A Mortal Bane(56)

His hand went to his purse. Magdalene laid hers atop and prevented him from taking out the coins. “We grieve with you. Just send a message and Ella will be waiting whenever you wish to see her.”

He sighed again. “Likely at my usual time next week. I do grieve, but mostly from shock. I liked Baldassare. He was a good man. But he was not a friend I saw every day and will miss bitterly. I saw him only twice or thrice a year.” He sighed once more. “Nonetheless, we both came from Firenze; our families were acquainted. I must arrange for his burial and for masses for his soul and…and I suppose I must write to the pope….”

“No. That will be taken care of by the bishop, I am sure. I brought him the news this morning and he was also shocked and grieved.” She hesitated, and then continued. “You know, Master Buchuinte, if you wish to know more than what Sir Bellamy was willing to tell me, you should go and speak to the bishop, or to Sir Bellamy. They will be more open to you, I am sure.” And you will think that is how they learned you were here that night and not feel I betrayed you, she thought. “Also, perhaps, because of their knowledge of Church affairs, one of them can guess more from what Messer Baldassare said to you than you or I could.”

“Well thought of, Magdalene. Well thought of. Yes, I will do that.”

He turned toward the door, but cast a rather longing glance at the corridor that led to Ella’s room. Magdalene suppressed a smile. The shock over, she guessed that he was regretting the postponement of his visit with Ella and restrained only by the impropriety of making love so soon after hearing of his friend’s death. He knew how Ella would be waiting—sitting up in the bed naked, her hair plaited like that of a little girl, the braids hanging down beside her enchanting breasts, because that was what he found exciting.

Magdalene kept her face placid, although black memories of what she had seen flashed through her mind. She found a smile. Thank God Master Buchuinte was satisfied with Ella’s “childishness.” There were those men who literally demanded children. Well, not in her house! She rose to see him out. Once more Buchuinte sighed.

‘Tell Ella that I will bring her something pretty to make up for missing her company today,” he said.

[page]The bell at the gate pealed. Magdalene smiled at him. “Come out the back way, Master Buchuinte. Unfortunately, I cannot take you through the gate to the church. The sacristan locked the gate after Messer Baldassare’s death, so you will have to go the long way around.”

He was so reluctant to go that he lingered for some time in the garden, talking to her, hoping, she guessed, that she would urge him to change his mind and come back to the house. She did think about it, but decided that although he did not wish to be deprived of his pleasure, that pleasure would turn sour in his mouth when he thought about it later. And, of course, he would blame her for his lust, telling himself that he would have gone to the church to see Baldassare but that she was greedy for the fee and had over-persuaded him so as not to lose it.

Magdalene finally got him out the gate and headed up toward the lane that followed the priory wall. She grinned as she turned back to the house. Likely Master Buchuinte was thoroughly annoyed with her for not permitting him to fry his peas and still use them as seed, but he would never admit that to himself. And it would do her no harm, because his anger would fade in his glow of righteousness at having conquered his lust for the sake of his dead friend. He would be back on Monday with a clear conscience and an even greater taste for the pleasures Ella offered.

As she entered the house Magdalene paused. When she left, Sabina had been sitting by the fire, humming softly to herself. Now she was gone. Apparently she had got Dulcie to go with her to let in the client while Magdalene was in the back garden with Buchuinte. She was surprised not to see Letice yet. Her guest was keeping her later than usual, unless he had left and the late-afternoon client had already come? She had not heard the bell, but several clients liked to walk in without the courtesy of ringing it. And just as the thought formed, the peal sounded. Magdalene laughed at herself for that prick of pride. The last thing a whore needed was pride. Smiling, she went out to the gate again.