Eleanor was surprised by the well-whetted edge she heard in those words. What was the source of this woman’s bitterness? But no question formed quickly enough for the asking, and she knew the cause might well have nothing to do with this crime. Perhaps she would be wiser to let the widow continue on.
“I do not doubt that Hilda suffered from her longings. The Devil may find it easier to torment youth with unrelenting lust, but I sometimes think he gains special merriment by pricking those who believe they have grown past that foolishness.” Maud blinked as if surprised by what she had just said. “Yet I am sure Tobye lent his shape to incubi that tormented many other women at night, both the wrinkled and the smooth-fleshed. If thwarted lust is a motive in this murder, my lady, the sheriff may find there was a long line of women, who stood outside the stable on that night, waiting their turn to kill the groom.”
Since she often hoped that age would calm her own passions, Eleanor prayed the widow was wrong about Satan’s ways. “Did the cook have any enemy who might have hated her enough to attack her with intent to kill?” she asked, redirecting the conversation from her own uncomfortable thoughts.
“Hilda? Never! She slipped savories to lads and sweets to the girls. Her meals pleased those of both high and low birth. The only creatures that had cause to loathe her were fowl, and even there she chose to wring the necks of ones closest to their natural death. She took pride in making a tough old cock taste like a tender young hen.”
Eleanor smiled. “So I have heard.”
Maud looked down at the woman lying in bed and sighed.
“Can you think of any reason why Tobye was murdered or why Hilda was attacked so cruelly?”
“Have you found reason not to trust the sheriff to find the killer, my lady?” Maude raised an eyebrow as she studied the prioress.
Eleanor lowered her eyes with suitable meekness. “Like many women, I suffer from the weakness of curiosity. My questions are nothing more than whimsical things. As the king’s man, I have no doubt that Sir Reimund will prove up to the task.” Her face hidden, the prioress frowned. And why ask such a question, she wondered, when it was you who first planted the seed of doubt in my mind about his peculiar methods of seeking justice? Eleanor grew uneasy.
“He would not have assigned a guard to keep an eye on you if he thought you so harmless and docile.” Maud chuckled. “Our sheriff is not the only one who knows your reputation as a woman with an unsettling and masculine mind.”
Was this widow part of some trap set by Sir Reimund to catch her interfering where she should not? Had Maud’s earlier suggestion that the sheriff cared most about his own interests been part of a scheme? Eleanor tried to calm herself and think logically.
Although she had gained a reputation for solving criminal matters, her greatest success involved financial solvency for her priory. Power was ever linked to coin so, if there were concerns that she was growing too influential, they were based in the increasing wealth of Tyndal.
Perhaps the sheriff believed he would gain by proving she had willfully and unjustifiably interfered with the king’s matters. The ways and concerns of King Edward were still unknown to her, indeed to her father as well, for this new king was known more for changes in direction than the steadiness of his purpose. Were she to make a misstep and find disfavor with the new regime, Eleanor knew that she, her family, and her priory would be in danger. And, should she suffer a fall from grace, there might well be those at court who would rejoice and smile on the man who had brought it about.
It would be wise not to trust Maud, or to give Sir Reimund cause to complain to her superiors, she decided. She must tread more carefully than she had in this matter. After all, she had no wish to ruin her family or her priory, especially by foolish actions born more of sinful pride than anything else.
“At Tyndal Priory, I have an obligation to render God’s justice,” she replied with care. “In the world, I have no more authority than any other woman. This land belongs to the Earl of Lincoln and the king’s law rules here. Sir Reimund has nothing to fear from any feminine interference.”
“More’s the pity,” Maud sighed. “He is not an evil man but…” She shrugged.
Eleanor refused to be drawn into any criticism of the sheriff. “I am sure he will find Tobye’s killer as well as Hilda’s attacker.” Eleanor fell silent long enough to let her firmly stated confidence in the man sink in. As she had learned, people are often lulled into complacency after hearing the accepted point of view expressed. She would now chance a question. “I never met the groom, but wonder that Master Stevyn kept such a man if he was so despised.”
“Tobye was reliable and skilled with horses, whatever his other faults might be. My jest aside about the scorned women, I cannot say he was truly hated. A few husbands had cause to give him a beating, but the blows dealt were only hard enough to make his member droop when next he thought to smile upon their wives. There was a father or two who had wished his daughter could stand at the church door with maidenhead taut enough to bloody the marriage bed, but Tobye was clever and often able to point out other likely and equally randy youths as culprits there. He may have been less guilty of lewdness than he was accused.”
“Aye, but someone most certainly hated him more than those,” Eleanor said, letting her words fall as comment more than question.
Maud looked perplexed.
Deciding she had best turn away from all further inquiry, the prioress shook her head. “I pray that terror does not take residence in the hearts of those who live and work here. Murder is a frightening thing.”
“There was less unease after Hilda’s arrest and before she was attacked.”
Eleanor could not read the expression on Maud’s face quickly enough and turned her attention to the cook. An almost imperceptible rise and fall in the warm coverings over her proved life still had a hold on the sorely wounded woman.
“Although few believed she had done the deed, many were comforted by the swiftness of resolution in the crime,” the widow said.
“Perhaps there will be an equally quick solution in this matter,” Eleanor replied, deciding it was wiser to let the woman believe that she, too, was equally comforted by justice rendered with such shallowness. In truth, she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out that she found no justice in that hasty arrest of an innocent.
Maud looked surprised by this answer.
The prioress nodded with due courtesy and took her leave.
***
As she walked toward the room where Mariota lay, Eleanor felt thwarted but now realized she had another problem. If she continued to ask questions, no matter how innocently she presented them, she might endanger others in her company as well as herself. Had she the right to do such a thing to innocent people just because she questioned the sheriff’s judgment?
Of course she had felt insulted by his manner toward her, even rightly so. His behavior had been unacceptable toward any woman of religious calling, let alone a prioress and a baron’s daughter. That said, she must balance her response with an understanding that her worldly pride might well be leading her in a foolhardy direction.
She stopped by a window and looked down on the busy courtyard below. Smoke rose from the smithy. A woman was feeding a flock of chickens. Animal noises mingled companionably with human shouts and the din of work. There was something soothing about watching people, going about their labors as if nothing had ever troubled them. As she well knew, however, routine might suggest calm, but fear could yet be a hidden resident.
Should she tell Sir Reimund about seeing Mistress Luce in an unchaste embrace with Tobye? What about this other woman who slipped into the stable and begged some favor of the man? Who was she? If both Ranulf and Hilda had witnessed the same thing, the prioress had to believe the event probably occurred.