A Mortal Bane(76)

Business, she now thought, would not be affected adversely by the murder. The mercer had already made an appointment for the next week and paid in advance for it to be sure no older or better-favored client would oust him. Far from turning away from the Old Priory Guesthouse, he and the leatherworker had been titillated by hearing about the messenger’s death.

As soon as she opened her door, Magdalene heard the voices of her women and went out to join them. The table was laden with cheese, bread, the remains of a rabbit pasty, a bowl of cold stew, ale, and wine. As Magdalene helped herself to a substantial breakfast, Ella told her that she had fed Somer de Loo cold meat and pasty and served him wine from William of Ypres’s casks so he could break his fast at first light. He had been off to Rochester as soon as he finished. He would have liked to stay, Ella said, smiling; he told her he had enjoyed himself, but this time it was only for one night. He would try to return soon.

Magdalene praised her for contenting her client, and for remembering to provide him with food and drink. She was about to ask Ella whether she had tried to persuade Somer to stay, and if she confessed she had, explain again that she should not importune a guest who wanted to leave. As she sought the simplest words, the bell at the gate began to peal.

Ella might lack understanding, but she had a remarkable sense of self-preservation. Sensing a coming lecture, she rose from her seat at once. “I’ll get Dulcie,” she said. “I don’t think it can be a visitor at this time.”

Although Magdalene had a sinking feeling that anyone who rang her bell so early in the morning was carrying trouble, she went on with her meal with determination. Trouble might curtail either time or appetite. Her decision was correct. She was just washing down the last bit of pasty with several swallows of ale when Dulcie ushered in a robed monk. Ella, sensitized to monks’ robes, had disappeared.

Keeping her face as expressionless as possible, Magdalene looked up at the intruder and said, “Yes?” Then she caught sight of the face half hidden in the hood, set down her cup hastily, and got to her feet. “Brother Fareman!” she exclaimed. “Please forgive my rudeness. Is the Father Prior returned?”

“Yes, we arrived last night. What a terrible homecoming! Poor Father Benin, he was much overset at hearing of the dreadful events of Wednesday night, but was too fatigued to do anything then. However, this morning he wishes you to come to his chambers and explain to him how you are involved in this horrible murder.”

“I will gladly come, Brother Fareman, and I will tell Father Benin all I know, but I must assure you that neither I nor my women are involved in any way.”

“Brother Paulinus insists you are.” A very small, pinched smile moved Brother Fareman’s lips. “And it is no use protesting to me. You must come and speak to Father Benin.”

“Most willingly,” Magdalene said. “Letice, bring me my veil.”

While Letice fetched the veil, Magdalene swung her cloak over her shoulders. Having swathed her hair and most of her face in the veil Letice brought, she started for the back door. After a step or two, she corrected herself with a low exclamation of irritation.

“The gate between the church and this house was locked by Brother Paulinus on Thursday,” she explained.

[page]“Yes, I know,” the prior’s secretary said. “Nonetheless, we can go that way.” He showed her a key. “I rang your bell to give warning,” he added as he waved her toward the back, “but I could see no reason to walk near a mile if it was not necessary.” The plump secretary smiled. “I thought to myself that it was rather like locking the barn after the horses were stolen. After all, even if you had killed poor Messer Baldassare, surely Brother Paulinus could not expect that you intended to murder a whole series of clients on the church porch—”