The Sempster's Tale (40 page)

Mistress Hercy and Anne both a little laughed at that, and Mistress Hercy said, “Well, it’ll be a few years yet before our Lucie’s a wife, but we’re hoping for her betrothal before long. Raulyn has lately been talking with a Master Basse in Hertfordshire who looks possible. High gentry he is, so she’d be marrying up. Has several good manors to his name, property here in London, no children yet with any claim on what he has, and a not-too-distant kinship to Lord Warrenne that could lead to something at court and business sent Raulyn’s way. The trouble is he knows his own worth, and I gather he wants something more in the way of dowry than Lucie has, but…” Mistress Hercy’s momentary brightness at talking of ordinary things faded. She broke off with a small cough and a sniff and said, “Lucie dearling, go fetch some wine from the kitchen for us, there’s a good girl.”

Lucie handed the doublet to Anne without looking up— to hide her own sudden tears, Anne feared—and obediently went away. Mistress Hercy took an handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes, murmuring, “I didn’t want for her to see me crying.”

Gently Dame Frevisse said, “It’s possible to be too strong for your own good.”

Mistress Hercy sighed on her tears. “I know. But just now… well, we can’t all be crying at once, can we?”

Still gently, Dame Frevisse asked, “How much does Master Grene want this marriage for Lucie?”

‘Oh, very much.“ Mistress Hercy wiped her nose. ”It’s something he and Pernell both want. To marry her better, not just to another merchant, but into the gentry.“

‘He’ll likely have less trouble closing on it now,“ Dame Frevisse said quietly. ”Now Hal is gone and Lucie’s inheritance is doubled.“

Mistress Hercy tucked her handkerchief away. “Little trouble at all, I suppose. That may be our only comfort in all of this—to have our Lucie married to someone who’s near kin to a lord. Raulyn is trying to do well for her, I’ll grant him that.” Her voice went suddenly bitter, her tiredness and grief lowering her guard, Anne thought, as she said on, “Mind you, it’s as much for himself as anyone. A foot in the gentry door with Lucie could open it wider for his sons. Never one to miss his chance, is Raulyn Grene, if you see my meaning.”

‘I see it,“ Dame Frevisse said quietly.

Young Dickon came into the parlor, carrying a small, cloth-wrapped bundle in his hands, and Dame Frevisse asked, the words sharp-edged, “You found them?”

‘Where you said, my lady. I had one of the maids give me this oiled cloth to wrap them in. They’re—“

Dame Frevisse sprang to her feet and went toward him. “Lay it on the floor and open it.”

Behind her, Mistress Hercy rose, too, following her, asking, “What’s this?”

‘We’ll see,“ Dame Frevisse said, and ordered Dickon, ”Unwrap them.“

He obeyed—knelt, laid the bundle on the floor, and began to fold back the wrapping at an arm’s length that Anne understood as a mingled smell of rot and rubbish reached her.

Now standing beside Frevisse, Mistress Hercy demanded more strongly, “What
is
it?”

‘Wait,“ Dame Frevisse said.

Anne stayed where she was, Daved’s doublet forgotten on her lap, watching with them as Dickon opened the last fold to show a shapeless wet lump of dark blue cloth. Gathering her skirts carefully back from it, Dame Frevisse knelt at the other side of the bundle from Dickon and with unwilling fingertips began to pick at the filthy thing, saying, “It’s from the midden in your rearyard. As for what it is…” She separated the thing into two filthy things. “It’s a pair of hosen, I think.”

‘They were where you said they would be,“ Dickon said. ”Right at the bottom.“

‘Why?“ Mistress Hercy asked, with enough demand to leave no doubt she meant to have full answer to it.

But Dame Frevisse made no immediate answer. Instead, she uncrumpled and looked at first one hose and then the other, so intent that Mistress Hercy let her question hang, watching over the nun’s shoulder, until at last Dame Frevisse said, “They’re neither of them damaged and look to be of good quality cloth. Why would they be thrown out as rubbish?”

‘You must have some thought about that,“ Mistress Hercy said. ”Else you’d not have sent your man to look for them.“

‘Dickon, bring me some water in the bowl there,“ Dame Frevisse ordered, nodding toward the laving bowl and water pitcher sitting on a shelf beside the stairward door, ready for anyone’s handwashing before going down to meals; and while Dickon rose and went to pour water into the bowl, she said, seeming to feel her way through the words, ”One of your women complained she was blamed for a pair of Master Grene’s hosen gone missing. My guess is that these are those.“

‘I’d guess so, too,“ Mistress Hercy said. ”The cloth looks good enough.“ She didn’t offer to feel it. ”And who else’s good hosen would likely be in our rubbish? What I’m wondering…“ She was demanding an answer now. ”… is
why.“

Dickon set the bowl beside Dame Frevisse. Still with her fingertips, she handled one of the hose enough to find by the shape of the cloth where the wearer’s knee had been and put that part into the water, saying, “If the cloth has kept damp enough in the midden that the blood hasn’t set…”

‘Blood?“ Mistress Hercy said sharply.

‘… or if it isn’t too mixed with rubbish ooze…“ Dame Frevisse was scrubbing the cloth against itself while she spoke, but her words trailed off as the water turned faintly pink. Dame Frevisse sighed and sat back, leaving the hose still partly in the water.

Mistress Hercy asked again, quietly now, “Blood?”

Just as quietly Dame Frevisse answered, “Probably.” She prodded the hose with a forefinger, and a small swirl of pink spread outward from it through the water. She looked around and up at Mistress Hercy and said, still quietly, “In the crypt, beside Hal’s body, I saw where someone had knelt in the blood-softened dirt. Now here are discarded hosen, at least one of them apparently bloodied at the knee.”

Anne understood what she was saying and surely so did Mistress Hercy, but the silence drew out and out, and Dame Frevisse and Mistress Hercy looked at one another in it, and Anne and Dickon watched them until finally, quietly, Mistress Hercy said, “No.”

Dame Frevisse stood up and held out her hand. Dickon hurriedly brought her the towel hanging beside the water pitcher, and while she dried her hands, she bade him, “Wrap those up again. Then pour that water out the southward window. You’ll tell no one about any of this.”

Steadily, Dickon asked, “My father?”

‘Not even him. No one. But when you’ve finished with the water, go find Master Weir and ask him to come here. No. Find Lucie first and tell her she’s to walk in the yard with you for a while rather than come back here. Then find Master Weir.“

‘Yes, my lady.“ He wrapped the hose again, poured the water out the window, bowed to her and all of them, and left.

None of them moved or spoke until he was gone, but then Mistress Hercy went forward, took up the oiled-cloth bundle, and said, “This is mine to see to.”

Dame Frevisse did not argue that, only asked, “Was Master Grene here the night Hal disappeared?”

‘He was out and hadn’t come home when I went to bed. For him to come home late was usual enough, though, and he was here in the morning. Anne, was he with you?“

Taken aback, Anne said, “With me? No! Why ever should he be?”

‘I’ve seen he has an eye for you. I’ve sometimes thought you must have a lover. I thought it might be him,“ Mistress Hercy said without apology.

‘No,“ Anne said hotly. ”Raulyn has never been my lover.“

‘Wise of you,“ Mistress Hercy said and returned to Dame Frevisse with, ”He could have been with friends that night, or at some guild meeting. They’re forever having guild meetings.“ She looked at the bundle she held. ”That doesn’t answer this, though.“

‘He buried them in the midden,“ Dame Frevisse said, ”thinking they would be taken away, with no one the wiser. He’d probably taken care to keep his shirt clear, and washing his hands clean of blood would have been no great matter, but he had no way to wash these out and had to be rid of them. It was only his bad fortune that everything’s been set awry by the rebels and the scavagers didn’t come when they should have.“

‘His bad fortune and God’s will,“ Mistress Hercy said. ”Otherwise, how would we ever have known?“

‘What you’re saying,“ Anne said faintly, with a sickening mix of disbelief and certainty, ”is that Raulyn killed Hal.“

The sound of someone coming up the stairs turned them quickly that way, Anne maybe not the only one afraid it was Raulyn. But it was Daved, and he made his bow to them all, and said, “My ladies.”

Mistress Hercy looked at the nun. “What…” she began.

‘Master Weir and I have already determined that almost surely Raulyn killed Brother Michael.“ Even said flatly as that, the words were like a blow, but Dame Frevisse went on, ”Now I can tell him we’ve found what makes it likely Raulyn likewise killed Hal.“

Mistress Hercy, having caught breath for words, said, “Killed Brother Michael?”, at the same time Daved demanded, “Hal, too? You’re certain?”

‘Certain enough,“ Dame Frevisse said.

Mistress Hercy turned away, her need to sink down somewhere so plain that Anne sprang up to put an arm around her waist and take her to the window seat. Around all her swirl of thoughts, Anne grasped that this must have been of what Daved and the nun had talked in that while they spent aside from everyone in the solar, because he seemed not surprised, only far from happy.

Clinging to Anne’s arm even after she was seated, Mistress Hercy asked, the words strangled, “What are we going to do?”

Daved turned to her. “Little, while London is still taken up with the rebels.”

‘Hal and the friar both,“ Mistress Hercy said hoarsely. ”My God. Why?“ She suddenly looked at Daved, and her voice strengthened. ”Because of you. He killed the friar to save you…“ Her voice flattened again. ”No, not you. Himself.“

‘We think so, yes,“ Dame Frevisse said, and level-voiced, Daved told what they had determined and why. Mistress Hercy stared at the floor and nodded as he went on; and when he stopped, she raised her eyes to him and asked, weak with hopelessness, ”But why Hal?“

‘For gain,“ Dame Frevisse answered. ”You just told me…“

With widening horror Anne broke her frozen silence, exclaimed, “Lucie’s marriage. He did it to add Hal’s share to hers.”

‘Lucie’s marriage?“ Daved asked sharply.

Dame Frevisse told him briefly of that, and then of the hosen that Mistress Hercy still held in their bundle.

‘Something has to be done with that,“ Daved said with a nod toward it. ”Raulyn should not know we have it.“

“Raulyn,”
Mistress Hercy said in a horror-fraught whisper. “ How do I keep him from them when he comes back?” Her voice began to rise with alarm. “From Pernell, from Lucie. If he…”

‘They’re safe from him,“ Daved said. ”They’re both of use to him and not a danger. They’re safe. The only danger lies in any of us—you and I and Mistress Blakhall and Dame Frevisse—betraying that we know about him. Can you keep a fair seeming toward him? Toward everyone? As if nothing had changed?“

‘I have to,“ Mistress Hercy said faintly. ”I can. Yes.“ But a new appalling thought took her, and she said more sharply and with new pain, ”Pernell! This will tear her heart out. He’s ruined her and her heart will break and she’ll have nothing left. Between the crown’s claim against him as a murderer and the Church’s for sacrilege, everything will be gone. Pernell…“ She choked on tears and stopped.

Daved went to her, took the bundle from her hands and set it on the floor, then took her hands in his own and said steadily, “The law can’t take her dower. She’ll still have that and everything she brought to the marriage. Nor there’ll be no one who blames her, and she’ll still have Lucie and little Robert and the new baby and you.”