A Mortal Bane(55)

“Beaumeis left before dinner. He said he needed to ride to Canterbury with all haste on some errand from the new archbishop. Baldassare was not in a hurry and we ate at leisure, but we had begun to talk of old friends and I…I never asked again about the meeting.” He continued to stare at the table for a moment longer, then suddenly raised his head and asked sharply, “And why are you so curious about Baldassare’s movements?”

“Why do you think?” Magdalene replied, allowing her lips to twist with bitterness. “Because we have been accused of killing him, of course. We are whores. We are here. Thus, we are guilty. My only safety, Master Buchuinte, rests in discovering who truly killed Messer Baldassare.”

“How can you be guilty if he was killed…you said on the porch of the church?”

“Oh, we followed him there to prevent him from confessing a sin he had not committed. After that, we stole his purse and—”

“That is ridiculous,” Buchuinte said. “Not a farthing have I ever lost in this house, not even a ribbon I brought apurpose for my Little Flower. Unless I tell her she is to take it, she will untie it from her very body to hand back to me.”

[page]Magdalene sighed. “I know it. My livelihood depends on the honesty of my women and the security we provide for our guests. You know it. All my clients know it. But to the monks of the priory, we are whores and thus guilty.”

“It is far more likely that some felon saw Baldassare’s fat purse.” He stopped abruptly and frowned. “Why was he here, south of London, when the king is in Nottingham?”

“For the meeting he spoke of?” Magdalene knew that was true; Baldassare had told her his meeting was close by, but she could not admit that. “He did not tell me. When he rang the bell at the gate, he asked for the Bishop of Winchester’s house, which, he had been told—apparently as a joke by that wicked Richard de Beaumeis—was behind the church of St. Mary Overy priory. We spoke for a while. I had to tell him where the bishop’s house really was and he mentioned that the church seemed very close to this house. I said there was a gate that led there, but not large enough for a horse to pass. We parted. It was cold. I had run out without my cloak. I did not stay to see which way he went.”

He had hardly listened, apparently, for with his eyes fixed on her but not seeing her, he next said, “Yes, I am sure he had a full purse, because after I arranged for the horse he would ride, he said he would go to the goldsmith—Basyngs, it was. He left and I finished up some work, then I came here.” His eyes came into focus on her face. “What time did he come to the gate?”

“It was near sunset.”

“Then he did not come here from my house,” Buchuinte said. “He must have gone to the goldsmith and spent some time there. Near sunset? I suppose I was asleep when he arrived. Ella was very” —a slight smile touched his lips— “very much herself. I woke later than usual. If only I had been awake! If I had heard his voice, I could have gone with him—”

Magdalene laid a hand over his. “Master Buchuinte, he was ahorse, you afoot. You could not have gone together. And the bishop’s knight, Sir Bellamy of Itchen, says Messer Baldassare was not seized and stabbed from behind as a thief would do. He said Baldassare knew the killer, that he may have walked with him, talked to him…trusted him. Are you sure Messer Baldassare gave no hint of whom he was to meet?”

He shook his head. “And now he is dead! Oh, I cannot believe it. He overcame so many dangers in the years he served the pope! How could this happen on the porch of a church, right in the doorway to salvation? I cannot believe it!” He sighed heavily and stood up. ‘Tell Ella I am sorry, but I cannot…I simply cannot….”