“More’n one.”
“She’ll bring little estate to any new husband. But more than one man is rumored to have an interest in Lady Margery if she were free of Sir Henry?”
“So I’ve heard. An’ even a small estate is of value to ’im as has none.”
“What names, then?”
“Haven’t heard that.”
“No names? From whence do these rumors come?”
“I speak to Lady Margery’s servants. Hear talk from them… but never names.”
“What do these women say? Was Sir Henry a cuckold?”
“May be. Isobel Guesclin, what’s Lady Margery’s companion, said as much.”
Worries about money and a faithless wife might cause any man to stare at the ceiling of a night. I remembered then the reddened cheeks of the Lady Anne, and asked Walter what he knew of the lass.
“Children may sometimes cause a man to lose sleep. Lady Anne is a thief. Has she done other mischief which might have brought distress to her father?”
Walter’s face twisted into a sardonic grin. “What lass don’t cause ’er father worry? ’Specially be she as pert as Lady Anne.”
“How did she bring worry to Sir Henry?”
“Wanted to wed, I heard.”
“Who?”
“William, the squire.”
This explained the stolen glances and pink cheeks I’d seen at table. “Sir Henry objected?”
“Aye. Wished her to wed another.”
“Who?”
“Dunno. A wealthy knight of Sussex, is all I know. Needed money, did Sir Henry, an’ thought to use ’is daughter to get ’is hands on some. So I heard.”
Where Sir Henry would gather funds to provide a suitable dowry for his daughter was another question, but one Walter could not be expected to answer.
The valet, who had been at first reluctant to speak of his employer’s family, had become loquacious, as if he found it a release to unburden himself.
“If any other reason for Sir Henry’s sleepless nights occurs to you, I would hear of it,” I said.
Walter touched a forelock and I bid him “Good day,” confident that an hour had now passed since dinner had ended, and that I knew better how matters stood in the family and household of Sir Henry Burley, deceased.
The hall had long since been cleared of tables, and stood empty and silent. My footsteps echoed from the walls as I crossed the great room to the screens passage and looked toward the pantry door. The space is dark, even on a bright day, for the only light which penetrates there comes from windows in the hall. But when I looked toward the pantry I saw a white parcel upon the flags. A piece of linen cloth was wrapped about two spoons and four knives. Lord Gilbert’s property was returned.
I set out to seek Humphrey, and found him a moment later, where he sat before the oven gossiping with John Baker, a groom nearly as ancient as the pantler.
I held the returned silver out to Humphrey and told him to replace the items in the locked pantry forthwith. “And perhaps count Lord Gilbert’s spoons and knives more regularly in the future,” I said.
Humphrey rose, took the silver from me, and hobbled off toward the pantry. I bid John “Good day,” and set off for the solar where I might find Lord Gilbert to tell him that his property was recovered. ’Twas then I glanced to the white linen cloth which had been wrapped about the silver. It seemed to me much like the bloodstained fabric which I had plucked from under the fireplace mantel of the squires’ chamber.
My route to the solar took me back through the screens passage and the hall. I stopped in the empty hall, withdrew the bloody linen from my pouch, and spread it upon the ewerer’s table. I then took the cloth which had been wrapped about the silver and unfolded it next to the stained fabric. When I placed the two side by side I saw readily that they were parts of the same piece. They had not been sliced square, across the warp and in line with the woof, but on a slight angle, as if whoso wielded the blade which had divided the portpain had slashed through the fabric hurriedly. The angle of the cut on the two cloths matched perfectly.
Here was a perplexing discovery. Would a lass murder her father? What else was I to think? Lady Anne had taken Lord Gilbert’s silver and was a thief. Would such a person find it troubling to add murder to a felony already committed? And if the lass would steal silver she would not balk at making off with a portpain. Perhaps she took linen and silver at the same time and Andrew overlooked the cloth when his eyes fell upon the knives and spoons.
’Twas sure that Lady Anne was the thief who made off with the silver. Walter spoke only to her to relay my demand that the silver be returned. Or did he mention the command to another?
No, that was unlikely. If some other thief had Lord Gilbert’s silver in his possession and thought I suspected only Lady Anne, he would not return the stolen goods, but rather would allow me to continue in my error and accuse the lass.
But would the maid be so foolish as to return the silver wrapped in the same portpain she had used to wipe away her father’s blood, a bloody fragment of which I was intended to find, so as to place blame for the felony upon a squire? Which squire? Not William Willoughby. ’Twas him she wished to wed. So said Walter. Robert de Cobham, then, was to fall victim to the plot, but how was I to know that when the only evidence I had against any man was the bloody linen and the bodkin embedded in the lampstand? I might pursue William as readily as Robert. Would Lady Anne, and her accomplice, had she one, risk that? Especially if aid came from William?
My confusion was complete. Either Lady Anne was uncommonly stupid or she thought I was. How else explain her use of Lord Gilbert’s portpain in the commission of two felonies? Another answer suggested itself: she did not know of the bloody fragment, and so thought nothing of returning the purloined silver in cloth which could entangle her in her father’s murder.
The door to the solar was open, and when I entered the chamber I found Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla laughing over some witticism of Sir Roger’s. My appearance reminded them of more somber events and they fell silent. “Your silver is returned,” I said to Lord Gilbert.
“Ah… well done, Hugh. Well done. With no fuss and feathers?”
“Nay, perhaps not.”
“Perhaps?” Lord Gilbert raised one questioning eyebrow, as he does when puzzled.
“Aye. Perhaps there will be no fuss come of the theft, but the business may bear on another, more disquieting event.”
“What is this about theft and silver?” Sir Roger asked.
I explained the matter to him, and repeated that the theft seemed a part of a greater felony.
“Sir Henry’s death?” Sir Roger asked. A reasonable assumption, since the death was the most disquieting thing to happen under Lord Gilbert’s roof in many years.
Lord Gilbert’s eyebrow rose higher, an astonishing feat. “How so?” he asked. “What could silver spoons have to do with Sir Henry’s murder?”
There is a table in the solar where Lord Gilbert occasionally works at accounts, being unlike most nobles, who prefer to allow their stewards and bailiffs to keep the manorial ledgers. Of course, most of Lord Gilbert’s class cannot cipher well and so must leave the tallying of sums to folk like me and Lord Gilbert’s steward, Geoffrey Thirwall. This is perhaps why stewards and bailiffs have a reputation for embezzling their employers’ funds. It is easy to do, and unless the manor should become insolvent, their theft is unlikely to be detected.
I took the two pieces of linen, one pure white, the other stained with blood, and laid them side by side upon the table. Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger stood as I did so and approached to peer over my shoulder.
“What is here?” Lord Gilbert asked. “We’ve seen the bloody cloth, but what of the other?”
“See how they match?” I said. “This fragment, unless I am much mistaken, was used to mop away what blood came from Sir Henry’s ear when ’twas pierced. And the unspotted remainder was used to wrap Lord Gilbert’s stolen silver when it was returned not an hour past.”