by Mel Starr
Those who possessed white garments, and few did in such a town, wore them in honor of St John’s Day. The quarter moon gave such folk a ghostly appearance, but soon flames reflected yellow and red from clothing and faces. Unless a man was ill and confined to his bed he would be celebrating the summer this night.
Bampton Castle was empty as well. I watched as Lord Gilbert traded some witticism with Father Thomas and saw the old vicar chuckle. Even Sir Henry’s household had joined the throng about the blaze. Most of these were conspicuous for their solemnity. But Walter seemed to enjoy himself, smiling and boisterous and dancing about the blaze, and Sir Geoffrey smiled over the shoulder of Lady Margery as the flames rose higher. Kate saw this as well, and looked to me with questions in her eyes.
Bessie soon grew bored with the fire. When it was first lit her eyes glowed with delight, but after a short time she laid her head upon my shoulder and fell to sleep. So sooner than most Kate and I left the blaze and returned to Galen House and our bed. Three years past I would have frolicked through the night. Now I was content to seek my home with wife on my arm and babe upon my shoulder. I do not grieve for my lost youth.
A man with a clear conscience is said to sleep well, while the guilty will toss upon his pillow all the night. I hope whoever murdered Sir Henry slept less that night than I did, for Kate slumbered peacefully while I lay awake, and I saw dawn arrive through our chamber window before even Kate’s rooster announced the new day. A note slipped under a door, a bodkin, and a bloodstained piece of linen occupied my mind to the exclusion of sleep.
Lord Gilbert’s pantler is an aged valet, grown grey in service first to Lord Gilbert’s father, Lord Richard, then to Lord Gilbert. I approached Humphrey next morning as he unlocked the pantry to prepare for dinner. The wizened fellow bid me “Good-day”, and asked how he might serve me. I showed him the bloody linen and asked if any napery or table cloths in his care had recently gone missing or been found missing a fragment of the same shape and size.
“Nay,” he replied. “Was any of Lord Gilbert’s wares mutilated like that, I’d be sure to know. See to the linen every day. An’ did I miss something like that, the maids in the laundry’d find it an’ tell me straight away.”
“How oft is the linen laundered?”
“Table cloths twice each week. Napkins every day. Portpains whenever needful.”
“So if this bit of linen came from your pantry it would not have been carved from a napkin, else the damage would have been found the same day. When were the table cloths last laundered?”
“Half was done yesterday.”
“And none were found marred?”
“Nay.”
“How many portpains are kept in the pantry?”
“Fourteen.”
“Is more than one needed for a meal?”
“Not generally. But when Lord Gilbert welcomes guests we’ll use more. Since Sir Henry come we need three portpains for dinner an’ three more for supper.”
“And then these are washed?”
“Aye. Six laundered every day since Whitsuntide.”
“Has any of Lord Gilbert’s table linen gone missing?”
“The pantry’s kept locked, an’ only me an’ John Chamberlain’s got keys.”
“But do you count the table linen often, just to be certain ’tis all accounted for?”
“Don’t see the point. The closet’s locked. ’Course, I do a tally every year, when steward comes for hallmote.”
“So the linen has not been counted since January?”
“No need.”
“I’d be obliged if you would count your stock now, whilst I wait.”
Humphrey sighed his displeasure at the unwanted and, to him, unnecessary task, but swung open the heavy door and with a candle to light his way entered the pantry.
I had no desire to crowd behind the valet into the cramped, dark chamber, so waited at the door in the screens passage. I heard Humphrey rummage about in the pantry, then silence. The fellow muttered something to himself, and I heard the audit resume.
A few moments later the pantler joined me in the screens passage, blinking in the light. “Must be one more’n I thought got sent to laundry,” he said.
“One more of what?”
“Portpains.”
“You sent six to the laundry yesterday?”
“Thought so. Must’ve been seven.”
“Because you found only seven where there should be eight?”
“Aye,” Humphrey agreed.
“I will accompany you to the laundry. We will see how many are there,” I said.
The pantler locked the pantry door, then hobbled after me past the kitchen to where the laundresses labored. Kettles of water, soap, and soiled clothing boiled upon a great hearth. The heat and steam were onerous on a warm summer morn, but the work would be pleasant enough when winter cast a chill over all other corners of Bampton Castle.
I stood at the laundry entry, where a cooling breeze kept the heat at bay, and watched as Humphrey approached a woman who seemed to be in charge of the place. I have served Lord Gilbert at Bampton for three years, yet I did not recognize the laundress. Perhaps her crimson cheeks and sweat-beaded brow rendered her unrecognizable to me.
The pantler spoke, and through the steam I saw the woman shake her head. Humphrey spoke again, and waved his arms about to punctuate his words. Again the laundress shook her head, more vigorously this time. I saw Humphrey then point to a shelf, visible through the steamy space as through a winter fog, and the two walked to it. Folded upon this shelf were stacks of white fabric; Lord Gilbert’s table linen, I decided.
I watched as the laundress approached one of the pale piles and began to count through the stack. Even from my place across the room I could see that when she reached the number six all of the folded linen on that part of the shelf was accounted for.
The pantler’s head swung to the other stacks of folded linen on the shelf and he gestured toward them. The laundress seemed to sigh, then turned to the remaining table linen and carefully sorted through the mounds. She completed the work, turned to Humphrey, and with palms upraised before her indicated to him a lack of success. The pantler spoke again, then turned and walked as quickly as he could from the shelf to my place at the door.
“Lost one,” he declared when he faced me. “Incompetent woman! Lord Gilbert will hear of this. Portpains is made of finest linen. Cost near a shilling.”
“And one of your portpains is missing?”
“Missing? Aye… some wench in the laundry has stolen it. Be sold to some burgher in Oxford soon, if not already.”
“It could not have disappeared from the pantry?”
“Nay. ’Ow could it? Me an’ John Chamberlain’s got the only keys.”
“Is the pantry ever left unlocked while you attend other duties? Before dinner, for example, or after?”
“Well, aye, but not for long. My work don’t take me far from the screens passage when settin’ things out for Lord Gilbert’s dinner. You gonna see to this theft, you bein’ bailiff?”
“Aye, I will. But I ask you not to speak of the loss.”
“Best not to let the miscreant know we’re on ’is trail, eh?”
“Aye. As you say.”
The blood-soaked linen fragment was stolen from the pantry, of this I was now convinced. But was it taken while the pantler was about his work, or did some man gain access to his keys? Or to John Chamberlain’s keys? The thought raised another question.
“You are no longer a young man. Lord Gilbert assigned a page to assist you last year, and learn your tasks, did he not?”
“Aye. Young Andrew.”
“Is his work acceptable?”
“Aye… most times.”
“Why is he not here to aid you in preparing for dinner?”
“Helps Cuthbert, also. Should be here anon.”
Cuthbert is Lord Gilbert’s butler, and no sooner had Humphrey said this than I heard the light footsteps of a youth approach
the screens passage from the kitchen. Andrew is a beardless youth of fifteen years or so, orphan since plague returned to strike down his father seven years past.
The youth broke his stride when he saw me at the pantry door with his superior. I did not know much of the lad. I had even forgotten his name until Humphrey reminded me. But Andrew knew me, and when his lord’s bailiff shows interest in a lad’s life and work most youths are convinced no good will come of the matter.
“Andrew, come here, lad,” Humphrey demanded unnecessarily, for it was clear the youth was bound for the pantry. In response to this command Andrew’s countenance went from light to heavy more quickly than I can tell of it.
“Master Hugh seeks a thief, and we must help him find the felon.”
I had told the pantler that the missing portpain must not be named, so interrupted him.
“Have you seen any man loitering about the pantry door before or after dinner, whilst the door was ajar, in the past few days?”
The lad seemed to tremble before my gaze. Why? Did my question or my office frighten him? Or did he quaver for the result of his answer?
“N–n–nay,” he finally blurted.
“Have you seen any man enter the pantry but for Humphrey?”
“N–nay. No man.”
Something in his tone caught my attention. “No man? Who, then? A woman?”
Andrew looked to Humphrey as if seeking guidance, but the pantler returned only a stern frown. The youth finally spoke. “The lady what’s a guest of Lord Gilbert.”
“Which lady… the lass, or Lady Margery?”
“The lass.”
“Why did you not speak of this?” the pantler said through tight lips. Then to me he said, “Why would a knight’s daughter steal a portpain?”
I saw a gleam of understanding flash in his rheumy eyes even as he asked the question. “You think the maid helped slay her father? Cut that bloody piece from what she took?”
“Mayhap.” To the youth I said, “When did you see this?”
“Three, no, f–four days past,” he stammered.
“Did you see her enter the pantry and leave it?”
“Nay. Didn’t see ’er go in… only come out.”
“What did she carry?” the pantler asked.
The page hesitated, considering, I think, whether he would find himself in more trouble by telling the truth or by deception.
“She was puttin’ somethin’ up the sleeve of ’er cotehardie,” he finally said.
Stylish sleeves for a lady’s cotehardie are voluminous, but it seemed to me unlikely that the Lady Anne would try to stuff a portpain into one. “What was it she hid there? Could you see?”
“Had some of m’lord’s silver, spoons an’ knives.”
Gentlemen and ladies who dine at Lord Gilbert’s table bring their own knives and spoons, as is the custom, but I knew that my employer kept a supply of silver utensils in the pantry for occasional use. I have found need of them upon the occasions I dine at the castle, but they are seldom brought forth, as they are rarely needed.
“Where,” I asked the pantler, “is Lord Gilbert’s tableware stored?”
Humphrey nodded toward the pantry door. “In a wooden box.”
“Is the box locked?”
“Nay. Pantry’s locked, so no need for a lock on the box… so I thought.”
“How many knives and silver spoons are kept there? When did you last count them?”
The pantler now seemed as ill at ease as his assistant. “Don’t count ’em regular, like.”
“When did you last do so? How many knives and spoons are stored in the pantry?”
“Twelve of each,” Humphrey said.
“Go count them now.”
The pantler turned and entered his pantry. He disappeared behind the open door with his candle and I heard what I assumed to be the lid of a box fall upon a shelf. It takes little time to count a dozen knives and spoons, even less if some are missing. Humphrey appeared from behind the door, raised his palms, and said, “Eight knives an’ ten spoons. That’s all as is there.”
“And when you last counted all were present?”
“Aye.”
“When was that?”
“Afore Whitsuntide. Just before Rogation Sunday. Lord Gilbert was to have guests at ’is table that day an’ wished to be sure all would have proper knives an’ spoons, as some might not have their own, not bein’ gentlefolk.”
The pantler turned to his youthful assistant and, with as much anger as his aged voice could muster, demanded why he had not been told of the theft when it occurred.
“Who’d ’ave believed me if the lady said otherwise? An’ when she saw that I’d seen what she’d done she gave me such a glare as I knew I’d be in trouble did I accuse her.”
“But the spoons and knives are gone,” the pantler said. “That would be evidence of your truthfulness.”
“She’d ’a said I took ’em… that she saw me in the screens passage with ’em an’ thought I was about me work.”
“The lad speaks true,” I said. “Lord Gilbert is a just man, but he’d sooner believe the daughter of a knight than his page.”
“What you gonna do?” Humphrey asked of me. “You bein’ Lord Gilbert’s bailiff, it’d be your business to see to the return of ’is silver. And the portpain.”
I had wished that knowledge of the missing portpain should remain between the pantler and myself, but now the page also knew of it. I turned to Andrew and faced him with my sternest expression.
“You will not speak of this with any other soul,” I said. “Not the stolen silver nor the missing linen. You understand?”
The youth swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing like one of Kate’s hens pecking at the ground, and nodded understanding.
“You will need to be about preparing for Lord Gilbert’s dinner, so I will leave you to your work. Remember, not a word to any man of what has gone missing.”
The two, aged and young, nodded, silent, evidently in awe of my fearsome visage. Here was much change in my life. Five years past I could not have summoned a scowl which would have frightened a nursling. Now, after serving some years as Lord Gilbert’s bailiff, I was learning the potency of an occasional peevish frown.
I would be untruthful if I wrote that the experience was unpleasant, but I must guard against the subtle but inexorable onset of pride, for holy writ proclaims that the vain must soon fall. There are Oxford scholars I remember from my youth at Baliol College who are overdue for a tumble.
I left the screens passage and sought my employer in the solar. I found him there, with Lady Petronilla, entertaining Lady Margery and Lady Anne. Lord Gilbert was out of his element, for when John Chamberlain announced me at the door to the solar I found the three women plying needle and thread at some embroidery whilst m’lord sat stiffly beside the cold hearth. When I asked if I might speak privily to him he leapt to his feet as if freed from captivity.
He may also have thought that my desire for confidential conversation indicated progress in discovering a murderer. I had to disappoint him. And rather than solving one problem for Lord Gilbert I laid another before him.
“The Lady Anne?” he said in disbelief when I told him of what Andrew the page had seen. “Why would the lass take my silver?”
“You said Sir Henry was destitute. Perhaps Lady Anne was tired of wearing the same worn gowns and desired new.”
“Aye,” Lord Gilbert agreed thoughtfully. “Well, she’ll not have one by way of my silver. You must see that the spoons and knives are returned.”
I had feared he would give the task to me, for ’twas sure to be unpleasant. But that is why gentlemen employ such as me: to do those disagreeable things they would prefer not to do themselves.
“But do not,” he continued, “retrieve them in so impolitic a manner that Lady Margery will be embarrassed.”
I nodded understanding and my employer concluded by saying, “You can be a tactful man, Hugh, when you put your mind to it
. I have every confidence that you will see the silver returned with little fuss.”
“Prying stolen spoons and knives from a thief of gentle birth without annoyance will be like taking bacon from a pig with no squealing.”
“Hah,” Lord Gilbert laughed and swatted me across the back. “I shall be pleased to learn how you do it.”
And with that he returned to the solar, his wife and guests, one of them a thief, there to await dinner.
Confronting a beautiful lass with her felony would not be a pleasant task, especially so as she was of rank and I am not. So, as Lord Gilbert had presented the task to me, I decided to bestow it upon another. I sought Walter, Sir Henry’s valet, and found him crossing to the hall from the servants’ quarters, intent upon his dinner. He would not enjoy it much when he learned what he must do.
I greeted the fellow, but he was not interested in conversation. His eyes went from me to other castle servants who, like him, were hurrying toward the hall and a meal.
“I will not detain you long,” I said, and went straight to the heart of the matter. “I have learned that Lady Anne took four of Lord Gilbert’s silver knives and two spoons from the pantry four days past.”
“What? Lady Anne? Surely you are mistaken. She…”
“She was seen. I have just this day learned of the theft. Lord Gilbert knows of it and demands that his silver be returned promptly.”
“Who saw her do such a thing? The man lies.”
“He does not. The silver has been counted and the missing pieces numbered. You are to speak to Lady Anne this day, at dinner, and tell her that her theft is discovered and the spoons and knives are to be returned immediately. Tell her that an hour after dinner the screens passage will be vacant. No man will be there. She is to leave the stolen goods upon the floor beside the pantry door, where Lord Gilbert’s pantler may find them and return them to their place.”
“But what if she denies the theft?” Walter said. “I cannot believe it of her.”
“Tell her that much unpleasantness will follow before this day is done if she does not do as I require. Remind her that the sheriff of Oxford is resident in the castle.”