Jenny gestured Gwen to the table, which was entirely covered with foodstuffs: bread, cheese, onions, carrots, tarts, several pies, and two jugs of beer. “Please sit.”
Gwen wanted to be polite, but she hesitated. “We really shouldn’t. You’ve suffered a loss—”
“It would be helpful to me if you stayed,” Jenny said, with a glance at her husband, who nodded. “As you can see, many of our neighbors have brought food that we can’t possibly eat all of, and it would be nice to have something to think about besides Roger’s death.”
Having spent the last four months mourning Rhun, Gwen could understand how she felt, so she acquiesced. Tangwen was hungry again, so she was given a sliver of meat pie. Once again, Gwen and Meilyr accepted cups, though this time they were filled with beer. Martin had his own cup, which he drained and held out to Jenny, who filled it again. Gwen sipped hers tentatively, not enjoying the earthy favor. She was used to mead, which was lighter and sweeter.
Trying to find something nice to say, Gwen put a hand out to Jenny. “When is your child due?”
Jenny gaped back at her. “How did you know I was with child?”
“Those of us who’ve had children know the look.” Gwen put a hand to her own belly.
Actual joy shone in Jenny’s face. “September.”
“Mine as well.”
Jenny leapt to her feet, came around the table, and hugged Gwen, tight enough to make Tangwen, who was between them, squirm. “I am so happy to hear that. It will be as if a little piece of Adeline is alive again in both of us.”
Gwen met her father’s eyes, which had crinkled in the corners. She herself wasn’t sure that she liked Jenny’s sentiment. Adeline may have been Jenny’s closest friend, but Gwen hadn’t known the girl at all. Still, having lost loved ones herself, Gwen could understand the desire for a connection beyond the grave.
Jenny released Gwen, and returned to a seat beside Martin, who leaned forward to speak. “Your husband came by yesterday with Jenny’s brother. Has he shared what he knows with you? Do you have any idea who might have murdered Roger?”
“No.” Gwen’s eyes skated to Jenny to see how she felt about discussing the specifics of Roger’s death, but her eyes were on the table in front of her.
“What about this Irishman?” Martin said. “Have you found him?”
“No to that, also,” Gwen said. “Do you have any idea why your brother might have been at Rob Horn’s inn?”
“Your husband asked me that,” Martin said. “It feels terrible to know that I was asleep when he died.”
Gwen’s eyes tracked to Jenny. “Jenny? Did Roger say anything to you?”
The girl shook her head. “I was awake for much of the night, but I didn’t hear him leave. He was with us for supper, but after that, I never saw him again.”
“Why were you awake?” It was Gwen’s experience that, in the early stages of pregnancy, she couldn’t get enough sleep.
“I had aches and pains,” Jenny said. “You probably know all about that. I don’t know what hour it was when I rose from my bed, but it was well before dawn. I didn’t want to wake Martin with my tossing and turning.”
Martin grunted his thanks. “We have a rooster who crows every morning before dawn. I need to sleep as much as I can before then.”
Jenny managed a laugh. “Martin keeps threatening to make him into rooster soup.”
Martin directed a gentle smile at his wife. “I slept through his call yesterday morning and woke when she returned to the room.” The amusement gone, Martin stared towards the fire, which was burning low in the grate in the center of the room. Smoke wended its way half-heartedly towards the hole in the ceiling. The draft was good, with the open rear door, and the room was all but clear of smoke. “We would have lived here all together, had my brother married Adeline. Instead, he moved into a room off the carriage house, saying he didn’t want to disturb us. It meant we never heard his comings and goings.”
“I am so sorry.” Gwen sighed inwardly, finding the losses difficult to bear too and wondering how much longer she could sit here and be polite. Ever since she’d realized that she wasn’t responding to murder like she normally did, she’d found tears constantly pricking at the corners of her eyes. Reason told her she was naturally more emotional because she was pregnant—but it wasn’t emotion she was feeling so much as weariness.
Martin ducked his head in thanks, but Jenny stood abruptly, looked like she was about to speak, but then burst into tears. She ran towards the doorway to the adjacent room, which Gwen guessed was the bedroom. That left Martin alone with Meilyr, Gwen, and Tangwen. They’d been asked to stay, and Gareth might have wanted Gwen to learn more from Martin about his brother’s death, but circumstances made it impossible to do so—and Gwen couldn’t leave quickly enough. “Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll take our leave now.”
“Would you mind seeing yourselves out?” Martin disappeared in the direction Jenny had gone, and as Gwen departed through the back door with Meilyr and Tangwen, she could hear his soothing words between Jenny’s sobs.
Once outside, Meilyr didn’t stop to chat with the apprentice, who was the only one in the yard, but strode away from the cartwright’s yard at a rapid clip, as if he couldn’t get them heading towards the monastery fast enough.
“When were you going to tell me you were with child again?”
“Only when I had to,” Gwen said. “As with Jenny, it’s early days. At first I wanted to be sure, and then I wanted us out of Aber, and then the days just seemed to pass without me saying anything.”
Meilyr grunted. “I don’t know what Gareth was thinking, allowing you to travel so far from home.” Although his tone was grumpy, she knew by the way his mustache quivered that he was pleased, and he kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“I don’t mean to worry you, Father.” She shifted Tangwen to her other hip so she could hook her arm through Meilyr’s. “But to tell you the truth, I’m starting to worry about me too.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Gareth
By the time Gwen, Meilyr, and Tangwen turned in through the gatehouse, Gareth had spent the last quarter of an hour pacing the courtyard of the monastery. At the sight of them, he hurried over, scooping up Tangwen, who had released her mother’s hand and raised both arms to him. “I stopped by Tom’s shop, and you weren’t there.” Despite Gareth’s best efforts to control it, he felt his temper rising. “Where have you been?”
Gwen’s face crumpled, and she blinked back tears.
Instantly, he was beside her, and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. “Cariad! What’s wrong?” He swallowed down any further admonitions, not wanting to make whatever was bothering Gwen worse. She’d been with her father, who had nearly as much interest in protecting her and Tangwen as Gareth did.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” Gwen pressed at her eyes with her fingers.
Meilyr held up a square of cloth. “She was doing her job, Gareth.”
Gareth frowned, distracted by the cloth, but at the same time not willing to dismiss Gwen’s unhappiness that easily. “What is that?”
“It’s a piece of cloth Tangwen found in a cart that could be the one that ran through the puddle of blood in the alley,” Meilyr said. “It’s owned by Flann, the merchant who’s staying here.”
Gareth forced himself to take a deep breath. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
“After our meeting with Tom Weaver, we stopped by the cartwright’s yard,” Gwen said.
“It was my idea, Gareth,” Meilyr interjected. “I just wanted to see it.”
Gwen nodded. “We didn’t mean anything by it, but while we were still in the street, Jenny ran out to greet us.”
“That’s John Fletcher’s sister,” Meilyr said.
Gareth had known that, but he didn’t say so. Instead, his eyebrows went up. “What did she say?”
“She mistook me for Adeline.” Gwen’s voice turned gravelly a
gain for a moment, but then she continued, “And then Martin came out too and invited us inside. I felt so bad for Jenny, I couldn’t refuse.”
“Just as we arrived in the yard, his apprentice, Huw, was removing one of the cart’s wheels to repair it,” Meilyr said, his eyes on Gwen. “It had slipped its rim.”
Gareth raised his eyebrows. “How did you find the cloth?”
“Tangwen found it when she climbed into the cart bed.” Gwen glanced away, flushing slightly. “I might have accidently set her in it while I was talking to the apprentice.”
Gareth barked a laugh. “Accidently on purpose you mean.”
“I have no doubt that Prince Hywel would have approved,” Meilyr said.
“How did you know it was Flann’s cart?” Gareth said.
“He was there,” Gwen said, “and told us.”
It was as if Gareth had swallowed a stone that then dropped with a plop into his belly. “He saw you find the cloth? You talked to him?”
Meilyr put out a hand to appease his son-in-law. “Flann knows nothing. We came into the yard at Martin’s invitation, and Tangwen ran around in the bed of the cart before Gwen plucked her out and apologized for getting in the way. She said nothing else to him or to Huw that might give Flann cause for concern. She certainly didn’t mention the blood on the wheels or the missing rim.”
Gareth couldn’t help but be skeptical, but since he had no evidence to counter their assertions, and they had done genuinely good work, he couldn’t really criticize. “I should track down Flann. Was he still there when you left?”
“No,” Meilyr said, “and it seemed too nosy to ask the apprentice if he knew where he’d gone.”
“He hasn’t been back here either.” Gareth gazed past his father-in-law to the gatehouse, as if Flann might appear under it at any moment.
“We should compare the square of cloth to the girl’s dress,” Gwen said.
“Go on, you two.” Meilyr reached out to take Tangwen from Gwen. “My granddaughter and I will practice our music.”
“Thank you.” Gwen kissed first Tangwen’s cheek and then her father’s, and Tangwen went to her grandfather willingly.
Gareth was glad to see that they all seemed to be getting along better than ever, despite Gwen’s unstable emotions. So, somewhat bemused, Gareth took Gwen’s arm to escort her to the room where Gareth and John had examined Roger and the girl earlier. While it was tradition—not only in England but in Wales too—that a family should lay out the body of a relative in their own house, sometimes that wasn’t possible. This room was kept available in the case of a death where it was needed.
Now that Meilyr had spoken to Tom Weaver and Gwen had met him, it was a relief to know that half of the purpose of this journey was accomplished. The second half, the issue with Cadwaladr, remained to be pursued. That Cadwaladr had been sighted was a huge step forward, but it didn’t necessarily mean that Gareth had a plan as to where he needed to go from here. And while King Owain had given Meilyr leave to travel, that license had just expired. In truth, Gareth was lucky to have the murder investigation to pursue because of the obligation it gave him to stay in Shrewsbury a little longer.
Once they reached the little room, both he and Gwen hesitated on the threshold. Gareth needed to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dim light inside, and he hoped that was the reason Gwen had paused too. He didn’t think the smell in the room was terribly bad. The door had been left open, and incense burned in a dish on a side table. Gwen hadn’t mentioned the baby or how her stomach was behaving—or misbehaving—very often in the last few days, but he could tell from the way her hand passed over her belly every now and then that she was thinking about it.
The only light came from a single candle, which flickered in its sconce on the wall, illuminating the two shrouded forms on the tables that took up the majority of the room. In one corner, a monk at prayer occupied a low stool.
Gareth hesitated again, not wanting to disturb him, but he looked up as they entered. “May I help you? Was there something more you needed to see?”
“No.” Gareth hastened to reassure him, not wanting the monk to fear that Gareth had brought Gwen to examine the bodies. “We were looking for the garments these two were wearing when they died.”
“They are no longer here,” the monk said, which Gareth already had seen and was the reason he was asking. “You should speak to the hospitaller about what happened to them. He was in the kitchen last I saw.”
“Thank you,” Gareth said. “When is the funeral to be?”
The monk blinked. “Didn’t someone tell you? It will begin within the hour. And then after the service at the graveside, the abbot will say mass in the church.”
Gareth nodded. It was better that the bodies didn’t wait another day for burial.
“It seems the church will be full this night.” The monk smiled gently. “I regret that the mourners will be coming more for Roger Carter, since he was important in the town, than for the girl.”
“But the girl will be buried alongside him?” Gwen said.
“We care for every soul here, madam, whether or not anyone is here to witness it.”
“We understand. Thank you again.” Gareth guided Gwen back out of the room, into the courtyard, and across it to the complex of buildings that comprised the kitchen and washing house for the monks.
As a woman, Gwen wasn’t usually allowed in this portion of the monastery, but Gareth decided to ignore the stricture since she was with him, and it was she who’d acquired the cloth. He didn’t want to offend the monks’ sensibilities, but he could hardly see how Gwen spending a few moments in the kitchen might cause a novice to rethink his vocation.
In the hours since noon, the sky had become overcast and now threatened rain. The sun wouldn’t set for another two hours, but it already seemed like it had. The wind whipped across the courtyard, scattering leaves and urging loose pebbles to bounce among the cobbled stones. It also pushed Gwen and Gareth along a passageway between several buildings and around to the back of the monastery towards the kitchen door, lashing them at the last second with an extra gust that made them arrive on the threshold in something of a fluster.
With a laugh, Gwen pushed back her hood in the warmth of the kitchen. She was utterly beautiful, and Gareth had a pang of conscience about what he’d thought earlier, because he couldn’t see how any man could choose to be a monk when there was even one woman like Gwen in the world.
Before them, monks and laymen were hard at work: chopping, kneading, roasting, or stirring. Several others scrubbed out pots and trays. Everyone looked up at their entrance, and Gareth saw the flash of a smile on the faces of several before they went back to preparing the evening meal.
Gareth did not see the hospitaller immediately, and he took another step into the kitchen. The cook, a thickset man, as befitting his profession, hurried over, wiping his hands on a cloth. He wore a large apron over his habit, and had a swath of flour above his right eye where he must have swiped it.
“Is there something you needed—for the little girl perhaps?”
Gareth couldn’t help smiling himself at the man’s earnestness. With her bright eyes and curious mind, Tangwen made an impression, even on stalwart monks, wherever she went. Much like her mother, in fact. “She awaits supper with anticipation. But no, we were looking for the hospitaller.”
“He is in the cellar.” The cook snapped his fingers at a novice, sending him to retrieve the hospitaller from whatever far reaches of the building he’d got to. A few moments later, the man in question, a monk even more rotund than the cook, puffed into the kitchen. “How may I help you?”
Gareth stepped back towards the doorway, encouraging the hospitaller to follow so that his words wouldn’t carry to the other inhabitants of the kitchen. Undoubtedly, their ears were perked to every nuance, but Gareth would rather not broadcast his request to all and sundry. “We were wondering if we could examine the clothing worn by the two awaiting burial.”
The hospitaller had leaned in to hear Gareth better, but now he straightened, frowning. “I’m sorry, but you can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Gareth said. “Why not?”
“I don’t have them. I offered to return Roger Carter’s clothes to his brother, Martin, but he didn’t want them. And since the girl has no kin that we know of—” The monk’s broke off, his expression regretful.
Gareth found a growl forming in his throat. Sensing his impatience, even though he had been trying to hide it from the hospitaller, Gwen put a calming hand on Gareth’s arm. “It’s all right. We’d just like to know what you did with them.”
The monk raised his hands and dropped them, conveying helplessness. “They’re gone. I sent them to the leper sanctuary at St. Giles.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Gareth
“Martin Carter suggested it. After consulting the prior and seeing that the clothes were washed and mended, I did as he wanted. Roger’s clothing was particularly fine, and it seemed a shame to waste it for even a day if it could be of use to someone less fortunate,” the monk concluded, apologetically.
“We understand,” Gareth said, though he couldn’t entirely keep the disappointment out of his voice.
St. Giles was the sanctuary for lepers on the outskirts of Shrewsbury, maintained and funded by the Abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul.
“I didn’t know you still needed them,” the hospitaller said.
Gareth raised a hand, in half forgiveness, half apology. “It is my fault for not requesting that you keep everything here for at least another day or two. We haven’t identified the girl as yet, and I wanted to take another look at her garments in case they contained some clue I missed the first time. Ah well.”
The monk nodded, and they all turned away—the hospitaller to return to his duties, and Gwen and Gareth to shelter in the overhang of the roof outside the kitchen door. While they had been consulting with the hospitaller, the first patterings of rain had sounded in the courtyard and on the slate roof of the monastery buildings.
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