"As did his cousin, Alys," Eleanor conceded.
"Although many might argue against me on this, I am not so sure we ought to ignore the faith of an innocent girl or the testimony of a mother." Beatrice turned to Anne. "I say this as a woman beyond the age when illusions are common."
Anne chuckled. "I might have said a woman who had not yet reached those years when she is like to paint the past with the softer colors of delusion."
"You flatter me, Sister. Yet I fear Sayer is involved in this matter even if I question his role as a killer."
"If Sayer and his father plotted the theft of the Psalter and argued about it for some reason, the killing might have come about by accident," Eleanor suggested.
Thomas turned to Beatrice, his hands extended as if pleading with her to agree. "I found Mistress Drifa creditable when she said the quarrel would have been of little consequence had Wulfstan lived. She is not ignorant of her loved ones' wrongdoings, no matter how much she might despise the deeds. Could such a crime as this theft have seemed a petty thing to an honest woman? That said, I suspected that she was hiding something, something she avoided telling me. Whatever that might be, however, I cannot believe it was murder."
The novice mistress agreed. "Rogue the lad may be, a corrupter of those who long to be seduced and mayhap a thief, but he has always been a gentle man, willing to help the sad recover laughter with merry jests. That is not a man who kills with the cruelty we have seen here."
Thomas bent his head in concurrence.
"Do we agree that Sayer is most likely implicated in some way, even if we hold doubt that he slew Wulfstan or Brother Baeda?" Eleanor looked around at her companions.
They all nodded.
She went on. "Unless we give credence to ghosts or believe that chance murder has suddenly become the custom here, we must recognize that the killings share a common element. That is the roofer."
"My lady…"
Eleanor held up her hand at Thomas' mild protest. "Do not misunderstand me. I am not condemning, but I would be remiss if I did not note the connections. Sayer's father was in charge of repairing the wall, a flawed mending that allowed continued access to the priory. Wulfstan is stabbed and beheaded near the very place. Sayer asks questions about the Psalter. Soon after, Brother Baeda is throttled with a cord in the library."
"When we met at the inn, Sayer was surprised that I had found a way out of the priory. His reaction may prove he was not the one who left the toeholds in the wall," Thomas said.
"Or else he was amazed that you discovered his covert path, Brother," Anne replied.
"If that was true, he could have killed me to preserve the secret after I left the inn," Thomas protested. His face fell. "Or might have done so if he had not passed out from drink."
Eleanor leaned toward her aunt. "Is it possible that someone from within the priory is the culprit?"
"Not of our librarian's death at least. Although Brother Jerome is often too full of righteous zeal, I am grateful that he chose this time to note those present at the Evening Office," Beatrice said. "Only Brother Baeda failed to be there and no one could have left the chapel in time to kill the poor man. If the monks are innocent of that, I cannot imagine any were guilty of Wulfstan's killing."
Eleanor looked over at Thomas. "And you believe that Sayer is an unlikely father killer?"
"I do," the monk murmured.
"I find it hard to believe that Wulfstan wanted to steal our Psalter." Beatrice shook her head. "He had honored the king's law for so many years."
"Since the birth of his third child." Thomas spoke so softly he might have been talking to himself.
"Unless he learned of his son's plot and wanted to share some of the profit," Anne suggested.
"There is something else to consider." Eleanor reached out and touched her aunt's sleeve. "I do not believe in ghosts any more than you, but we cannot deny that Wulfstan saw something before his death and was most frightened of it. Might this alleged ghost have been Sayer playing a prank?"
"A man in a woman's dress? That is most unusual." Beatrice glanced at the faces around her. "Very well, it is possible and has been done, but surely the father would have recognized his oldest son. The man was shaking when he told me about the sighting that morning. His rank sweat is not easily faked."
"Unless he was so convinced because of the tales that it was the ghost he failed to see a familiar face," Anne added. "Fear plays an imp's tricks with mortal eyes."
"We are circling problems but finding no solutions." Eleanor turned to her aunt. "I beg approval…"
"Do what is needed," the novice mistress replied. "We will get no assistance from the secular world."
"Brother Thomas, you are the best one to find Sayer and question him. If the man has not fled, he may be innocent, yet have something to tell us about the wall, the manuscript, and his father that will bring clarity to everything. For your own safety, do this only in a public place and with much caution. If he is not a killer but is guilty of some other crime, we can offer mercy…"
"Our faith demands it," Beatrice said.
Thomas agreed. In the weak light, his face was white.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eleanor hoped the tranquility of the priory gardens would ease the pain this violence had brought to her soul. On those occasions when she was able to fill her spirit with silence, she knew that her position as prioress forced her into the brutality of a secular world far more than was good for any one who had sworn to serve God alone. But He demanded special sacrifices from each follower, and her particular oblation allowed many others the encloistered peace required for concentrated prayer. "We may not quarrel with the road we are set upon," she reminded herself. "We must only pray that God grace us with compassion and understanding."
If there was ever a time when she needed both, it was now. Eleanor had left the chambers with a mind aching for answers. Never before had she felt so confused by events, by contradictory perceptions, and by the number of people who might be involved.
What questions would bring truth to the fore in this most complex maze of ghosts, murder, Psalters, and intentions? There was some connection she was failing to see and almost nothing she could dismiss.
Wulfstan seemed to have no enemies, despite his lawless years, and she could not set aside his equally long record of reliable, honest labor. His son may have led others to sin, but her aunt, who surely knew him best and agreed he might be a thief, thought murder beyond him. Were father and son involved in a plot to steal the Psalter, as she suspected? Was the quarrel but a drunken spat?
Who was the ghost? Was it a boy playing the fool or a killer in disguise? Mayhap Sayer? Was the spirit a woman or a man dressed up to look like one? Perchance Jhone, seeking to frighten both village and priory into reconsidering the condemnation of her childhood friend? As unlikely as that seemed, it was not something Eleanor could set aside either. And did it matter whether the shape was judged to be a queen or a local spirit back from Hell?
And what of this Bernard, a man in need of money to win the woolmonger's daughter and a profitable business? His name had not even been mentioned as a suspect, but she wondered if it should be. Was he a dreaming boy who truly loved his Alys, or a scheming thief who sought to sell a stolen manuscript and thus gain what he could not earn as a merchant of gloves? Even if Sayer and his father had planned the theft of the Psalter, they needed someone to sell it for them, a man who could travel with ease.
The prioress pressed her fingers against her brow. Her courses may have ceased, but a familiar dull ache was now starting over one eye. She must ask Anne to prepare that feverfew potion which helped with the blinding headaches she often suffered.