Chains of Folly Read online

  “You are early this morning,” Winchester said, turning away from a handsome crucifix where he had likely said mass.

  “I have news, my lord, and I wished to be sure you had it before you became so busied that you had no time for it.”

  “News of note then?”

  Bell hesitated. “Yes and no. I do not believe anything I learned calls for any action on your part, but you might know better than I whether that is true.”

  One servant was busied near the bishop’s bed, folding the stole Winchester had worn to say his prayers. The other servant went out and down the stairs.

  Winchester moved to the table and without hesitation sat down in the chair in which the corpse had been found. He gestured for Bell to take a stool and sit also.

  “First,” Bell said, “Father Holdyn told the truth about being at the church on Monkswell on Sunday night, and from what time his servants say he returned, he could have done no more that night than walk from the church on Monkswell to the bishop of London’s palace.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that he could not have visited Nelda—the whore who was killed—and had his crucifix stolen or given it to her that Sunday night.”

  “Ah, so Holdyn told all the truth. The crucifix was stolen from his chamber in the palace.”

  “Not all the truth, my lord. He did not tell his servants that the crucifix was missing or seek for it.”

  “Mayhap he did not notice it until he dressed on Monday morning. Then he would have thought it was too late to pursue the thief and did not wish to grieve his servants.”

  “Possibly,” Bell said, but his tone was such that Winchester cocked his head in inquiry. Bell continued, “The servants also told me—they are very fond of their master and wished to praise him—that for some years a woman has been somehow finding her way into Holdyn’s house, and into the palace also. They think she stole a gilded cup some years ago which Holdyn replaced without inquiry, and he left out coins for her to take.”

  “Then he did know the woman he buried.” Winchester sighed and bowed his head. “That it should not be the same woman as was found dead in my chair is too great a coincidence. I am disappointed. Not because Father Holdyn slipped in virtue. That can happen to any man. But I would not have believed he would lie about it.” He hesitated and then added forcibly, “And I will not believe he set the corpse in my chamber.”

  “My lord, neither would I,” Bell said. “But I find it curious that he took so long to deny he knew her. A prepared lie tumbles out quickly. When you question him about the woman—I assume you would wish to speak to him yourself?”

  “Yes. So, when I question him about the woman…”

  “Ask him why he said he did not know her. Mayhap you think the answer is obvious—that he did not wish to acknowledge acquaintance with a dead whore—but I just feel there is more to it than that.”

  The servant who had gone down the stairs returned bearing a large tray on which was a substantial breakfast. He set it on the table. Bell swallowed and his belly rumbled. The bishop laughed and bade the servant bring another cup for the wine.

  “You did not break your fast?”

  “No, my lord. I was afraid I would miss you or that you would have invited someone to break fast with you.”

  “Then I suppose the rest of your news is more important than that Father Holdyn lied about the woman.” He began to eat, swallowing a spoonful of frumenty before he nodded to Bell to continue.

  “I am almost certain, my lord, that the attack made on you on Monday was ordered by Lord Geoffrey de Mandeville.”

  Winchester put down his spoon for a moment and asked, “How?” Then he looked down and began to eat again.

  Bell told the tale of his interviews with the captain of Mandeville’s troop and Gehard, not sparing himself over his mistakes. The bishop listened without comment. When he had finished his bowl of frumenty, he smiled very slightly.

  “Likely you should not have choked the captain. My reputation is not that fragile.” Then he sighed. “As to what the man Gehard let slip… I do not understand why Mandeville should wish me harm.”

  “Gehard said no physical harm to you was intended. But if you mean why Mandeville ordered an attack on you, I think he hoped to frighten you so you would not consult with the archbishop and let the idea of a convocation lapse. I suppose he believes that the king would be pleased and grateful.”

  “Frighten me?” Winchester’s voice rose. “He thought I would run back to Winchester to hide because a few brigands… The man is not only unprincipled, he is stupid!”

  Bell’s lips twitched at Winchester’s outrage over the slur on his courage. “He only sees you in the rich vestments of the Church,” he said. Then could not help grinning. “And he did not see how lovingly you took your mace from its chest.”

  The bishop laughed and then said, “Eat.”

  Winchester addressed himself to a chunk of yellow cheese, which he sliced and laid on a piece of bread. Bell reached for the white cheese, which he knew to be of milder flavor. He cut the wedge in half, broke a piece of bread, and took several healthy bites. Those he washed down quickly with the watered wine.

  “There is more, my lord.”

  Winchester raised a brow. “You have been even more busy than usual. Can you be in more than one place at a time?”

  Bell smiled. “The rest comes from Magdalene, my lord.”

  “Ah.”

  So he reported what Magdalene had learned from Tayte and what Magdalene’s guess was as to how Nelda had stolen the letter from the man Tayte had heard name himself Sir John. Winchester immediately leapt to the same conclusion that Magdalene had—that Sir John had discovered his letter was missing and had killed Nelda in an attempt to retrieve it.

  Now Bell hesitated. He was approaching the delicate ground of what Raoul had reported from Baynard’s castle. Finally he shrugged and said, “That was what Mistress Magdalene thought until yesterday when one of her women reported that this Sir John had been in Baynard’s Castle late Thursday night—near to Matins—and had told Lord Hugh that he carried a letter from Gloucester addressed to you.”

  “Peste!” Winchester exclaimed, slapping a hand hard on the table. “So the word is out to the Beauforts. I will have to go to Stephen with the accursed thing.”

  Bell’s heart sank. He knew he should be glad that his master would take him away from temptation, but the warm comfort of talking over everything with Magdalene, of sleeping in ease and comfort in his private room, of looking forward as he had been doing to a bath when he was done with this day’s duty tightened his chest with loss.

  “And chasing after Stephen from castle to castle,” the bishop continued, “will keep me from receiving replies from the other bishops to my summons to the convocation. It could put the whole convocation at risk. Could someone at Baynard’s Castle have stolen the letter and moved the poor woman’s corpse for just that purpose?”

  Bell barely stopped himself from raising his eyes to heaven and saying thanks for the opening Winchester had given him; however, he only allowed himself a troubled expression. “I do not know, my lord,” he said, “but Magdalene’s woman told her that Sir John had set off to find Mandeville—he thought he would be at Devizes—the next morning. Would he have done so if the letter had been taken from him? And, my lord, would Lord Waleran desire that the letter be delivered to your hand? Would he not hope that Mandeville would present the letter to the king at the worst possible moment…say, when the summons to the convocation was just known?”

  “Then why was the woman brought here?” Winchester asked furiously.

  “Oh, to do you a despite. There can be no doubt of that. The doubt is that those who brought her—there were two of them—knew she had the letter.”

  Winchester ground his teeth and got out, “Then I will have to go to Stephen. But to need to beg his pardon for something I have not done… To need to do so while he sits in Salisbury’s castle, counting Salisbur
y’s coin and weighing his plate… Surely this is de Meulan’s work so that the convocation will fail.”

  Bell did not allow himself to sigh with relief; the bishop had given him exactly the right lead for what he had to say. “No, my lord. There is further information from Magdalene. She most earnestly desires your well doing and that your power not be diminished.”

  “She does?” There was a tinge of disbelief in the bishop’s voice and a half-smile on his lips.

  “Indeed she does, my lord.” Bell smiled too. “She says compared with others, you are a good landlord and do not squeeze her so hard as to destroy her business.”

  “Ah.” The smile lingered on Winchester’s lips.

  “It seems,” Bell said, “that Lord Waleran sent messages to his brother Hugh that he not interfere in any way with your planning and summoning for the convocation.”

  Winchester had begun to lift his wine goblet to his lips and now sat with it arrested half way to his mouth. He stared at Bell. After a long moment he said, “Do you believe this? Do you believe that Waleran de Meulan wishes for the success of my convocation?” And he set the goblet down on the table.

  Bell returned the bishop’s steady gaze. He had come to the crux of his tale. “At first, when Magdalene told me I said it must be a lie set about by de Meulan to make me less wary to protect you or for some other hidden purpose. But she laughed and said no, the success of the convocation was the best thing in the world that could happen to Lord Waleran.”

  “It has nothing to do with de Meulan, except to make me look weak and a fool if it fails.”

  “No, my lord, now I, too, realize Lord Waleran’s desire that the convocation succeed is most reasonable. What, Magdalene asked, could make the king more angry at you, more resentful of you, than forcing him to return Salisbury’s hoard and his castles? Would the king not believe—if those who know of Gloucester’s letter speak of it—that you, the king’s own brother, want Salisbury in power so that he can welcome Gloucester? What could make Lord Waleran’s hold on the king stronger than that you be shown half a traitor, willing to hurt your brother in this way, to strip what he believes is his rightful prize from him?”

  “That is mad,” Winchester whispered. “I set Stephen on the throne. I convinced the old archbishop to anoint him as king. I convinced the Treasurer to open King Henry’s vaults of treasure to him. I do not wish to hurt him, only to protect the Church. How could he believe…?”

  Bell had said what he had to say, and had no intention of allowing Winchester to argue the point he had made and perhaps convince himself it was not valid. Acting as if he had not heard the bishop’s agonized murmur, he asked, “When would you have me make the men ready to travel, my lord?”

  Winchester looked at him blankly then shook his head. “This needs thought, not riding hither and thither around England in pursuit of the king. I will send Father Wilfrid to Stephen. He was my brother’s confessor when Stephen lived in King Henry’s court and Stephen is soft to the old man.”

  Bell smiled broadly. “Very good, my lord. Father Wilfrid can convince me that the sun shines when it is raining. The king will believe the tale of the murdered whore.”

  “Better than if it came from me,” Winchester agreed, his lips twisted wryly. Then he sighed and added, “I left a list with Phillipe of things my steward wanted ordered from London. Nothing, luckily, that could be considered the least warlike. I need hose for the singing boys in the cathedral, and gowns. They grow… I do not remember the rest but it is all on the list. You could take care of that. I will let you know or leave a message for you if I decide to travel.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Bell rose, silently replaced the stool near the wall, and left the bishop to his uneasy thoughts.

  Chapter 11

  After Bell had gone to bed, Magdalene had written to William detailing everything that had happened, starting with Nelda’s discovery in Winchester’s bedchamber and including what she and Bell had learned from each other that evening. Tom had taken the letter to William’s house on the grounds of the White Tower with a request from her to the men stationed there that the news be sent on to William.

  Then, restless and uneasy, she had sat up even later finishing the embroidered ribbons for cuffs, which she still had not decided to bring to Claresta. Still uneasy, she had wakened somewhat earlier than usual. She was a little worried when Dulcie told her that Bell had left without eating breakfast, but she deliberately put that out of her mind. Dulcie brought bread and cheese and ale, and Magdalene was nibbling at the food while she looked at the cuffs and thought about the pennies for which she could sell them if she did not give them to Claresta. Then the bell rang.

  It was far too early for a client. Her women had seen their men off soon after sunrise and gone back to bed. However, there might be a message. Diot had no client for tonight because the apothecary had sickened of some disorder for which he was treating a patient. Magdalene was grateful that he had not come with the sickness on him, but she would be happy to find a substitute for him and went off to answer the bell quite cheerfully.

  Thus, her expression was pleasantly welcoming when she opened the gate—but only to the length of its chain. And she put her shoulder to it so she could slam it shut as soon as she saw a face that was familiar but to which she could not put a name. The man was wearing a sword belt and was too well dressed to be a local messenger and now she saw a horse at rein’s length to the side. The man riding to William who wanted more information? Someone from William? She did not know every man of his well, only those he favored by granting them recreation at the Old Priory Guesthouse.

  So instead of slamming the gate, she said, “Yes?”

  “You know me, Magdalene. I am Sir Linley of Godalming.”

  The man who kept Nelda and had found herself, Diot, and Bell examining the place Nelda lived. But Bell said Linley had not killed Nelda. He looked worried, but not angry.

  “Yes?” Magdalene repeated.

  “Let me in, Magdalene. I must speak to you.”

  For a moment longer, Magdalene hesitated. Then, recalling that Linley had no reputation for violence, she unhooked the chain and opened the gate. He came in, drawing the horse in after him, but he made no move to take the animal to the stable. Magdalene had not really thought he was looking for a substitute for Nelda, but not stabling the horse was an assurance he did not intend to stay.

  “Well?” she asked, closing the gate but not chaining it.

  “You took things from Nelda’s rooms. You had no right to do that.”

  Magdalene stared at him and after a moment asked calmly, “How do you know that I took anything? How do you know what Nelda had…unless you were party to her thievery?”

  He sighed heavily. “I…I suspected that she was not completely honest, but she did not steal from me and she was very good company. Not only in bed, but…she was clever, witty.” He sighed again. “I suppose I should have checked her, but no one complained and I did not suspect the trade in poppy juice cakes. Magdalene, you must give back what she held. I wish to return the tokens to those who ask.”

  While he spoke, Magdalene had time to think. Although she actually would be glad of one irate poppy-craver banging on her gate when Bell was in the house, she had no guarantee that that was when such a person would arrive. She certainly did not want such a person arriving at the wrong moment and annoying her clients. Moreover, there might well be more than one. And she had no idea how strong the craving might be.

  She shook her head. “I do not have what you want.”

  “I do not believe you!” Linley’s voice rose and his hand tightened on the horse’s rein. “You and your woman were alone in Nelda’s rooms. The knight—Sir Bellamy—was outside with me. He had nothing of hers. He was examining the stair and the wall. So it must have been you and your woman who took Nelda’s property.”

  Magdalene sidled away from him and walked quickly toward the house. He dropped the horse’s rein and followed.
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  “Lying will not help you,” he called after her. “When you and your woman came out, you both were concealing something in the folds of your veils. You have no right to those tokens…or to Nelda’s money either, Nelda did harm enough to those poor men. Let me at least give them back their property without causing them more embarrassment and shame.”

  Having reached the doorstep, Magdalene stopped and turned toward Linley again. “I tell you again that I do not have what you want. And even if I did, I would be doing those men no favor by giving you their keepsakes. Why should I believe that all you wish is to return the tokens?”

  He gaped at her for a moment. “What else should I want to do with them but to rid myself of the importunity of those who knew that Nelda lived in my house and I often used her? They think I knew her secrets.”

  “Who was more likely to do so?”

  “No.” Linley reached to grasp her arm; Magdalene backed out of the way. He followed her but barely into the room and made no further move to seize her. “Look here, I am about to make a most advantageous marriage. I am on my way to show my father the proposed contract. I do not want argument and scandal to upset my future father-by-marriage.”

  That annoyed Magdalene, who felt that Linley should have mentioned Claresta as well as his future father-by-marriage. Of course he might know that Claresta did not wish to marry him, but that only made worse his indifference to Claresta’s possible knowledge that he kept a mistress and his continued determination to make the marriage.

  Magdalene fondly hoped that Rhyton would turn Linley away, although she was sure he would not. Rhyton had chosen Linley only because he was in line to inherit a barony and was willing to marry a rich commoner. Magdalene suspected that Nelda’s connection with Linley and her death would be irrelevant to Rhyton. In fact, she thought that Linley was greatly exaggerating the effect complaints about Nelda would have on his future father-by-marriage.