The Squire’s Tale (28 page)

Master Verney turned sharply and crossed the room away from her, to stand facing the wall. He took the arrowhead with him, clenched in his hand, Frevisse noted but did not say, only closed the box carefully and put it back where it had been under the bed. Every child had such a box or its like, Frevisse suspected. Hers had been very small, hardly larger than her child-hand, because there had been hardly room to spare among her parents’ travelling necessities for anything not needed simply to live but she had kept it and its “treasures” right up to the day she had known, fully and irrevocably, that she would go into a nunnery. That day, with her choice whole and certain in her, she had gone off alone with her box, the last thing she had in all the world that was all her own, the last thing left to her from her parents, and had carefully chosen a place no one would likely ever dig but she could find again if ever she wanted to—knowing even then she never would—and buried it and its “treasures” as some sort of final parting from everything her life had been until then.

The kind of parting Benedict had been given no chance to make.

The sound of someone coming up the stairs drew her from her thoughts. She straightened from beside the bed and turned to the door as a man paused in the doorway, saw first her, then Master Verney, and said, “Gil said I was wanted here?” uncertain not about Gil but about why he was wanted.

Master Verney, tucking the arrowhead into his belt pouch and not minding it was plain he had been crying, said, “Master Fenner has given Dame Frevisse leave to ask questions about Master Benedict’s death. She has some for you, Master Skipton, if you please.”

The steward was a small-bodied, black-haired man, brisk and sharp-eyed, and he nodded crisply, used to obeying authority as well as wielding it. “Whatever is needed, my lady. We—the household—are greatly grieved for his death.”

‘He was liked?“ Frevisse asked, realizing there were signs of crying to Master Skipton’s eyes, too.

‘He was.“

The simplicity of the answer as well as its vigor told her something more about Benedict—that what little she had seen of him must have been the worst. And that worst had been the errors of a young man not yet fully formed in judgment and that was something only time could mend in everyone. Time Benedict had not been given. Those who had known him longest, known him best, had thought well enough of him to care deeply he was dead, and that meant they would help the more willingly toward finding his murderer and she said, “I need you to tell me where everyone slept last night. The Allesleys, the arbiters, Master Verney, all the men that came with them, and the rest of the household.”

Master Skipton drew a deep breath, as if in-gathering his thoughts along with air enough to tell them, and said, “Sir Lewis and Master Drew and all the arbiters slept in the solar, crowded but private and with no need for them to go out into the rain. Master Verney spent the night in my chamber. His men and the others slept in the hall, except for those who chose to sleep in the stables…”

‘Some did?“

‘Two, I think. They had horses the storm made restless, I understand.“

‘And the household?“

‘Wherever they usually sleep, so far as I know. The kitchen for some. In the hall for others. Some share a chamber on the yard’s east side, where my own is, and there are two married couples have rooms of their own there, too.“

‘Has there been any talk of anyone not being where they should have been or seen in an unlikely place last night?“

‘No.“

‘You’re certain?“

“Not that’s come to my ears but I can ask.”

‘Please do,“ said Frevisse. ”Was anyone charged with keeping the lanterns lighted in the yard last night?“

‘No. They weren’t likely to stay lighted for long with the wind there was and who would be out in the storm to need them?“

And whoever had been out, dealing with Benedict’s death and body, had preferred the darkness, surely, Frevisse thought and went on, “After the night-food was brought, did any other servant come here last night, that you know of?”

‘No. But I’ll ask, if you like.“

‘Thank you. Ask, too, if you will, if anyone took a message to Benedict, or from him, last night. And ask if any of the servants noticed that someone who stayed the night where there was no need for them to be out in the rain—in the hall or solar or wherever—had wet clothing this morning.

Master Skipton’s quickened face told Frevisse he understood immediately why she asked that, but all he said was, “Yes, my lady.”

‘And this for both of you,“ she said, including Master Verney with a look. ”Did Master Benedict have any…“ She thought about what word to use. ”… interest in anyone, a woman or girl, here? Or anywhere,“ she added for good measure.

‘No,“ Master Skipton said. ”None.“

Master Verney was more forthcoming. “His mother would have heard of it soon enough by way of Mistress Avys and put a stop to it within the hour.”

That closed off the only other course of questioning she had except for, “One thing more, Master Skipton.” She fixed him with a straight look, to watch as much as hear his answer. “Did Master Verney stay in your chamber and not leave at any time until the morning?”

Master Skipton’s answer was unhesitating. “Yes.”

‘You’re certain?“

‘Yes.“

‘What time did he come to bed?“

‘He was there before I was, because I had all the usual evening business of making certain doors were barred and fires covered before I was done for the day as well as making sure as much had been done as could be for our guests, but he left the solar when the Allesleys and arbiters were set to ready to bed.“

‘I went back to the hall after leaving Benedict here, dried a little by the fire there, then returned to the solar,“ Master Verney said evenly, though he had to know why she was asking where he had been and when last night. ”I thought not to leave Robert to it alone, helped keep up the talk until the evening’s end, and left when he did, went from there directly to Master Skipton’s room and, yes, stayed there until morning.“

‘And Robert?“ Frevisse asked evenly.

‘Robert?“ For the first time Master Verney slightly bridled. ”What about Robert?“

‘Where did he go? Do you know?“

‘He went with me as far as the yard,“ Master Verney said stiffly. ”We parted at the foot of the stairs.“ He stopped, the odd look on his face telling her that the same thing was crossing his mind as hers: they had been standing then where Benedict’s body was found next morning. But Master Verney steadied and went on, ”He said he was going to see the children, maybe spend the night there. I’d surely not have gone back to Lady Blaunche last night if I’d had choice and was glad he wasn’t going to. I wished him good sleeping and went my way to Master Skipton’s room.“

‘Was it raining then?“

‘Not downpouring, just spattering. The end of the storm, before the next one moved in.“

‘And you stayed there until morning.“

‘Until there was the outcry in the yard after Benedict’s body was found, yes,“ he said, and Master Skipton nodded in agreement.

There would still have been too many people on the move just then for him to have risked moving Benedict’s body between parting from Robert and going to Master Skipton’s room. That left only the question of whether Master Skipton was correct that Master Verney had not left during the night, and that hung on how deeply Master Skipton actually slept—deep enough for someone to move about his room without he knew it, or not?—and just now she could think of no way to find that out and stood with bowed head, considering what else she might ask but all that came to mind was, “Benedict had no enemies you know of who might go to the length of killing him?”

‘The greatest enemy he had,“ said Master Verney grimly, ”was in some ways his mother. I don’t know anyone else.“

‘Master Fenner?“ she had to ask.

‘No!“ Master Verney and the steward were both vehement at that, though it was Master Verney who went on, ”What you’ve seen between them ever since you came here… that’s not how it’s been. Robert never pretended to be Benedict’s father or Benedict to be his son, but they were friends. Good friends.“

But so was Master Verney, to both of them; that could color what he said, and she tried Master Skipton, asking, “Is that how it seemed to you?”

‘Master Fenner is a good man and Benedict was a good lad. They liked each other. There was never bad trouble between them until now.“

And then Benedict’s loyalty had all turned to his mother, backing her claim to that manor, agreeing with her that he should have Katherine, crossing Robert…

Katherine. For whom Robert felt… what?

Briefly, before she could shove thought of it away, Frevisse wished she had not heard him cry out Katherine’s name on the stairs the way he had…

But he would not have set her to find out Benedict’s murderer if he was guilty.

Unless he needed to be found out and chose this way because he could not say the words himself.

Unless…

All that was pointless wondering. Until she knew more, until she had answers to her other questions from Gil and from Master Skipton, she had as yet no reasonable way to look.

Except at Robert, her mind said again.

Nowhere to look that made any sense, she thought and held to the thought as she thanked Master Skipton for his help given and to come, dismissed him, looked once more around Benedict’s room, and told Master Verney she was done here.

Chapter 18

They came out the stairway door into the yard and the bright late morning of a sweet-aired spring day. A general drift of men toward the hall said it must be near to dinnertime but on her own part Frevisse had no urge for food. The fair day was too strongly contrary to all the darkness of Benedict’s death and in echo to her own feelings Master Verney let out a deep-taken breath and said, “We’re no further on than we were, are we?”

They were not, though Frevisse held back from saying so, said instead, after a pause, “You’ll go into dinner now?” “No. Will you?” And when she shook her head, said, “You’re going on with your questions?”

‘Yes.“

‘The crowner will be here maybe within the day. You think you can do better than he will?“

It depended on the crowner,
she did not answer. Through the years she had had to do with crowners who ranged from good through a wide band of indifferent to bad, and all she answered now, with the lowered eyes of a humble nun, was, “Robert asked me to learn what I could.”

‘What he asked you to do,“ Master Verney corrected sharply, ”was to find Benedict’s murderer. You…“

What else he might have said was interrupted by Mistress Dionisia making flurried appearance from the nursery stairs’ doorway not many yards distant. She hastened toward them, or more likely toward the chapel beyond them, Frevisse supposed, because she pulled up short with surprise at seeing them in her way, then came on at greater speed, gasping out, breathless with her haste, “Is Master Fenner in the chapel? Do you know where he is?”

‘He’s there, yes,“ Master Verney answered. ”What’s toward?“

‘Lady Blaunche.“ Even breathlessness could not keep the desperation out of Mistress Dionisia’s voice. ”She wants the children again. She’s trying to go to them and she mustn’t. She’s…“ Fear as well as barely contained desperation were driving Mistress Dionisia’s words. ”She’s terrible. She’s even ordered Master Geoffrey away from her. Master Fenner has to come.“

‘I’ll bring him,“ Master Verney said, already turning away toward the chapel. ”You go back to her and do what you can. You, too, Dame Frevisse.“

Frevisse would have gone without his order and at another time would have resented that he gave it but this was not the time for resenting anything. That Dame Claire had failed to find a way to hold Lady Blaunche quiet meant the matter could be desperate indeed.

And so it was, she found at the top of the nursery stairs as she jerked back to keep from bumping into Mistress Dionisia brought to a sudden stop by Nurse bursting out of the nursery door, saying back, “You keep them here, Anabilla, no matter what,” at the same time as Lady Blaunche shrieked out in the other room, “They’re mine! I want to see them!”

‘Not like this,“ Dame Claire answered, sounding as desperate as Mistress Dionisia had in the yard, and Frevisse coming in on Mistress Dionisia’s heels behind Nurse found her struggling to hold Lady Blaunche back by main force of a grip on her arms and shoving while Mistress Avys and Emelye huddled in the tower doorway wringing their hands and noisily weeping to no purpose but at least blocking the way of the men crowded and staring behind them.