The Renegade Merchant (24 page)

“I am so sorry.” Gwen sighed inwardly,
finding the losses difficult to bear too and wondering how much
longer she could sit here and be polite. Ever since she’d realized
that she wasn’t responding to murder like she normally did, she’d
found tears constantly pricking at the corners of her eyes. Reason
told her she was naturally more emotional because she was
pregnant—but it wasn’t emotion she was feeling so much as
weariness.

Martin ducked his head in thanks, but Jenny
stood abruptly, looked like she was about to speak, but then burst
into tears. She ran towards the doorway to the adjacent room, which
Gwen guessed was the bedroom. That left Martin alone with Meilyr,
Gwen, and Tangwen. They’d been asked to stay, and Gareth might have
wanted Gwen to learn more from Martin about his brother’s death,
but circumstances made it impossible to do so—and Gwen couldn’t
leave quickly enough. “Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll take
our leave now.”

“Would you mind seeing yourselves out?”
Martin disappeared in the direction Jenny had gone, and as Gwen
departed through the back door with Meilyr and Tangwen, she could
hear his soothing words between Jenny’s sobs.

Once outside, Meilyr didn’t stop to chat
with the apprentice, who was the only one in the yard, but strode
away from the cartwright’s yard at a rapid clip, as if he couldn’t
get them heading towards the monastery fast enough.

“When were you going to tell me you were
with child again?”

“Only when I had to,” Gwen said. “As with
Jenny, it’s early days. At first I wanted to be sure, and then I
wanted us out of Aber, and then the days just seemed to pass
without me saying anything.”

Meilyr grunted. “I don’t know what Gareth
was thinking, allowing you to travel so far from home.” Although
his tone was grumpy, she knew by the way his mustache quivered that
he was pleased, and he kept glancing at her out of the corner of
his eye.

“I don’t mean to worry you, Father.” She
shifted Tangwen to her other hip so she could hook her arm through
Meilyr’s. “But to tell you the truth, I’m starting to worry about
me too.”

Gareth

B
y
the time Gwen, Meilyr, and Tangwen turned in through the gatehouse,
Gareth had spent the last quarter of an hour pacing the courtyard
of the monastery. At the sight of them, he hurried over, scooping
up Tangwen, who had released her mother’s hand and raised both arms
to him. “I stopped by Tom’s shop, and you weren’t there.” Despite
Gareth’s best efforts to control it, he felt his temper rising.
“Where have you been?”

Gwen’s face crumpled, and she blinked back
tears.

Instantly, he was beside
her, and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.
“
Cariad!
What’s
wrong?” He swallowed down any further admonitions, not wanting to
make whatever was bothering Gwen worse. She’d been with her father,
who had nearly as much interest in protecting her and Tangwen as
Gareth did.

“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” Gwen pressed
at her eyes with her fingers.

Meilyr held up a square of cloth. “She was
doing her job, Gareth.”

Gareth frowned, distracted by the cloth, but
at the same time not willing to dismiss Gwen’s unhappiness that
easily. “What is that?”

“It’s a piece of cloth Tangwen found in a
cart that could be the one that ran through the puddle of blood in
the alley,” Meilyr said. “It’s owned by Flann, the merchant who’s
staying here.”

Gareth forced himself to take a deep breath.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“After our meeting with Tom Weaver, we
stopped by the cartwright’s yard,” Gwen said.

“It was my idea, Gareth,” Meilyr
interjected. “I just wanted to see it.”

Gwen nodded. “We didn’t mean anything by it,
but while we were still in the street, Jenny ran out to greet
us.”

“That’s John Fletcher’s sister,” Meilyr
said.

Gareth had known that, but he didn’t say so.
Instead, his eyebrows went up. “What did she say?”

“She mistook me for Adeline.” Gwen’s voice
turned gravelly again for a moment, but then she continued, “And
then Martin came out too and invited us inside. I felt so bad for
Jenny, I couldn’t refuse.”

 “Just as we arrived in the yard, his
apprentice, Huw, was removing one of the cart’s wheels to repair
it,” Meilyr said, his eyes on Gwen. “It had slipped its rim.”

Gareth raised his eyebrows. “How did you
find the cloth?”

“Tangwen found it when she climbed into the
cart bed.” Gwen glanced away, flushing slightly. “I might have
accidently set her in it while I was talking to the
apprentice.”

Gareth barked a laugh. “Accidently on
purpose you mean.”

“I have no doubt that Prince Hywel would
have approved,” Meilyr said.

“How did you know it was Flann’s cart?”
Gareth said.

“He was there,” Gwen said, “and told
us.”

It was as if Gareth had swallowed a stone
that then dropped with a plop into his belly. “He saw you find the
cloth? You talked to him?”

Meilyr put out a hand to appease his
son-in-law. “Flann knows nothing. We came into the yard at Martin’s
invitation, and Tangwen ran around in the bed of the cart before
Gwen plucked her out and apologized for getting in the way. She
said nothing else to him or to Huw that might give Flann cause for
concern. She certainly didn’t mention the blood on the wheels or
the missing rim.”

Gareth couldn’t help but be skeptical, but
since he had no evidence to counter their assertions, and they had
done genuinely good work, he couldn’t really criticize. “I should
track down Flann. Was he still there when you left?”

“No,” Meilyr said, “and it seemed too nosy
to ask the apprentice if he knew where he’d gone.”

“He hasn’t been back here either.” Gareth
gazed past his father-in-law to the gatehouse, as if Flann might
appear under it at any moment.

“We should compare the square of cloth to
the girl’s dress,” Gwen said.

“Go on, you two.” Meilyr reached out to take
Tangwen from Gwen. “My granddaughter and I will practice our
music.”

“Thank you.” Gwen kissed first Tangwen’s
cheek and then her father’s, and Tangwen went to her grandfather
willingly.

Gareth was glad to see that they all seemed
to be getting along better than ever, despite Gwen’s unstable
emotions. So, somewhat bemused, Gareth took Gwen’s arm to escort
her to the room where Gareth and John had examined Roger and the
girl earlier. While it was tradition—not only in England but in
Wales too—that a family should lay out the body of a relative in
their own house, sometimes that wasn’t possible. This room was kept
available in the case of a death where it was needed.

Now that Meilyr had spoken to Tom Weaver and
Gwen had met him, it was a relief to know that half of the purpose
of this journey was accomplished. The second half, the issue with
Cadwaladr, remained to be pursued. That Cadwaladr had been sighted
was a huge step forward, but it didn’t necessarily mean that Gareth
had a plan as to where he needed to go from here. And while King
Owain had given Meilyr leave to travel, that license had just
expired. In truth, Gareth was lucky to have the murder
investigation to pursue because of the obligation it gave him to
stay in Shrewsbury a little longer.

Once they reached the little room, both he
and Gwen hesitated on the threshold. Gareth needed to wait for his
eyes to adjust to the dim light inside, and he hoped that was the
reason Gwen had paused too. He didn’t think the smell in the room
was terribly bad. The door had been left open, and incense burned
in a dish on a side table. Gwen hadn’t mentioned the baby or how
her stomach was behaving—or misbehaving—very often in the last few
days, but he could tell from the way her hand passed over her belly
every now and then that she was thinking about it.

The only light came from a single candle,
which flickered in its sconce on the wall, illuminating the two
shrouded forms on the tables that took up the majority of the room.
In one corner, a monk at prayer occupied a low stool.

Gareth hesitated again, not wanting to
disturb him, but he looked up as they entered. “May I help you? Was
there something more you needed to see?”

“No.” Gareth hastened to reassure him, not
wanting the monk to fear that Gareth had brought Gwen to examine
the bodies. “We were looking for the garments these two were
wearing when they died.”

“They are no longer here,” the monk said,
which Gareth already had seen and was the reason he was asking.
“You should speak to the hospitaller about what happened to them.
He was in the kitchen last I saw.”

“Thank you,” Gareth said. “When is the
funeral to be?”

The monk blinked. “Didn’t someone tell you?
It will begin within the hour. And then after the service at the
graveside, the abbot will say mass in the church.”

Gareth nodded. It was better that the bodies
didn’t wait another day for burial.

“It seems the church will be full this
night.” The monk smiled gently. “I regret that the mourners will be
coming more for Roger Carter, since he was important in the town,
than for the girl.”

“But the girl will be buried alongside him?”
Gwen said.

“We care for every soul here, madam, whether
or not anyone is here to witness it.”

“We understand. Thank you again.” Gareth
guided Gwen back out of the room, into the courtyard, and across it
to the complex of buildings that comprised the kitchen and washing
house for the monks.

As a woman, Gwen wasn’t usually allowed in
this portion of the monastery, but Gareth decided to ignore the
stricture since she was with him, and it was she who’d acquired the
cloth. He didn’t want to offend the monks’ sensibilities, but he
could hardly see how Gwen spending a few moments in the kitchen
might cause a novice to rethink his vocation.

In the hours since noon, the sky had become
overcast and now threatened rain. The sun wouldn’t set for another
two hours, but it already seemed like it had. The wind whipped
across the courtyard, scattering leaves and urging loose pebbles to
bounce among the cobbled stones. It also pushed Gwen and Gareth
along a passageway between several buildings and around to the back
of the monastery towards the kitchen door, lashing them at the last
second with an extra gust that made them arrive on the threshold in
something of a fluster.

With a laugh, Gwen pushed back her hood in
the warmth of the kitchen. She was utterly beautiful, and Gareth
had a pang of conscience about what he’d thought earlier, because
he couldn’t see how any man could choose to be a monk when there
was even one woman like Gwen in the world.

Before them, monks and laymen were hard at
work: chopping, kneading, roasting, or stirring. Several others
scrubbed out pots and trays. Everyone looked up at their entrance,
and Gareth saw the flash of a smile on the faces of several before
they went back to preparing the evening meal.

Gareth did not see the hospitaller
immediately, and he took another step into the kitchen. The cook, a
thickset man, as befitting his profession, hurried over, wiping his
hands on a cloth. He wore a large apron over his habit, and had a
swath of flour above his right eye where he must have swiped
it.

“Is there something you needed—for the
little girl perhaps?”

Gareth couldn’t help smiling himself at the
man’s earnestness. With her bright eyes and curious mind, Tangwen
made an impression, even on stalwart monks, wherever she went. Much
like her mother, in fact. “She awaits supper with anticipation. But
no, we were looking for the hospitaller.”

“He is in the cellar.” The cook snapped his
fingers at a novice, sending him to retrieve the hospitaller from
whatever far reaches of the building he’d got to. A few moments
later, the man in question, a monk even more rotund than the cook,
puffed into the kitchen. “How may I help you?”

Gareth stepped back towards the doorway,
encouraging the hospitaller to follow so that his words wouldn’t
carry to the other inhabitants of the kitchen. Undoubtedly, their
ears were perked to every nuance, but Gareth would rather not
broadcast his request to all and sundry. “We were wondering if we
could examine the clothing worn by the two awaiting burial.”

The hospitaller had leaned in to hear Gareth
better, but now he straightened, frowning. “I’m sorry, but you
can’t.”

“What do you mean?” Gareth said. “Why
not?”

“I don’t have them. I offered to return
Roger Carter’s clothes to his brother, Martin, but he didn’t want
them. And since the girl has no kin that we know of—” The monk’s
broke off, his expression regretful.

Gareth found a growl forming in his throat.
Sensing his impatience, even though he had been trying to hide it
from the hospitaller, Gwen put a calming hand on Gareth’s arm.
“It’s all right. We’d just like to know what you did with
them.”

The monk raised his hands and dropped them,
conveying helplessness. “They’re gone. I sent them to the leper
sanctuary at St. Giles.”

Gareth

“
M
artin Carter suggested it. After
consulting the prior and seeing that the clothes were washed and
mended, I did as he wanted. Roger’s clothing was particularly fine,
and it seemed a shame to waste it for even a day if it could be of
use to someone less fortunate,” the monk concluded,
apologetically.

“We understand,” Gareth said, though he
couldn’t entirely keep the disappointment out of his voice.

St. Giles was the sanctuary for lepers on
the outskirts of Shrewsbury, maintained and funded by the Abbey of
St. Peter and St. Paul.