‘Master Naylor thought differently on it.“
‘He saw more in Tom than I could.“ Simon admitted it unwillingly. ”He wasn’t so set against him as I was.“
‘With Master Naylor removed from the decisioning, Tom had almost no chance at all of having the Woderove holding?“
‘Aye.“
‘But Mary, despite she knew better, led him on to think he had a chance. Why?“
Flat under the weight of his anger as he understood where she was going, Simon said, “So that when he was refused and angry over it, she could bring him to leave here and leave her.” To Father Edmund. Sickness curdled in the back of Simon’s throat, because however Tom had come to his death, Mary had been at the root of it.
‘The trouble is,“ Dame Frevisse said, ”we’ve no proof, only guesses.“
‘It makes sense where there wasn’t any,“ Simon said heavily.
‘What about the rumors of something between him and Elena Dunn?“
‘She’s been named with nigh every man in the village one time or another, but nobody’s ever seen aught that I’ve heard.“ But nobody had ever seen aught between Mary and Father Edmund either, save a couple of boys who had not seen fit to say so to anyone.
But Dame Frevisse was away along her own track of thought with, “Gilbey is gone.”
It was like an ill echo. Matthew was gone. Tom was gone. Gilbey was gone… Sharply Simon said, “He’s cleared off to keep out of Master Montfort’s hold, is all. His wife says he’s gone to Banbury, but I’d wager he’s gone to Lord Lovell, to set him against Master Montfort’s purposes.”
Dame Frevisse said naught for or against that possibility but went back to where she had been. “The trouble still lies in proving anything. All we have is likelihood, not proof.” She sat up more straightly and her voice changed, took on an edge. “But it can’t be left that way. I need the four jurors brought to me again. And Mary.”
‘What?“ Simon said. ”Why?“
‘And one of the crowner’s men.“ She stood up. ”I know which one. I’ll bring him.“
Simon stood up because he should be standing if she was but asked, “Not Master Montfort?”
‘Never Master Montfort. Send someone to fetch the jurors back. You bring your sister, but say nothing about what we’ve learned or suspicion. May we use your house for this?“
She had not yet told him what “this” was but he said, “Aye. But best I send someone else for Mary, please you, and go for the jurors myself. She’ll not come for my asking.”
‘So long as she comes.“
‘And Father Edmund?“
“Not Father Edmund,” Dame Frevisse said. “Yet.”
Walter made the most trouble over it. Stopping where he was, he stared off along what was left of yesterday’s cut of hay still needing to be turned for drying and asked, “How’s this to be done then? And you said I’m to hoe the beans this afternoon. What’s to happen to my own if I’m forever being dragged off for this juror business?”
‘I’ll count today’s time you’ve spent on jury against your work due Lord Lovell,“ Simon said recklessly.
‘And me?“ Hamon said. He was better at whining than any man ought to be. ”What’s in it for me then?“
‘You get to count sitting about as work,“ Simon said, and since sitting about was the sort of work Hamon did best, that satisfied him.
John left off raking biddably enough when Simon asked him to come, and Bert was no trouble, leaving the alehouse readily enough when Simon thrust his head in at the door and said he was needed, except he started on the same questions the others had already asked and Simon didn’t answer him either, just jerked his head toward the others and said, “Ask them. They know as much as you’re going to.”
His worry that Mary might not obey wasn’t reassured by sight of Geva leaving his house with close-clapped mouth and a glare, but when he asked, “Did she come?” Geva answered tartly, “Oh, aye,” stalking past and saying over her shoulder as she went, “She’s in there. Her and that nun and they’re welcome to each other, they are, and you, too, Simon Perryn.”
Today the shutters at the windows on both sides of the house were let down to the day’s warm brightness and what little air was moving, sweet with the scent of drying hay, and there was light enough that Simon’s pause on the threshold was from habit more than need to usen to the shadows, but it gave him time to take in Dame Frevisse standing at the far side of the table and Mary at its far end with between them a prickling silence and a fox-haired, uneasy young man in the crowner’s livery. Cisily at the hearth was bent to stir whatever simmered in the pot there, and Dickon was standing across from her holding a bowl. As the savory smell reminded Simon’s belly of how long ago breakfast had been, Cisily looked along the room toward him and said, tipping her head toward Dame Frevisse, “She says you’re none of you going to eat now. Is that so?”
Simon cast Dame Frevisse a look of his own but already had answer ready, because despite his hunger, he was afraid his gorge would rise if he sat down to eat with Mary as things were now, and he said, “Aye. We’ll wait.”
Cisily grumbled, “Well, then,” as if he’d taken leave of his senses and turned back to Dickon. “You can take what’s going to the church then.”
‘Dickon will be needed here,“ Dame Frevisse said with cold command. ”Best you take it yourself.“
Cisily’s mouth, halfway to being open in protest, closed. She settled for giving Dame Frevisse a hard stare, then set to gathering up wooden bowls, spoons, a loaf of bread, and a knife into a basket and took up the pot from the fire with a towel wrapped around its handle for carrying, all in a stiff-backed, offended silence to which Dame Frevisse gave no heed, going on standing with bowed head, looking at no one in a silence no one cared to break, though Bert, Walter, John and Hamon shared looks with each other and toward Simon that Simon gave no sign of seeing, trying to be as apart as Dame Frevisse. The crowner’s man kept likewise warily still. Only Mary gave open, restless show of her impatience, casting displeased looks around at everyone and, as Cisily was leaving, managed to catch Simon’s eye and mouth at him, “What?”, but Simon looked away and kept on looking away until Cisily was gone and Dame Frevisse raised her head to say cold voiced into the silence, “Sit down.”
It was a general command, not a request, and no one questioned it, not even Mary. The crowner’s man moved first, sitting on the bench along the far side of the table with the slight, tense frown of someone trusting her but not sure if he should. Simon went to his own place at the table’s head while Bert, Walter and John took the near bench, leaving Hamon to go to the other side, to sit a wary distance from the crowner’s man. The stool that was usually Anne’s was across the room, near to the hearth, and Dickon claimed it, so that Mary made shift to sit at the crowner’s man’s other side with a displeased sweep of her skirts and a glare at Simon.
Dame Frevisse waited where she was until they were settled, then went to stand at the table’s end opposite to Simon. Her black nun’s garb gave her an authority she might otherwise have lacked, but as it was, her silence held them to silence as she gave them each a slow, long look before she said, still cold and clipped, “There are new questions about Tom Hulcote’s murder. You’re here to hear them and find out what answers there may be.”
‘What about Master Montfort?“ Walter asked, not challenging her so much as worried.
‘Master Christopher takes his part.“ She gave no time for other questions. ”Master Christopher, did you take close look at Tom Hulcote’s body yesterday?“
Not quite covering his uneasiness, the man answered, “Yes.”
‘What do you say killed him?“
‘His skull was broken and he was stabbed twice. In the back.“
Mary made a small choking noise and bowed her head to hide her face, her hands clenched together in her lap.