“Not at all, Father Reinbald. You know Faversham?”
“I was born there.”
“Then I will find you a horse and employ you as my guide.”
Ralph hauled himself back up into the saddle. “A celibate priest is less likely to inflame an unmarried shrew than a Norman lord.
You will take me to Faversham.”
An involuntary grin flashed up on Reinbald’s face only to vanish just as quickly. Ralph was surprised. It was an odd thing to see on a priest who was between two funerals.
Anticipating the effect of the funeral upon her, Helto the Doctor called at the house to see Eadgyth once more. Grief had sent her back to her bed and her condition seemed to have deteriorated.
His calming presence was a comfort and he stayed with her until she driftly quietly off to sleep. When he came down to the solar, Helto used crisp reason to settle the argument that was still in progress.
“Eadgyth must not be told,” he decreed. “It would be both unkind and dangerous.”
“Is there not unkindness also in deceit?” said Golde.
“No, my lady. Not in this instance. Eadgyth is rather unstable at the moment. I talk of her mind, not her body. Confront her with news of this alleged murder and you may cause her untold harm. That will rebound on the whole household and everyone will suffer, especially the child.” He gave a peremptory shake of the head. “It is too dangerous. Time is the true healer here. We must wait.”
“You still call it an alleged murder?” noted Osbern.
“I stand by the results of my own examination.”
“Yours is a lonely voice here.”
“That is nothing new, Osbern,” said the other with a resigned smile. “But my opinion is immaterial here. The cry of murder has been taken up and that is what we must keep from Eadgyth’s ears.”
“Until when?” asked Golde.
“Until the time is ripe, my lady. I am her physician. I will judge when that moment has come. Until then,” he stressed, “I would ask you to abide by my instructions.”
“We shall,” promised Osbern.
“Thank you.”
“What more may I do to help?” offered Golde.
“You have already done so much of value, my lady. I wish that all my patients had such a caring nurse. Do as you have been doing. Sit with her, encourage her to eat, let her have the baby in her arms whenever she asks. And if there is any change for the worse, send for me at once.”
“You are very kind, Helto,” said Osbern.
“I am at your disposal.” He inclined his head politely then looked across at the reeve. “But why are you at home today?
Should you not be at the shire hall to marshal witnesses for the royal commissioners?”
“They have suspended their work for a while.”
“Why?”
“The murder of Brother Martin brought everything to a halt. My understanding is that Prior Henry is looking into the circumstances of the death and is therefore unable to represent the cathedral in a property dispute.”
“The tribunal has other cases to consider, surely? Why do they not simply postpone this particular one and deal with another in its stead?”
“I cannot say, Helto.”
“I may be able to throw some light here,” volunteered Golde.
“My husband feels that they are entangled in these two inquiries and wants these murders solved before they can proceed without hindrance.”
Helto was curious. “And in the meantime, my lady?”
“They will lend their help to the investigations.”
“I trust they will not discuss them under this roof?”
“My husband is tactful.”
“And Master Bret even more so,” added Osbern.
“I am relieved to hear it,” said Helto with emphasis. “Whatever happens, Eadgyth must not suspect for one moment that her dearest friend may have been murdered.”
There was a loud gasp from outside the door. Osbern pulled it open in time to see his wife standing there. She had clearly overheard them. Eadgyth was on the verge of hysteria. Her face was white, her eyes rolling, her mouth twitching violently and her body shuddering. She emitted a weird, wild, high-pitched scream which swept through the entire house. Before anyone could catch her, she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
When Ralph Delchard rode to Fordwich, he took four of his men-at-arms with him. Norman soldiers were a familiar sight at the port but they were still far from welcome. The usual glances of muted antagonism met the posse. Coming in search of Bertha’s relatives, Ralph was astounded to see her own father sitting alone on the quay. The chance of a word with him was too enticing to miss. He approached slowly.
“Good day to you, friend,” said Ralph, ignoring the hostile glare which he had provoked. “My name is Ralph Delchard and I am in Canterbury on royal business. You, I know, are Alwin the Sailor and you have my deepest sympathy. We lodge at the home of Osbern the Reeve and have heard nothing but good words about your late daughter.”
Alwin’s manner changed from open resentment to a defensive silence. He studied Ralph with distant interest.
“The sheriff is searching for her killer,” continued the other softly. “I have loaned him eight of my men to speed up that search.
The others I have kept to assist me with my own inquiries into this sad business.”
“Why?” muttered Alwin.
“The villain must be caught.”
“But why should you help?”
“For personal reasons.”
“We do not need you, my lord.”
“The wider the search, the more chance we have of catching the murderer. Bertha, alas, was not his only victim.”
“Who else?”
“Brother Martin. Have you not heard?”
“I heard that he died and that the monks brought him back to the priory in a cart but that was all. My mind has been on someone else’s death.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” sighed Ralph. “I know the grief that fills the mind until it is ready to burst apart at the seams. I lost my own wife and child, Alwin. By natural means, it is true, but the pain is still intense. In some sort, I do understand.”
The sailor was taken aback. He had never heard a Norman lord speak to him so considerately and he had certainly never heard one confide in him so easily. Ralph had the bearing of a soldier but his battle scars were not only on the outside. Alwin still distrusted him but he was now more ready to talk to his visitor.
He spoke in the halting French he had picked up in the course of his seafaring.
“How was Brother Martin killed?” he asked.
“Poisoned.”
“Why?”
“Because he raised the alarm about Bertha.”
“Alarm?”
“Yes, Alwin. Everybody else believed that she had died from snakebite. Helto the Doctor gave that as his medical opinion and Reinbald the Priest accepted it without a qualm. Brother Martin was the man who ferreted out the truth. We are convinced that he was murdered for his pains.”
Apprehension flooded into Alwin’s eyes. He stood up.
“Who will look after the leper hospital?” he said.
“It is in good hands.”
“Brother Martin was their father.”
“They mourn him with deep sorrow.”
“But what of those he left behind, my lord?”
“Two monks were sent from Christ Church Priory.”
“The lepers are properly cared for?”
“They are,” assured Ralph. “Do not distress yourself.”
Alwin relaxed. “I am bound to worry,” he explained. “My daughter devoted her life to that hospital. So did Brother Martin. I would hate to see their work come to nothing.”
“They lit the torch. Others will carry it on.”
“Good.”
There was a lengthy pause. “I did not expect to find you here in Fordwich,” said Ralph.
“Where else?”
“Locked up in the privacy of your home.”
“This is my home.”
“When my wife died, I did not leave the house for months. I lacked the will to do so.”
“I have will and need, my lord.”
“Need?”
“To find the man who killed Bertha.”