Justice for the Damned

Chapter Thirty-One

"Prioress Eleanor! What a pleasant surprise to chance upon you here." Master Herbert bowed with grace. "Are you on your way to visit Mistress Jhone and her daughter?"

"I am returning to the priory," she replied, praying that her tone concealed the dismay she felt at this meeting. After the recent discussion with Wulfstan's widow, then Master Bernard, she longed to return in time for the soothing prayers of the next Office.

"I fear that you think ill of me," the vintner said, blocking her path.

Eleanor cast a covert glance at the sun and then heard the bells. Even if she left now, she would be late for prayer. Maybe God had sent the vintner to speak with her and He would bring her that understanding later when she knelt alone in her chambers. With a quiet sigh, she surrendered to the circumstances and inclined her head with an encouraging gesture toward the merchant.

He smiled. "I do understand why Alys might prefer a tender boy to this man with hints of hoarfrost on his brow…"

Silver-headed was not a word anyone would use to describe this still dark-haired and well-favored merchant, Eleanor thought, and she found that unsubtle plea to affirm his manhood mildly offensive. Swallowing her irritation, she gestured sympathetically.

"… but I had hoped to win her over in time. Such a union is in both our interests, and I am not so aged that she would have any reason to complain of me."

"You do not long for the lady herself?" The prioress shaded her question with the tone of one who understands the merits of mutually profitable marriages.

"It would be rude of me to suggest I fancied only her dead father's business." He stroked the thick nap on his robe. "A business I need not, but one I am most willing to take on for a wife able to bear sons. Of course, I do find her most comely."

Eleanor looked at him askance. "A woman worth bedding, but will you treat her kindly even if she does not bear those sons?"

To his credit, the vintner looked abashed. "My lady, I would never treat her ill."

"Would your first wife have agreed?"

Herbert's brow furrowed deeply. "Who has accused me of cruelty?"

Eleanor shook her head. Although the vintner clearly expected her to continue, Eleanor remained silent, hoping he would feel obliged to say more himself.

"I am confused by your question, my lady. My wife was a most pious woman, and we bedded only for sons. It was our share of earthly grief that none lived, but I treated her with respect as a man should his wife and did my best to persuade the crowner that she died by accidental drowning. No woman who spent so many hours in prayer would have killed herself." He shrugged. "Do these actions point to a thoughtless husband?"

How very strange, Eleanor thought. Once again she was faced with a man who tells another that his wife cuckolded him, then shows forgiveness by arguing against any verdict of self-murder. Although she should have respected him for his Christian charity, she felt oddly uncomfortable with it.

"You testified at the hearing?" she asked.

"Grief tried to keep me away, but I spoke on her behalf most passionately."

Herbert's story of Eda's piety and his defense of her manner of dying certainly matched that of the glover. Even if she heard a hint in the vintner's words that he might have preferred a more eager bed partner than he found in Eda, she detected nothing that fostered suspicion that he had been harsh to her. Alys' fears seemed to have less and less basis.

Herbert suddenly looked over Eleanor's head, his widening smile one of peculiar delight. "Is that not your monk, my lady?"

Eleanor spun around. Rushing toward them, from the direction of the inn, was Brother Thomas.

When Eleanor greeted him, Thomas did not know whether he should feel gratitude for the interruption to his grim mood or dismay at the sight of the fine-looking merchant standing so close to his prioress. He quickly dismissed both thoughts and replaced them with concern for Tyndal's honor. His prioress might know he had reason to be outside monastic walls, but her companion did not.

"My lady," he said. "I am most pleased to see you. I have just returned from offering solace to Sayer as you requested."

"At the inn?" The vintner's tone dripped with contempt.

Thomas felt his body grow rigid with anger at the disapproval he saw in Herbert's eyes. He swallowed his sharp reply, but his throat burned with the effort. "I saw Sayer enter the inn and followed him there," Thomas said, folding his arms. "The son laments the death of his father."

"And uses his sorrow as an excuse to grow into a sot from drink," Herbert snorted. "Yet I am sure the boy must grieve for a father who was murdered just after they quarreled. It would be an unnatural son who did not, although Sayer has always been a strange one." He shook his head. "Do not accuse me of being uncharitable, Brother, for I am not the only one in the village who thinks his soul does not praise God."

"For what reason is he so maligned?" Thomas continued, his tone as icy as a northern wind.

"Surely you would not ask me to repeat cruel gossip? If you spoke with him for any time, you must have seen the color of his soul for yourself." He bent his head toward the inn. "Satan finds joy in those who choose worldly indulgence over godly acts."

Thomas clenched his hand into a fist, then pressed it behind his back to keep from striking the man down.

Herbert smiled without humor. "Yet he may well have made peace with Wulfstan before the killing." He shrugged. "I would not know that."

Eleanor, who had remained quite silent throughout, now turned to Thomas. "I am grateful you have performed the mercy I requested, but I believe Sister Beatrice has another service for you."

The monk bowed. "I was just returning to the priory to seek her out, my lady." He suspected there was nothing the novice mistress wished him to do, but he guessed that his prioress had read his anger well. In any event, he was grateful to escape this offensive vintner.

As he walked away, and Eleanor resumed her conversation with Herbert, Thomas heard an uncharacteristic animation in her voice. The thought that his iron-willed and most virtuous prioress might be attracted to the dark-eyed merchant flitted briefly through his mind. The very idea made him uncomfortable, and he quickly turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Perhaps he should visit Brother Jerome? Now that Brother Baeda was dead, the irascible monk had taken on the librarian's duties, including care of the Amesbury Psalter. Time having somewhat faded the horror of murder, the witness might remember more about the killer he had seen.