Those Who Go by Night

by Andrew Gaddes

  They all turned expectantly to Sir Mortimer, silently asking for consent to speak with his wife. De Bray shook his head resignedly. “Go speak with her then, if you must. Do it now, though I doubt you will get many answers from her. At least none that will make any sense.”

  De Bray beckoned Thomas over to him as Cecily and the Dominican retreated to the staircase that would take them to the family quarters.

  “We find ourselves caught in a cleft stick, Thomas,” he said when he was sure the others were out of earshot.

  De Bray stifled a cough and wiped his mouth, speckling the linen cloth with a few more drops of red.

  “I am dying.”

  He held up a hand to forestall Thomas’s protest.

  “No, no. It is true, and I have made peace with it. It has come on sudden this last year. You must understand, Thomas, I cannot have that vile man, Despenser, know of our weakness. He will surely use it to strip my children bare of their inheritance. And what shall they do when I am not here to protect them? I must keep him away at all costs, at least for the time being.”

  “Perhaps the bishop can help,” suggested Thomas.

  De Bray pursed his lips and scowled, struck by a startling recollection. “Did you know that scoundrel once tried to make off with the reredos from our little church? I believe he actually tried to steal the thing! And he would have done so had the monks not come to me squawking and flapping like a flock of hens at the sight of a fox.”

  He heaved a great shuddering sigh of resignation, and Thomas could hear the breath wheeze and rattle in his chest. “As it happens, I have already written to Henry on the matter, and he will do what he can—I am sure of that. But he has troubles enough of his own and may not be in any position to help.

  “Then there is this Dominican and his crusade. The longer this killer goes unfound, the more lies the friar will foster, and the greater his hold over us will become. You must find our man soon, Thomas, lest the black friar make heretics and killers of us all.”

  He gripped Thomas’s wrist firmly. “Do what you have to. Put the lie to the Dominican’s theories. Do you understand?”

  Thomas nodded and De Bray released his wrist. “Then go. Protect my children.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Lady Isabella’s solar was a small yet well-appointed room. A window embrasure with paneled glass looked out over the courtyard. With the shutter thrown wide, the window let in a decent amount of light. That light shone down directly onto the room’s dominant feature, a large mirror bolted securely to a desk by massive black iron brackets.

  It was a garish and disturbing looking thing. At its center was an oval of murky glass stained a rusty brown at the edges. Surrounding that was a heavy walnut frame, blackened and singed as though it had once been dragged from a fire. Chipped carvings at each corner appeared to depict some kind of creature. What kind, Thomas could not say. But if demons existed, he imagined they would look something like this, and they all squatted on their haunches around the glass, leering inward at whatever might have the misfortune to be reflected there.

  Thomas began to feel a little queasy and had to tear his eyes away. The remainder of the room was furnished more in the manner one might expect of a lady’s solar, with a variety of ordinary looking tables, chairs, trunks, a cushioned bench, and an elegantly carved aumbry closet. Linen tapestries, depicting a variety of hunting scenes in brightly colored threads, adorned the walls, and several woolen rugs and herb-scented rush mats covered the floor.

  Isabella was sitting in a high-backed comfortable chair by a small brazier, as yet unlit, the days being far too warm to waste good firewood. She wore a rather austere, full-sleeved woolen kirtle of a surprisingly dull green, and her golden hair was closely netted on either side of her head by wire mesh cauls held in place by a stiffened silk fillet band around her crown and by a simple linen barbette that passed fully under her chin. It was a modest look, one which the Dominican no doubt wholeheartedly approved, and quite a change from the elegant velvets and lace she had been wearing when Thomas had last seen her.

  At her side, under her protective wing, was the same flaxen-haired boy Thomas had seen in the yard. The boy was straining to be away from his mother, his face all frowns and pouts.

  Cecily had already seated herself on the bench opposite Isabella. For the moment, Thomas stood by her side, politely awaiting an invitation to sit, while the Dominican chose to ignore such niceties and playfully ruffled the boy’s hair.

  “What a fine-looking young man,” he declared.

  A fine-looking young man he might have been, but he was also at present a surly one and was clearly anxious to be outside making mischief. As if on cue, Hunydd entered the room. The startled glance and smile she flashed at Thomas was quickly suppressed, but not quickly enough to avoid the friar’s scrutiny. His face clouded over, and he followed her with his narrowed eyes as she took the boy by the hand and led him out so they could talk in peace.

  “Be sure to wash him thoroughly, Hunydd,” Isabella called after her. “He has been running about with the dogs again. And remind the kennel master that I instructed him to lock them up. I don’t want Henry catching their fleas.”

  “Yes, mistress,” replied Hunydd, offering a quick bob and pulling the boy out after her, not before he could throw his mother one last sulky glare from under his mussed-up mop of hair.

  Justus watched them leave and sighed contentedly. “Ah, you must be very proud of him, my dear.”

  “Yes. I am, Father.”

  “And so you should. So you should. I am sure, with your guidance, he will be a great lord one day.”

  Isabella beamed with pleasure. “Thank you, Father.”

  The Dominican then suddenly winced in discomfort and coughed dryly into his clenched hand.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I fear the change of weather and the challenges before me are beginning to take their toll. I am not as young as I once was, and every now and then God chooses to remind me of the fact.”

  He passed a shaky hand over his forehead, which caused Isabella to rise from her seat and take his arm.

  “You must take my chair, Father. You are unwell.”

  Justus shook his head and smiled weakly. “I would not dream of it, dear. A little hardship is good for the soul. I shall take this stool here, where I can sit close by you.”

  Leaning heavily on her arm, he lowered himself down stiffly, sighing with relief as he finally slumped onto the seat. Lady Isabella watched the entire performance with a concerned look on her face.

  “Should I have someone make up the fire? Or fetch you some water? Or a more comfortable seat, perhaps?”

  “You are too kind, child, but I shall be fine in a moment. These spells tend to pass in time.”

  Only a short while before, the Dominican had been in rude health, strong enough to harangue and threaten De Bray. Thomas marveled that he appeared to have aged at least a decade in the interim. He also appeared to have lost his staff, contracted ague, and developed arthritis, a limp, and a weak chest to boot. The whole pantomime was sickening.

  “I am truly sorry we must intrude on you, Lady Isabella. Personally, I would not have thought it necessary, but …”

  Justus shrugged and gestured vaguely in Thomas’s direction, suggesting to Isabella where the fault lay. Isabella turned a sour expression on Thomas and then sat down primly in her cushioned chair, her eyes turned expectantly to the Dominican. It appeared that Thomas would not be invited to take his ease after all.

  “Ah but look at you,” the Dominican exclaimed, spreading his arms wide, as though he might well embrace her. “You are truly beautiful. I should not believe it possible that you were yet a mother but for the wonderful glow that always seems to accompany motherhood.”

  The sour look she had tossed Thomas was immediately replaced by another radiant smile.

  The Dominican’s eyes wandered about the chamber and rested on a prie-dieu sitting in one of the corners.

  “I see you have a
prie-dieu in your personal chamber, my lady? It is gratifying to see such a thing.”

  Isabella nodded. “Prayer is a great comfort to me, father, especially in these troubled times.”

  Thomas looked at the prie-dieu, noticing the embroidery tossed lazily over the armrest, and the velvet slippers all arranged in a neat row across the kneeling stool. It looked more like a piece of furniture than an aid to prayer. Justus, however, leaned over and squeezed Isabella’s hand, evidently moved by the open show of devotion. She returned the pressure, an unspoken exchange of admiration passing between them.

  “A good woman ought to spend a great deal of time on her knees,” he said. “You are a fine example to your sex.”

  Irritated at being ignored and growing more than a little tired of the mummery, Thomas coughed lightly to gain their attention.

  “We have come with questions for you, my lady.”

  Justus rolled his eyes and gave Isabella a helpless little shrug, as if by way of apology for the rude interruption. She pressed her lips together in a thin line of distaste and, as pretty as she undoubtedly was, managed to present Thomas with a face that could have curdled milk in an instant. She was still holding the Dominican’s hand and seemed to have no intention of letting go any time soon.

  “I understand that you had a visit from Roger Lacy shortly before he died?” Thomas asked.

  “That is true,” she allowed, regarding Thomas with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

  “May I ask, what was his business?”

  Isabella looked to the side for a moment, collecting her thoughts, and when she spoke, Thomas sensed it was with words measured and weighed and, what is more, with a story carefully rehearsed.

  “I knew him from when I was a child. He was steward of my father’s estate. I believe he was let go sometime after I left. I do not recall the reason.”

  “And why was he here?”

  “To pay his respects and to inquire after work.”

  She turned to Friar Justus and directed the rest of her explanation to him. “How could I not pity him? I had admired him as a child, and it saddened me greatly to see him sunk so low. So I spoke to my husband on his behalf. Is charity to those in need not one of the acts of mercy?”

  “Indeed it is, my dear,” replied Justus, giving her hand another comforting squeeze. “That was so very kind and thoughtful of you. I must now add charity to the list of good graces with which you are so evidently imbued.”

  Thomas caught Cecily rolling her eyes, as unimpressed by the display as he was. The Dominican’s words had a very different effect on Isabella, however. She blushed and simpered like a moonstruck young girl.

  Thomas took a step closer to try to regain her attention. “Forgive me, my lady—what else can you tell us of Lacy’s visit?”

  “I know not. He only asked that I speak with my husband about a position. I did so, as I have said. I gave the poor man a little money and directed him to the priory guesthouse. There is nothing more I can say.”

  “Surely there is more you can tell me, my lady. You were the last to speak with him. You might know why someone would wish to harm him. Did he not mention anybody else? Did he plan to see anyone else? Do you know who might have wished him ill? Do you know what he intended after he left you? What else did you discuss?”

  Isabella listened to his list of questions with a flat expression, looking thoroughly disinclined to address a single one.

  “I don’t know anything, I tell you.”

  She sniffled and withdrew a small silk handkerchief from one of her sleeves, dabbing daintily at her eyes, looking up every now and then from under her golden lashes to judge the effect of her display.

  “This is all so horrible.” Sniff. “I heard what happened. I can barely sleep at all for thinking of it. And I blame myself.” She dabbed her eyes again. “I gave him money out of pity and I fear someone has killed him for it. I have been quite unwell, you know.”

  Looking at the pair of them sitting side by side, hand in hand, him acting the doddery old man; and her, the fragile flower, Thomas had to wonder who was the better player. They could both quite easily turn up at the market square in Grantham and put any professional troupe of mummers to shame.

  Thomas waited patiently until she appeared to have grown tired of her own antics before venturing another question.

  “For about how long did you sit with Roger Lacy?”

  “Surely you have pressed Lady Isabella enough,” decried Justus. “Cannot you see she is most upset? I am sure the good lady has nothing to hide.”

  Thomas wondered how he had managed to become the villain; and the inquisitor, the protector of the weak and innocent.

  “Look at her,” Justus continued, gracing Isabella with one of his crooked smiles. “How could you harangue such a sweet child in this heartless manner? You have brought her to tears with your harassment, looming over her in such a threatening, ungentlemanly manner.”

  Isabella dutifully took a little shuddering breath and gave another little sniffle.

  “My lady, please,” urged Thomas, ignoring the Dominican’s feigned concern, “is there anything else you can tell us of Lacy’s visit that might shed some light on his death?”

  “I have told you that I know nothing,” she snapped.

  Justus rose halfway from his seat in protest. “Really, sir, this is most churlish behavior. Most unworthy. What sort of monster attempts to bully a lady in her own chambers—a God-fearing, charitable lady of good birth at that, and one who has only recently suffered the great shock of losing a dear old friend. You are very ill bred, sir. Very ill bred indeed.”

  He sat down again and huffed his displeasure. Isabella was clutching the friar’s hand in both her own now and looking at him in wonder, as if he was some sort of paladin who had ridden into her chambers mounted on a noble steed to defend her honor and rescue her from the ravishing heathens.

  Justus crooned at her in a gentle, wheedling voice: “I am truly sorry for your loss, dear. What happened to Roger Lacy was horrifying. It is small wonder that you have been indisposed. I am a seasoned servant of the Holy Inquisition and have seen many terrible things in my long life, yet what has passed here has shocked even me. Though certain others seem not to be overly concerned …”

  Another vague nod flew in Thomas’s general direction, followed naturally by an accusatory glare from Isabella.

  “If it is any consolation, the Archbishop of Canterbury has sent me to investigate the matter, and I shall do everything in my power to find those responsible. Now that I have met you and seen your distress, let me assure you that I shall neither rest nor sleep until I know you are safe and that I have brought some small measure of peace to you.”

  He patted her hand.

  “Now is there anything you wish to tell me?” Justus inquired. “For example, have you seen anything troubling to you? Anything disturbing? Anything at all that might hint at, let us say, heresy or moral turpitude? Anything you suspect might be a little wicked? Even if only ever so slightly wicked?”

  Isabella’s eyes flicked briefly to Cecily. It was a momentary thing, but Thomas suspected that the look did not go unnoticed by the Dominican.

  “Nothing that comes to mind at the moment, Father.”

  Justus surprised Thomas by not pursuing such an obvious evasion.

  “Well, if you do see or hear anything, you must tell me.” She nodded eagerly to let him know she would most certainly do so. “And if you have need of counsel, or of a friend, or even a confessor, please feel free to call on me, day or night. I am completely at your service. I know this must have been a difficult time for you. Perhaps when you are feeling better, you and I might have a more private discussion.”

  “I should very much like that.”

  “And shall I also take your confession at that time? Would that please you?”

  She looked down shyly and nodded.

  “I shall even come here to your personal chambers, and we can use your very own prie-die
u. It would bring me great pleasure to confess you like that. I shall perform such a service for you any time you desire.”

  With one last pat of her hand, the friar rose stiffly to his feet.

  “Well, I think we need trouble you no more today.”

  Isabella leapt up and threw her arms about Justus, embracing him fiercely, her cheek pressed against his chest. A look of absolute shock and revulsion writhed across his face before he was able to master himself and return the embrace stiffly, patting her awkwardly on the back. As he did so, he caught their reflection in the mirror. He was still looking at it when they separated.

  “You like my mirror, Father?” Isabella asked ingenuously.

  Justus swallowed slowly. His face had turned gray, and Thomas thought he might actually throw up.

  “Yes, indeed,” he managed to croak. “It is a most … interesting piece, most unusual. How came you by it?”

  “It was my grandmother’s,” she declared proudly. “I have had it since I was a little girl. Grandmama told me it was very special and that every young lady should own a mirror so that she might always look her best.”

  The Dominican stared at the ghastly piece for a long while.

  “That is very sage advice. Your grandmother was a wise woman, my dear. But, if I may be so bold, I believe that with or without a mirror you would be quite delightful.”

  She rewarded his flattery with a girlish giggle and then insisted on lending his elbow her support as he hobbled slowly, very slowly, to the door.

  “I am so glad you are here, Father. These events have been troubling to me, and I find it reassuring to know that the Church has not abandoned us.”

  “The Church will never abandon you, child. Nor shall I.”