“No.”
“Then perhaps Bishop Beaufort is wrong. Perhaps it was God’s hand against Sir Clement.”
“No.”
Dame Perpetua made no effort to hide hersurprise. “You don’t think so anymore?”
“I’m not sure anymore. Not theway we were sure when it happened. I want to ask morequestions. Will you look for another book on poisons? There might well be another here.”
“If you think it’s needed, certainly.” Dame Perpetua put down the Mandeville.
Frevisse had noted that Master Lionel,ceasing to shuffle among his papers while she talked, had beenstanding still with his head partly turned to listen. Now shesaid directly to him, “Will you help Dame Perpetua with this,Master Lionel?”
The old clerk’s head snapped away and hishands began to move busily among his papers. But he made asound that might have been agreement, and Dame Perpetua smiled andnodded in confirmation.
Satisfied that between them they would do farmore than she could, Frevisse left them to it.
She went next to Aunt Matilda’schamber. Her aunt lay sleeping, her plump body under thecovers, her ravaged face looking vulnerable. Her daughter hadsent for her sewing and was sitting comfortably on a cushion underthe window, coloring a rose pink with silk thread. She lookedup when Frevisse entered and put a long finger in front of herpursed lips. Frevisse nodded and went to peer more closely ather aunt, who never stirred. Joan was sitting on a stoolbeside the bed, staring at her mistress, her own face wretched.
Frevisse bowed her head, offered a prayer forthe solace of this sad company, and left.
The kitchen of Ewelme manor house was verylarge, floored with stone flags, and rising two stories to a roofset with louvers that could be opened to let the smoke and heatout. A tray of roasted chickens was cooling on a table, and acook’s helper was leaning gingerly into a low-burning fireplace tostir a large pot hanging over the coals. The cook himself wasseated on a tall stool, wiping his strong-looking hands with aclean towel. When he saw Frevisse, he got at once to his feetand bowed twice.
“You grace this room with your presence,” hesaid, bowing yet again. He spoke with an accent Frevissecould not identify. He was a tall man, with dark, curly hairthat glistened as if washed in oil, and he moved his handseloquently as he spoke. “Is there some way I may helpyou? Something I may bring to you?”
“Will you answer one or two questions?”returned Frevisse.
“Of course, if I can. Do you want arecipe to take back with you to your nunnery?” He turned tothe helper. “I require a bit of paper, a quill, and some inkat once!”
Frevisse raised a hand to stop thehelper. “No, it is nothing like that. This concerns thefuneral feast, from which a guest had to be helped, who laterdied.”
The cook sat down as if someone had cut hishamstrings. But he said nothing, only waited.
“Do you know the man who died? SirClement?”
“No, madam. But he sent his servant into speak to me about what would be served at the feast.”
“Which servant?”
“I do not know, madam. A lean fellow,with brown hair and a sad face.”
“Why was Sir Clement interested in what wouldbe served?”
“Because, I gather, he had an unhappystomach, which required certain things to keep its balance.”
“What things?”
The cook gave a lengthy sigh, held up a hand,and began to count on his fingers. “The milk used in themaking of any dish must be fresh, as Sir Clement could not abidesour milk; his saltcellar must be full and clean, as he used a gooddeal of salt on his food and was inclined to throw a contaminatedsalt cellar on the floor; any dish containing nuts must beannounced when it was brought to his place, as he would not, underany circumstances, eat anything in which were nuts; and the goblethe drank from must be silver or gold as he could not bear the tastepewter gave to his drink. I will say what I told thisservant, madam. I assured him that only the finest, freshest,and most costly ingredients were going into every dish prepared inthis house, and that the final remove, which Sir Clement never gota chance to throw on the floor, contained filberts. And I hadthe impertinence to ask if Sir Clement had brought a goblet of hisown to use, as it was quite impossible for us to take the gobletreserved for, say, the duke of Norfolk and give it to Sir Clement’suse. And it so indeed he had, as this problem had arisenbefore on Sir Clement’s journeying, and he had learned to bring hisown.” The cook had set off on this story calmly, had becomeindignant by the middle of it, but cooled to triumphant amusementby the end. The cook’s helper, by his nodding, stood ready toback the cook in every particular, so Frevisse did not questionhim, only asked the cook to write down for her a list of what hadbeen served at the feast. He did. She tucked it up hersleeve, thanked him for his cooperation, and withdrew.
She decided to go see if Master Lionel hadperformed another prompt, masterly trick with the book search, butto her surprise Dame Perpetua was not in Chaucer’s chamber. Frevisse paused in the doorway, looking around to be sure she wasnot crouched behind the desk or a stack of books. Someone hadlighted a fire in the small fireplace against the day’s deepeningcold; its bright flickering against the gray light falling throughthe windows made a slight promise of warmth, but Master Lionel wasbusy at his chest half the room away from it, oblivious both to itspossibilities and her entering. And Sire Philip was standingat the window, staring out with a troubled frown easy to read evenacross the room.
The frown smoothed itself away as smoothly aswarmed wax slipped down the side of a candle, and his voice wasmerely its familiar neutral as he spoke. “DameFrevisse. You expected Dame Perpetua, obviously.”
She could not trouble to care she might beendangering her reputation by being alone with him, howeverpriestly, with only a madman for a witness. In compromise,she left the door open a crack. She was tired from herefforts, from talking endlessly to people, from being in aonce-familiar place that had become strange to her. And shewas chilled. She went to sit on a stool in front of thefire. Putting her feet forward and holding her hands out tothe warmth, she said, “Am I sickening for something or is the daysuddenly colder?”
“The day is suddenly much colder.” SirePhilip held the flat of his hand toward the glass in front of himwithout quite touching it. “You can feel it pouring in as ifthe window were open. I’ll not be surprised if the moat isfrozen by morning.”
Frevisse gave way to a weary sigh. There was the long ride back to St. Frideswide’s to be endured in aday or two, and she could not decide whether she preferred bittercold and firm roads or warmer weather and endless mire.
His back still to her, Sire Philip asked,“Are you free to talk now about Bishop Beaufort’s interest inyou?”
“To obey the bishop’s will, I have had to askquestions of so many people that I doubt it is any secret. “He does not believe Sir Clement died by God’s hand.”
“He thought that from the very first.”
“And because my uncle told him I had a subtleintelligence, he asked me to learn whether it was indeed miracle ornot.”
Sire Philip swung from the window to stare ather. “And have you?”
“I am sure it wasn’t God who killed him.”
The priest took that with admirably containedsurprise. “Then who?”
Frevisse shook her head. “That Ihaven’t learned. Or exactly how they did it. But it wasat least begun at the feast, and as nearly as I can tell, youdidn’t have the chance to do anything to him there. At leastnot directly.”
Sire Philip’s brows drew together as he beganto gather fully what she had said. “You suspected me? On what possible grounds? Or were you just generallysuspecting everyone?”
“I am suspecting anyone who had an enemy inSir Clement. You are on the list. If Sir Clement madegood his claim that you were born in villeinage, your chance torise high in the church could be destroyed. By coming herefor a reason not connected with you, Sir Clement gave you anopportunity, perhaps, to act against him without the suspicion thatmight be raised if you went to him, or had caused him to besummoned here. It was a chance to be rid of him that you’dnot likely have again.”