She said it so politely, with no change ofexpression or tone, that it was a moment before Beaufort realizedshe had completely refused his compliment to her on the terms hehad given it. Drily, he asked, “You don’t care for Aquinas’sopinion on the essential frailty of woman’s nature?”
“The blessed St. Thomas Aquinas refers to thefrailty of her soul’s vigor and body’s strength, which do not matchman’s. But we were referring to my mind, and of that St.Thomas says, if I remember correctly, ‘The image of God in itsprincipal manifestation – namely, the intellect – is found both inman and woman.’”
“And you see yourself man’s equaltherefore.”
“In worth before the eyes of God, yes. And in our abilities to serve Him, without doubt. But we weremade, at the time of Creation itself, to be man’s handmaid. That at least I will agree to.” Unexpectedly she smiled,looking much younger, though her age was impossible to guess in theanonymity of her black habit, close-fitting wimple, and heavy drapeof veil. “But in return I think you might be willing to grantthe old adage that woman was the last thing God made, and thereforethe best.”
Beaufort laughed aloud. “That’sThomas’s trick, to cut short an argument with a jest completely tothe point.”
Like Beaufort’s, Dame Frevisse’s voice waswarm with shared memory of a man they both loved. “He taughtme well.”
“And yet, with your learning and wit beyondthe ordinary, you were willing to give over to Master Broun yoursolution to Sir Clement’s death.”
“There are realities that have to beaccepted. I’ve learned to live within such and yet do as wellas God has made me able.”
“With your God-given intellect that is theequal of a man’s.”
She acknowledged his teasing by saying withmock solemnity, “Or the better. But no matter how clever wemay think I am, the crowner will take the learned evidence of howSir Clement died far better from Master Broun that he would fromme.”
Beaufort nodded agreement. “So SirClement’s death was accident after all.”
“No. I think it was surely murder.”
“What?” They had kept theirvoices pitched low; his immoderate exclamation made several of hisclerks look up from their work, and he immediately dropped hisvoice to order, with no attempt to conceal that he wasdisconcerted, “Explain that.”
“Sir Clement may well have known of hisaffliction. I’ve heard from several people that there werefoods – or a food; I need to ask more specific questions to knowexactly – that he wouldn’t eat. He sent one of his people tothe kitchen here to be sure of what would be served at thefeast. It seems he knew there was something that made himill, and he would not having knowingly eaten it. Whatever itwas, it had to have been secretly and deliberately put in his foodduring the feast.”
“So Sire Philip may be guilty after all.”
“I’m assured that someone is guilty. Idoubt it is Sire Philip.”
Beaufort raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because he didn’t have theopportunity. With this poisoning something would have had tobe placed in Sir Clement’s food after it left the kitchen. Idon’t remember that Sire Philip had the chance. And he’s toldme he has documents that negate any claim Sir Clement might havemade against him, so he had no reason, either.”
“You believed him when he told you of thesedocuments?”
“It’s possible he’s lied about them, but itwould be a lie too easily discovered for what it was.”
“And Sire Philip is not a stupid man. But he could be a desperate one if the documents do not indeedexist, in which case he might have conspired with someone elsebetter able to poison Sir Clement at the feast.”
“The three most likely and most able to havedone it are Sir Clement’s ward, his cousin, and his nephew. They all had opportunity and ample reasons of their own, conspiracywith Sire Philip or not. And there is Sire Philip’s brother,who was usher at the feast, if we care to consider Sire Philip didlie about the documents.”
“And how do you plan to determine which oneof them it may have been, whether alone or with Sire Philip? Or would you rather leave it now to the crowner? He’ll behere tomorrow, will take what you’ve learned and make good use ofit, I’m sure.”
She hesitated, then answered, “I have some ofthe pieces needed for an answer, and I think I know how to learnthe rest. By your leave, I’d like to go on.”
He inclined his head to her gravely. “By my leave you may. And if you need my help in anythingwith this, ask for it freely.”
Chapter Sixteen
The afternoon was wearing away, and Frevissemeant to talk to Guy and Lady Anne again, and to Jevan, too. Of everyone around Sir Clement he had gained the most – freedomfrom his uncle after a lifetime of his cruelties – and lost themost – his livelihood and his hope of Lady Anne; Guy would betaking both from him. Frevisse wanted to know how he was andwhat he was thinking, not simply because he was part of thequestion of Sir Clement’s death, but because he was a friend ofRobert’s, and she was fond of Robert, no matter how rarely they saweach other.
But duty and affection took her back to heraunt’s bedchamber first. The room was shadowed, the shuttersclosed, the bed curtains drawn. The women silently at varioustasks around the room made shushing gestures at her as sheentered. Alice, seated on the window seat with one shutterset a little back so light fell on the book on her lap, beckonedFrevisse to come sit beside her. The gentle puff and pause ofAunt Matilda’s breathing came from inside the bed curtains, intoken that she was deeply asleep.
“She woke a while ago,” Alice whispered, “andate some broth and milk-soaked bread.”
“And you were able to persuade her to sleepagain?”
Alice smiled. “Not so much persuaded asgave her no choice. There was a sleeping draught in the wineshe drank afterwards. Master Broun says the more she sleepsjust now, the better she’ll be.”
On that at least Frevisse agreed withhim. “What of you? If you want to go out for a while, Ican watch by her.”
Alice shook her head. “This is where Iwant to be, with Mother and my praying. I’m well enough.”
Aware that she had scanted her own prayersall day today, Frevisse glanced down and saw the book her cousinheld was indeed a prayer book, opened to the psalms in Latin. That reminded her of the Wyclif book in its bundle somewhere amongher things across the room. Taking her mind quickly away fromthe mingled guilt and pleasure of that thought, she asked, “Isthere anything you need done that I can do for you?”
“Mother was worrying over Sir Clement’sfamily, anxious that someone express our formal sympathy for theirloss. Would you go to them, to give them our sympathy, andexplain why neither Mother nor I came instead? I’d askWilliam to go but he won’t. He simply wants anything to dowith Sir Clement out from under his way.”
“I’ll do it gladly.” Frevisse forboreto add that she had been going to them anyway. “Though I fearthat neither they nor anyone else are over-moved by grief. Sir Clement wasn’t loved.”
“God keep us from a like end,” saidAlice. “It was a fearful thing to see, and to know he’dcalled it down upon himself.”
They both crossed themselves. ButFrevisse added, to lighten Alice’s mood, “Still, he’d worked longand hard for it, setting everyone else against him along theway.”
“That’s true,” Alice agreed with a trace ofamusement. “He even managed between Father’s death and hisown to set my lord husband against him with no greatdifficulty.”
“How?” Frevisse asked, surprised.