‘Not Tuesday,“ Agnes said. ”Monday. And Wednesday, too, and again yesterday. It was Mistress Margery came back on Tuesday to see how the boys did, to bring the columbine cordial and be sure we were using the balm and to say we could send to the church for her any time, which thank God we’ve not needed to do. It’s that Esota who hasn’t been back. Monday afternoon. That was when Joan Whit came.“
Dame Frevisse prodded a little with more questions but that was as much as either woman was sure of, except that Agnes remembered the belt being on the table Monday morning, after the doctor and his fellow had gone. “I meant to fetch it upstairs to put away but I didn’t and when next I thought of it, you had,” she said to Elena, then added with sudden suspicion, “Hadn’t you?”
‘No, but it’s taken care of. I’ll tell you later,“ Elena said. ”Be so good as to go back upstairs for Gilbey to come down.“
Agnes’ eyes were sharp with speculation but she simply obeyed, increasing Frevisse’s respect for Elena’s hold over her household. Family servants and husbands were usually the hardest to manage, but she seemed to have both well in hand.
As Agnes left, Elena rose to offer more ale, which Perryn took and this time so did Frevisse. Gilbey came down as she was finishing pouring and retook his chair, holding out his own goblet to be refilled while answering his wife’s questioning look with, “They’re sleeping again and cool, no fever at all.”
Elena briefly closed her eyes, lips moving in silent prayer.
‘What did Agnes know?“ Gilbey asked. ”Anything of use?“
He sounded as if he thought it unlikely.
‘That your belt was here Monday after the doctor left, but neither of us remember it after that,“ Elena said.
Gilbey grunted. “Anything about who else has been here?”
‘Too much,“ Frevisse said, ”and nothing to the point yet.“
‘So we’re nowhere,“ Perryn said glumly.
‘No,“ Frevisse disagreed. ”We’ve brought it down to the hood and belt having been taken sometime on Monday. We’re certain Hulcote was dead by then. That means they were taken of a purpose to make the two of you look guilty of his death.“
‘Where does that bring us except still no place?“ Gilbey demanded.
‘It brings us,“ Frevisse returned, ”to ask who dislikes the two of you so much that they want to make you this much trouble. And to ask, along with that, who wanted Hulcote dead.“
Chapter 14
“Who’s to say?” Gilbey said impatiently. “Nobody cared enough about Tom Hulcote to want him dead. I’d like to have taken a stick to him for laziness, but that’s not wanting him dead. As for Simon and me…” He made a wide two-handed gesture. “We’re disliked and by more than a few, that’s sure. Him for being reeve, me for having money.”
Frevisse looked to Perryn, who shrugged as if he neither liked nor could deny what Gilbey said. “But it was Tom who was making threats,” he said. “Nobody’d made any against him I’d heard of.”
‘Who had he been threatening besides the two of you?“
Perryn looked at Gilbey who said bluntly, “Just us. Me the most. What you heard at manor court and other times. Bess in the alehouse finally told him to shut his gob or get out that Saturday.”
‘Aye, but Tom was all talk and no doing,“ Perryn said. ”That was always his trouble and everybody knew it.“
‘You weren’t worried by his threats then?“
‘We’d be right fools to say we were, wouldn’t we be?“ Gilbey said back. ”That’d be reason we’d want him dead, wouldn’t it be?“
‘But not reason to leave your belt and Perryn’s hood with the body. Who is there lately might want to make trouble against you both?“
Perryn answered slowly, thinking on it, “There’s usually somebody not happy with how I’ve done things, but the only one I know who’s been full angry with me lately has been Tom and he’s out of it, isn’t he?”
‘And your sister,“ Elena said.
‘Oh, aye. Mary,“ Perryn agreed. ”But she’s always in a fret over one thing or another, and I don’t see her killing Tom of all people.“
‘Let be keeping his body hid a few days,“ Gilbey said, ”then hauling it out to Oxfall ditch and…“
‘Gilbey,“ Elena said.
Gilbey broke off and Perryn went on, “There’s those might have spite against me for things I’ve forgotten I ever did, but that’s no help, since I don’t remember them.”
‘Nor no way I see either,“ Gilbey said. He stood up. ”And no time for it either just now. Jack Fleccher’s been left to the work alone too long as it is today. By your leave, my lady, I’m off.“
Frevisse could not keep him if he chose to go but along with her dismissing nod she asked, “Did Tom Hulcote and Jack Fleccher do well together?”
‘Nay. Jack works and Tom didn’t. Even when he was here, Tom left too much to Jack, and half the time of late he wasn’t even here.“
‘It was only that last month before he quit he was so slack about being here,“ Elena said. ”Before then he was none so bad.“
‘When did he quit?“ Frevisse asked.
‘The next day after St. Swithin’s,“ Gilbey said, ”but he’d been worthless for more than a month before then. Here and gone and come back and gone again, I lost count how often.“
‘Gone off to where?“
‘Who knows?“ Gilbey asked back, leaving. ”Who cares?“ he added and was gone.
Perryn stood up as if against a weight of tiredness. “I’d best go, too, my lady. Dickon.”
The boy rose readily, but Elena said, “A moment, please you,” and crossed to the hearth where the smell of beans, onions, and herbs was bubbling up from an iron kettle set on a low tripod over the little fire there. “Take some of this with you.”
‘Likely Cisily has something ready to our supper,“ Perryn said. ”No need.“
‘There’s no harm in having a bit more,“ Elena said as she ladled thick brown pottage into a wooden bowl. With a smile, she held it out to Dickon. ”You could probably eat all Cisily has fixed and this too, I’d guess.“
Dickon nodded eagerly and reluctantly Perryn said, “Well, yes, thank you then. That’s kind.”
It would have been reasonable for Frevisse to take her leave with them, but she stayed where she was while Dickon collected the bowl from Elena with a wide grin and thanks; and while he and Perryn left, Elena filled another bowl, shifted the pot off the fire, lidded it, and brought the bowl and a wooden spoon across the room to Frevisse, saying, “If you’re hungry, my lady?”
The savory smell decided Frevisse against denying her hunger. Years ago, in her early months as a novice, she had tried to subdue her pleasure in food, eager to discipline herself to holiness by every means she could think of. Disappointed at her failure to cease noticing what she ate, she had gone to Domina Edith, the elderly prioress of St. Frideswide’s, confessed her failure, and asked help. Domina Edith had told her, gently, that there was no spiritual fault in taking pleasure in food. “There’s likely greater fault in scorning God’s good gifts, given to our bodies’ needs,” she had said.
‘But gluttony is a sin,“ Frevisse had protested.
‘Gluttony is the indulging in food and drink to excess, past need or common sense. Is that what you’ve been doing?“
A soft rowling of hunger in Frevisse’s stomach had served for answer and brought both her and Domina Edith to laughter, and she had given up guilt over food.
Nor was she over-indulging here, because although her meals and Sister Thomasine’s were being brought from the nunnery, what had sufficed her while she was in the cloister was not enough these days spent in nursing ill children, and she took spoon and bowl gladly, asking as she did, “You’ll join me?”
‘By your leave, no. I’ll wait for my husband.“
‘Sit with me then and talk, if you would.“