A Mortal Bane Page 10

  Relieved, Bell smiled. “Never mind,” he said. “Go and have your dinner. Knud and the infirmarian would not be pleased if I should call them away from their meal. I have other questions to ask. I will return later.”

  “Thank you,” Brother Godwine said and turned to lead them out of the church.

  When they came to the priory gate, Bell said, “One more word, Brother Porter. You now know who is lying dead and can say proper prayers for his soul. Please do so. Also, please do not bury him until Monday. The body will hold that long, will it not? I need to talk to the bishop about what arrangements he wishes to make if no friend of Baldassare’s comes forward to arrange the burial.”

  The porter nodded brusquely, closed the gate behind them with some finality, barred it, and hurried back to enter the monastery buildings. Bell grinned.

  “What will you learn from the knife and the infirmarian?” Magdalene asked as they walked along beside the priory wall. She was developing a marked respect for Sir Bellamy of Itchen and a real hope was growing in her that with his help, the murderer might be exposed.

  “From the knife…possibly whether it was newly honed, as if it were being made ready for this act. It is no proof. A man—or woman—may hone a knife for many purposes, and I might not be able to tell anyway. With the knife in the wound for so long, the blood might have eaten away at the brightness of new honing. And the infirmarian will know far more about what becomes of a body after death. I know some things from seeing men who died in battle. I know the body stiffens and if it is left long enough, softens again, but the infirmarian may know how long this takes better than I.”

  “But I told you poor Messer Baldassare was dead soon after Compline. Sabina found him not long after the service was ended.”

  “I know when you said he was dead. I need to be sure. And speaking of Sabina and what you told me about her experience, why are we walking all around the priory? Did you not say that there was a gate between the back of the church and your back garden?”

  “Yes, but the sacristan locked it.”

  “When did you discover that?”

  “Yesterday afternoon when Dulcie—” Magdalene choked slightly as she almost told him they had discovered the locked gate when Dulcie had gone to hide the pouch “—went to clean in the church,” she finished, pretending to cough to clear her throat. “She goes most days.”

  “So she went around the other way, as we have done?”

  His voice was cool and he was smiling slightly.

  Magdalene swallowed, grateful that he could not see her appalled expression behind her veil. But he knew, she thought. Even without seeing her face, he knew she was hiding something. And then she realized that Sir Bellamy was not first going to her house and then back to the priory so that Knud and the infirmarian could finish their meal, but so that she, whom he could not have kept by him when he questioned them, should not have the opportunity to go home and speak to her women in private before he did.

  She glanced at him above the masking veil. Was he seeking signs of their guilt so she would have to yield her body to him? Behind the veil, her lips thinned. She would not do it—not because she cared about one futtering more or less, but because if he were that kind, he could use her yielding as another proof of her guilt.

  II he asked, she thought, she would go to the bishop again—or tell William of Ypres. And then she wondered whether she was making too much of a single look and a quite justifiable desire for confirmation of her statements. Before complaint, she would do her best not to increase his suspicion, and she would explain, most carefully, why it would have been lunacy for her or any of the others to have killed Baldassare.

  She swallowed again as she saw he was staring at her and then realized she had not answered him. “No,” she said, “Dulcie did not go to the church at all that day, nor today, either. She was furious and said she will not clean again until our gate is opened.”

  “Was she angry on her own account or out of loyalty to you?”

  “I think out of loyalty,” Magdalene said, but this time she spoke easily, smiling a little, guessing he would hear the smile in her voice. “And yes, all the women would lie for me if I asked. They are very grateful for an easy employment in comfortable circumstances, which none could expect if I had not taken them into my household. However, I hope you will understand that we have no purpose for lying. None of us harmed Baldassare and none had any cause to do so. Indeed, his death—any client’s death so near our establishment—does us the greatest harm.”

  Bell shrugged. “On the surface, that is true.”

  “And beneath the surface also. I did not know that Messer Baldassare was a papal messenger, but” —she sighed— “I guessed. His clothes, so rich and yet so sober, the way he spoke his French, which was like a client who came from Italy although he now lives in London, the pouch he carried—”

  “You saw the pouch?”

  “Yes, Sir Bellamy. Not clearly, he pushed it back under his cloak, and it is never my business to pry into what a client wishes to keep private. But I saw he had a pouch.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I suppose he took it with him when he went out. He left nothing behind. Well, after the sacristan came and accused us of murder and I had been so stupid as to deny the man had been here, you can lay odds that we searched most carefully for anything that might tie us to him. There was nothing.”

  “Too bad. Winchester wants that pouch.”

  “I feared so. The fact that Baldassare was here, so close to the bishop, made me think he carried a message from the pope for Winchester. But then I wondered why he did not simply go to the bishop’s house.”

  “That seems clear enough. Surely he knew his entertainment here would be more lively and…ah…gratifying.”

  “But he did not know what kind of guesthouse it was. He stopped because of a joke one of our clients played on him. He told Baldassare that this was the Bishop of Winchester’s inn and that it was just behind the church of St. Mary Overy priory. Oh!”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh, I have been a fool. I was so angry because I thought the intention was to besmirch the bishop with a connection to my house that I did not realize Baldassare asked to stay only after I told him that we had a back gate that led into the churchyard. Earlier he told me he had a meeting in the neighborhood, but I never thought of it being in the church.”

  “Is not that the most likely place? It is well known, prominent, easy to find, and always open.”

  “Yes, but—” Magdalene shrugged. “I suppose because he was so much at ease with us, I did not think his next stop would be a church. I thought he might be in minor orders at least, and I suppose I felt he would not stop in a whorehouse just before he planned to enter a church. On the other hand, he did not act as if being with Sabina would weigh on his conscience, or that he would need to confess to ease it, so…ah, here we are.”

  Chapter Six

  21 April 1139

  Old Priory Guesthouse

  Magdalene was a little disturbed when Sir Bellamy hardly reacted to the sight of her women, all sitting together near the fire. Letice and Ella were embroidering. Sabina had apparently been singing; her lute was in her lap, her fingers still in position upon it, but she must have stopped as soon as she heard the snick of the latch. Magdalene had hoped that so much beauty of all different types would distract him from her. Not that she planned to allow him access to any of the women without the normal fee—that would be tantamount to admitting they had something to hide—but she would have been more comfortable if he showed more interest and desire.

  Ella jumped up as soon as they were in sight, laying aside her embroidery. She did not mind the work and did it reasonably well, if not with the exquisite skill Magdalene had, but she loved her other work much more.

  “Have you brought a new friend?” she asked eagerly. “He is very pretty. My name is Ella. I am pretty, too.”

  Magdalene heard a faint, strangled sound from
Sir Bellamy, but did not turn to look at him. “Go back to your seat, love,” she said to Ella as the girl started forward. “Sir Bellamy is, indeed, a friend, but he has not come here to lie with any of us. He is on the business of the Bishop of Winchester.”

  Ella blinked, and her pretty mouth drooped with disappointment, but she obediently went back to her stool and picked up the embroidery. “Does that mean he can never come to bed? Surely when his business is done—”

  “Hush, love,” Magdalene said, smiling. One could not help smiling at Ella’s dedication. “That is for Sir Bellamy to decide, and you know we do not urge our friends one way or the other. But I wish to make known to him Letice and Sabina now, so work and be quiet.” She turned to him. “Sir Bellamy, the small, dark woman is Letice; she is mute and cannot greet you. And the woman with the lute is Sabina. Please speak so she will know where to direct her conversation; she is, as I mentioned to you, blind.”

  “Blind, mute, and….” Bell swallowed and did not finish his sentence because Ella was looking at him with bright interest and he could not call her an idiot to her face. He turned abruptly to Magdalene. “Why?” he asked. “Do you collect discards?”

  “Do my women look like discards?” she snapped angrily. “Each one of them is beautiful, clean, skilled at her work. Discards indeed! I searched long and hard before I found my women.”

  That was not really true. Ella had been cast out of a house, bruised and bloody, and had fallen almost at Magdalene’s feet. She was weeping hysterically, totally unable to understand why she had been so treated, repeating over and over that she had done her work well and carefully, that she had not broken anything or stolen anything. Only after she had got the girl home and clean and calmed did Magdalene learn that Ella had been in both the father’s and the son’s beds in that house, that she had thought that the greatest fun, was always eager to return, and never once asked to be compensated. It was, of course, the women of the household who had mistreated her and driven her out.

  Letice and Sabina had been chosen more deliberately. Letice had come herself, having heard of Magdalene’s house through the rumor that flew among such places. Because she was mute, the whoremaster for whom she worked had used her for what she knew was dangerous and dishonest work—like placing genuine seals on false documents. Letice did not mind the dishonesty; she was only fearful that she would be thrown to the wolves when the true guilty parties were suspected. Still, she had been resigned until the whoremaster decided she could be given to men who enjoyed hurting women because she could not scream. Then she had fled.

  Sabina had been sold to Magdalene by another whoremistress, who complained that she was altogether too popular because her clients were forever leaving without paying. Since she could not name them nor point them out without touching them, it was almost impossible for the whoremistress to wrench the money out of them. That was unimportant to Magdalene, who collected the fee before the client joined his woman or, from many clients, received a weekly or monthly stipend that permitted reasonable access by appointment.

  “Apurpose?” Sir Bellamy asked. “You chose them apurpose?”

  “You may be certain I did, and also my cook, who is deaf.” She smiled at him. “Have you never heard the tale of ‘hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil’? This is a safe house. Safe. I told you my clients pay very well to be assured that their possessions, their affairs, and their persons will be secret and inviolate. They feel more at ease with women who cannot speak to identify them, cannot see to describe them, and cannot remember when, where, or who. They can say what they like, do what they like—so long as they do no damage to their partners—and feel that no one will be the wiser.”

  She then laughed aloud. “It is not true, of course. Letice can make herself understood when she wishes; Sabina can see a great deal with her ears and fingers. Ella….”

  He burst out laughing. “But you see and hear all—”

  “Not what goes on in bed, I assure you. And that is where a man likes to feel perfectly free. In the outer chamber, he wears what armor he likes and no one tries to see what is beneath it. Also, most of my clients know me of old and know I will not betray a secret.”

  He stood shaking his head for a moment, then said, “I hope they realize they must tell me the truth.”

  “I did,” Ella said. “I told all the truth, and that cruel man hit me with his staff. Will you hit me if you do not like my answers? They were the truth. They were.”

  “Certainly not,” Bell said. “You see I have no staff, so I could not strike you with it.”

  “You have a sword.”

  “Only a madman would strike you with a sword for no reason. I will not, I promise.”

  Magdalene heard the faint note of impatience in his voice and said, “I think you will accomplish more and feel more comfortable if you question each of my women privately. We have an empty room to which you can take a bench and a stool. I can provide a small table if that will be of help.”

  “Thank you, that will do very well.”

  “Shall I ask the women each to go to her own room so that you need not be concerned lest we decide among us what to say?”

  He looked at her and smiled slowly, guessing she was making the point because he had not sent her home alone from the priory. In fact, he was amused now to think he had suspected they would concoct answers. They had had a full night and day to do so already. The truth was, he had wanted to walk with her and made a stupid excuse to himself. But he was not about to admit that and spoke his first thought.

  “If that had been your intention,” he said, “you would have decided among you long since.”

  She looked surprised. “That is true, but you do not seem sure of it. We are innocent. To kill a client of this house would be insane. No matter how much money he was carrying, we would lose more in the long run by having our other clients lose confidence in us.”

  “Except that this man was a stranger. You indicated to me that you had guessed he came from Italy and that no one knew he was coming to your house. If he disappeared, who would know? If he died on the church porch, who would associate him with you? You could take all that he had—”

  “Ridiculous.” Magdalene laughed. “This house was the first place the monks thought of. Do you think we are unaware of how they feel? And why should we take such a chance? Would it not be more sensible to have drugged him, then smothered him and dumped him in the river? We may be sinners, but we are not fools.”

  “What are you saying?” Ella looked up and her eyes were round as saucers. “Did someone fall in the river?”

  “No, love. We were talking about dumping offal in the river. You know that Dulcie sometimes does that.”

  “Does she? No, I did not know. I would never go with her to the river. My mother taught me that, never to go near the river and never to touch a knife.”

  “Never to touch a knife, Ella?” Bell said. “How do you eat, then?”

  “With my fingers, like everyone else who has any sense. I lick them clean and wash my hands after.” She shuddered. “I could not put a knife in my mouth. I have to look away when friends do it.”

  “Letice cuts up her food,” Magdalene said, shook her head slightly, and turned away. “If that bench near the hearth on the east wall and the stool by the window will suit you, take them.”

  Bell picked up the bench and stool and followed her down the corridor to the last room on the right. He had been a little suspicious at first when Magdalene suggested he question the women separately in private, but by now he was reasonably sure it was not to hide anything from him but from Ella, who caught bits and pieces of the talk, did not understand it, and was easily frightened.

  It looked less and less likely that these women had had any part in Baldassare’s death. The mute was simply too small. Had she used the knife, it would have gone in at a completely different angle. There was a small possibility that the blind woman could have killed him by accident, but the cut would not have been s
o clean if she had been flailing around. Ella? He shook his head. He tended to believe in her fear of knives; she was plainly several bushels lacking of a full load of corn.

  Magdalene could have done it; she was tall enough and strong enough—and he suspected there had been an accusation of murder in her past—but she was the least likely to act out of rage or fear. And if those were not the cause, she had made a telling point about the killing. It would have been infinitely easier for them to drug Baldassare’s wine and dispose of him without a drop of blood being shed and, considering how close they were to the river, without much chance of the body’s being found anywhere near them. That was more a woman’s way, too, than using a knife.

  Magdalene opened the door and stepped in. Bell stopped in the doorway, surprised by the chamber. The walls were smoothly plastered, which was pleasant though not unusual, but the size of the room was. It was nearly six long paces wide, four paces deep, and well lit by three small windows right under the ceiling.

  “This was a priory guesthouse chamber?” he asked, setting the bench and stool down.

  Magdalene laughed. “No, the sisters were not at all given to comforts of the flesh. This was three guesthouse cells, as you can see by the three windows. Each cell was just wide enough for a cot for a night’s lodging.”

  “Could you not make more profit by having more women?”

  “This is not a common stew,” Magdalene said coldly. “And no, I could not make more profit, because no man would pay my price for a filthy cell and a filthy slut. I have told you over and over why I am desperate to find Messer Baldassare’s killer. I sell pleasure in comfort and security.”

  Bell suddenly turned and stared at her, alerted to a fact he had missed the pride in her voice. He realized that because he had met her in the bishop’s presence, he had failed to be surprised as he should have been by her speech and manner. This woman was not common-born. A whore she might be now, but she had been born a lady.

  “Besides,” she was continuing, “when I came here, the house was in great disorder—” She shuddered. “There was old blood on the walls, and the vermin…. There are always fleas and lice, but these were so thick they walked about on each other in layers out in the open. I could not use the place as it was, so it was reasonable to make it suit my purposes. Since the walls did not support anything” —her mouth twisted— “except vermin, I had them taken down and replaced to give more space. I had the bishop’s permission.”