“Solomon didn’t come back with you,” Margaret commented.
“I’m sure he will, soon,” Catherine said. “I suppose he has much to discuss with my father.”
The sadness in her voice told Margaret not to venture further. Faith, instead of being a bulwark, had become a fence keeping Hubert and Solomon from them. It made Margaret angry. Why didn’t God simply make the Truth so manifest that no one could doubt it? Then there would be no more Jews or pagans or Saracens. Of course, she thought as she remembered her family in Scotland, Christians could always find reasons to fight each other. On the whole, it all seemed very bad organization on the part of Heaven. She supposed that was part of being Ineffable.
“Don’t sigh so, dear.” Catherine smiled at her. “It will be all right soon. Father will go back to Arles. Solomon will stay with us again, until he has to go to trade for more goods. But he’ll come back. He always does.”
Samonie returned with the dinner, and Catherine gratefully took everyone in to eat. This was a night when she intended to be in bed long before Compline rang.
Edgar had been busy with Martin, replacing the false bottom in the chest and this time fastening it down tightly.
“You should put something else in it,” Martin suggested.
“Why?” Edgar asked, bemused. Martin hardly ever gave an opinion about anything except the distressing number of visitors they received.
“Because if I were a thief and found a box with a hiding place and nothing in it, I’d be suspicious,” Martin explained. “I’d think the treasure was someplace else and go on hunting.”
“That’s excellent logic,” Edgar said. “We need to put something in that has value but that we can prove was come by honestly. Can you think of anything?”
Martin was surprised to be asked. He rubbed his chin as he thought.
“What about the boxes of amber that Master Solomon brought back from Russia?” he suggested.
“Yes, that will do well,” Edgar agreed. “We won’t be needing them until the autumn, when the English and Irish traders come. Very good, Martin.”
The boy beamed. Edgar watched him as he deftly handled the hammer and nails, whistling a tavern song between his teeth.
“Martin,” he asked abruptly. “How old are you now?”
“I’ll be fifteen on Michaelmas,” the boy answered.
“That old! I didn’t realize how you’d grown while we were away.” Edgar rubbed his chin, noting that he needed to visit the barber soon. “Now that your sister is married and your little brother a stableboy at Vielleteneuse, have you thought what you want to do? I could buy an apprenticeship for you with the carpenters, if you like.”
Martin dropped the hammer.
“No, Master Edgar, I don’t!” he said with passion. “I want to stay here and be appentice to you and Master Solomon.”
“Us?” Edgar was taken aback. “Doing what?”
“Whatever you need,” Martin said. “Carry messages, help organize the goods, be your squire when you go on journeys. I want to see the world outside of France. I want to go to Spain and England and even Constantinople. I know I could be useful. Just give me a chance!”
The intensity of the boy’s plea surprised Edgar. Martin had seemed to him to be a rather doltish boy, a bit sullen even. Now his whole face was alight with desire and intelligence. Edgar unexpectedly found himself wondering who Martin’s father was. He knew that Samonie had been a maid of all work in Troyes, and part of that work had been to accommodate the men of the castle as well as visitors. It was possible that she didn’t even know herself who had planted Martin in her.
“That is something I’ll have to consider and discuss with Solomon,” he said. “I make no promises.”
“But you will think about it?” Martin begged.
Edgar nodded. Martin could hardly contain his excitement as he gathered up the tools and went to tell his mother.
Although he was as tired as everyone else, Edgar stayed up until past sundown, checking all the bars on the doors and the shutters on the ground-floor windows. He strolled down to the garden to be sure the guards were staying watchful. Then he checked the locks again.
He’d passed through exaustion into a kind of otherworldly focus, where everything he looked at seemed somehow clearer and yet not quite real. He laughed at himself. Without trying, he had reached the level that others attained only through days of fasting and deprivation.
Once he would have worked off his tension by picking up a piece of wood and whittling at it until a shape appeared or he lost interest. Now he would have to prepare his vises and get someone to help him set them up before he could even begin.
Edgar stared down at his left wrist. In his present state he almost believed that he saw his hand there, whole again. He blinked, and the image vanished. They had told him that the hand had been buried in a box by the church at Hexham where the accident had occurred. He never could reconcile the knowledge that while he still lived, breathed and aged, a part of himself had already rotted and was part of the earth.
Perhaps, he thought in a flash of understanding, that was how his grief at the loss of baby Heloisa differed from Catherine’s.
He shivered, although the night was mild. The humors of the air were causing him to be fanciful.
Later, he slid into bed, trying not to wake Catherine. She lay curled up facing the wall, one hand beneath her cheek, one of her long braids coming undone. Edgar was tempted to unravel it the rest of the way, as he had once, years ago when he first realized that he loved her.
But his tiredness finally overcame him, and he contented himself with curling against her, his chin resting on the top of her sleeping cap. After all, there was always the morning.
Solomon was trying to adjust to the change in his practical uncle, Hubert. It seemed that, when he had sloughed off the pretense of being a Christian, another man had emerged.
Rebecca had just finished lighting the Sabbath candles. Abraham had gone to the synagogue. Hubert had wanted to go with him, but the others had convinced him that he shouldn’t take the risk of being recognized. Solomon had declined to go.
“There will be plenty without me,” he said. “Paris always has enough for a minyan. I’ll stay with Uncle Hu … uh … Chaim.”
Abraham gave him a look of disgust but at a glance from Rebecca didn’t pursue the question.
After he had gone, Hubert smiled at Solomon.
“It’s good to be here,” he said. “Without having to pretend. You see before you a man made whole.”
Solomon didn’t doubt it. In the warm glow of the Sabbath candles, Hubert’s face was beatific.
“You didn’t mind then,” he asked. “Returning to cheder at your age?”
Hubert laughed. “It felt strange at first, to be sitting with the young boys. But I already knew my aleph-bet, and the rest came quickly. Now the men I study with are only a third my age. They’re kind to me and welcome me like a traveler from a distant land who has sought sanctuary.”
“As you are, Chaim,” Rebecca said.
Solomon thought he understood. Part of him was envious. He longed for the freedom to do as he liked. He had barely begun learning the secrets of the Talmud when he went to work, picking up the art of trading from his uncles. He had passed his whole life traveling, seeking out rare goods, bargaining to get the best price without causing resentment in the seller.
He had seen so much that made no sense to him. There were so many questions that ate at him. Like Margaret, he was perplexed by the randomness of fate. If the Holy One had left the answers for man to find, they had to be in His books. Solomon was often tempted to give up his life in France and devote the rest of his days to searching the texts until he found an explanation that satisfied him. Then he thought of those he would be leaving behind and knew he couldn’t abandon them.
“But, Uncle,” he said, “didn’t you realize that your story of going on pilgrimage would be doubted when you spent all the time before you left
here, instead of with the priests? You’ve left Catherine and Edgar with a host of problems.”
“I left them the house, goods and money enough to live on for a time and my blessing,” Hubert said. “Perhaps I would have worried more if I’d known that Jehan hadn’t gone to the Holy Land with Emperor Conrad but was back in Paris. But I did all I could and left my affairs in much better order than many a man does.”
“Did no one else have keys to the house or counting room?” Solomon asked, letting Hubert’s defense stand for the moment.
“I gave Samonie a house key, but only Catherine and I could get into the counting room,” Hubert said.
“But someone did,” Solomon said. “The question is, was the body left there to incriminate you or to hide it so the men who killed him would have time to escape?”
“I can think of safer places to hide a body,” Rebecca commented.
“So can I,” Hubert said. “And you say nothing was taken. It does seem as if someone knew that my daughter and son-in-law wouldn’t simply dispose of it quietly but report the death.”
Solomon hadn’t considered that. “Perhaps they were hoping that Catherine and Edgar would bury the man without ceremony to avoid just the scandal that they’ve been subjected to.”
“It surprises me that anyone expects to discover his identity,” Rebecca said. “Paris is full of foreigners these days. With the eagerness of so many of them to fight, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn of a hundred such unknown corpses.”
“No, it is strange,” Hubert said. “Few men set out alone on an expedition. If not friends, he would have had traveling companions, someone willing, for the gift of a cloak or pair of boots, to tell his family of his death.”
“The matter may never be explained,” Solomon said. “And while the brethren of the Temple may give up the investigation, the gossip will always remain. The street’s full of it already, and you know how that can affect business.”
Hubert scratched at the bandage on his head. “You know, there are days that I wish I’d never let Catherine come home from the convent,” he said. “It seems that since then there’s been one crisis after another.”
“Oh, really? For ten years?” Solomon said. “You think their god is punishing you for not making your daughter a nun? Hubert, I think you lived as one of them for too long. You’ve caught their superstitions.”
Hubert laughed ruefully. “It’s hard not to see a divine hand at work in things we don’t understand.”
“Of course it is,” Rebecca got up from the table. “Because there is a divine hand. If we didn’t hold to that, we’d all die of despair. And I don’t intend to. Now, Abraham will be back soon and we’ll have a nice Sabbath cup of wine before we eat. Both of you are far too melancholic.”
The rain that had threatened all day Friday broke loose Saturday morning with thunder and lightning that was a harbinger of summer. Lambert pulled the hood of his woolen cloak over his face as he skidded down the hill from Montmartre. In his haste he slipped and fell more than once, sliding into passersby, causing them to drop their bundles and swear at him. By the time he reached Jehan, he was covered with mud as well as more odorous detritus from the streets.
Jehan wrinkled his nose at him.
“What did you do, roll in all the shit in Paris?” he asked as he backed away.
“Sorry,” Lambert said. “I have to tell you though. Clemence is missing!”
“Your wife?” Jehan still kept his distance, but took his fingers from his nose to answer. “How could she be? Did the nuns turn her out?”
“They told me she left after morning prayers,” Lambert said. “She said she was coming to find me. But how could she? I never told her where we were staying.”
“Did the sisters mention any message she might have received from you?” Jehan asked.
“But I sent none.”
“Lambert, anyone can bring a message and say it’s from you,” Jehan said. “You obviously don’t have a devious mind.”
Lambert sighed. He didn’t.
“What should we do?” he asked. “How can we find her? By the sacred corpse of Saint Omer, if those people have hurt her, I’ll …”
“I’m sure you will,” Jehan tried to calm him. “I’ll help you. But before we go to the provost and have his men confront them, we must be certain of what happened. The nuns said she left alone? Could she be trying to reach you?”
“Of course.” Lambert tried to stop shivering. He didn’t notice that he was soaked through. “But she only knew your name, and there are Jehans everywhere. Where could she start?”
“The same place we will,” Jehan decided. “We’ll ask at the stalls and the inns from Montmartre across the Île and out the Orleans road if we must. You told me she was beautiful. Someone will have noticed her.”
He didn’t add that there were many in town who would do more than notice a young girl, lost and alone. Lambert was agitated enough. He found himself hoping, for more reasons than one, that Edgar and Catherine had Clemence.
It also occurred to him that she had provided them the perfect excuse for getting into the house on the Grève and searching it without the inhabitants being able to stop them. There was no need to search for long before bringing in the provost.
“Don’t worry,” he told Lambert. “We’ll find her. But first I think you’d better change your clothes. You won’t get close enough to anyone to ask about her as long as you’re smelling like that.”
That morning Catherine was thinking of the peace of the convent with nostalgia. The rain had driven everyone into the hall. Edgar had set up his tools in one corner and was showing Martin how to tell real gold wire from gilt. Margaret and James were trying to teach his puppy to sit on command. Edana was fiddling with the edge of one of the wall hangings on some task known only to herself. Samonie had brought in the sewing, and she and Catherine were trying to decide what could be mended and what made into rags.
“We could use more soft rags,” Catherine commented as she sorted.
“With three women in the house, I’d say so,” Samonie agreed. “Willa could use some, too, although she hasn’t mentioned it lately. I wonder if she’s expecting. Fancy, me a grandmother!”
“I can’t imagine it,” Catherine said. “But I don’t remember either of mine. You don’t look as if the idea pleases you.”
“No, it isn’t that.” Samonie came out of her reverie. “I was thinking of something else. Nothing that matters.”
The yapping of the puppy made conversation impossible for the next few minutes. James had grown bored with training it, and the two were running in circles, the puppy jumping for an old strip of leather James was holding just out of his reach.
“James, stop that at once,” Edgar shouted. “Before he bites you.”
It was too late. In snapping at the leather, the puppy had got James’s fingers as well. The boy cried out in pain and surprise. Catherine spilled her sewing basket as she rushed over to him.
“Is it bad?” Margaret asked at her elbow. “I’m sorry, I should have stopped him at once.”
Catherine examinded the fingers. Edgar knelt beside her, his pale face ashen.
“It’s all right,” Catherine said, more to reassure Edgar than her son. “It was just a nip. Look the skin isn’t even broken. James, you shouldn’t tease your dog.”
James saw that he wasn’t going to get any more sympathy, so he stopped crying.
Samonie was on her hands and knees trying to find all the cards of thread and needles among the rushes.
“We need to sweep these out and change them,” she grumbled. “Get some straw with fresh herbs. A family that spills like this one can’t leave the rushes a whole month.”
Catherine realized she was right. One more tedious task. She hated the trouble of sweeping out the rooms and filtering the garbage from lost pieces of toys or other salvagables.
She was distracted from this concern by a crow of delight from near the ceiling. Catherine whirled arou
nd and gasped. They had been so preoccupied by James and the puppy that they had forgotten to keep an eye on Edana. Somehow the child had managed to reach the top of the wall hanging and was now dangling from the rod holding it. At the moment she was too proud of her accomplishment to be afraid, but in another instant she would realize that the only way down was to fall.
Edgar ran up at once and reached out to her. He was tall enough that his hand nearly reached her leg.
“Edana,” he ordered. “Jump to Papa.”
Smiling, she let go and fell into his arms. Catherine let out her breath, Edgar turned around with Edana in his arms.
“If one more thing happens today,” he said sternly as he put her down, “I’m going to …” He thought. He didn’t know what he would do, but he did know that he was on the edge of something drastic. “I’m going to be very angry,” he finished.
Margaret shrank from him, hearing an echo of her father’s voice in his. Waldeve didn’t threaten, he acted. So far she hadn’t seen his violence in Edgar but now she was afraid. She bent over and took Edana by the hand.
“Let’s go up to our room and see if we can find your doll,” she suggested. “Maybe we can make a chainse for her from Mama’s scraps.”
Edana was oblivious to the tension in the room. She smiled and hopped out at Margaret’s side.
Edgar looked around. Everyone was staring at him, as if he had been the one causing all the commotion. Even the puppy seemed fearful, cringing in James’s lap. That angered him as much as the chaos.
“What’s the matter with you all?” he shouted. “I just want a quiet afternoon and some peace to work in!”
“So do we all, Edgar,” Catherine said softly.
“Good,” he snapped, going to his table to sit down. “Then let’s have no more excitement today.”
It was inevitable that at that moment there would be a crash of thunder followed by a pounding at the gate. Edgar dropped his pincers and swore.
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 23