Those Who Go by Night

by Andrew Gaddes

  It was a terrible accusation, and Thomas sat awhile in brooding silence, contemplating the awful implications. He did not want to believe such a thing of the strange and distant woman he had met, even though the possibility had already fleetingly crossed his mind.

  Alice was eyeing him shrewdly. “And perhaps it takes one woman to put into words what you already suspect about another,” she suggested gently.

  “Perhaps, Alice,” he conceded. “Yet your theory would not explain the gruesome display of Lacy’s corpse or what was done to Margareta.”

  “No, but it is possible that Isabella may have unleashed a beast that she could then no longer control.”

  Alice was right. Thomas had not wanted to admit his suspicions about Isabella for fear of where they might lead him. Her feigned illness had been as convenient an excuse for him as it had been for her. He knew it, just as he knew that Isabella was hiding something. Alice believed it to be something important, the key to the entire mystery. He had to open himself up to the possibility that Isabella was personally involved and perhaps even in some way responsible for the murders. He had to press the matter and set aside the fact that she was the lord’s wife, whatever the consequences.

  Alice sat down again and rested her elbows on the table. The candlelight glinted from eyes that now looked deep into Thomas’s own.

  “Saint Thomas Aquinas once taught that man is inherently good and that evil and sin are but aberrations. Those teachings have been repeated by insipid clerics for half a century now as if they are the words of Christ himself. But he was wrong, Thomas. My life has taught me that man is inherently evil, and that he is inherently good. He is both at the same time. At the heart of every man there is a monster waiting to be unleashed. It is only the man’s goodness that cages his monster. For some men, the monster is weak, and the bars of the cage are strong. For others, the reverse is true. And there are yet other men who present the world with only the convincing facade of a cage. Whose impression of goodness is entirely false. A deception. It is these men that are the most dangerous because their bestial nature is unhindered, always awaiting an opportunity to prey upon the unsuspecting souls around them. I believe you seek such a man.

  “And I believe his face is well hidden. The girl’s family said she had been sneaking out to some assignation. Yet she was not visiting with her betrothed. It seems likely that our man seduced her rather than abducted her, don’t you think? So, he would likely be someone she trusted, someone charismatic and persuasive.

  “Sad to say, Thomas, but people are not always so innocent as they would have us believe.”

  Thomas tilted his head and gave her an amused, lopsided smile. “Do you speak of yourself, Alice?”

  “Oh, I never claimed to be innocent, Thomas. Far from it. I am sure I have done things in my life that would turn any confessor’s hair white. It is true that I have from time to time sought out experiences of which others would disapprove. That I have tested the bounds of accepted decency, if you will. I have certainly practiced those woman’s arts handed down to us by our mothers and by theirs before them. But I see no wrong in that. I have also given generously to the Church and to those in need, both of my labor and of my wealth. And for all my undoubted sins, I am not what they would have you believe. I am no necromancer. I do not summon the dead. I have cast no spells to steal another’s wealth. I do not drink blood, nor yet eat young babes. Perish the thought! And though one or two of them may have deserved it, I most certainly did not poison any of my husbands. While I am more than capable of defending myself if needs must, I have always sought to use such skills as I have learned in the service of others. To heal. To comfort. No, I do not claim to be innocent, Thomas, but I do try to be good.”

  Thomas sat in silence for a while absorbing all that Alice had said, and then rose to his feet.

  “You have given me much to think about, Alice. And you managed to do so without a single animal sacrifice,” he added, offering her a cheeky wink.

  “And without yet removing a single item of clothing,” she responded with an even cheekier wink of her own.

  “Thomas, there is one more thing of which I would caution you before you leave. You cannot insist on perfect reasoning from the fractured mind of a madman. And aren’t all murderers madmen, in their own way? His way of thinking is not yours. He is driven by lusts he cannot control, hence the girl, and by hatred of the Church, hence the message. His beast is now unleashed; the kill is intoxicating to him, and if he is not caught, more deaths will surely follow until he chooses to leave. You must also consider that, should you fail to catch him, soon he may flee, and he will then inflict this misery on others elsewhere. The cycle will renew, others will suffer, and those who have suffered here will be denied justice.”

  Alice stood and smoothed down her skirts. “You are sure you will not stay awhile longer? As I said, it gets lonely here. And I am most secluded. Nobody is likely to visit me again for many hours.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. It was a coy, sultry look if ever he’d seen one, though he half-suspected she was merely toying with him again.

  “You are a charming host, Alice, but I must be away. As I said, you have given me much to think about.”

  Alice nodded and smiled graciously, not evidencing any particular disappointment, and Thomas opened the door to leave, only to pause once more on the threshold.

  “What kind of a man am I, Alice?” he asked.

  She hesitated barely a moment. “I believe you are a good man, Thomas.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know because if it were not so, you would never have asked.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “Father Elyas. Might I have a word?”

  Elyas had just climbed the steps to the Great Hall and paused to allow Thomas to catch up.

  “I have been looking for Lady Isabella, but her maid seems unable to find her. I know she comes to you for confession. Have you perhaps seen her?”

  “I have not. However, I believe she was planning on riding to the village to deliver alms. She has been indisposed a fair bit these last weeks, and she is anxious to return to her charitable work now that she is somewhat recovered. Likely that is where she has gone.”

  A concerned look crossed Elyas’s face. “Do you wish me to look for her, Thomas?”

  “Thank you, Elyas, but there is no need. I shall head to the village.”

  “Thomas, please tell me. Is something amiss?” The chaplain’s voice had risen to a plaintive whine, and he was wringing his hands anxiously. Elyas inhaled deeply and looked down to collect himself. He looked tired and pale, and the black hair that showed beneath his skullcap was disheveled, as though he had neglected to clip his tonsure and had been scrubbing at it worriedly.

  “I am sorry, Thomas. You must think me ridiculous. The terrible things that have happened, Tom Attwood’s death—I am all on edge. My nerves are frayed.” He folded his hands into his sleeves and offered Thomas a rueful smile. “I must be a great disappointment to you as a priest. I disappoint myself.”

  “Not at all. Your compassion does you credit. But you really must not blame yourself for what happened to Tom. And we are all on edge.”

  “Thank you, Thomas. I shall be heading to the village myself soon. People have been avoiding the church after what happened there and the prior has given me permission to hold some additional masses. I thought it might help.” He looked up, considering his words. “I thought that honest worship might help cleanse the place, I suppose.”

  “That is generous of you, Father. I shall be sure to attend.”

  Elyas watched thoughtfully as Thomas walked back to the stables, and then limped across the hall and ascended the stairs to the guest chamber above the buttery. He stepped inside and winced at a sharp stab of pain in his rib as he turned to close the door behind him.

  Lady Isabella stood in the middle of the small paneled room, clutching at the sides of her kirtle.

  “I do apologize for my tardines
s, my lady. It was not entirely of my own doing. The young man from Lincoln was asking for you again. I trust you have not been encouraging his advances.”

  Isabella licked her lips nervously. “No. I do not speak to him. I wouldn’t do that. You said not to.”

  “Indeed I did, and I am glad you have done as you were told. But you do not look very happy, dear. You have such a pretty mouth. I do hate to see it pouting so.”

  “I … I do not feel particularly well today.”

  The chaplain frowned at her.

  “Truly, I am unwell,” she added hurriedly. “My throat is sore and I have a headache. I think perhaps that I have a fever.”

  He bolted the door and turned to face her again. “I found my things disturbed today. I trust that was not you, Isabella?”

  “No, of course not. I know nothing of that.”

  “Indeed? Because I should be most angry if I found out that you had been prying among my private things.”

  “It was not me, I swear.” There was an edge of panic to her voice.

  “Do you now? And on what do you swear? Are you willing to swear on the life of your son?”

  She looked at him blankly and said nothing.

  “No? I thought not. You really deserve to be punished, and yet I find myself in a generous mood today. Now tell me, have you been ingratiating yourself to the Dominican as I told you?”

  “Oh yes, yes,” she replied enthusiastically. “I have. We are good friends now, I believe.”

  “Excellent, and what information have you obtained from him?”

  Isabella averted her eyes and licked her lips again, making it clear without saying that the answer was nothing.

  “I see.” His voice was tinged with disappointment. “Then what were you able to find out about the nocturnal activities of a certain young maid?”

  “I tried,” she said, still avoiding his gaze. “I tried very hard, really, but I did not learn anything new.”

  “That is very disappointing. I had thought at least you could manage that.”

  He reached out and stroked Isabella’s cheek with the back of his fingers, enjoying the way she shivered at his touch.

  “I trust you were subtle in your inquiries.”

  “I … I think so,” she said weakly, looking down at the floor.

  Elyas sighed. Another mistake. He was making far too many of them now. He should have realized he could not trust the discretion of this vacant woman. Isabella was a dim, silly thing, easily coerced and bullied, but far too dull for Elyas to have any confidence she would not let slip something important. Nor had he really needed her assistance. It had been a simple matter for him to wander into the woods again at night and follow the track to the little cottage in the clearing. He had hidden in the trees, watching and waiting, and he had discovered something shocking, far more shocking he believed than even Isabella’s dirty little secret; something shocking and yet at the same time so very wonderful.

  He held her waist and drew her to him. She was tense, and he could feel her fighting the urge to squirm away from him in revulsion.

  “Yet again you disappoint me, Isabella. I am beginning to wonder whether you have truly taken the nature of our bargain to heart.”

  “What do you mean? I have done what you asked.”

  “Really? You have failed to obtain any useful information for me. I suspect that, despite what you say, you have been prying into my things, and not for the first time. And to be quite frank, you are beginning to bore me.”

  Her mouth opened and closed.

  “And now you selfishly feign illness. If things do not change, if you can do no better by me, I fear I shall tire of you completely, and I shall have to rethink our agreement. Is that what you want?”

  “No!” she exclaimed, her eyes round. “You promised.”

  “I did. But now I think that you are not living up to your side of our little agreement. I am not so sure that my promise is binding.”

  “I–I am doing as you asked.” She hastened to the desk and scrabbled about on its surface, lifting a large hunk of jewelry up to him in triumph, her hand shaking slightly. “See? I brought you this.”

  Elyas harrumphed and took it from her. It was one of the ugliest necklaces he had ever seen. Heavy and jewel encrusted, as though the craftsman had tried to hide his want of skill with ever more jewels and gold.

  “Will he not miss it?”

  The he to whom Elyas referred was her husband, De Bray.

  Isabella’s face twisted into momentary bitterness. “He does not notice what I wear, and I have many necklaces. He will be none the wiser.”

  “Hmm, I see.”

  The chaplain played the necklace though his fingers. It was heavy and gaudy. Disgusting really.

  “It is truly ugly.” Isabella nodded, thoroughly agreeing with him. “But I suppose it would fetch a fine price for the gold alone. Very well.”

  He looked up at her expectantly. “And have you brought me any coin. You will recall that I specifically asked you for coin, not hunks of poorly crafted metal.”

  He tossed the necklace disdainfully onto the cot. Isabella watched its progress and swallowed slowly, twice.

  “It is becoming more difficult. That bitch of his, Cecily, counts each coin as if it were her own inheritance and not that of my son.” She grimaced, her eyes drifting to the window, and then blinked, suddenly remembering where she was. “But I shall try again. I shall try harder. I promise.”

  “Then I shall give you another chance.”

  Elyas stroked her cheek again. Isabella responded with another delightful little shiver. When Isabella had first come to him with her little secret, she had thought he would help her. That he might speak to Lacy on her behalf. She could never have imagined how he would proceed to manipulate and abuse her. That she had placed herself completely in his power.

  The death of the village girl had been unfortunate. He had been toying with her ever since he had begun performing services and taking confessions at the village church. Little glances. Little talks during confession. Flattering her. Gaining her confidence. It had been rather easy, and he had enjoyed the hunt. Margareta had all too readily agreed to a meeting and had been willing enough at first when she thought it a romantic and harmless rendezvous, less so when she understood that more was expected of her. And she had struggled. Oh, how she had struggled. He had been forced to choke her into silence.

  “I do apologize,” he said, suddenly realizing that in his distraction he had begun idly tracing his finger along the curve of Isabella’s lips. “I was lost in thought for a moment there. You must think me quite rude.”

  “I–I really should be leaving,” she stammered.

  “Really? I had no idea that you were so busy. Because it appears to me that you spend all day in your room, staring at your reflection and talking to yourself. What on earth can you be doing that would require you to leave so soon? Or perhaps you simply wish to be away from me. Is that it? Do I disgust you now?”

  He spat out the last words, and she shook her head fiercely.

  “No, no. Not at all.” She laughed, nervously, desperately trying to come up with an excuse. “I just … I said that I would—”

  He let her flop and flounder around like a landed fish for a moment and then pulled her roughly to him.

  “If I wished you to stay, you would do so.”

  She squirmed about as he fumbled under her skirts.

  “Is that not right?”

  She was blinking back tears and nodded, stifling a sob.

  “I expect you to do better from now on, Isabella.”

  When she did not respond, he gripped a fistful of her hair and tugged her head back sharply, forcing her to look up at him. “Am I rightly understood?”

  Isabella nodded again.

  “Then you may be on your way.”

  He spun her about, gave her rump a slap and shoved her toward the door. She needed no more encouragement and was quickly gone.

  The ma
n who chose to call himself Elyas smiled bleakly. The real Father Elyas lay in a ditch somewhere on the side of the North Road. He had been a nice man, excited about his new position, and he had proved a good companion for more than a few miles. The man who called himself Elyas had felt a little bad about having to kill him, but only a very little. He had needed a place to hide for a while, and it turned out that he rather enjoyed this particular role. So much so that he had stayed on long after it would have been safe for him to leave. Well, lucky for him he did. The old steward had appeared like a gift from God, or perhaps from the Devil. Or just by chance.

  Now he would leave Bottesford with a hefty sum extracted from Isabella. And it was time to revisit the little cottage in the woods. There was healthy profit to be made there as well. And then it would be Cecily’s turn. He would make sure she paid her due. Oh yes, he would enjoy breaking her. She was likely to prove a much finer conquest than the insipid Isabella. He shuddered in anticipation.

  Well, what can these women expect if they insist on keeping such delicious secrets?

  CHAPTER 22

  The man who chose to call himself Elyas eased the door open, letting it swing inward slowly on its leather hinges. The cottage’s only occupant had her back to him and was stirring the contents of the bronze cooking pot hanging over the hearth.

  “Oh, Hunydd,” she said over her shoulder, “I had not expected you again tonight. Did you forget something?”

  She rapped the ladle against the side of the pot and turned around, her eyes widening in surprise.

  “I am afraid it is not Hunydd.”

  She looked scared to him, and her eyes darted nervously from side to side, looking for some escape that did not exist.

  “There is no need to be afraid, madam. I am only here to talk. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

  He let the staff he carried thump against the earthen floor, pleased at how the sound made her flinch. Just a little something to remind her of the physical danger she was in, something to keep her compliant. She would learn to fear him soon enough.