Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

Maud spun around, her face pale as she stared at the prioress with obvious shock. “Never, my lady! Flaws he most certainly has, but he would not have killed his wife or the groom. As for Hilda, she has long been in his service and high in his esteem. He would never have harmed her.”

“Surely he knew that Mistress Luce had put the cuckold’s horns on his head. Many would say such a betrayal gives any man just cause for killing the lover, even the wife. Less reason, perhaps, for what was done to Hilda.”

“I swear to you that he could never have killed either her or Tobye. Aye, he knew of the adultery, but he is innocent of murder!”

“I do not doubt your word but must understand the basis for your belief. Once more facts are made clear, perhaps they will point to another suspect. How can you be certain that he did not commit either crime?’

Maud began to twist her hands together as if trying to scrub an offensive stain away.

Eleanor tilted her head and remained silent, patiently waiting for the widow’s evident distress to birth an explanation, one she believed would surely be of import.

Bursting into broken sobs, Maud fell to her knees and lifted her hands, her expression piteous and pleading. “My lady, my soul is most wicked. I beg for your prayers and pity for I have a confession to make!”

The killer must be a man, Thomas decided. Stepping aside so a shepherd with his dog and many bouncing sheep could pass, the monk leaned against a white plaster wall, rough with cow hair, and considered the options.

In fact, Tobye might have been killed by either man or woman. Although the actual site of the murder had been befouled by the sheriff’s incurious men, the body itself bore no marks of any struggle. Thus Thomas felt it reasonable to assume the groom had been asleep when his throat was cut. As long as the killer approached without any sound, only stealth would have been needed to overpower him. A woman could have done it.

But Tobye must have made many enemies amongst the men here. The groom’s transgressions were more likely to enflame another man to revenge, if the groom had bedded someone’s wife, sister, or daughter. A jealous woman might have slit his throat, but the use of a knife was more a man’s way. That said, the manner in which it was done was cowardly, dishonorable.

Thomas was a priest, but his view on how insult should be dealt with was born in his youth, surrounded by men who reacted to perceived dishonor with swords and lances. Even amongst those of lesser rank, an honest man would demand the issue be settled by a fair and open fight. One less than honest might lie in wait with cudgel in hand after the sun had set. Yet, by either method, Tobye would have had a chance to defend himself. Slitting a man’s throat when he slept was a despicable act.

In any case, the potential number of suspects was significant and included every man in the vicinity who might have a beddable woman under his protection. Did the assault on Hilda diminish that number at all?

Pushing himself away from the wall, he sighed with frustration. If only he knew more about the people here, their kinships and ways, he might be able to answer that question with ease. He walked on, his head bent in thought, carefully avoiding the steaming dung left by several of the sheep.

As for eliminating any who were ignorant of her arrest, he could not. Hilda had been taken to the shed in full view of everyone working here. Few would have been ignorant of where she was held, and thus knowledge of her temporary prison was widespread.

There had been a local man set as guard by the barred door, but that turned out to be a weak defense. He had gotten drunk and fallen asleep for part of the night, which the sheriff discovered after the wounded Hilda was carried to the manor house. Thomas later heard the man’s cries as he was beaten for his negligence. Perhaps the fellow was lucky he had not been hanged, although the beating might have been severe enough to kill him anyway if sweet mercy was lacking in the heat of Sir Reimund’s fury.

Certainly the killer would not have taken long to notice that the guard was deep in a drunken sleep. Perhaps he even made sure the ale was waiting for him, knowing the weakness of this local man for strong drink. Getting into the shed had been far too easy.

The lack of evidence of any struggle suggested that Hilda knew her assailant well and, unlike Tobye, had been awake when she was stabbed. Indeed, she had felt safe enough to turn her back to the man. Might she have even expected him to free her? She did lie very close to the door and facing it. Had the door been left open to raise false hope that she might escape?

Briefly, the monk wondered if the culprit had been the sheriff. The man might have arrested her solely as a scapegoat, but there could be more to it. Had she seen him kill the groom?

The possibility pleased Thomas, but he chastised himself for malice. There was no indication that Sir Reimund was nearby until he came with his men later in the morning. His fury at finding his best suspect dying was far stronger proof that he had a better motive for keeping her alive-at least long enough to hang for the crime. Forcing himself to let logic win over his dislike of the man, Thomas reluctantly decided the sheriff had not tried to kill the cook.

So who did? If Hilda witnessed Tobye’s killing, or saw the man leave the stable, she would fear him. When she saw that familiar face enter her rough cell, she would assume he had come to kill her and would not have turned her back on him. She might even have fought him off. The cook was not a slight woman, and her arms were well-muscled after years of hacking animal carcasses with heavy cleavers.

Thomas stopped and stared up at the heavy clouds. Might the man have eased her fears by offering to bribe her? Did he promise enough money to allow her to escape and find safe haven far from here? If he convinced her that no one would believe what she had seen and that she would hang in any case, she might have accepted, deceiving herself into believing he would let her escape unharmed. If this is what happened, the man must have enough influence and coin to make such an offer believable.

“How clever of me to think of that,” Thomas muttered bitterly. “Such a conclusion eliminates most of those living here, but leaves no one I think likely to have assaulted Hilda as well.” Glancing at a nearby flock of pecking chickens, he was overcome by a feeling of kinship with the weak-minded fowl. With somber courtesy, and only half-amused, he nodded at them in familial greeting.

The murder of Mistress Luce, in conjunction with that of Tobye, pointed very specifically to Master Stevyn as the most likely suspect. Men, who discovered that their wives had cuckolded them, sometimes did kill both parties to the adultery, and judgements just as frequently found the husbands innocent of homicide, other men being sympathetic to such humiliation.

The steward would surely know all this. Since he must also realize that his humiliation was public enough already, he was clever enough to see the wisdom in admitting the deed and pleading for mercy due to the circumstances. This, he had not done. Did that mean he was innocent of the crime?

Perhaps. If the steward was the killer, he had behaved oddly for a man who had murdered two and perhaps a third. He had defended Hilda from the beginning. His shock and grief over the discovery of his wife’s body did not point to a man who had wantonly taken her life. With some men, Thomas might have concluded that Satan had so possessed their souls that they could feel no guilt, and thus sport the face of innocence, but he did not think that was the case here. Those men remained dry-eyed, as if hellfire had burned away all tears. Master Stevyn had wept.