Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

Eleanor shook her head but refused to be distracted from the direction of her inquiry. “When you examined Mistress Luce, what did you find?”

“She refused to submit to an examination. Had a physician met with her, he would have asked her questions only and thus she might have kept her secret longer. Like any competent midwife, I would have discovered the truth the moment my hand felt her womb. That, she knew. Of course, I quickly suspected she was not pregnant, and I had heard whisperings of her affair with the groom. Just before she was killed, I told her that I believed she was not with child and must cease all deception with her husband. My phrasing was ill-spoken for she thought I was speaking of her adultery.”

“Was that when she abused you in the courtyard and ordered you to leave this place?”

“I fear you were not the only one who overheard that conversation.”

“Including Master Stevyn? If he did not hear the argument, he was surely told of it.”

The woman stiffened. “My lady, I know you must suspect him of murder as well, but he did not kill his wife. We may be guilty of adultery, deception, and foolishness, all evil enough, but they are the worst of our sins. Aye, he was unwise to bring me here, and I was imprudent to agree. After that first night, we often slept quite chastely in each other’s arms, as we did the night his wife was killed. Lust we do feel, but the burning in our loins is more temperate than when I could bear children, and satisfaction of our longings gives us a different contentment. It is not a passion that spawns murder.”

Eleanor turned away, not out of contempt for the woman’s admission, but from need to think without distraction. Was Maud lying to her, assuming that an older woman could easily fool a younger one, especially a prioress who had forsworn carnal love? Her own passion for Brother Thomas was achingly hot and most certainly did not resemble such tranquil longings described by the widow. Eleanor could find nothing in her own lust that might instruct her in the truth of theirs.

Yet as she thought more on that, she remembered Sister Beatrice’s premise that mortal love may have many manifestations. Hadn’t the time spent with her monk during this unfortunate journey been both chaste and sweet? Had she not found as much joy in that as she did agony in her lust? The realization gave her pause.

Making a swift decision, she faced the widow once again. “Sir Reimund will not want to point an accusing finger in your direction even if you each did have cause to kill Mistress Luce and colluded in her death,” the prioress said.

“My lady! Master Stevyn would never commit such a vile…”

She gestured that she had not finished her thought. “My observation about the sheriff is little different from a remark you recently made to me. Nonetheless, I believe you both to be innocent.” Silently she prayed that such a conclusion was not badly mistaken, but the woman’s unselfish attempt to defend the steward’s innocence before that of her own suggested a heart that held goodness in it.

Maud looked as if she had just been given a reprieve from the hangman.

“If not the two of you, tell me who else might have had cause to murder? Surely the deaths of Tobye and Master Stevyn’s wife, as well as the attack on poor Hilda, are connected. You know the people here well. I must have your opinion.”

“Not my Huet!” Maud whispered, her voice mixed with both fresh relief and reborn fear.

“Although I choose not to condemn the deception of his birth, others might decide otherwise. For that reason I must ask if anyone, including Mistress Luce, Hilda, or the groom, knew Huet’s secret.” If any did, Eleanor thought, he might well have had cause enough to kill.

“None of them. I swear to it!”

“You said your son did not learn that you were his true mother until just recently. Why tell him at all?”

“Although Huet was happy enough as a boy, sorrow darkened his soul when he became a man. He fathered a child on a woman who was unsuitable as a wife in his father’s eyes. She died birthing a dead babe, and Huet believed it was all God’s curse for his own sinful lust. He went quite wild with grief, but the noble de Lacy had noted his talents and offered to send Huet to Cambridge where he might become a priest or, barring that, a clerk in his service. My son thought of it as penance. His father was delighted, seeing it as a fine opportunity for a younger son with little inheritance to advance in the world.”

“An education and a calling your son soon rejected, apparently choosing instead to wander abroad as a common minstrel until his recent return.”

“The boy was confused! When he arrived home, filled with doubt over the path on which he had been placed, he found a father too distracted to offer kind advice and a stepmother who cared only for herself. Even I had little time for him, struggling as I was with my own sins. Master Stevyn most certainly greeted Huet with harsh words when the lad returned, but the steward was deeply grieved, fearing that our son would lose his lordship’s favor and thus any hope for a decent living. It was then he said to me that I must tell Huet the truth of his parentage. The shock of learning he was a bastard, with no right of any inheritance from his father, might shock him into a wiser path than he had been following of late.”

“When did you tell him?”

“The night Tobye was killed, I slipped away from Mariota’s side to meet with Huet in my chambers. His longing for a sweet word and gentle direction was piteous, and it was not easy for me to tell him the story. Although I had not intended to leave my vigil over your charge for so long, I fear even the owls had ceased their calling before we finished our discussion.”

“God must have smiled on your efforts. Indeed, Mariota suffered no harm.” Eleanor reached over and gently touched the woman. “But do tell me how he took the news.”

“I expected outrage or grief. Instead, his countenance softened, and he said he was much comforted by the news.”

“Although this meant he had no right to his father’s estate should Ranulf die without issue, as his wife has yet to bring forth heirs?”

Maud clutched her hands together. “He said he was grateful that the woman who reared him was not his mother,” she whispered. “Sinful though this may be, my lady, I found joy in his happiness. As for his bastardy, he grew merry about it, jesting that the truth was just considering his wayward nature.”

What a strange reaction, Eleanor thought as she looked down at Hilda and touched her cheek. Although the skin had regained a suspicious coloring, she was relieved to note there was no feverous heat. “Might he have told this news to anyone else?”

“To whom, my lady? He and Ranulf are not close, and he has not sought out any boyhood friends due to the reasons for his sudden return. He is wise enough to stay silent in any case.” Preparing to defend her lad’s good sense, Maud tensed.

Not having any cause to debate this, Eleanor nodded, and then grew thoughtful. Perhaps Huet’s response had not been so odd. Jests were an honored means of speaking truth through laughter. Even wise kings encouraged their fools to do it, thus allowing bitter honesty to counter the honeyed words of flatterers. The manner in which Huet had defended Hilda had been similar. Maybe he knew how difficult this confession had been for his mother and he had simply tried to make her laugh. That would point to a kind nature and not one prone to murder.

“Indeed, I soon saw hope that Huet might return to Cambridge. As we spoke more in private about the matter, he listened with the grave earnestness befitting a man. When I reminded him that a position with the Earl would bring him a comfortable lot in life, whatever the truth of his birth, he said he would refuse to take even one mazer of a true son’s inheritance from Ranulf.”