“What the hell are you doing?”
Bell jerked upright in response to the angry male voice. His hand touched the hilt of his poniard. “Who are you to ask?” he retorted.
“I own this house. Who are you?”
Bell grinned. He was willing to concede that the man who owned the place had a right to ask why a stranger was examining the floor and walls. “My name is Bellamy of Itchen and I am the bishop of Winchester’s knight. The woman who lived in this house was murdered and—”
“What? Murdered? That is impossible!”
Shock wiped the anger from the man’s expression. His eyes bulged and his face whitened so much that Bell thought he would fall. Indeed, he put a hand against the wall to support himself.
“Impossible or not,” Bell said, “she was discovered on Friday, sitting in a chair in the bishop of Winchester’s bedchamber. Needless to say, the bishop wishes to know how she came there and has bidden me to discover the answer. And since you were her landlord—we know she lived in this house—I need to know who you are.”
For one moment Bell thought the man would take to his heels, but then he no doubt realized that his ownership of the house would be a public record. He pushed himself away from the wall and shook his head.
“I can hardly believe you. Nelda dead? My name is Sir Linley of Godalming, and I am in service with William of Warenne, earl of Surrey. It is true that Nelda lived in the two front rooms, but how she came to the bishop’s house…I have no idea. I suppose she was invited—
Bell made an unpleasant sound in his throat and Linley stopped speaking.
“If she was sitting in a chair in the bishop’s house—” Linley continued stubbornly, but his voice was not entirely steady “—I do not know any other way for her to be there.”
“I can tell you how she came to sit in a chair in the bishop’s house.” Bell’s voice was cold and his face so hard that Linley backed down a step. “Her body was pulled up through the window and someone carried her to the chair and forced her body into it.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Linley whispered. “I cannot believe it. She was no one.” He shrugged. “Who would bother to kill her… Are you sure she was murdered?”
“Her neck was broken.”
“Oh…oh, but that could have happened many ways. She could have fallen down the steps, or…”
“There were fingermarks around her neck. If she went down the stair, which I think she did, she was choked first and then dropped.”
“No!” Linley was holding onto the wall again. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Oh, poor Nelda. Sometimes she could be irritating, but—”
He stopped speaking abruptly when the door to Nelda’s rooms opened and first Diot and then Magdalene stepped out. Linley’s eyes bulged again.
“What are you doing in Nelda’s rooms? How did you know she was dead? How did you get in?”
Magdalene looked at Bell, who nodded and said, “This is Sir Linley of Godalming. He was Nelda’s landlord.”
“Ah.”
Magdalene’s arms were crossed under her breast and her veil was draped loosely over her shoulders, pulled forward and tucked around her arms. She smiled at Linley and his face regained some of its color. His eyes drifted from her face down her body. Diot passed Magdalene and then turned sideways to pass Linley where he stood halfway up the stair. Her veil was drawn over her head and gathered by her arms around her waist and she bent forward a trifle, as if she were not sure of her footing.
As Diot passed Linley, Magdalene continued, “I suppose as landlord and patron you have a right to ask. My friend and I were trying to see whether there was a hint in Nelda’s possessions of a reason for anyone to kill the poor woman. As to how we knew she was dead, I was asked by Sir Bellamy to see if I knew her because she was dressed as a whore. I am whoremistress of the Old Priory Guesthouse.”
Linley seemed to have recovered from the pleasant bemusement of seeing Magdalene smile at him. “How the devil did you get into her rooms?” he asked sharply.
Magdalene looked at him blankly. “Through the door.”
“You couldn’t have. The door was locked.”
“Was it?” Bell asked. “How did you know? When were you here last?”
Linley turned toward him, looking affronted. “Nelda always locked the door.”
“I suppose she would if she were going out,” Magdalene put in, “but I doubt she would lock the door if she just stepped out to see a client off or to welcome someone in.”
“But she—” Linley stopped speaking and shook his head, then said angrily, “I do not need to explain myself to you. You are intruders here. I will complain to the sheriff.”
“I doubt he would object to my investigation,” Bell said. “I have the bishop’s authorization.”
“Which right now will have little influence with my master, the earl of Surrey, who is utterly appalled at the bishop’s being so disloyal as to try to call the king to account. He will be most interested to hear of a dead whore in Winchester’s bedchamber.”
“He is a worse fool than I believe if he finds that information interesting,” Bell said coldly.
“Women are not Winchester’s vice,” Magdalene remarked. “The whole world knows that.”
Bell swallowed a laugh, thanking God and all the saints that Surrey could not know what the whore had been carrying; that would have been interesting. Bell could just see Surrey rushing to Stephen to tell him that Winchester was in communication with Gloucester.
He snorted. “But to clear your mind and save Surrey trouble, I will tell you that Winchester has not been in London for weeks, and on the day Nelda died, he was on the road, in the company of myself, at least half a dozen clerks, and twenty men-at-arms. And when his servants discovered the poor woman, Winchester was in London, in conference with the episcopal vicar, Father Holdyn.”
“Then why do you say she was murdered?” Linley frowned.
Bell stared at him for a moment and then said, “Because there were fingermarks on her neck and her neck was broken.”
“Oh, yes,” Linley said, shaking his head again. “You told me that. I just cannot bring myself to believe it. That she fell down the stair, that is possible… She did drink sometimes, but that any of the men she futtered would…” He let his voice drift off, shook his head once more, and started up the stair.
“Where are you going?” Bell asked.
“You said Nelda was dead. I am going to remove her things so I can rent the rooms again.”
“Oh no you are not,” Bell said, stepping in front of the door. “When I find out who slept with her most frequently and most recently, I will bring them here and hear what they say they remember about the rooms and about the likelihood of Nelda falling down the stair. I think I am safe to say that the bishop would forbid removing anything at all from Nelda’s chambers.”
“My God, she was only a whore.” Now Linley sounded angry and exasperated. “So she quarreled with one of her marks and he lost his temper. I doubt the man meant to kill her. Why cannot you just forget about it?”
“Because someone went to a lot of pain and trouble to get her into the bishop’s bedchamber. The bishop likes to know all his enemies.”
Linley paled and was silent and after a moment muttered, “I had forgotten that.”
Bell put out his hand. “And since you expected the door to be locked, you must have brought the key. I will take it so that you will not be tempted to ignore the bishop’s preference and just remove anything you think meaningful.”
“You have no right!” Then Linley flushed. “Why did you say I had the key? At this time of day, Nelda would have been home. I would not need a key.”
“Or she might not be. I doubt you would have come here without a way into her apartment.” Bell wriggled his hand impatiently.
“Surrey will not like your attitude!”
“I am sorry for it, but I still want the key. Do not, I beg you, make me take it by force.”
Bell reached out. Linley backed down a step, but not quickly enough. Bell caught him by the shoulder with his right hand. With his left, he seized the purse that hung from Linley’s belt.
Linley howled with pain as Bell’s powerful fingers dug into his flesh. “All right! All right!” he shouted. “I’ll give you the damned key.”
Bell removed his hand from the man’s purse, but not from his shoulder, although he did soften his grip somewhat. Linley plunged his hand into his purse and withdrew a brass key.
“Magdalene,” Bell said.
She came forward and took the key from his hand, still holding her veil over her other arm and breast. The key moved easily, locking the door and then unlocking it. Bell released Linley’s shoulder and the man turned and bolted down the stair. Magdalene handed Bell the key, and returned her arm to support the jewelry she had wrapped in one end of her veil and was carrying pressed under her breasts.
“He must have another key,” she said to Bell.
“I supposed so,” he replied, smiling. “I would like to know whether he knows of the box behind the bed and what he would like to remove from the rooms. I will send a man. He can hide in the old clothes dealer’s shop and watch.”
“He is the one with the best opportunity to have killed her,” Magdalene said, “but I cannot imagine why he would do so. It is clear that he expected her to service other men, so he could not have been jealous.”
“Perhaps they quarreled over her ill-gotten gains.”
Magdalene laughed bitterly. “If he knew of them, can you believe he would have allowed her to keep pounds of silver and valuable jewelry?”
Bell did not reply to that, but plainly he agreed with her. He shrugged. “I will see what I can discover about him and about where he was on Thursday night.”
Chapter 5
Bell and Magdalene sat together at the table in the Old Priory Guesthouse counting the pile of silver pennies amassed by Nelda. Later, closed into Magdalene’s bedchamber while the first set of clients arrived, Bell had made two lists of all the jewelry. He did not think about how comfortable and content he felt, until Magdalene came in to put the jewelry and one list away in her strong box—all except the silver crucifix, which Bell noted on the list that he had taken. When that was in his purse, Magdalene invited him out into the common room so they could count the money together.
He had to get up rather suddenly and look away to hide the fact that his eyes had filled with tears. A momentary and most unworthy hope that they would never find the killer so he would have a reason to go on working with Magdalene flickered through his mind. He dismissed it; such a hope would make the bishop vulnerable. But he began to count the coins from the open bag, which Magdalene had set on the table, with desperate attention. Magdalene looked a little surprised, but she carefully counted the coins he pushed aside. When they agreed on the amount, Bell sighed irritably.
“I need a witness,” he said.
Magdalene did not look surprised. Although she had counted with him, she could not serve as witness. She was a whore and excommunicate; therefore she could not swear an oath. There were three solid citizens in three bedchambers disporting themselves with Magdalene’s women, but neither she nor Bell thought of asking them to witness the count of silver. For one thing, Magdalene did not dare allow any of them to see that pile of coin; no matter what she said they might think it was hers. For another, she did not think that any of the gentlemen would be willing to give a time and place for having witnessed the count of coin.
Then she said, “Tom Watchman. He should still be in the stable.”
Bell hesitated, but finally nodded agreement. The men of the Watch were venial and their sworn statements often challenged, but if Tom swore here and Bell had the coin recounted in Winchester’s house and the sum was the same, that should validate his claim. He went out to fetch Tom while Magdalene wrote out where the money had been found and to whom it had belonged.
When Tom came in, he obediently made his mark where Magdalene pointed and she wrote in his name and the date and place. Under Tom’s reproachful eyes, all the coins were then packed into a strongly stitched bag, which was twisted around them and firmly strapped so it could not fall open.
“I will see you when I see you,” Bell said. “I have no idea how long it will take me to ascertain where Linley was on Thursday. And the bishop may need escort somewhere. He still needs to talk to the archbishop.”
“When you can, then,” Magdalene said and smiled goodbye as he walked out the door.
She did not overtly watch him walk to the gate, but she nonetheless noted that he was moving more easily and sighed with relief. If the bishop were attacked again, Bell would have to fight and she wanted him at the top of his ability. The smile lingered on her lips as she thought about how he had volunteered information about what he would be doing—as if it were her right to know. She would win in the end, she thought, but she was still not certain how to circumvent his stubborn pride.
Tom was just about to follow him when Magdalene turned to him and spoke in English instead of French to say, “Wait, Tom. Your Watch covers Dead Pond Road, doesn’t it?”
“Not all the way to the pond, but the part near the bridge and near Abbey Road, ye-arh.”
“There’s a street off Dead Pond that has a shop that sells old clothes and rags. Do you know it?”
“Rags Street. More ‘en one shop on it.”
“The first one, the one nearest Dead Pond.”
“Ye-arh, I know it.” Tom laughed. “Woman runs that shop’s blind and deaf. Never hears or sees nothing.”
“That’s too bad. The woman who lived up above the shop was murdered and—
“Nelda or Tayte?”
“Tayte? Is there someone else who lives above the rag shop?”
“Ye-arh, Second door on the landing.”
“I thought that door was to Nelda’s back room.”
“No. Tayte’s got one room up there. They’re both whores. Who got killed?”
“Nelda.”
Tom nodded. “Figures. Tayte’s real quiet. Nelda…couple times she yelled for us ‘cause there was a man up there bangin’ on her door. Men said she stole from ‘em.”
“Do you know who the men are? Could you recognize them?”
The Watchman shrugged and shook his head. “Don’t give their names to the Watch, do they? Lie when they do. Naw, I might recognize one or two if I was brought to ‘em, but mostly it was dark and I really didn’t see.”
“All right, Tom. Do you think a couple of pennies might cure the rag-woman’s blindness?”
“Waste of money. She’ll just lie. Maybe if Sir Bell beat her up…Suthin’ there though. Suthin’ she’s real feared of.”
Magdalene nodded acceptance and told Tom he could go. The house he had lodged in had burnt down and she had offered him the loft in the stable temporarily. He was useful if there were drunken assaults on the gate and for carrying messages, but the stable loft would be too cold in the winter. And he was no help at all if there were trouble in the house. If Bell would only…
Wrenching her mind from that hope, Magdalene thought about what Tom had told her. Whatever the rag woman was hiding was something in her past and unlikely to have bearing on Nelda’s murder. Too much effort to crack that nut. Tayte might have seen or heard something. But there was no sense questioning her yet. Likely Linley would have lost his temper over something with Nelda and killed her…but what about Gloucester’s letter and why would Linley drag Nelda into Winchester’s bedchamber instead of dropping her into the river where she would disappear for good?
* * * *
Bell crossed the church grounds rapidly, nodded to Brother Patric at the gate, and crossed the road to enter the gate of the bishop’s house. Winchester was engaged, which Bell had expected, but Philippe said he would tell him that Bell was back as soon as he was free. Meanwhile, Bell found Father Wilfrid and explained his need to recount the coins he had found in the whore’s hous
e.
By the time that was done and the second statement written and signed, the bishop was free. He pushed aside the parchments in front of him and looked up at Bell expectantly.
Bell told him about the money they had found in the hidden box, laid the bag of coins and the account on the table, mentioned the jewelry that he had left with Magdalene, and showed the bishop the crucifix. Winchester sighed.
“I would not have expected that, but…we are all human.” He snorted gently. “And most human are those who try hardest to rise above that condition.” He took the crucifix. “You do not think Father Holdyn could have killed the woman for this? No. How would he have got her into my chamber? And what about the letter from Gloucester?”
“I have a much better suspect,” Bell said, and described the confrontation with Linley. “He did seem truly shocked when I told him that the woman was dead, but it is still most likely that he did away with her. More possible because it may well have been an accident. I found signs of a scuffle on the landing, so he might have been choking her and she went down the stairs. There were bruises on her back that looked as if they could have been made by tumbling down the stair. And I found some threads caught in the plaster that I want to compare with what she was wearing.”
“And that still leaves the question of why this Linley should bring the woman to my bedchamber and why she should be carrying that letter from Gloucester.”
“As to bringing her here… Linley is in service to the earl of Surrey.”
“William of Warenne! Waleran’s step-brother.” Winchester’s lips thinned, but after a moment he shook his head. “I cannot believe that Surrey would order a woman murdered only to prop her in a chair in my bedchamber.”
“No, my lord, I don’t believe that either. What I do believe is that if the woman died by accident Linley might have thought his master would be pleased if he rid himself of the body in a way that would embarrass you.”
“And the letter?”
“I cannot believe Linley knew of that. Surely the letter would be most deadly in Warenne’s own hands. I suspect Nelda stole that. She was a thief.” He gestured toward the silver crucifix lying on the table. “And it is barely possible that she knew Gloucester’s seal. She might have seen it while Lord Robert was here in London…or she might have been told to watch for a document so sealed. But there is no way now to find an answer to those questions.”
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