Lost Innocents (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 3)

by Denise Domning

  As Edmund rode past the tall man without a sideways glance, Faucon drew Legate close enough to toss the gelding's reins to the soldier. Alf caught the leather straps, then lifted himself into what passed for a saddle on the creature's back. The old workhorse gave no sign that he found it strange or uncomfortable to again have a man sitting upon him.

  "Purchased?" the soldier asked with a grin.

  Faucon shook his head, smiling back. "Borrowed. He'll do for the now."

  "He will," Alf agreed pleasantly.

  Hearing voices, Edmund yanked his donkey to a halt and shifted on the little creature's back to look behind him. His eyes flew wide when he saw Alf. "This is whom you hired? He's not a soldier! He's a miller's workman," Edmund protested in French.

  Alf glanced from his Crowner to the monk, his expression flat. "I am the miller now, Brother. But for the next little while I've chosen to return to my original profession." If Alf's French was heavily accented, that he spoke it at all said he'd been more than a simple foot soldier in his time.

  Edmund's eyes flew wide at being corrected by a commoner in his own tongue. His mouth moved as if to speak. But knowing he'd be understood by one he didn't wish to overhear him stopped the words.

  Then the monk's eyes narrowed and his jaw firmed. "Quod non servierit," he said in Latin to Faucon.

  This will not serve, Faucon translated but he shook his head. "Brother, I hope you don't expect me to understand what you just said. As I told you in our first days together, it's been years since I've had to think in the tongue of the Church. I fear I've forgotten most of what I learned all those years ago."

  As a second son, Faucon had been intended for the clergy. He'd spent his early years in a monastery school until his elder brother had suffered an injury to his head, one that left Will with erratic, unpredictable, and ofttimes dangerous behavior. To ensure his line, Faucon's father had chosen to make his second son a knight instead of a priest.

  With an exasperated huff, Edmund once more jerked around to face his little mount's ears. His back stiff, he beat his heels against the stubborn creature's side. That teased a sound from the donkey so like Edmund's huff that Faucon almost laughed.

  As the monk continued toward the Street, keeping his mount at a fast pace, Alf drew his horse up next to Legate. "He does not approve of me?"

  This time Faucon did laugh. "My clerk doesn't approve of anyone," he replied. In afterthought he added, "Although he does seem to tolerate me. I know not why."

  With but a few short miles between them and Wike, it wasn't long before they were guiding their mounts into the greensward at the far edge of the settlement. Before dismounting, Faucon scanned what he could see of the hamlet. Not a soul moved along the paths that wound between the cottages and traced across the manor's bailey. Nor was there anyone in the fields that stretched from the manor house to the pale. All he could hear was the crow of cocks, the homely nasal chatter of grazing ducks, the honk of wild waterfowl as they departed these realms for the winter, and the more distant ring of hammers from Ivo's forge. Judging from the metallic sound, the smithy was located behind the decaying house in the demesne.

  Save for the smiths, it seemed Odger had taken all his folk out of Wike in defiance of his Crowner's command. Then Faucon's gaze came to rest on the dome-shaped oven near the kitchen shed. A narrow stream of smoke made its lazy way heavenward out of the oven's vent at its apex. And the bakestress. The thought of having to speak with Meg made Faucon's mood sour even more.

  He and Alf dismounted, Alf tying their horses with the ropes and stakes from the previous day. That these items had remained where they'd been left last night suggested Amelyn's curse kept all of Wike behind barred doors after their Crowner departed. As Legate and the piebald began to graze, Edmund yet watched his employer from atop his little donkey.

  "Your soldier should stay with our mounts," the monk said. It wasn't a suggestion.

  Faucon glanced at Alf. The big man said nothing nor did he look at Edmund. He but stood where he was, awaiting a command from his new master.

  "Nay, Alf stays with us for the now," Faucon told Edmund. "That way he can learn what it is we do. The more he knows, the better prepared he'll be, should he need to come to our aid."

  In that instant Edmund looked as sour as Faucon felt. Dismounting, leaving his donkey to graze freely alongside the larger beasts, the monk removed his basket of writing tools from the saddle. His expression hadn't improved by the time he'd hoisted its strap over his shoulder and was once again facing his employer.

  "By my reckoning, we've completed but one of the duties the law requires of us. We've determined that the dead girl was murdered, something I have yet to note," the monk said flatly. "As for where she was found, I think you know better than I, sir. Should I add to our record that she was put in the well after her death? The only reason I need to do so is if it has any bearing on the estate we will ultimately assess."

  Faucon shook his head. "Then do not add it. Her placement in the well was a misguided act of kindness."

  "As you will," Edmund replied, then his eyes narrowed in consideration. "Also, for all intents, the old man from yesterday confirmed the leper's story that her child's father is unknown and unnamed, no matter what guesses the leper makes regarding who did the deed. However, we failed to have that man swear to the fact that all the folk here agree that no one knows the name of who fathered her child. Should we come across the old man again today, I suggest we request a more formal oath from him. That said, since we both witnessed what he said, if we don't meet with him, our word should suffice. That leaves us needing three more men who can confirm by oath that the girl's sire is unknown. Only then can we state that she isn't proved English."

  Alf made a startled sound. "You intend the murdrum fine?" he asked Faucon.

  "That is none of your concern," Edmund snapped.

  Faucon shook his head at Alf, the motion bidding him to save that question for a later time. The soldier replied with a single nod and held his peace.

  "Lastly," Edmund continued, stepping into the rutted path that led around the hamlet to the manor's demesne, "when I finally put quill to parchment, I must ascribe that the hue and cry was raised against Gawne, son of Ivo, who fled into the forest to evade capture."

  "Must we note that?" Faucon called up to him as he followed. "The lad didn't do the deed, of that I'm certain."

  "How is it you know this boy is innocent, sir?" Alf asked, as he trailed a few paces behind his Crowner.

  "It's not yours to question—" Edmund started again to chide.

  Faucon spoke over his clerk, "His hands are too small. They won't match the bruises that were left on the lass's neck by the one who throttled her. Can the inclusion that the boy was initially accused have any effect on him after the fact?" he asked of Edmund.

  The monk cleared his throat as he glanced back at Faucon. "The hue and cry was raised against him, and so it must be noted. When the time comes that you name the true wrongdoer, and the inquest jury confirms you, I will note then that the boy was wrongly accused at the body's discovery. Thus is he exonerated."

  Having spoken his piece, the monk reclaimed his usual no-nonsense gait and swiftly outpaced both knight and soldier. When he reached the well, Edmund circled it, then looked back at his employer. "They've moved the body. The girl is gone!"

  Even though Faucon had expected no less, his dislike of Wike's bailiff flared even hotter. Dishonorable men of Odger's ilk would do anything and everything to avoid the fines and fees they earned by their actions. If Odger had moved the girl because he'd torn from Hew the confidence his Crowner had entrusted to the old man, Faucon had no doubt Jessimond's body was now deep within Feckenham Forest, lost for all time. With the girl's corpse went the murdrum fine.

  That had Faucon shifting out of the rutted path to cross the manor's grassy bailey in the direction of the oven and Meg's kitchen. As he went, he signaled for Edmund to join him. The monk lifted his heels, his basket bouncing again
st his back, until he could position himself in front of Alf when he came into line behind Faucon.

  Ahead of them, the door to the kitchen shed opened. Johnnie stood in the opening. The instant his gaze found his Crowner the idiot rose onto his toes and started toward Faucon as if he intended to meet him. As the idiot walked, his hands flapped, their movement decidedly agitated, and he began to make that clicking with his tongue. Once again, Faucon heard the cadence of words in those sounds.

  As Johnnie realized he had his Crowner's attention, he held the knight's gaze, then shifted his eyes to the edge of the forest, only to swiftly bring his gaze back onto Faucon. Once again, he offered the staccato sounds that passed for words with him.

  Surprise shot through Faucon. Amelyn's mute half-brother was trying to tell him something, speaking to his Crowner the only way he could.

  Just then, Meg stepped outside the kitchen. "Come back here, you dulcop," she shouted at her nephew.

  Johnnie didn't spare a glance for his aunt. Instead, he kept his persistent gaze on his Crowner. Meg followed his look. When she saw who came, her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. There was something in her movement that reminded Faucon of a warrior raising his shield just before engaging the enemy.

  Today, an apron covered the old woman's red gowns. It was a ragged, well-used garment, too oft bleached, or so said the many frayed spots. To extend its life she'd added patches where the fabric had raveled. The newest repair had been done recently. A large square of fresh undyed linen was sewn to the apron above the woman's right breast. The natural tan color of the fabric was almost the same hue as the flour that coated the front of Meg's apron. She'd rolled her sleeves above her elbows. Flour coated her forearms, not quite hiding the four scabbed scratches that marked the underside of her left arm. They started near her elbow and descended almost to her wrist.

  "The brat's body is gone. It was taken in the night," the cook said harshly as her Crowner stopped in front of her. "Good riddance, I say. I also say it was Gawne who crept back within our bounds to steal it in the dark. I say he'll do anything, even drag off a corpse, to escape the consequences of his wrongdoing."

  So, Odger hadn't found the lad last night. "You're certain it was Gawne who took her, and not your bailiff or another man?" Faucon asked calmly although anger yet rode him hard, now aimed at both Meg and the bailiff.

  "Did I not just say it happened in the night?" the cook shot back. "It was dark and I slept while the deed was done. I saw no one and heard nothing. I only speculate. Who in Wike save for Gawne had any reason to steal that corpse?"

  Edmund gasped in shock as the common woman offered this rude reply to a knight. "Mind your tongue," the monk chided, "else I'll speak to your priest. I'll see to it he punishes you for your disrespect."

  Meg's hard gaze slid to the clerk. She eyed Edmund for a moment, then freed a harsh, disbelieving breath. "Speak to him as you will," was all she said.

  "Where is everyone this morning?" Faucon asked.

  "That dastard who believes he's king of Wike took the others into the forest to collect wood. They left at dawn," the cook replied in the same disrespectful tone, "despite your command to the contrary, which I received from Hew," she added. The rustic was wrong. Meg hadn't much appreciated being used as a message bearer between her Crowner and her bailiff.

  "Now doesn't that just make Odger as great a dulcop as that one?" she sneered, the jerk of her head indicating Johnnie.

  Faucon glanced at the simpleton who wasn't quite a simpleton, only mute. Johnnie yet stood where he'd stopped despite Meg's command to return to the kitchen. The instant he caught Faucon's eye, his hands began again to move. This time the motion was less agitated but just as insistent, as if he begged his Crowner for a sign that the message he'd tried to send had been understood. To prove to himself he read the youth aright, Faucon raised a hand and offered a single nod of his head. Johnnie's arms immediately dropped to his sides. His shoulders relaxed as his stance eased.

  "Sir Faucon, if the bailiff has removed the girl's body or sent his folk away from their homes to avoid the duty he owes his king through his Coronarius," Edmund was saying, "you may note these infractions. When the Justices in Eyre arrive, they will impose a fine on him for his disregard."

  "They will try," Alf offered from where he stood at Faucon's back, "but I suspect this bailiff will but argue, as others have before him, that he had no choice about sending his folk into the forest. Most often, the day for collecting wood is set by tradition and cannot be negotiated."

  Edmund's brows flew high on his forehead at being corrected by the soldier. His mouth tightened. He sent a raging glance at the tall Englishman, then bent his narrow-eyed gaze on his employer.

  "I thought you were going to warn him to keep his opinions to himself," the monk snarled.

  Faucon shifted until he stood between the two. "Is this true, Meg? Is your day to enter the woodlands set?"

  Vicious amusement filled the old woman's dark eyes as she glanced from monk to soldier. "Aye, we have a traditional day," was all she said.

  "Is it this day?" Faucon prodded, now speaking through clenched teeth. The sooner he put this miserable place behind him, the better.

  Triumph filled her gaze. That was all it took. Faucon breathed out all emotions. This was a battle like any other he'd fought, save that this field was one of words instead of soil. She was finding joy in using him, even as she formed her responses with care so she could claim that she'd been pressed into revealing the truth, should Odger ask.

  "It is not. With no lord or lady here to tell Odger yea or nay, our bailiff does as he pleases whether God or the Devil wills it," she replied.

  "Do you know where in the forest Odger has taken Wike's folk?" Faucon asked.

  She shrugged. "I can only guess where they might be."

  It was the answer he expected. "What of Amelyn? Where did she go last night?"

  "Where any leprous whore should go. To hell," the vicious old woman replied with harsh laugh. "Who cares?"

  Faucon kept his gaze on her. "Tell me this, then. When did you discover that Jessimond was leaving the kitchen and your control to meet with Gawne?"

  That startled the old woman. Meg blinked and frowned as she replied. "What does that matter? The boy killed the little whore. Find Gawne and hold your inquest so we in Wike can put this deadly matter behind us."

  He heard Edmund's quick draw of breath as the monk readied another chide on fines and fees. Faucon spoke more swiftly. "Refuse to answer me on pain of fine, one that I understand you can well afford. It's quite the enterprise you've had over the years, what with your oven and your baking." He paused for a breath to be certain the bakestress understood him. Then keeping his gaze locked on hers, he added, "You may not know this, but one of my duties as your new Keeper of the Pleas includes assessing the estates of both wrongdoers and those who abet wrongdoers. When you resist my questions, you abet the one who killed Jessimond. Of course, it helps greatly when I know what assets I should seek out to value, as I do in regard to you."

  That blow set the old woman's shield to rattling. She gave a sharp gasp. For an instant, surprise drove that ancient well-stoked rage from her gaze. Then her mouth tightened.

  "That little whore. She started sneaking out over the course of this summer past. Don't think I didn't try to stop her every time I caught her at it, but she didn't care how I beat her. Instead, she grew ever more bold in her defiance. If I was gone to Alcester, she was gone from the kitchen, that's for certain. But I know that over these last months there were times when she spent the whole of the night with that nasty little smell-smock. I couldn't winkle out how she was escaping without my knowledge and while I slept, until I finally caught him—" she pointed to Johnnie, who now calmly watched what went forward around him "—lifting the bar to let her back in. That was almost a week ago.

  "I took after them both with the switch for it, but she wouldn't let me hit the dulcop. Kept flailing at me when I
tried. So I gave her both their beatings." There was nothing subtle about Meg's satisfaction as she recalled how she'd punished one she was supposed to protect.

  "When I was finished, she still dared to rage at me. She said she was leaving and that she'd take the idiot with her when she went. I knew then that no matter how I hard I sought to beat the strumpet out of her, she'd never be anything but a whore like her dam. You know what she said to me when I named her a lightskirt? She said she was going to find her father and live with him!"

  Meg sneered at that. "What a stupid twit, dreaming of eating the sugarplums that no bastard has the right to taste. Even if she knew who her sire was, what man in his right mind takes in the child of the whore who serviced him?"

  Once again Faucon heard Edmund catch a swift breath from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at his clerk, expecting to forestall another tirade. Instead, Edmund's eyes were closed and his head bowed. In front of him, Meg also seemed to have gone inward with her comment, her gaze aimed at her feet. Faucon made use of that quiet moment to sift through his bits and pieces, connecting those that fit while setting aside the ones that as yet meant nothing to him.

  "After you punished her, how did you intend to keep Jessimond from again leaving the kitchen?" he asked a moment later.

  Meg shook herself back to awareness. There was no expression, not even anger, in her gaze. "There was nothing I could do. I knew the little whore would leave no matter what I did, even if I beat her to bloody."

  Faucon eyed her closely. "So you let her leave unchallenged that last time she fled from here?"

  The cook blinked at that, her mouth pulling downward into its usual scowl. "I did no such thing," she retorted, sounding more like herself this time. "I wasn't even here the last time she left these walls. I was on the Street, making my way back from Alcester. I had been delayed in town that day by a friend who asked me to visit before I left. It was full dark when I finally returned. By then she'd been gone since before the sun began its descent."