to Thomas. “You believe it to be murder?”

Heads quickly turned, and faces lit up at the prospect of more fodder for gossip.

“That is the most likely conclusion,” the monk replied. “Lacking in reason or not, most mortals of any gender are more likely to grab at the chance for life when they find themselves unable to breath. She would have saved herself.”

The sheriff still looked eager to argue the point.

“Let the monk finish,” Stevyn growled, his fist raised as if longing to find something to strike.

Sir Reimund wisely stepped away.

“Even assuming she wanted to die, she would not have chosen to choke slowly to death. She would have pulled herself up and reset the rope so she would drop farther and commit the act quickly. If we examine the body, I think we will find that she was dead before she was hanged and the killer bungled the deception.”

Reimund bent to pull the temporary shroud back.

“In the name of God’s mercy, let a woman do that!” Maud snapped. “She is the steward’s wife!”

Eleanor left Constance and walked toward the physician’s widow. “Mistress Maud could examine the body for any signs of foul play,” she said. “With her experience as apothecary under the guidance of her physician husband, she has learned good skills, and I will be happy to assist. Thus propriety will be maintained.”

Maud nodded. In the weak light, her face was a faded gray.

“We will share our observations with Brother Thomas, and he can resolve questions or doubts as well as correct our faults. His work at Tyndal’s hospital is well known,” the prioress carefully added.

“Then do so,” the steward said, looking at both women with pitiful gratitude. “After you finish, your monk should bring the findings to me. I must attend other matters until he has need of me, and Sir Reimund is free to return to his many other pressing duties until summoned.”

Looking into Stevyn’s narrowed eyes, the sheriff must have known he had little choice but to agree.

Eleanor rushed back to the manor, her faithful guard hurrying in silence behind her. The swiftness of her pace was born of impatience to view the body as well as her anger over this latest, and quite needless, cruel death. While the sheriff fussed over his tender ambitions, a killer stalked. Would this violence never end?

Nor could she ignore her own failings that contributed to Luce’s death. Had she but insisted on counseling the woman yesterday! But that was past, and penance would be done. In the meantime, she hoped that she was finally getting closer to a solution.

While her monk presented his arguments to the sheriff and steward in the stable, Eleanor had gone to soothe Stevyn’s daughter-in-law who had been left alone to cower in the shadows. For once, the woman’s rigid certitude had cracked, and she trembled like a doe sensing danger.

Eleanor’s conversation with Mistress Constance had been too short, and rather troubling, but the woman had begged leave to go to the chapel for prayer. Eager though the prioress was to question her and clarify details, this plea was not something she would refuse.

“Patience is a virtue,” the prioress now whispered aloud, knowing how often she needed the reminder. At least the woman had seemed willing to talk later.

Eleanor shuddered. Wasn’t that the same request made by Mistress Luce?

She stopped so quickly that her guard almost ran into her.

And now the steward’s wife was dead. But surely Mistress Constance would be safe enough in the brighter light of day, the prioress decided, then continued on her way as she pondered what she had heard in the stable.

The cause of Constance’s distress most certainly was not the sight of her mother-in-law’s corpse. On that discovery, the woman firmly declared she was glad Mistress Luce must face God with all her sins intact. Eleanor was not surprised there had been no affection between the women, but the statement was indicative of a spiteful heart and most unworthy of one who claimed to be pious.

Other than that one statement, Constance had said little that made sense, but Eleanor did pluck one potentially helpful detail out of the woman’s babbling: she had apparently followed Luce to the stable. If she had pursued her mother-in-law, Eleanor suspected the woman hoped to catch the steward’s wife with a new lover. From what she knew of Ranulf’s wife, she could well imagine the woman’s expression of sanctimonious pleasure when she confronted Master Stevyn with irrefutable proof of his wife’s latest sins. But perhaps she was just being uncharitable toward Constance, and the woman had meant only to stop Mistress Luce before she once again committed adultery.

When the prioress tried to find out why Ranulf’s wife had followed Luce, and how she even found out what her mother-in-law was doing, Constance retreated into wide-eyed silence. Eleanor could not shatter it. Had Constance seen something that would help identify the killer? Prayer would surely calm the woman enough to let her speak of it.