A Mortal Bane(49)

Magdalene could have done it; she was tall enough and strong enough—and he suspected there had been an accusation of murder in her past—but she was the least likely to act out of rage or fear. And if those were not the cause, she had made a telling point about the killing. It would have been infinitely easier for them to drug Baldassare’s wine and dispose of him without a drop of blood being shed and, considering how close they were to the river, without much chance of the body’s being found anywhere near them. That was more a woman’s way, too, than using a knife.

Magdalene opened the door and stepped in. Bell stopped in the doorway, surprised by the chamber. The walls were smoothly plastered, which was pleasant though not unusual, but the size of the room was. It was nearly six long paces wide, four paces deep, and well lit by three small windows right under the ceiling.

“This was a priory guesthouse chamber?” he asked, setting the bench and stool down.

Magdalene laughed. “No, the sisters were not at all given to comforts of the flesh. This was three guesthouse cells, as you can see by the three windows. Each cell was just wide enough for a cot for a night’s lodging.”

“Could you not make more profit by having more women?”

“This is not a common stew,” Magdalene said coldly. “And no, I could not make more profit, because no man would pay my price for a filthy cell and a filthy slut. I have told you over and over why I am desperate to find Messer Baldassare’s killer. I sell pleasure in comfort and security.”

Bell suddenly turned and stared at her, alerted to a fact he had missed the pride in her voice. He realized that because he had met her in the bishop’s presence, he had failed to be surprised as he should have been by her speech and manner. This woman was not common-born. A whore she might be now, but she had been born a lady.

“Besides,” she was continuing, “when I came here, the house was in great disorder—” She shuddered. “There was old blood on the walls, and the vermin…. There are always fleas and lice, but these were so thick they walked about on each other in layers out in the open. I could not use the place as it was, so it was reasonable to make it suit my purposes. Since the walls did not support anything” —her mouth twisted— “except vermin, I had them taken down and replaced to give more space. I had the bishop’s permission.”

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—”