A slight flush dusted the young woman’s cheeks. “I would not speak ill of those who are kind.”
Fear numbed the prioress, but she knew she dared not show it. Her mind now raced through the possible meanings, and her heart began to pound. To disguise her alarm, she carefully released Mariota’s hand, patted it gently, and drew back a step. “Let me take that weight from you. If your spirit be honest in its speech, I shall decide whether those who seem benevolent are truly so or only don the convenient robes of compassion.”
Mariota stared up at the ceiling and began to speak. “This morning, Mistress Maud brought Master Huet to this chamber and sat while he played most beautifully upon the lute. His gentle songs of love, both worldly and spiritual, quite raised my spirits.”
“I have heard him, and he owns much talent.” Eleanor smiled encouragement.
“After a while, I slipped into a pleasant sleep, dreaming that my brother’s friend greeted me with great happiness.” She looked at the prioress as if searching for some sign, either of hope or censure.
“As we all know, God can tell us things in dreams, and this may suggest that matters have changed in your family of late,” Eleanor said, then quickly added a caution. “I am not, however, as blessed as Joseph who read God’s word in Pharaoh’s dream.”
The girl nodded. “When I awoke, I felt at peace and decided that God might truly be merciful in this matter. Then I opened my eyes.” She began to tremble.
Eleanor took the girl’s hand and held it with a gentleness she hoped would make further speech easier.
“I dare not draw any conclusions, my lady, but the sight did startle me.”
“Tell me in simple words exactly what you saw?” The prioress fought not to betray her own apprehension.
“Mistress Maud and Master Huet were standing near the window. They were holding each other in close embrace.”
Sweat trickled down her sides as if the room were overheated, but shock had numbed Eleanor to such petty sensitivity. She could only feel terror for Mariota’s safety. Her mouth was too dry when she swallowed, and she repressed a coughing fit.
“Did they know you had witnessed this?”
“I think not, my lady. His back was to me, and she could not see over his shoulder. I quickly closed my eyes. After waiting a while, I made a noise as if just awakening, then hesitated until I heard some sound. When I opened my eyes, they were apart and staring out the window as if something of import had caught their interest.”
Either they assumed they had escaped her notice by jumping away from each other or they knew full well she had witnessed their sin. It was the latter she feared and believed more likely.
Solutions raced through her mind and were just as hurriedly discarded. Mariota was too weak to move, yet she must no longer be left in the care of another from this household. Of course, she could take on most of the young woman’s care but even she needed sleep.
“You were right to tell me of this, but there may be an innocent enough explanation,” the prioress said. “Until I find out more, however, speak to no one at all about it. Should any person, including the sheriff or the two themselves, ask if you have witnessed anything curious while lying in this room, I give you permission to lie and claim ignorance. It is unlikely anyone shall do so, but wisdom forbids speaking further of it now.”
Mariota nodded, but the renewed pallor in her cheeks and furrowed brow spoke eloquently enough of her thoughts.
Surely the girl has heard some of the details of the crimes committed here, the prioress thought. There was no way to keep the stories from her, and Mariota was not foolish. She knew well enough that her life was in danger once again.
Now another horrible realization struck Eleanor most forcefully
She had not exaggerated the complexity of the crimes recently committed after all. They were far more intricately entangled than she had imagined.
Chapter Thirty
As Thomas walked through the busy courtyard, melancholy fell on his spirit with the weight of a pall over a corpse. He tossed his head like a horse bitten by a fly, as if that would free him of the malignant gloom, but the darkness only dug its claws more firmly into his soul.
“A lover could not be more faithful in attendance upon me,” he groaned, “or show greater jealousy over my joy in another.”
That other was the rare happiness he had experienced on this journey from Tyndal.
Melancholia had been the usual disorder in his humors since his imprisonment. It was briefly banished after some months at Tyndal, only to return during his journey to Amesbury Priory. The agonies he had then suffered grew so unbearable that he begged Prioress Eleanor to grant him permission to become a hermit, at least for a time, after the poisoning of Martin the Cooper last summer. She refused, ordering him instead to accompany her on this matter of priory land boundary disputes.
The journey was ill-advised due both to the pestilent season and harsh weather, but his prioress rejected all argument. Rarely had he seen her more adamant and never as unreasonable. When the company set out on a blustery day, the chill wind was only a foretaste of trouble to come. Oddly enough, an increase in his anguish had not been part of it.
He had found pleasure in unknotting legal issues and providing his prioress with options for equitable solutions. Her approval of his work had been most evident, and he had enjoyed the times when they took opposite sides of each argument to establish which solution might be best. Once the issues were resolved, and the party had begun their ride back to the priory, Thomas was shocked to find he had discovered contentment.
Then Mariota fell ill, and the storm had forced them all to seek shelter at this manor. Bedded down in the kitchen, Thomas easily fell back into a pattern of life he had lived as a child. His mother dead before he could even remember her, a cook had taken him on and raised him until she also died, just before his voice broke. Kitchens had always meant love and security. Hilda, the cook, reminded him much of the woman who reared him.
And now she was dying.
He cursed. She did not deserve this. Why did some grow corpulent in the service of corrupt men while those like Hilda suffered under the heavy boot of injustice? Why did God allow it? As bitterness soured his heart, he curled his hand into a fist and raised it to shake at the sky.
Something nudged his leg.
He looked down, his thoughts instantly pulled back from that chasm of irrevocable misery where Satan delighted in pushing him.
A brown dog of mixed breed was sitting in front of him, its expression expectant as if the creature had just asked a question.
“Where is your master?”
Seeing that it had gained the monk’s attention, the dog dropped the stick it held in his mouth at Thomas’ feet.
“Here, Brother.”
Thomas looked around and saw the speaker, a lad no older than nine summers, gaunt, with scabs and scars covering his face, neck, and hands. The boy was still recovering from a pox.
“How long have you had this fine creature?”
The boy grinned. “He was the gift promised if I lived, Brother.”
The monk nodded and his heart grieved at the roughness still evident in the boy’s voice.
“We came for your blessing, if you would be so kind.” The boy knelt and steepled his hands.
The dog looked hopeful.
If God has let this child live, Thomas thought, surely the boy was already under His safeguard. As for the dog, the monk suspected he had the same protection as any sparrow in God’s kingdom. He gave them both the peace of a blessing nonetheless.
“Are you training him?” the monk asked after the boy had risen from his knees.
“Only to fetch sticks,” was the wary reply. “My father says our master would not approve if he learned to hunt.”
A father who will nevertheless teach the beast to track down conies when the steward is abroad, the monk concluded. He picked up the proffered stick and threw it.