Chains of Folly Page 16

  Bell shook his head. “That may well be true, but then it makes no sense,” he said. “If this Sir John did not know Nelda stole the letter, why should he kill her apurpose or quarrel with her so violently that she was pushed down the stairs? And if he did know she stole the letter, why would he tell Lord Hugh that he had it?”

  Magdalene frowned. “You are right.” She snorted gently. “And I thought we had our killer. It seemed to me that if Sir John had killed Nelda by accident, trying unsuccessfully to get the letter back, he might have moved her to Winchester’s house so he could say he had arranged for the bishop’s embarrassment. Possibly he hoped it would save him some of Mandeville’s fury when he learned the letter was lost. So Gehard may be our man after all.”

  Bell smiled at her. “Gehard may be, but you put that all together very cleverly, and it all fits—except his telling Lord Hugh he had the letter. Unless he and Nelda quarreled about something else. Could she have stolen something else from him, something he did notice so that he threatened her to make her return it? What was in that pile of ‘keepsakes’ you took from her rooms?”

  Magdalene rose and went to her bedchamber where she drew a key from a chain hanging between her breasts and opened the steel-bound chest under the small, high window. She moved her clothing aside carefully and drew out a sturdy box that she opened with a smaller key from her pocket. From the box she removed a leather pouch, which she carried with her into the common room after she had restored and relocked everything.

  She emptied the pouch onto the table between Bell’s seat and her own. “The Mandeville house badge? Could that have been Sir John’s? And of all the rings she had, only these three and the seal have not been identified. I wonder how she got the rings? She could drug a man to sleep, but so deeply he would not feel a ring being pulled from his finger? And wouldn’t even a half drugged man notice his ring was gone?”

  Bell held what was left of the pasty in his left hand while he fingered the rings Magdalene had pushed toward him with his right. “I think she got these at least honestly,” he said, then grinned. “At least honestly from your point of view in that they were likely given her for her service. They are not true gold, and I think this stone is only garnet.”

  “I knew they were not very valuable,” Magdalene agreed. “But far too valuable to pay a whore for her service. She had to have a reason to keep them in her most secret place.”

  Having chewed and swallowed the last bit of pasty. Bell said, “Likely they were pledges of some kind. Or…wait. Gehard said he would not have killed her because then he could not retrieve his—ah! the seal is Gehard’s. He said she had stolen his seal.”

  “Gehard fitzRobert,” Magdalene murmured, taking the seal from Bell and pointing to the groove that broke the Beaufort arms. “See the mark from left to right?”

  “To show that he had not full rights to the family?” Bell’s voice rose as if to question, but he did not doubt what Magdalene had said. “Yet he was given the seal.”

  Magdalene shrugged. “You said his name was fitzRobert. A bastard of the old earl that he wanted to use but did not want to recognize? I heard he was a righteous old prig.”

  “But what is a Beaufort bastard doing in the employ of Mandeville?”

  Magdalene did not answer at once. She pulled the branch of candles on the table closer and twisted the seal from side to side. After a moment she picked at it with the nail of her little finger.

  “Wax,” she said. “What odds will you lay against me that Gehard used the seal to identify messages about Mandeville’s doings and plans which he sent to Waleran or to Hugh.”

  Having taken back the seal and examined it. Bell nodded. “No odds,” he said. “I do not wager against sure things.”

  “Which makes it more clear why Hugh was so enraged by learning that Winchester was supposed to be held in that place across from Paul’s Wharf.”

  “How do you know he was enraged? Oh, yes. Raoul. But why should Lord Hugh care? Nothing could be proven. Oh, I see. Gehard had made him look a fool, to put his victim in a place that pointed so directly to Baynard’s Castle. Hmmm. I wonder just how much resentment Gehard has built up against his Beaufort half-brothers over the years?”

  “I do not think you can suborn him,” Magdalene said. “To serve Beaufort was likely set deep into his blood and bone from childhood.”

  Bell sighed. “He would be totally untrustworthy anyway. His conscience would nag at him and sooner or later he would turn on anyone who tried to make him betray the family. And one would never know when.”

  He tilted the tankard to get the last drops of ale, and Magdalene rose to refill it. When she returned to the table, she said, “What were you about to tell me when you suddenly remembered Gehard had said Nelda stole his seal? We were talking about the rings being pledges.”

  “Oh, yes. When Gehard said he was not so stupid as to kill a person who stole from him before he retrieved what he had lost, he said something about those who were desperate for more of the stuff not killing her either because she never told anyone where she got it.”

  Magdalene’s eyes opened wide. “That must be the poppy cake. The man who sold it to her, Umar, also said something about those who took it growing desperate.”

  “Likely that was what the valuable rings paid for,” Bell said with a sudden sense of satisfaction. He reached out and cut a slice of cheese with the knife he had left on the table, slapped it on the bread and took a bite. In a voice somewhat impeded by his mouthful, he added, “And the less valuable ones, too. She might not have known the difference. And that was why she had ten pounds in her strongbox. I doubted any man would pay very high just to escape being accused of visiting a whore.”

  “I think you must be right.” Magdalene sighed and shook her head. “And you know, Bell, that if her death was really an accident, if she fell down the stairs while struggling to escape a threat, the logic of not killing her because then one would not be able to retrieve what she had stolen or obtain more of the drug becomes meaningless. Which makes Gehard more likely to be the killer.”

  But Bell was looking past her, considering what he had said and thinking that Father Holdyn might pay high to keep his sin secret. And then the sense of Magdalene’s remark hit him, and he groaned aloud and set his food on the table.

  “I believe I’ve been even stupider than I thought.”

  Magdalene shook her head again. “You aren’t stupid, Bell. You make mistakes, like any other mortal man. At least when you make mistakes you recognize them. What happened?”

  “It was my cursed temper. It was rubbed raw and it mastered me. First I was annoyed because I needed to stand around for hours while Winchester and the archbishop fenced with each other about that cursed convocation. Then, we dined at the cannon’s table—roast vegetables, turnips…”

  Magdalene uttered a small giggle. Bell glared at her and then smiled sheepishly.

  “Actually it was quite good,” he admitted. “After dinner the bishop questioned Father Holdyn about that crucifix we found among Nelda’s other trinkets. He admitted it was his—well, he could not well deny it, both Winchester and I have seen him wear it. He said it was stolen on Sunday night.”

  “Was it?”

  “Oh yes, although to be sure I had to ride all the way up to Monkwell Street and then back to the bishop of London’s palace, all the while broiling in my armor. But when I asked Holdyn’s servants if he had complained about anything being stolen, all they knew of was a gilt cup lost a year or two ago. No one was ever accused; Father Holdyn simply purchased a new cup for the church. The servants said—thinking to praise their master’s charity—that they believed the cup was stolen by a woman who periodically got into Holdyn’s house and into the bishop’s palace, too. They didn’t even know the crucifix was missing. Holdyn never told them, never said the woman should be seized the next time she came.”

  Silent for a moment, Magdalene then nodded slowly. “Too bad Nelda was buried before the servants coul
d be brought to look at her, but even without that I think the woman who took such liberties with Father Holdyn must have been Nelda. So he knew Nelda, knew her, seemingly for years. Why should he kill her now?”

  Bell sighed. “For the same reason as any other man. The gilt cup was nothing. He could replace that and it did not compromise him in any way. The crucifix was different. It was his and his alone, and many people knew that. So he tried to get the crucifix back, threatened to choke her, and she fell. It was an accident. Holdyn is bigger than me and hard as a rock. He spends all his spare time building or repairing churches.”

  “But?” Magdalene asked.

  Bell looked down at the bread and cheese on the table. “But I cannot believe it. I simply cannot believe that Father Holdyn would not run weeping to his confessor if he had killed Nelda, even by accident. And then rushed to the bishop to confess his crime.”

  “Did you ask him straight out?”

  “Winchester did ask him if he knew the woman he buried and he waited a long time before he answered. He had an odd look, too. As if he were rather surprised and sad when he said that he did not know her. I thought then that he was lying and was ashamed of it.”

  “But the bishop did not press him further?”

  “No, because he cannot believe that Holdyn would put the woman in his room.” Bell sighed. “I can’t believe it either.”

  “I understand. You do not wish to suspect Father Holdyn but what he has said and done are suspicious. What then?”

  So he told her about nearly killing Mandeville’s captain for making a stupid jest and saying just the wrong thing to Gehard so that he could not learn who had ordered the man to have the bishop of Winchester attacked.

  Magdalene’s lips twitched, but she said soberly enough, “Likely you should not have throttled the captain, but you need not blame yourself for not wringing more from Gehard. As soon as he said what he said, he must have shocked himself sober. No matter what you did, he would deny his words.”

  “Perhaps. Still it must be Mandeville who sent that order from Devizes or wherever they were. Unless Lord Hugh wanted to implicate Mandeville by using his man… No, then he would not have ordered Winchester brought to that place across the river from Paul’s Wharf.”

  “Oh, yes, it must be Mandeville because the only purpose there could be for attacking Winchester is to frighten him enough to call off the convocation. And Raoul told me that Waleran has not the smallest intention of interfering with the convocation the bishop wishes to call.”

  “What?”

  Magdalene nodded, knowing that Bell had heard her and was only expressing his disbelief of what she said. “I felt as you do at first, but Raoul pointed out that Waleran’s purpose is to be the only influence on the king. Raoul reports that Waleran said nothing could widen the breach between the king and Winchester more than this convocation, during which, I suppose, the king is to be admonished and forced to return Salisbury’s possessions.”

  Bell’s mouth opened, but he did not speak and an expression of decided discomfort knitted his brows and turned his lips down.

  “That is put in the most bald and unflattering terms,” Magdalene said flatly, “but it is the meat of Winchester’s intention. In the same bald terms, how likely do you think it is it will be successful?”

  Bell looked down at the bread and cheese again; he did not want to meet Magdalene’s eyes. “It is not often that Henry of Winchester lies to himself,” he said softly, “but this time I think he has done so. Oh, only on the top of his thoughts. Inside he knows. And inside I knew too. When the bishop and archbishop agreed that the convocation would be held in Winchester, I was relieved and thought at once that the bishop’s whole armed might could be gathered there without being obvious about it. I remember thinking that Winchester and the other bishops could not be taken as Salisbury was taken.”

  There was a silence and finally Magdalene said, “What will you do?”

  Bell shook his head. “I will tell him what we know—

  “Do not betray Raoul!” Magdalene interrupted sharply. “That will involve William.”

  Bell stiffened, and Magdalene cursed herself for mentioning William’s name; however after a moment Bell said, “No. There will be no need. So many men come here. So many are cozened into talk. It is possible that Winchester will even believe that the woman who passed this news to you did not remember which particular man told her.”

  “Will you be able to convince the bishop—”

  “No!” Bell’s teeth snapped together and his jaw muscles bunched. After a moment he continued, “If you meant will he withdraw from the convocation? Nothing will convince him to do that. He has gone too far, even arranging time and place with the archbishop. But I will tell him what Waleran hopes.”

  Magdalene thought “men!” but she only nodded. “And it might help if from time to time before the convocation takes place, you can remind him circumspectly of the danger Waleran’s single influence on the king holds for the realm and the Church. Winchester is a clever and subtle man. His mind will work on the facts until the 29th of August when the convocation convenes. He will realize that if he utterly alienates his brother the king no good can come of it, not only to him but to the Church.”

  “The trouble is,” Bell sighed, “that Winchester leans more to the Church Militant than to gentle pleading.”

  “I doubt he will get much support from the other bishops if he takes that tack. Salisbury’s discomfiture is too near and too vivid.”

  Bell sighed again. “I think he knows it already from hearing what the archbishop had to say. Theobald is all for conciliation and compromise—perhaps an apology from the king but no punishment and no restitution.”

  “Ah!” Magdalene smiled. “He may get that and I hope that Winchester can be satisfied with that solution.” She shrugged and her smile broadened. “I certainly do not mind in the least if the king’s treasury has been refilled by Salisbury’s hoard. Surely that will, for a little while, hold off more taxes. However, I do not wish to see Winchester stripped as Salisbury was because someone would have to replenish the bishop’s exchequer.” Her lips twisted. “And who do you think would bear the heaviest burden? No doubt the wicked.”

  “I will do my best,” Bell said, stretching and yawning, “but do not expect too much. The bishop did not hire me for my sage advice in political matters.”

  “Go to bed,” Magdalene said.

  Bell stiffened but made no reply and after a little silence, Magdalene added, “None of the women knows you were here, and you will leave well before they rise in the morning, so no one will talk or wonder.”

  She got up as she spoke and went to get a sewing basket, which she set on the table and from which she extracted a ribbon she was embroidering. Bell watched her begin a new line. Then, still without answering, he picked up the neglected piece of bread and cheese and ate it. When he had swallowed, he emptied what remained in the tankard on the table.

  At last, he said, “Thank you,” got up from his seat and moved down the hall.

  Lowering her head over her embroidery, the second of a pair of borders to be sewn to the cuff of a sleeve, Magdalene smiled to herself. A few more days and he would slip back into the habit of living in her house. Now if only she could arrange to have someone threaten the peace of the Old Priory Guesthouse, she could offer him her bed as payment for his protection.

  Her needle flew over the broad ribbon. The design, a simple one of leaves and flowers, would soon be finished. She had not yet decided whether it would be worthwhile to offer the cuffs to Claresta as an excuse to go to the Lime Street house again. Unfortunately the girl did not seem enough interested in Linley to urge him to talk to her and listen. Eventually Magdalene set the last stitch, bound off her thread, and packed all into the basket. She walked once down the corridor, listening. Behind one door were soft voices; the others were silent. She paused at Bell’s door but heard nothing. She could only hope he was asleep.

  * * * *


  In that Magdalene’s hopes were fulfilled. When Magdalene had told him to go to bed. Bell had not hesitated because he did not want to take advantage but because he was afraid he would lie awake regretting he was not in her bed. The day, however, had been too long and trying. What came to his mind as he took off his clothes was not Magdalene but the fact that his master had two sets of enemies, each trying to destroy him in a different way.

  Mandeville was not nearly so clever or subtle as Waleran. The letter he had arranged to obtain to make Winchester seem a traitor was in the bishop’s hands and could be presented to the king in such a way as to mark the bishop’s loyalty. The other schemes had gone awry too, the woman in the bedchamber and the attack. He would be alert for any further tricks and between him and Magdalene they would discover who had killed Nelda and clear Winchester of any connection with the crime.

  Bell drew a deep breath, lay down, and pulled a light blanket over his naked body. The danger from the Beauforts, just because there was no actual danger, was more acute. Waleran and his family had been implicated once or twice in false schemes to discredit Winchester so that the king had been made suspicious of them. This time, according to Raoul, Waleran was so sure Winchester would hang himself that he was taking care that no one in his family would even be seen handling rope.

  Unfortunately, Waleran was likely right. If Winchester used the papal authority to try to cow Stephen, he would lose even if he forced Stephen to restore everything to Salisbury. The breach with the king would become so wide that nothing could bridge it, the other bishops would also feel the king’s enmity and lose their trust in Winchester… Bell grunted and shifted. No. Winchester was no fool. Bell reasoned that all he had to do was present the information in such a way that it did not add to Winchester’s carefully controlled rage. His eyes closed on that thought.

  * * * *

  In the morning Bell did not stop to break his fast but made his way to the bishop’s house and asked the clerk on duty—not Phillipe this morning—if Winchester could receive him now. The clerk climbed the stairs to the upper story and scratched on the door. A servant opened it. In less than a quarter candlemark the clerk came down and told Bell to go up.