“You found out nothing from the masons?”
“Only that if they’re lying, they’re better at it than I am.”
“You’re sure of all of them for all of last night?” Frevisse insisted.
“One way or another they’re all answered for.”
“Including Master Porter?”
“Seemingly.”
“Seemingly?” she questioned quickly.
Joliffe spread out his hands. “I’m always open to possibilities, but right now he doesn’t seem to be one. That leaves us all of Sir Reynold’s men, Edmund, myself, Mistress Joice, nunnery servants, nunnery nuns, your Domina Alys, and you, to be thorough about it. Have I missed anyone?”
Only if she cared to believe Lady Eleanor and Lady Adela should be suspected, too, and she did not. She slowly shook her head and said regretfully, “There’s something else that complicates matters, too.”
“Oh, good. We needed complications.”
Frevisse chose to ignore that. “Word has come that Abbot Gilbert will be here this afternoon at latest.” Sister Thomasine made a small, glad sound and clasped her hands at her breast. The others looked only puzzled. “Abbot Gilberd?” Jolliffe asked.
“St. Frideswide’s is answerable to him.”
“Thank all the saints your Domina Alys is answerable to somebody,” Joliffe said.
“But Sir Hugh means to be out of here with Sir Reynold’s men before he comes, and that takes a good many of our possible murderers away,” Frevisse pointed out.
“Always supposing it wasn’t Edmund or I. Or Domina Alys.”
“Or Joice or I or Sister Thomasine,” Frevisse added caustically. “If we don’t find out the murderer now, we may never be able to.”
Joliffe grasped her point without difficulty. “So did you learn anything of use? Did you see the wound once it was cleaned?”
“Yes.”
“Did it go straight into him or at an angle?”
“Straight into him. Straight in and all the way through.”
Joice made a small, sickened sound. Sister Thomasine crossed herself and bowed her head. Joliffe merely looked interested.
“Straight through. And just below the left shoulder blade, you said. And from the back.”
“From the back,” Frevisse agreed.
“Then it wasn’t done by Joice or Sister Thomasine. They’re neither of them tall enough. You are, of course. Or nearly.”
“Tall enough?” Edmund asked.
“Tall enough to drive home the kind of blow that killed him.” Joliffe stood up. “Directly through him, not at an upward angle. Then there’s the matter of strength enough for a blow like that. Dame Frevisse has the height, but I doubt she has the strength. The inclination probably, but not the strength.”
Frevisse refrained from answering that, instead said only, “So we can let go suspecting anyone below, say, your height.”
“Unless someone was seen carrying a joint stool as well as a sword around with them last night, yes,” Joliffe agreed. “Which brings us back to Domina Alys and most of Sir Reynold’s men.”
“And you and Edmund,” Frevisse said.
From behind Sister Thomasine, Benet asked, “Edmund?”
Chapter 23
He stood at the corner of the altar steps behind Sister Thomasine, looking at all of them with a puzzlement that said he had not been listening out of sight. “Edmund?” he repeated. “Who’s Edmund?”
Joice moved toward him, saying warmly as if glad he was there, “Benet, were you looking for me?”
Become a little wary, his gaze going from her to Joliffe to Edmund, slumped in on himself again, to Frevisse, to Sister Thomasine, and back to Joliffe and Edmund, he said, “I needed to see you. Lady Eleanor said you’d come here to pray?”
He made that too much a question and Frevisse tried desperately to find something to say to divert him from whatever he was starting to wonder, but it was Joliffe who said in apparent delight, moving between him and Edmund, “My lord! We’re trying to work out who could have killed Sir Reynold and who could not.”
“What? Here?” Benet asked, all the unacceptability of that answer plain in his voice.
“Where better? It’s out of the way and quiet. And your sword is exactly what we need. Thank you.”
He reached for the sword hung at Benet’s side-Sir Hugh must have given order for the men to go armed now, Frevisse thought-and Benet immediately stepped back from him, clapping a hand to the pommel, asking, “Why do you think you need a sword?”
“It had to be someone fairly tall who killed Sir Reynold,” Joliffe began, his hand still out for the sword.
“How do you know that?” Benet asked, making no move to give it.
“Because of how the blow went in.”
Benet’s other hand came around to grip the hilt, white-knuckled and ready to draw. “How do you know how the blow went in?”
Joliffe seemed not to notice, going on easily, “Dame Frevisse told me. She saw it.”
“Yes,” Benet agreed, glancing at her, his suspicion not allayed but spreading to include her. “She did.”
“To put a blow straight through a man that way,” Joliffe said, moving toward Benet as if still expecting him to hand over his sword, “it had to have been done by someone near Sir Reynold’s height. If we have a sword and someone’s back, we can maybe judge how tall the murderer was and that would limit who to be suspicious of.”
Benet fell back another step, giving himself enough to draw his sword, and countered, “Who’s Edmund?”
So much for diverting him.
“He’s no one,” Joice said.
Looking at all their faces guardedly, Benet held out his free hand to her. “Come away from here.”
“No! Not with you,” Joice said, beginning to draw back from him, and Benet moved suddenly forward, pushing Joliffe aside, reaching for her. Hampered by her cloak and skirts, Joice tried to avoid him but stumbled, and he caught her by the arm, saying, “There’s something wrong here. Come away.” She jerked to be free of him, and Edmund sprang up, ordering, “Leave her alone,” as he started for Benet, who swung Joice behind him in the same movement of drawing his sword, to bring it point up to Edmund’s throat, stopping him in mid-stride.
Unarmed, clad in only a rough tunic and hosen, Edmund froze where he was. They all froze, because the smallest movement of Benet’s sword could be Edmund’s death, until Sister Thomasine said quietly, “There’s no need.” Benet’s gage flickered her way; she came nearer to him, to lay her hand on his wrist above where he held the sword and say, “Truly. There’s no need. And this no place to shed anyone’s blood.”
Trying to sound as calm as Sister Thomasine, Frevisse said, “You’re in a church, Benet. And the man isn’t even armed.”
Benet jerked his head at Joliffe. “He is.” Joliffe promptly held his hands well out from himself, away from the dagger hung from his belt. Benet glanced at him but kept the sword at Edmund’s throat. “And this man’s been all a lie from the start. He’s not witless. He was never witless, was he? Were you?” he added at Edmund in direct accusation.
Before Edmund could answer, Frevisse said, “No. You’re right. He was never mad. He pretended to be so he could reach Joice, help her if she needed it. He’s here for Joice’s sake, the same as you are. He’s a clerk to her uncle, that’s all.”
Gently, her hand still lightly on his wrist, Sister Thomasine said, “You’re in a church.”
Benet hesitated, then lowered his sword from Edmund’s throat, turned the blade aside, but kept his gaze on him. “He could still be the one who killed Sir Reynold.”
“Yes,” Frevisse agreed. “But so could others. That’s what we’re trying to learn.”