Huet folded his arms and studied the monk. “I heard she tried to kill herself.”
“Who told you that?” Thomas raised an eyebrow. Was the sheriff deliberately spreading this falsehood to suggest Hilda had done so out of guilt for the murder of Tobye? Must the cook remain condemned even if she was innocent?
Huet raised a matching eyebrow. “The man who protects your prioress, Brother. After she heard the commotion, and refused his advice to remain in safety, he followed her. When he reached the hut, he heard the sheriff loudly proclaim our cook had stabbed herself.”
“So he hoped!” Thomas realized he had been foolish to openly criticize Sir Reimund and quickly amended his words with: “Or rather believed.” What a poor attempt to change his meaning, he thought, and one not likely to fool the steward’s observant son. He silently cursed his brief show of temper. “No weapon was found. I examined her and said plainly enough that she could not have wounded herself so grievously, then disposed of the knife from a hut with no windows and a door barred from without.”
Huet pursed his lips and nodded.
“Why would anyone have wanted to hurt her? I have little acquaintance of the woman, but she seemed a gentle enough soul.”
Perhaps Hilda had witnessed something that pointed to Huet as Tobye’s killer, and the man had tried to kill her for that. After his strong defense of her in the courtyard, others would be less likely to suspect him as the true murderer.
But how could he know in advance that Sir Reimund would choose the cook as his suspect over, say, the pig boy or a laundrywoman? Surely Huet must be innocent.
Or had he simply taken advantage of the situation and found the imprisoned cook easier prey than she might otherwise have been?
In any case, until the killer was caught, Thomas could not risk casting aside any suspicion and knew that his peaceful nights, falling asleep in this man’s arms, were over. If he wanted to avoid any chance of a slit throat, he had best find a bed where there were too many witnesses as protection.
“Yet you have the measure of her, Brother. Her greatest sin was giving out bits of manor food to those of us who knew her soft heart and danced like puppies for treats. She had no children of her own and adopted us all with an eager love.”
“No enemies then?”
“Remember the story of devilish imps who infested the herd of swine, causing them to lose all reason and leap into the sea where they drowned? Satan may so drive a man to madness that he does things he might not otherwise do. Barring such a fiendish act, there was no one who had cause to injure her, any more than she had grounds to kill the groom.”
“Maybe he tormented her more than anyone knew and she could take no more, thus cut his throat. A moment of madness, perhaps, as you have just described.”
“Well argued, Brother, but I have rarely known a soul with so little anger in it. The sheriff must look elsewhere for the one whom Satan drove witless.” Huet’s smile was most engaging.
Thomas felt his face turn hot but was determined not to surrender to the man’s charm. “You know everyone here. Had anyone more cause than she?”
“Why do you ask, Brother? It is not your concern.”
Thomas swallowed hard, then forced a sheepish look. “Monks often find the world’s ways incomprehensible, and we ask too many questions about it. In addition, the Prince of Darkness may not disport himself more often in the world than in priories, but we are inclined to pretend otherwise and look for reasons to support that belief.”
Huet threw his head back and laughed. “You must whet your skills if you would become a teller of tales! Let me demonstrate a more persuasive demeanor.” He mimicked a sly, inquisitive monk. “That look you gave me would not lead any man to conclude you were like the religious you describe.”
Thomas willed himself to smile as if he had only intended a jest. “But I did make you laugh. Have I not learned that from you at least?”
Huet nodded, his expression much bemused.
Thomas sighed. “Nonetheless, the matter is certainly not my concern. I am but idly curious.”
“With all due respect, Brother, I doubt that. Your question is founded in true caring, not the idle prying from which so many suffer. In reply, I would say that several had more reason to kill Tobye than Hilda. He breached maidens and rode wives. The women may have been willing enough, but their gates were owned by others, and he had no right to enter as he did, whatever the invitations. If I were Sir Sheriff, I’d look to cuckolds and angry fathers before I laid a hand on our cook.”
“Any in particular?” Thomas asked, knowing he had just pushed his claim to trifling inquisitiveness a bit too far.
Huet shrugged. His eyes narrowed.
“None?”
“If you wish to satisfy what you name your idle curiosity, you had best ask others to raise questions. I have been too long away to know the most recent offenses. But, if you continue, I advise you to take care. There will be mortals aplenty who might not consider your interest but a simple failing of a cloistered monk.” He bowed. “Now, if you will forgive me, I promised to meet with my father for our long-delayed discussion about my abrupt return home.”
Thomas watched the man leave the kitchen. Were those parting words a threat or a kind warning? Rubbing his forehead, he concluded only two things after this talk with the steward’s younger son: he himself had been dangerously unwise in his speech, and Master Huet was far less ignorant of manor affairs than he pretended.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mistress Maud was not in the chamber.
Although Eleanor’s temper had waned during the short walk here, she knew it might wax again if fed by the sight of one whom she must call a suspect, no matter how unwillingly. Eleanor exhaled with relief when she saw that Mariota’s sole attendant was the usual servant.
The woman set aside her mending and rose to acknowledge the entrance of the prioress. “May I serve you in any way, my lady?”
Eleanor refused but thanked her, grateful for the woman’s gentle manner. It drove away the last of her unwomanly raging, allowing her to conclude that she had surely exaggerated the murkiness of the problems. Later, and with calmer spirit, she would carefully apply reason to each issue. As her aunt had taught her, anger only distorted facts. The situation could not possibly be as complex as she had thought under the influence of the Devil’s fury.
“How fares this child?” she asked, turning to look at the bed.
Mariota opened her eyes. “I feel much stronger, my lady,” she whispered hoarsely. “I walked to the door and back today.”
Surprised at the response, the prioress cried out with delight and rushed to grasp the girl’s hand.
“She also took some soup but an hour ago,” the servant added as she returned to her work, the stitching so skillful that the tear was becoming quite invisible.
Eleanor studied the girl. “Then you are most certainly healing.” Although Mariota was still pale, her cheeks had regained some of the healthier pink they had previously borne.
“Shall we leave soon?”
There was a sadness in the girl’s voice that caught Eleanor’s attention. Was she still suffering over what she had recently confessed? “Not until there is sufficient lull in the storms, and you have enough strength to travel back to the priory without further endangering your health.”
Mariota squeezed her eyes shut as if the meager light stung.
Eleanor gestured to the servant that she might leave them.
“I will remain outside should you have need of me,” the woman replied.
The prioress waited until the door was firmly shut. “You seem troubled, my child.”
“Are we alone?”
Eleanor nodded. “Speak freely and tell me what burdens your spirit.”