The Sanctuary Sparrow Part 7

Wednesday .

HUGH SOUGHT OUT CADFAEL AFTER CHAPTER the next morning for a brief conference in his workshop in the herbarium.

"They're all in a tale," said Hugh, leaning back with a cup of Cadfael's latest-broached wine under the rustling bunches of last year's harvest of herbs. "All insistent that this death must be linked to what happened at the young fellow's wedding feast. But since they're all of them obsessed with money, their money-except, perhaps, the daughter, who curls her lip very expressively but says little, and certainly nothing against her kin-they can think of nothing but their grievance and every other man must be as intent on it as they are. Yet there's profit and profit, and this locksmith's business does very nicely for itself, and now there's no kith nor kin to take it over, and it seems to be common knowledge the man had commended his journeyman to take the shop over after him. This young Boneth has been doing most of the work now above two years, he deserves he should get the credit. As right and virtuous a young man as ever I saw, to all appearances, but who's to be sure he didn't get tired of waiting? And we'd best bear in mind another truth-it was Baldwin Peche made the lock and keys for that strong-box of Aurifaber's."

"There's a boy runs the errands and sleeps there in the shop," said Cadfael. "Has he ought to say?"

"The dark boy, the simpleton? I wouldn't say his memory goes back farther than a day or so, but he's positive his master did not come back to his shop after he looked in at mid-morning, the day before he was fished out of the Severn. They were used to his absences by day, but the boy was anxious when there was no return at twilight. He didn't sleep. I would take his word for it there was no disturbance, no prowling about that burgage during the night. Nor are we the nearer knowing just when the man died, though the night would seem to be when he was set adrift, and the boat, too. There was no overturned coracle sighted down the Severn during the day-either day."

"You'll be going back there, I suppose," said Cadfael. There had been very little time the previous day for hunting out all the neighbours to testify. "I've an errand there myself to the old dame tomorrow, but no occasion to go that way today. Give an eye for me to the little Welsh girl, will you, see in what spirits she is, and whether they're being rough or smooth with her."

Hugh c.o.c.ked a smiling eye at him. "Your countrywoman, is she? To judge by the way I heard her singing away about her pot-scouring, last night, she's in good enough heart."

"Singing, was she?" That would come as very welcome news to that draggled sparrow in his sanctuary cage here. Evidently no hards.h.i.+p more than normal had fallen upon Rannilt for her day of freedom. "Good, that answers me very properly. And, Hugh, if you'll take a nudge from me without asking any questions as to where I picked up the scent-probe around as to whether anyone on that street saw Daniel Aurifaber slipping out in the dark an hour past Compline, when he should have been snug in bed with his bride."

Hugh turned his black head sharply, and gave his friend a long and quizzical look. "That night?"

"That night."

"Three days married!" Hugh grimaced and laughed. "I'd heard the young man has the name for it. But I take your meaning. There may be other reasons for leaving a new wife to lie cold."

"When I spoke with him," said Cadfael, "he made no secret of it that he heartily disliked the locksmith. Though had his dislike had a solid core, and gone as far as congealing into hate, I think he might have been less voluble about it."

"I'll bear that in mind, too. Tell me, Cadfael," said Hugh, eyeing him shrewdly, "how strong is the scent you got wind of? Say I find no such witness-no second such witness, ought I to say?-shall I be justified in wagering on the accuracy of your nose?"

"In your shoes," said Cadfael cheerfully, "I would."

"You seem to have found your witness in very short order," remarked Hugh drily, "and without leaving the precinct. So you got it out of him-whatever it was that had him choking on a simple lie. I thought you would." He rose, grinning, and set down his cup. I'll take your confession later, I'm away now to see what I can get out of the new wife." He clouted Cadfael amiably on the shoulder in pa.s.sing, and looked back from the doorway. "No need to fret for that weedy lad of yours, I'm coming round to your opinion. I doubt if he ever did worse in his life than sneak a few apples from an orchard."

The journeyman, Iestyn, was working alone in the shop, repairing the broken clasp of a bracelet, when Hugh came to the Aurifaber burgage. It was the first time Hugh had spoken with this man alone, and in company Iestyn kept himself silent and apart. Either he was taciturn by nature, thought Hugh, or the family had taken care to make his status clear to him, and it was not theirs, and there should be no stepping over the line that divided them.

In answer to Hugh's question he shook his head, smiling and hoisting impa.s.sive shoulders.

"How would I see what goes on in the street after dark or who's on the prowl when decent folks are in bed? I sleep in the back part of the undercroft, beneath the rear of the hall, my lord. Those outside stairs go down to my bed, as far from the lane as you can get. I neither see nor hear anything from there."

Hugh had already noted the stairs that dived below the house at the rear, a shallow flight, since the ground dropped steadily away from the street level, and the undercroft, completely below-ground at the street end, was half above-ground at the back. From there, certainly, a man would be cut off from the world outside.

"At what hour did you go there, two nights ago?"

Iestyn knotted his thick black brows and considered. "I'm always early, having to rise early. I reckon about eight that night, as soon as my supper had settled."

"You had no late errands to do? Nothing that took you out again after that?"

"No, my lord."

"Tell me, Iestyn," said Hugh on impulse, "are you content in your work here? With Master Walter and his family? You have fair treatment, and a good relations.h.i.+p?"

"One that suits me well enough," said Iestyn cautiously. "My wants are simple, I make no complaint. I never doubt time will bring me my due. First to earn it."

Susanna met Hugh in the hall doorway, and bade him in with the same practical composure she would have used with any other. Questioned, she shrugged away all knowledge with a rueful smile.

"My chamber is here, my lord, between hall and store, the length of the house away from the street. Baldwin's boy did not come to us with his trouble, though he well could have done. At least he would have had company. But he didn't come, so we knew nothing of his master being still astray until the morning, when John came. I was sorry poor Griffin worried out the night alone."

"And you had not seen Master Peche during the day?"

"Not since morning, when we were all about the yard and the well. I went across to his shop at dinner with a bowl of broth, having plenty to spare, and it was then John told me he'd gone out. Gone since mid-morning and said something about the fish rising. To the best I know, that's the last known word of him."

"So Boneth has told me. And no report of him from any shop or ale-house or friend's house since. In a town where every man knows every man, that's strange. He steps over his door-sill and is gone." He looked up the broad, unguarded stairs that led up from beyond her door to the gallery and the rooms above. "How are these chambers arranged? Who has the one on the street, above the shop?"

"My father. But he sleeps heavily. Yet ask him, who knows but he may have heard or seen something. Next to him my brother and his wife. Daniel is away to Frankwell, but Margery you'll find in the garden with my father. And then my grandmother has the nearest chamber. She keeps her room today, she's old and has had some trying seizures, perilous at her age. But she'll be pleased if you care to visit her," said Susanna, with a brief, flas.h.i.+ng smile, "for all the rest of us grow very tedious to her, she's worn us out long ago, we no longer amuse her. I doubt if she can tell you anything that will help you, my lord, but the change would do marvels for her."

She had wide eyes at once distant and brilliant, fringed with lashes russet as her coil of l.u.s.trous hair. A pity there should be grey strands in the russet, and fine wrinkles, whether of laughter or long-sighted pain, at the corners of the grey eyes, and drawn lines, like cobweb, about her full, firm mouth. She was, Hugh judged, at least six or seven years older than he, and seemed more. A fine thing spoiled for want of a little spending. Hugh had come by what was his as an only child, but he did not think a sister of his would have been left thus used and unprovided, to furnish a brother richly forth.

"I'll gladly present myself to Dame Juliana," he said, "when I have spoken with Master Walter and Mistress Margery."

"That would be kind," she said. "And I could bring you wine, and that would give me the chance to bring her, with it, a dose she might otherwise refuse to take, even though Brother Cadfael comes tomorrow and she minds him more than any of us. Go down this way, then, my lord. I'll look for you returning."

Either the goldsmith had nothing to tell, or else could not bring himself to spend even words. The one thing that haunted him day and night was his lost treasury, of which he had rendered an inventory piece by piece, almost coin by coin, in loving and grieving detail. The coins in particular were notable. He had silver pieces from before Duke William ever became King William, fine mintage not to be matched now. His father and grandfather, and perhaps one progenitor more, must have been of the same mind as himself, and lived for their fine-struck wealth. Walter's head might be healed now without, but his loss might well have done untold harm to the mind within.

Hugh stood patiently under the apple and pear trees of the orchard, pressing his few questions concerning the vanis.h.i.+ng of Baldwin Peche. Almost it seemed to him that the name no longer struck any spark, that Walter had to blink and shake himself and think hard before he could recall the name or the face of his dead tenant. He could not see the one or remember the other for brooding on his voided coffer.

One thing was certain, if he knew of anything that could help to recover his goods, he would pour it out in a hurry. Another man's death, by comparison, meant little to him. Nor did it seem that he had yet hit upon one possibility that was hovering in Hugh's mind. If there was indeed a connection between the robbery and this death, need it be the one to which the town had jumped so nimbly? Robbers can also be robbed, and may even be killed in the robbing. Baldwin Peche had been a guest at the wedding, he had made the locks and keys for the strong-box, and who knew the house and shop better than he?

Margery had been feeding the fowls that scratched in an arrow run under the town wall, at the bottom of the garden. Until a year previously Walter had even kept his two horses here within the town, but recently he had acquired a pasture and an old stable across the river, westward from Frankwell, where Iestyn was regularly sent to see that they were fed and watered and groomed, and exercise them if they were short of work. The girl was coming up the slope of the garden with the morning's eggs in a basket, the bulk of the wall in shadow behind her, and the narrow door in it closed. A short, rounded, insignificant young person to the view, with an untidy ma.s.s of fair hair. She made Hugh a wary reverence, and raised to him a pair of round, unwavering eyes.

"My husband is out on an errand, sir, I'm sorry. In half an hour or so he may be back."

"No matter," said Hugh truly, "I can speak with him later. And you may well be able to speak for both, and save the time. You know on what business I'm engaged. Master Peche's death seems likely to prove no accident, and though he was missing most of the day, yet the night is the most favourable time for villainies such as murder. We need to know what every man was doing two nights ago, and whether he saw or heard anything that may help us lay hands on the culprit. I understand your chamber is the second one, back from the street, yet you may have looked out and seen someone lurking in the alley between the houses, or heard some sound that may have meant little to you then. Did you so?"

She said at once: "No. It was a quiet night, like any other."

"And your husband made no mention of noticing anything out of the way? No one out and about on the roads when law-abiding people are fast at home? Had he occasion to be in the shop late? Or any errand outside?"

Her rose and white countenance flushed very slowly a deeper rose, but her eyes did not waver, and she found a ready excuse for her colour. "No, we retired in good time. Your lords.h.i.+p will understand-we are only a few days married."

"I understand very well!" said Hugh heartily. "Then I need hardly ask you if your husband so much as left your side."

"Never for a moment," she agreed, and voice and flush were eloquent, whether they told truth or no.

"The idea would never have entered my mind," Hugh a.s.sured her urbanely, "if we had not the testimony of a witness who says he saw your husband creeping out of the house and making off in haste about an hour after Compline that night. But of course, more's the unwisdom, not all witnesses tell the truth."

He made her a civil bow, and turned and left her then, neither lingering nor hurrying, and strolled back up the garden path to the house. Margery stood staring after him with her underlip caught between her teeth, and the basket of eggs dangling forgotten from her hand.

She was waiting and watching for Daniel when he came back from Frankwell. She drew him aside into a corner of the yard, where they could not be overheard, and the set of her chin and brows stopped his mouth when he began to blurt out loud, incautious wonder at being thus waylaid. Instead, he questioned in an uneasy undertone, impressed by her evident gravity: "What is it? What's the matter with you?"

"The sheriff's deputy has been here asking questions. Of all of us!"

"Well, so he must, what is there in that? And what, of all people, could you tell him?" The implied scorn did not escape her; that would change, and soon.

"I could have told what he asked me," she spat, bitter and low, "where you were all night on Monday. But could I? Do I even know? I know what I believed then, but why should I go on believing it? A man who was out of his bed and loose in the town that night may not have been bustling to another woman's bed after all-he could have been battering Baldwin Peche over the head and throwing him into the river! That's what they are thinking. And now what am I to believe? Bad enough if you left me to go to that woman while her husband's away-oh, yes, I was there, do you remember when she told you, all nods and winks, the shameless wh.o.r.e!-that he was bound away for several days! But how do I know now that that's what you were about?"

Daniel was gaping at her, white-faced and aghast, and gripping her hand as if his senses at that moment had no other anchor. "Dear G.o.d, they can't think that! You can't believe that of me? You know me better..."

"I don't know you at all! You pay me no attention, you're nothing but a stranger to me, you steal out at night and leave me in tears, and what do you care?"

"Oh, G.o.d!" babbled Daniel in a frantic whisper, "What am I to do? And you told him? You told him I went out-the whole night?"

"No, I did not. I'm a loyal wife, if you're no proper husband to me. I told him you were with me, that you never left my side."

Daniel drew breath deep, gawping at her in idiot relief, and began to smile, and jerk out praise and thanks incoherently while he wrung her hand, but Margery measured out her moment like a fencer, and struck the grin ruthlessly from his face.

"But he knows it is not true."

"What?" He collapsed again into terror. "But how can he? If you told him I was with you..."

"I did. I've perjured myself for you and all to no purpose. I gave nothing away, though G.o.d knows I owe you nothing. I put my soul in peril to save you from trouble! And then he tells me smoothly that there's a witness who saw you sneak out that night and has the hour right, too, so never think this was a trick. There is such a witness. You're known to have been out roving in the dark the night that man was murdered."

"I never had ought to do with it," he wailed softly. "I told you truth..."

"You told me you had things to do that were no concern of mine. And everybody knows you had no love for the locksmith."

"Oh, G.o.d!" moaned Daniel, gnawing his knuckles. "Why did I ever go near the girl? I was mad! But I swear to you, Margery, that was all, it was to Cecily I went... and never again, never! Oh, girl, help me... what am I to do?"

"There's only one thing you can do," she said forcefully. "If that's truly where you were, you must go to this woman, and get her to speak up for you, as she ought. Surely she'll tell the truth, for your sake, and then the sheriff's men will let you alone. And I'll confess that I lied. I'll say it was for shame of being so slighted, though it was truly for love of you-however little you deserve it."

"I will!" breathed Daniel, weak with fear and hope and grat.i.tude all mingled, and stroking and caressing her hand as he had never done before. I'll go to her and ask her. And never see her again, I promise you, I swear to you, Margery."

"Go after dinner," said Margery, securely in the ascendancy, "for you must come and eat and put a good face on it. You can, you must. No one else knows of this, no one but I, and I'll stand by you whatever it cost me."

Mistress Cecily Corde did not brighten or bridle at the sight of her lover creeping in at the back door of her house early in the afternoon. She scowled as blackly as so golden a young woman could, hauled him hastily into a closed chamber where they could not possible be overlooked by her maidservant, and demanded of him, before he had even got his breath back, what he thought he was doing there in broad daylight, and with the sheriff's men about the town as well as the usual loiterers and gossips. In a great, gasping outpour Daniel told her what he was about, and why, and what he needed, entreated, must have from her, avowal that he had spent Monday night with her from nine of the evening until half an hour before dawn. His peace of mind, his safety, perhaps his life, hung on her witness. She could not deny him, after all they had meant to each other, all he had given her, all they had shared.

Once she had grasped what he was asking of her, Cecily disengaged violently from the embrace she had permitted as soon as the door was closed, and heaved him off in a pa.s.sion of indignation.

"Are you mad? Throw my good name to the four winds to save your skin? I'll do no such thing, the very idea of asking it of me! You should be ashamed! Tomorrow or the next day my man will be home, and very well you know it. You would not have come near me now, if you had any thought for me. And like this, in daylight, with the streets full! You'd better go, quickly, get away from here."

Daniel clung, aghast, unable to believe in such a reception. "Cecily, it may be my life! I must tell them..."

"If you dare," she hissed, backing violently out of his desperate attempt at an embrace, "I shall deny it. I shall swear that you lie, that you've pestered me, and I've never encouraged you. I mean it! Dare mention my name and I'll brand you liar, and bring witness enough to bear me out. Now go, go, I never want to see you again!"

Daniel fled back to Margery. She had the shrewd sense to be watching for him, having known very well what his reception must be, and spirited him competently away to their own chamber where, if they kept their voices down, they could not be heard. Dame Juliana, next door, slept in the afternoon and slept soundly. Their private business was safe from her.

In agitated whispers he poured out everything though he was telling her nothing she did not already know. She judged it time to soften against his shoulder, while keeping the mastery firmly in her own hands. He had been shocked out of his male complacency, and almost out of his skin, she felt pity and affection for him, but that was a luxury she could not yet afford.

"Listen, we'll go together. You have a confession to make, but so have I. We'll not wait for the Lord Beringar to come to us, we'll go to him. I'll own that I lied to him, that you left me alone all that night, knowing you were gone to a paramour. You'll tell him the same. I shall not know her name. And you will refuse to give it. You must say she is a married woman, and it would be her ruin. He'll respect you for it. And we'll say that we start anew, from this hour."

She had him in her hand. He would go with her, he would swear to whatever she said. They would start anew from that hour; and she would be holding the reins.

In bed that night she clasped a devout, grateful husband, who could not fawn on her enough. Whether Hugh Beringar had believed their testimony or not, he had received it with gravity, and sent them away solemnly admonished but feeling themselves delivered. A Daniel eased of all fear that the eye of the law was turned ominously upon him would sit still where a hand could be laid on him at any moment.

"It's over," Margery a.s.sured him, fast in his arms, and surprisingly contented there, considering all things. "I'm sure you need not trouble any more. No one believes you ever harmed the man. I'll stand with you, and we have nothing to fear."

"Oh, Margery, what should I have done without you?" He was drifting blissfully towards sleep, after extreme fear and the release of correspondingly great pleasure. Never before had he felt such devotional fervour, even to his mistresses. This might have been said to be his true wedding night. "You're a good girl, loyal and true..."

I'm your wife, who loves you," she said, and more than half believed it, to her own mild surprise. "And loyal you'll find me, whenever you call upon me. I shall not fail you. But you must also stand by me, for as your wife I have rights." It was well to have him so complacent, but not to let him fall asleep, not yet. She took steps to rouse him; she had learned a great deal in one unsatisfactory week. While he was still glowing, she pursued very softly and sweetly: "I am your wife now-wife to the heir, there's a status belongs to me. How can I live in a house and have no place, no duties that are mine by right?"

"Surely you have your place," he protested tenderly. "The place of honour, mistress of the house. What else? We all bear with my grandmother, she's old and set in her ways, but she doesn't meddle with the housekeeping."

"No, I don't complain of her, of course we must reverence the elders. But your wife should be granted her due in responsibilities as well as privilege. If your mother still lived it would be different. But Dame Juliana has given up her direction of the household, being so old, to our generation. I am sure your sister has done her duty n.o.bly by you all all these years..."

Daniel hugged her close, his thick curls against her brow. "Yes, so she has, and you can keep your hands white and take your ease, and be the lady of the house, why should you not?"

"That is not what I want," said Margery firmly, gazing up into the dark with wide-open eyes. "You're a man, you don't understand. Susanna works hard, no one could complain of her, she keeps a good table without waste, and all the linen and goods and provisions in fine order, I know. I give her all credit. But that is the wife's work, Daniel. Your mother, if she had lived. Your wife, now you have a wife."

"Love, why should you not work together? Half the load is lighter to bear, and I don't want my wife worn out with cares," he murmured smugly into the tangle of her hair. And thought himself very cunning, no doubt, wanting peace as men always want it, far before justice or propriety; but she would not let him get away with that sop.

"She won't give up any part of the load, she has had her place so long, she stands off any approach. Only on Monday I offered to fetch in the was.h.i.+ng for her, and she cut me off sharply, that she would do herself. Trust me, my love, there cannot be two mistresses in one house, it never prospers. She has the keys at her girdle, she sees the store-bins kept supplied, and the linen mended and replaced, she gives the orders to the maid, she chooses the meats and sees them cooked as she wishes. She comes forth as hostess when visitors appear. All my rights, Daniel, and I want them. It is not fitting that the wife should be so put aside. What will our neighbours say of us?"

"Whatever you want," he said with sleepy fervour, "you shall have. I do see that my sister ought now to give up her office to you, and should have done so willingly, of her own accord. But she has held the reins here so long, she has not yet considered that I'm now a married man. Susanna is a sensible woman, she'll see reason."

"It is not easy for a woman to give up her place," Margery pointed out sternly. "I shall need your support, for it's your status as well as mine in question. Promise me you will stand with me to get my rights."

He promised readily, as he would have promised her anything that night. Of the two of them, she had certainly been the greater gainer from the day's crises and recoveries. She fell asleep knowing it, and already marshalling her skills to build on it.

Chapter Nine.

Thursday: from morning to late evening .

DAME JULIANA TAPPED HER WAY DOWN THE BROAD WOODEN TREADS of the stairs to the hall in good time on the following morning, determined to greet Brother Cadfael when he came after breakfast with all the presence and a.s.surance of a healthy old lady in full command of her household, even if she had to prepare her seat and surroundings in advance and keep her walking-stick handy. He knew that she was no such matter, and she knew that he knew it. She had a foot in the grave, and sometimes felt it sinking under her and drawing her in. But this was a final game they played together, in respect and admiration if not in love or even liking.

Walter was off to his workshop with his son this morning. Juliana sat enthroned in her corner by the stairs, cus.h.i.+oned against the wall, eyeing them all, tolerant of all, content with none. Her long life, longer than any woman should be called upon to sustain, trailed behind her like a heavy bridal train dragging at the shoulders of a child bride, holding her back, weighing her down, making every step a burden.

As soon as Rannilt had washed the few platters and set the bread-dough to rise, she brought some sewing to a stool in the hall doorway, to have the full light. A decent, drab brown gown, with a jagged tear above its hem. The girl was making a neat job of mending it. Her eyes were young. Juliana's were very old, but one part of her that had not mouldered. She could see the very st.i.tches the maid put in, small and precise as they were.

"Susanna's gown?" she said sharply. "How did she come to get a rent like that? And the hems washed out too! In my day we made things last until they wore thin as cobweb before we thought of discarding them. No such husbandry these days. Rend and mend and throw away to the beggars! Spendthrifts all!"

Plainly nothing was going to be right for the old woman today, she was determined to make her carping authority felt by everyone. It was better, on such days, to say nothing, or if answers were demanded, make them as short and submissive as possible.

Rannilt was glad when Brother Cadfael came in through the pa.s.sage with dressings in his scrip for the ulcer that was again threatening to erupt on the old woman's ankle. The thin, eroded skin parted at the least touch or graze. He found his patient reared erect and still in her corner, waiting for him, silent and thoughtful for once, but at his coming she roused herself to maintain, in the presence of this friendly enemy, her reputation for tartness, obstinacy and grim wit, and for taking always, with all her kin, the contrary way. Whoever said black, Juliana would say white.

"You should keep this foot up," said Cadfael, cleaning the small but ugly lesion with a pad of linen, and applying a new dressing. "As you know very well, and have been told all too often. I wonder if I should not rather be telling you to stamp about upon it day-long-then you might do the opposite and let it heal."