‘And arrested him?“ a man croaked eagerly.
‘Gilbey’s gone to Banbury market. For now they’re making do with inquiring into all he has.“
‘Ho, that’ll take them a time,“ someone else said, and sharp, eager talk sprang out among them all while Perryn looked a mixture of dismay and relief because although it was bad to have Gilbey accused, it had to mean the crowner was given up on him if Gilbey was the only one he had gone for this morning.
Frevisse could not fault him for his confused feelings, but none of the men to whom she wanted to talk was here and she cut across the general questioning and comments to ask, “Where are the jurors? They were with Montfort already today. Where are they now?”
‘Gone out to the haying,“ a bent-shouldered old man answered. ”Even old Bert. I saw ’em go.“
‘Aye,“ one of the women agreed. ”The crowner had them in but not for long, and they weren’t talking to anyone when he let them out, from what I saw.“
‘Must have said they weren’t to say aught to anyone,“ the first man put in. ”Even Bert wouldn’t share a word about what passed, just kept going. We were to have a game of draughts this morning, too.“ Which seemed to grieve him more than anything else that had happened.
‘Didn’t look happy, though, none of them,“ someone else said.
‘Have them fetched back, if you would please, master reeve,“ Frevisse said to Perryn. ”I need to talk to them.“
‘I’ll go!“ said Dickon, eager-footed at Perryn’s elbow.
‘You do that, then, youngling,“ Perryn said. ”Where to?“ he added to Frevisse.
‘The oak on the green, I think.“ Where they could talk with no chance of anyone unwanted overhearing them.
Dickon left, thrusting away between people while Frevisse said, “I need Mary Woderove fetched to me, too.”
‘Geva,“ Perryn said to a well-set, firm-armed, rosy-faced woman. ”She likely won’t throw anything at you. You tell her she’s wanted, will you? And see she comes?“
‘You want her at the oak, same as the men?“ Geva asked, and at Frevisse’s nod she went off toward the green.
‘The rest of you,“ Perryn said, ”there can’t be that little to be doing you should be standing here doing naught. Off to it, why don’t you?“
‘Do you think maybe some of us…“ a woman started with a nod toward Gilbey’s.
‘I doubt Elena Dunn needs more folk underfoot than she has,“ Frevisse said, ”or I would have stayed.“
There being no way to dispute that, what there was of a crowd straggled away, not altogether willingly, but Frevisse and Perryn stayed standing in the street until they were well gone. Then Perryn asked, with a twitch of his head toward yard and house, “You’re sure we’re neither of us needed there?”
‘Even if we were, we’re needed elsewhere more. Has Gilbey truly gone to Banbury as his wife says, or do you think he may be fled?“
Perryn shook his head. “There’s no saying.” But he was thinking about it as they started along the street toward the green and after a moment added, “But why would he run when there’s naught against him save the belt? It’s not much, no more than what’s against me, and I never thought to run.”
‘Elena said he had to take green cheeses to market.“
‘That’s likely enough, and if he’d planned to do it before yesterday happened, he’s that stubborn he’d go ahead with it, whether it made sense or not. And maybe it’s a good thing, too, or he and Master Montfort might have had at each other’s throats just now.“
That had crossed Frevisse’s mind, too, but following another thought, she asked, “Have you brought to mind yet anyone at all who most particularly dislikes Gilbey?”
‘You asked that yesterday, about us both.“
‘You’ve had more time to think on it.“
‘Not to any use. There were Tom Hulcote and Matthew, but you already know that, and they’re both dead.“ And Gilbey was not. If Perryn thought that, he did not say it, only went on, ”And Mary. But I can’t see how her hating Gilbey can have aught to do with Tom’s death or Matthew’s.“
Nor could Frevisse and without real hope she asked, “No one else?”
‘Gilbey is talked against. Him and his Banbury wife both. But it’s only the kind of talk you get when folk keep to themselves as much as they do. They’re talked on and disliked, but it goes no farther that I’ve seen.“
‘By anyone more than another?“
They had reached the oak, its thick shade welcome, and Frevisse sat on the bench, but Perryn remained standing, staring away at nothing with a thinking frown before he said regretfully, “No one. Just who I’ve said.”
And of them, two were dead, and even if Mary Woderove had for some unlikely reason killed Tom Hulcote, she could not have moved his body the way it had been moved, nor had she been at Gilbey Dunn’s, to take his belt.
Frevisse tried going a different way. “When Matthew Woderove left, was search made for him?”
‘Aye. Surely.“
‘Much of a search?“
Perryn paused again, then said quietly, “Not much. Nor for long. There were even some as were glad he’d gone, thinking he’d have better chance elsewhere than he had here.”
‘Were you glad?“
Again the pause and then, “It made trouble for me, being reeve, him running off. But otherwise I wished him well. There was naught left for him here.”
Unmourned and unmissed. That seemed to be the most that could be said about Matthew Woderove.
‘Here’s Mary coming,“ Perryn said, both wary and relieved.
Wary at having to deal with her and relieved that now Frevisse would turn her questions away from him to her? Frevisse wondered. Not that it mattered. She was wary herself at having to deal with the woman and relieved she had come without making a fight of it. From the one time she had seen her, she had no good opinion of Mary, nor did it better now, watching her walk across the green. Still in her black widow’s veil and wearing a plain brown gown-in further token of mourning Frevisse supposed, since Mary seemed not the sort likely given to plain gowns by usual choice-she even now walked with a sway of her hips and a swing of her skirts that made a- maybe unthought-invitation to any male looking her way. That her eyes were humbly downcast counted for something, Frevisse supposed, but not much.
Frevisse came up short on that uncharitable thought, tried instead to grant that maybe Mary was no more than putting on a brave front against her grief, and nonetheless did not rise to meet her or Geva. Subtlety where Mary was concerned would probably be a waste, and when the two women had curtsyed to her, Frevisse briefly thanked Geva and dismissed her, then fixed Mary with a stare and demanded, “Tell me about your last quarrel with your husband.”
Mary raised her eyes from the ground, red-rimmed from apparently much crying, and repeated blankly, “My husband? He’s dead.” She dropped her gaze groundward again. “Please let him lie in peace,” she whispered.
‘I would if I could,“ Frevisse said curtly. ”Tell me what your last quarrel with him was about. And look at me while you do.“
Mary looked up again, more wariness than grief showing now and a little anger.