His lopsided smile acknowledged that he recognized she was unlikely to fail to take that precaution. “I remember now. I remember wondering, when I was driving out the two-legged vermin, whether the bishop should not have the place pulled down.”
“A stone-built house with a slate roof pulled down? What a waste. No, after the inner walls were gone and the place stripped to the bare stone—I even had the floors up—we had sulfur burned for three days and shut the place up tight for three more. Then I had the house scrubbed and new walls built and the whole place plastered. An apothecary gave me something to put into the water used for the plaster which, he swore, was a flea bane. We are careful, of course. The bath is across the corridor and if a guest needs one, he gets one—free of charge. So far, we have had no trouble.”
He nodded. “Well, it will be a pleasure to work here.”
Magdalene said she would get from her chamber the small table on which she sometimes did accounts and left him. When she returned, she set the table down. Sir Bellamy had moved the bench to the wall under the window and placed the stool opposite it, near the middle of the room. He smiled at her, took the table and set it in front of the bench.
“There is another reason why I would not harm a messenger from Italy whom I believed was connected to the Church,” she said, “especially one who mentioned the Bishop of Winchester. I am indebted to the Bishop of Winchester, who not only allowed me to rent this house, but gave me personal assurances that—”
“I thought that Guiscard de Tournai carried the offer of the house to you,” Bell said, sitting down on the bench. “Did I not hear you say that to him in the bishop’s house?”
“Yes, you did.” Magdalene sat on the stool and saw that his placement of the bench, table, and stool had been very clever. His face was visible, but not enough light struck it directly to make out small changes in expression, while the light from the windows was full on her face. “However, I did not like or trust Guiscard. He would give me no assurance about how long I could keep the house, the rent was exorbitant, and he spoke as if Lord William had given him grave insult by recommending me. So I refused his offer.”
Bell laughed. “Guiscard must have been surprised. But how did you get the house after all?”
“When I told William what had happened, he arranged for me to meet the bishop directly.” Magdalene laughed. “I was greatly amused to discover that Henry of Winchester was much less proud than his servant. He offered me a leasehold of the house, under conditions I was delighted to accept—except for the rent—” She sighed. “But his offer was more reasonable than Guiscard’s, and the bishop’s protection is worth the pennies I could otherwise save.”
“Have you needed his protection?”
“Not before this dreadful killing took place. The fact that he is my landlord and I have a leasehold signed and sealed by him has been sufficient against the few pretense churchmen who have tried to exact money…or services…from us. I hated to trouble him with this matter, but Prior Benin is away and Brother Paulinus only screamed that we had murdered poor Messer Baldassare and would not listen to a word I said.” She hesitated, then said, “Is it not strange that no one sent news of the murder to the bishop? Is not St. Mary Overy under his direction?”
“The last I cannot tell you. I am seldom involved in purely Church matters, except for now and again carrying a message from the bishop. It is when Church affairs come head-to-head with those of the laity that I am employed. As to the first…I agree that it is very strange. Since the bishop is also acting as administrator of the London diocese, I would assume it would be necessary to inform him when a murder took place near a church just across the road from his dwelling.”
The frown on Magdalene’s face had grown more pronounced. “I will tell you something else. When I spoke of the murder to the bishop, I thought that Guiscard would spit at me.”
Bell grinned. “It was because you passed him by and ignored him. Guiscard does not like to be overlooked, but he can know nothing about the murder. He left Southwark on Tuesday morning and did not return until last night. Each time the bishop comes to stay in London, Guiscard takes a few days leave to visit his mother. In any case, I will attend to that matter and that of whether or not the news was carried to the bishop, and if it was, who received it.”
“I will be happy to leave it to you, but…I…we are very eager to find this killer. Will you not tell me what you discover? Indeed, Sir Bellamy, I know men and their motives. It is possible that I can help.”
She rose as she spoke, turned toward the door, turned back. “Which of the women shall I send to you?”
He learned nothing from Ella or Letice. Ella did not even remember Baldassare being in the house, and Letice had seen him only during the evening meal. Sabina had the most to tell and seemed to hold nothing back, but Bell could not see that anything Baldassare said or did while he was with her was pertinent to his murder—except that by Compline the front gate was locked so that Baldassare must have used the gate that led to the church. Finally, he took Sabina through the events after she left the house. She told him of her desire to pray in the church and of how she had to wait because the sacristan would have opposed her entering.
“And you are sure it was the sacristan’s voice you heard just before the thud and the running footsteps?”
Her lips thinned. “Yes. I know it well enough; we all do. And I would like to know what Brother Paulinus was doing in the church at that hour. Was he not supposed to be abed? Are not the doors the business of Brother Porter?”
“I do not know, but the sacristan is a high official of the priory, with responsibility for the church plate and vessels. It is not impossible that he came to check on something, make something ready for the next day’s service, or perform some other duty. But I will ask him. You may be sure I will ask him. Think again, Sabina. Did you hear anything else?”
She started to shake her head, then frowned. “A door closed. I thought Brother Paulinus closed the door to the porch, which is what I told you. But I never touched the door and cannot be sure whether it was open or closed. Now that I think again, perhaps the air felt as if the door was open? Perhaps the sound of closing was farther away? Oh, I do not know. I am not sure. I have thought so much about this that I fear I am making up things.”
Bell rose and came to pat her shoulder gently. She did not start or show any surprise, and her head was turned toward him before he touched her. She did indeed see through her ears, he thought.
“That is enough,” he said. “Let us join the others.”
His next duty was to search the house, which he did with painstaking thoroughness, examining every hidden corner in the cellar and loft, every shelf, and even the niches between the beams and supports, which made Magdalene catch her breath. Alert, his eyes flicked to her. There was nothing in her expression, but their glances locked and he was surer than ever that Baldassare had hidden the pouch in the house and that the women had found it and hidden it elsewhere.
Aside from that one flicker of unease, the women warmly encouraged the search, which left him torn between feeling that what he was doing was ridiculous and that they wanted him to think it was ridiculous so he would be careless in his examination. Nonetheless, careful as he was, he found nothing and finally returned to the common room.
“I have been thinking,” he said to Magdalene, seating himself on Ella’s stool, “that what you suggested on the way here is only sensible. We will do better in solving this mystery if we work together and exchange information.” He wondered if he was a fool to make such an offer to a whore but he thought, fool or not, he could not lose much; likely they knew more than he did. “You realize, do you not,” he added, now intending to frighten them a little, “that the person who killed Baldassare must have been here or in the priory?”
Bell heard the quick, indrawn breath of Letice and Sabina, but Magdalene’s expression did not change.
They had not thought it all out, but she had. A face lik
e an angel’s, a mind like a trap. If he found any reason at all why she should want Baldassare dead…. He suppressed a shudder. And a gentlewoman, who could have learned to use a knife, too—a very dangerous lady indeed.
Magdalene nodded slowly. “Yes. I did realize that, which is one of the reasons I have been so frightened. I know none of us did this thing, but if our front gate was locked when the last client left, just before dark, and the priory gate was guarded—as it always is by Brother Godwine or his assistants—then the murderer must have been confined to my house and grounds or to the priory.”
“That puts more suspicion on you,” he said, “but it is not all bad. At least we do not need to suspect the whole city of Southwark and all of London, too. That gives us a better chance to find out who committed the crime.”
“Well, of course, someone might have climbed the wall,” Magdalene offered, then sighed. “But it is a high wall, and spiked, not easy to climb, and the Watch does keep an eye on this place. So, yes, it is among the people who were within these walls that we are likely to find the guilty one.” She sighed again. “I did not mention it before because I hoped you would see some other possibility, but yes, I saw it, too.”
You would, Bell thought, but he did not respond to her directly. “Sabina,” he said, “would you have been able to tell if someone was hiding in your grounds while you sat in the garden waiting for Baldassare to return?”
The blind girl sat silent, head bowed, hands clasped lightly. Then, slowly, she shook her head. “I am sorry, no. First, if the person was still, I would have felt no movement of air nor heard any crunch of leaves. And even if the person did move about…I was listening to the service. I would have heard a loud sound—a sharp crack of a stick or a kicked stone rattling, and I did not hear those. But a soft footfall…I fear not.”
Bell was more pleased than disappointed by her answer. She knew now that it would be strongly to the advantage of the women of the Old Priory Guesthouse that someone be hiding in the garden, and she still did not pretend to have heard any sign of an intruder.
“That does not mean much,” he said, wishing to cheer her up as a reward for her truthfulness. “A person knowing the time of appointment could have slipped in at any time in the afternoon, especially if he knew the gate would be locked at night. He could then have gone into the priory grounds, or even into the church at any time before you came out.”
Letice reached out to touch Bell’s arm and shook her head vigorously, pointing to the priory and church.
“He did not go to the church or priory,” Magdalene interpreted, then asked, “Why?”
Fingers mimed searching, throwing things about.
“The saddlebags and feed!” Magdalene exclaimed. “Of course, he must have been in our grounds—perhaps even hiding in the stable—after Messer Baldassare arrived. How unfortunate that no one needed to look into the stable until after Messer Baldassare was dead!”
“I do not see any connection—” Bell began.
“Yes, yes,” Magdalene interrupted impatiently. “If the saddlebags were searched for the pouch—I am assuming it was the pouch the killer was looking for—before Messer Baldassare’s death, then the killer had no personal animosity toward Messer Baldassare. Had he found what he wanted, doubtless he would have taken it and disappeared. If he did not look until after he had killed, we know two things. First, that Messer Baldassare did not have the pouch with him when he met the killer, which likely means he was at least a bit suspicious about the meeting, and second, that he had therefore hidden his most precious possession…perhaps near where he waited in the church so he could get it quickly if all went well.”
“Hid the pouch in the church?” Bell repeated, looking sidelong at Magdalene.
What she said was surely possible, but Bell was more sure than ever that these women, not poor Baldassare, had found and hidden the pouch. Still, there was no sense pressing the point. They would deny it to protect themselves—for which he did not really blame them—and they would be more likely to give themselves away (except Magdalene) if he pretended he believed them.
“But even so,” he went on, “why kill Baldassare? That wound was not made by someone who crept up from behind and stabbed to steal his purse. The murderer knew Baldassare. He was walking with him, talking to him. Even say he asked for the pouch and Baldassare refused to give it to him, why kill? All he had to do was pretend to leave and watch. Baldassare would have had to retrieve the pouch sooner or later.”
“The most obvious reason,” Magdalene replied, “is that Baldassare did know him and that knowledge was somehow very dangerous. Perhaps the killer should not have asked for the pouch or should not have known about it. Whatever the reason, being known to him, he needed to silence Baldassare. Another reason is that it would not matter to the killer where the pouch was so long as it did not come to light. With the pouch hidden and Baldassare dead and unable to tell where it was, the killer would have accomplished his purpose. And of course there are always personal reasons. It is true that Messer Baldassare was a foreigner, but you did say that he came to England often. Therefore, he could have both friends and enemies here.”
She was right, of course, Bell thought, but what had honed her mind to such keenness? A past murder charge she had fled or escaped? That idea took such hold on him that he could not think what to say. Fortunately his silence was covered by the blind woman.
“But would an enemy bother to search through poor Messer Baldassare’s saddlebags, and even the hay and feed?” Sabina asked.
“Hmmm.” Magdalene hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps not, but it would depend on the person. If it was someone within the Church, he might guess what Baldassare was carrying was important and wish to know what it was, or even to use it to gain money or power. Oh, that search is tantalizing. What a shame none of our guests that night rode a horse and we had no cause to go to the stable.”
At that moment a bell could be heard pealing briefly and Letice jumped up. “Wait,” Magdalene said. “Sir Bellamy, will it be all right for Letice to tell her client about Messer Baldassare’s death? I fear it would be unnatural to ignore such an exciting circumstance as a killing next door.”
“Why not?” Bell shrugged. “There is no reason not to mention it to your clients. It is no secret. And it can do no hurt also to ask if any of these men knew Baldassare and had any idea of why anyone should want to harm him.”
Letice nodded and hurried out the door. Turning to watch through the oiled parchment window, Bell saw her shadow meet another’s. He could see some movement, likely Letice gesturing at her client, and then the two shadows moved away around the corner of the house.
“It is time for me to go,” he said. “Your clients will be coming now, and I do not wish to cause you trouble.”
Magdalene rose, thanked him, smiling, and asked if there was any other way she could help him—and then tucked the corners of her lips back at his expression. Bell was wise enough not to speak the thought that had come in answer to her question. He merely said he would search the stable just to be thorough before he went to report to the bishop, have his dinner, and then speak to the infirmarian and the lay brother who had found the body. If anything new came of those interviews, he would let her know.
She thanked him again, asked if he knew where the stable was, and when he said he did, put aside her embroidery and politely saw him to the door. He had more hopes of the stable, because the women had made such a point of its being searched, but he found no more there than he had found in the house. As he tossed back the last bale he had examined, he heard the bell at the gate peal.
From the shadows by the door of the stable, Bell saw Magdalene come from the house and open the gate for a richly dressed man—a fur-lined cloak thrown back to show a dark tunic embroidered with silver, dark stockings or chausses bound with silver-embroidered cross garters, and silver-buckled red-leather shoes. He had dark hair sprinkled lightly with gray, dark eyes, a prominent nose that in the future might
meet his strong chin, and a decided paunch, not quite concealed by the handsome tunic. Bell grimaced; he knew Master Buchuinte, who had only last year been the justiciar of London and still had considerable influence.
Buchuinte stepped through the gate and held out his hands to Magdalene, who took them with a beaming smile and pressed them gently. Suppressing an insane desire to leap out, draw his sword, and smash the smile off that confident face, Bell silently watched them enter the house. He stood glaring at the door after it had closed, cursing the man who was about to have what he could not. And then he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he could, too, have it—for the price of five silver pennies—and had to swallow, and swallow again, as sickness rose in his throat. That was not how he wanted Magdalene.
Chapter Seven
21 April 1139
Old Priory Guesthouse
“Oh, Master Buchuinte,” Magdalene said as soon as she had closed the door of the house behind her, “the most dreadful thing has happened. There has been a murder, right on the north porch of the church.”
“A murder!”
“Yes, and of a papal messenger—”
“What?” Buchuinte roared, making Magdalene gasp and draw back. “A papal messenger? You mean Baldassare?”
“Oh, heavens,” Magdalene breathed. “You knew him?”
The man’s dark skin had turned a sickly gray. “When?” he asked. “When did this happen?”
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