by S. D. Sykes
‘Why?’
‘Well,’ she said, now opening her other eye. ‘Are you sure this is the absolute truth?’
I sat back and folded my arms in annoyance. Who was she to question my story? A woman whose own tales often bore little, if any, relationship to the truth. ‘Why do you ask that?’ I said calmly, trying not to give away my irritation.
‘You had only just turned eighteen at the time of this tale,’ she replied. ‘And you were such a quiet little mouse back then. Do you remember? After your father and brothers died of plague, we could hardly get you to speak to the servants or even sit in your father’s chair. Even though you were now Lord Somershill.’
‘I’m not sure that’s entirely true,’ I countered.
She puffed her thin lips. ‘Oh come along now, Oswald. You must recall those times?’ She added a sigh. ‘I know it was difficult for you. You had expected to become a monk, not a lord. But even so… you spent the first months hiding in your father’s library. Messing around with his ledgers, so that you didn’t have to be seen.’ She gave a laugh. ‘Goodness me, we could barely get you to come out for supper.’
‘What’s your point, Mother?’ I asked tersely.
‘It’s very simple,’ she replied. ‘I remember the Oswald de Lacy who suddenly became Lord Somershill in 1349. He was a shy, awkward boy, who liked his own company, or that of his books. And yet, you now describe a completely different person. Some sort of crusading hero. A young man who took grave risks and disobeyed the rules to avenge the deaths of some village girls.’ She puffed a laugh. ‘I know that time is apt to play tricks on the memory, Oswald, but I can hardly believe we are talking about the same person.’
‘I wasn’t the same person,’ I replied.
She paused to look at me. Her veil had fallen back from her forehead, to reveal a pinkish scalp that was feathered with wisps of white hair. I had never seen her look more ancient and desiccated. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she snapped.
‘Let me finish this story, Mother. And then you will understand.’
Chapter Fourteen
Kent, June 1349
In the days following Peter’s warning to me about the Plague, he found it difficult to keep a watchful eye on my whereabouts. The condition of the old monk with the abscess on his leg had taken a turn for the worse, as the poison had not been drawn out by the Sundew leaves, as Peter had hoped. Nor by a compress of comfrey, nor even a poultice of fuller’s earth. It now seemed as if the inflammation and corruption were spreading up his leg, meaning that Peter would have to amputate or the old man would die. My tutor was an experienced barber surgeon – but I was too noble to be an apprentice to this profession, so I was not called upon to help. Cutting flesh and bone was not considered to be a suitable career for a man of my status. If noblemen worked in the area of medicine, they became physicians, not surgeons.
As a consequence, my duties about the infirmary were lightened, and I was left to my own devices, despite Peter’s sporadic attempts to keep me under his supervision. The lay brothers working under Peter’s stewardship didn’t care about my whereabouts and equally, I was not missed by the novice master, Brother Thomas, as I rarely attended his classes anyway. All of this meant that I had the perfect opportunity to continue my investigation.
* * *
When the bell rang for Terce, I left via the gate in the vegetable garden and headed directly into woodland. After this, I made my way along the forest paths to Stonebrook, and soon found myself crossing the village green and heading up the main street towards Maud Woodstock’s grand home.
My appearance didn’t attract the attention of my previous visits, as the village seemed much quieter than before. No women came to the doors of their cottages to stare at me, and no shoeless children followed me up the street, trying to tug at my habit and beg for attention. I wondered if the villagers of Stonebrook had become more circumspect about visitors since the last time I turned up – aware that plague always arrives with a stranger. For my part, I was pleased to be left alone, as I picked my way along the dry ground beside the stream of muddy water that now ran down the centre of this street, flowing with some force after the overnight rain.
But my peace was not to last, however. When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I turned around to see John Roach standing behind me – the midday sun shining through his crop of white hair and creating an aura about his head, as if he had been blessed with a halo.
‘What are you doing here, Brother Oswald?’ he asked, eyeing me from head to toe.
I wondered if Roach were about to mention the restrictions on novices leaving the monastery, so I went to defend myself, before having the good sense to bite my tongue. If Roach had known about the Abbot’s latest rule, then he would have mentioned it immediately. Pedants such as Roach are never more grateful than at the gift of a new law to enforce.
‘I left a psalter with Mistress Woodstock,’ I said. ‘It’s needed by the Abbey.’ I stepped back, accidentally treading into the stream that I had been trying to avoid.
This amused Roach and he took a moment to regard my wet shoes, before returning his eyes to mine. ‘Don’t you have enough psalters?’ he said. ‘I thought Kintham was packed with them?’
I answered this with a bow of my head and a short, disdainful smile – the type that’s often doled out to idiots. Its meaning was not lost on him. ‘Well. I’ll wish you good day,’ I said, as I walked away, now marching through the stream, not caring what I stepped in.
Roach didn’t follow. Instead he watched me closely until I knocked at the door to Maud’s house. Our eyes met for a moment as Maud’s thin maid Johanna answered the door, before he spun on his heel and marched away.
The girl seemed startled by my appearance, mumbled something inaudible and then ran away to find her mistress immediately. As I waited to be allowed entrance, I enjoyed the smell of cooking that was drifting into the street from Maud’s kitchen – the eddying vapours of another meaty dish.
Johanna soon returned, and then led me through the central hall of the house into the cosy parlour, where Maud was seated at a table with her back to me, reading a ledger. She appeared to be deep in concentration, but put down her quill and stood to greet me when Johanna announced my arrival.
‘Good day, Oswald,’ she said with a smile. ‘You’re a welcome sight.’ She waved her hand at the table. ‘I’ve been working on this Roll of Expenses all morning, and I cannot make the costs match the items purchased.’ She gave a short huff. ‘I must say that I’m finding it very frustrating.’
She was wearing a gown of the lightest blue that day – a shade that picked out the exact shade of her eyes. It was the colour of a shallow sea at high tide. In fact, she looked so strikingly beautiful that my throat seized up for a moment and I found that I couldn’t speak.
It was no wonder that she laughed at me. ‘Dear me, Oswald,’ she said. ‘Have you been struck dumb by the angel Gabriel?’
I found my voice quickly, acutely aware of my foolishness. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, before coughing to clear my throat. ‘I rushed here from the monastery and it’s a warm day.’
She laughed again, which only served to make me feel even more embarrassed. ‘Then you must have some ale,’ she announced. And before I could reply, she had recalled Johanna to the room and teased the girl for not having offered me a drink immediately. I couldn’t help but notice that Johanna trembled at this mild rebuke.
Maud saw my reaction. ‘You mustn’t worry about Johanna,’ she told me, when the girl had retired to the kitchen. ‘I know she seems nervous, but she had a very sad beginning to her life.’ She paused. ‘I’m not sure if she will ever gain full confidence.’
‘I see,’ I replied, hoping she might elaborate.
Maud read my mind. ‘I was visiting the Winchester wool fair when I first came across her,’ she said. ‘Poor Johanna was living like a stray dog in an alley. It wouldn’t have been long before she was picked up by the local brothel keeper, so I brought her bac
k here to Stonebrook. I wanted to train her as a lady’s maid.’ Maud raised her eyebrows and puffed her lips. ‘I’m sorry to say that she has never quite settled. Sometimes Johanna will still cringe from her own reflection.’
‘It was good of you to take her in,’ I said.
Maud swayed her head from side to side, in polite rebuttal. ‘It was the Christian way to behave, Oswald. And anyway, I have done well out of this arrangement. Johanna is very gentle with my father.’ Maud glanced upwards towards the roof. ‘You may hear him today, I’m afraid. We washed his bedsores this morning with vinegar, and he is never happy afterwards.’
I couldn’t help but wince. ‘Might not salted water have been a little less astringent?’ I suggested.
‘We have tried that,’ she replied. ‘But it’s much less effective against the corruption. And Father complains just as much, whether we use salt or vinegar.’
At that moment, almost as if the man were listening to our conversation, a soft moaning came from the bedchamber on the floor above us, where Roger Woodstock was said to spend the whole of his life. There was a short pause before he groaned again, louder this time, followed by the clatter of footsteps on the wooden steps as Johanna rushed upstairs. We heard the girl trying to calm Woodstock, but the groaning became even louder.
Maud hesitated for a moment, before rising to her feet. ‘Excuse me, Oswald,’ she said, as she made for the door. ‘I’ll just see what’s going on.’
‘Would you like any help?’ I offered.
‘No, no,’ she said firmly. ‘There’s no need.’
While Maud was absent, I heard footsteps running to and fro on the floorboards overhead, and then a loud, crashing bump followed by a low moaning. My curiosity got the better of me, so I went to the door of the parlour and opened it a little, hoping to hear more. The groaning stopped, just as suddenly as it had begun, but then there was a shuffling, dragging noise followed by hissed whispers.
When I heard Maud returning down the stairs, I quickly closed the door and retreated to my seat. She reappeared soon after, looking a little flushed.
‘Is everything all right?’ I asked.
‘Father fell out of bed again,’ she answered.
‘You should have called me.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she replied. ‘But Father wouldn’t like it. I’m afraid that he’s ashamed of his condition.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘We must allow him some dignity… though he can be very hard work at times.’
‘Perhaps you should consider sending him to the infirmary?’ I suggested.
Maud shook her head. ‘There’s no need,’ she answered. ‘We can cope with him here. A man should be allowed to die in his own home, don’t you think?’
‘But sometimes it’s difficult to offer the right care in a small bed chamber, Maud,’ I argued. ‘And Brother Peter is very experienced in the treatment of apoplexies. And, you never know, your father might be more comfortable at the monastery? I have seen men with his same affliction begin to prosper and flourish when they have more company.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied sharply. ‘I know you mean well with these suggestions, but I promised Father that I would look after him in his old age. And I will not renege on that promise. No matter how difficult he becomes.’ She sat up straight and laid her beautiful hands softly into her lap. ‘So, Oswald,’ she said. ‘Enough about Father. What can I do for you today?’
I felt a little blown off course, unable to immediately retrieve the speech that I’d prepared for this moment. ‘There’s something I needed to tell you,’ I said finally.
Her face relaxed into a smile, all talk of her father’s illness forgotten. ‘This sounds intriguing.’
‘It’s about Brother Merek,’ I said. ‘I asked around at Kintham after hearing your concerns, and I wanted to let you know what I discovered.’
‘I hope I wasn’t speaking out of turn,’ she replied, suddenly guarded. ‘They were just my own thoughts. Nothing more.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned them?’
‘No. You were right to be suspicious about Merek,’ I replied. ‘And I should have been more honest with you at the time.’
‘Oh yes?’
I hesitated, feeling awkward at making this disclosure. ‘You see, the thing is… Merek has also disappeared. He’s been missing from the Abbey for more than six weeks.’
Maud stared back at me in surprise, her forehead knotted into a frown. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I see.’
‘I’m sorry. I would have mentioned it before,’ I replied. ‘But we’re forbidden to speak on the matter.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The Abbot wants to keep the story quiet.’ I cleared my throat, feeling more awkward than ever. ‘There are rumours that Merek has run away with a woman.’ Maud’s face immediately registered shock, so I quickly added, ‘But it’s not true.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes, absolutely. It’s gossip, nothing more.’ I paused. ‘But there is a good reason why you saw Merek so often in Stonebrook. A good reason why he appeared to be befriending the poorest women.’
‘Go on.’
‘Merek was carrying out his own investigations into the disappearances.’ I said. ‘He didn’t believe the story about those women running away to London either.’
Maud’s frown only deepened as she tapped her fingers together. It seemed that she was far from convinced. ‘How do you know all this, Oswald?’ she asked me.
‘Brother Peter told me,’ I said. ‘Merek confided in him before he disappeared.’
‘Brother Peter,’ she repeated. ‘He’s your tutor at the monastery, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘So why didn’t Peter tell you about Merek before?’ she asked me. ‘Especially after Agnes died.’
I hesitated. ‘Because he doesn’t want me to get involved. He thinks it’s too dangerous.’ When she threw me a quizzical stare, I added, ‘Peter believes that Merek was murdered when he got too close to finding answers.’ I looked down at my hands, which were now pale and sweaty. ‘Peter doesn’t want the same thing to happen to me, Maud.’
I looked up to see that she was studying me closely. I could now see tiny flecks of violet in the blue of her eyes – fragments of colour that were glistening like the iridescent streaks in a wet pebble. There was such unsettling beauty in her gaze that I found it very difficult to concentrate.
I’m sorry, Oswald,’ she said finally. ‘It seems that I was very wrong about Merek. I feel foolish now.’
‘Please don’t apologise,’ I said. ‘I’m pleased that you told me of your concerns. If nothing else, it forced Peter’s hand. Otherwise he would never have revealed the truth to me about Merek.’
Maud turned her face towards the window for a moment and let the breeze blow over her face as she thought. The shutters were raised today because the weather outside was sultry and close, but there was still a thin current of air seeping its way into the room through this open void. Maud and her father might have been wealthy, but they could not yet afford glass in their windows.
She turned back to me. ‘You say that Merek confided in Peter. And that he was close to finding the killer. So, did he tell Peter who he suspected?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I’m sorry.’
She sighed. ‘That’s a pity.’
‘But I do know that Merek discovered something important from speaking to one of the women in the village,’ I said quickly. ‘Apparently he believed that this information might lead him to the killer.’ I paused. ‘Unfortunately we can only assume that it did… since Merek’s not been seen since.’
Maud rested her hand on my arm. ‘Do we know who gave him this information?’ she asked, her face full of anticipation.
‘No,’ I admitted, thwarting a sudden urge to take her hand in mine. ‘Though it must have been one of the women you saw talking to Merek,’ I added. ‘That’s why I’ve come here today. I wondered if you cou
ld give me their names? I will need to speak to each of them.’
Maud looked at me with a thoughtful expression. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But I might have a better idea. Why don’t I gather them here instead? We could question them together.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It would certainly save you time.’
I was taken aback by this offer and didn’t answer immediately. Unfortunately Maud misread my hesitation as offence. ‘I’m sorry, Oswald,’ she said quickly, withdrawing her hand from my arm. ‘I’m always doing this. Trying to take over.’ She inclined her head to mine. ‘I shouldn’t interfere.’
‘No, no,’ I replied. ‘Thank you. I think it’s a very helpful idea.’
‘You do?’
‘Of course.’
Maud let the tips of her fingers brush against the skin on the back of my hand. ‘You’re a good man, Oswald de Lacy,’ she said. ‘A rarity.’
Before I could respond to this compliment, Maud had called Johanna into the room and asked the girl to round up certain women in the village. When Johanna asked if she should name a purpose for this gathering, Maud told her to be vague – although to be sure to mention that food and ale would be served. With such an incentive, the women were certain to accept.
* * *
With Johanna gone, Maud and I moved into the main hall, where we arranged two benches along either side of the long trestle table – agreeing that we would ask the women to sit here, whilst we would take two chairs at the head. Maud then lifted a large wooden crucifix from the wall and laid it across the middle of the table so that it would be visible from all of the seats.
When she noticed the look of surprise on my face, she said. ‘This will help the women to concentrate, Oswald. To be honest and measured.’
‘You think they need reminding of that?’