A Mortal Bane(77)

Magdalene choked and then said, “Was ever an accusation so ridiculous? This is not a common stew where men who will never be seen again are beckoned in off the street by women who will be in another house the next day. The last thing I desire is harm to any client. But, Brother Fareman, it is really not funny. My women and I are whores. If the sacristan’s accusations become public, we might be judged guilty no matter how innocent we are of actually doing murder.”

“I think that is why Father Benin sent for you. Brother Paulinus has no evidence against you beyond the fact that you and your women are likely to do murder because you are evil and corrupt—”

“Evil and corrupt we may be, but that does not make us idiots!” Magdalene protested.

Brother Fareman shrugged. “And that Messer Baldassare probably came through the back gate. If you can convince Father Benin that there is little likelihood of your guilt, I believe that he will forbid Brother Paulinus to make any further accusations, or even speak of the murder in public, unless he finds proof.”

That was a comforting notion and Magdalene set such a pace that the short, rotund secretary had to beg her to slow down. They went through the gate, which the secretary relocked, to Magdalene’s disappointment. A short way down the path to the church, Brother Fareman turned left and walked past the wall of the south transept and to the prior’s house, just opposite the chapter house.

Magdalene could see that the prior’s house was much smaller than the bishop’s house; she thought there would be space for only a comfortable room for business on the ground floor and possibly a solar and bedchamber above. An outside flight of stairs beside the door to the lower floor led directly to the solar, and to Magdalene’s surprise, it was to this that the secretary led her.

She was surprised again by a feeling of acute discomfort wakened by the large, curtained bed that stood with its head against the wall to the far right. She turned away and saw with some relief that this was not only a bedchamber. To the left was a beautifully carved, cushioned chair with a high back and arms, set beside a hearth under a stone overhang. To the right of the hearth was a heavy, polished table; behind it, the prior sat in a second chair with a back and arms, although not so large or high. The table was lit by a window in the wall. Another window on the same wall as the door made the room bright.

“Magdalene the whore, my lord,” the secretary said, gesturing Magdalene forward.

She walked to the table and bowed. “Father Prior, I am glad you are come home again. May I hope that your business prospered?”

The prior waved a hand in dismissal and the secretary stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“Well enough,” the prior said, “but now I wish I had not gone. What a dreadful thing! A murder at the church door. And Brother Sacristan saying that the dead man came from your house—”

“Father Prior, the man may have gone to the church through the back gate, but not with my knowledge or by my contrivance. And I swear to you that neither I nor any in my household did him harm or wished him harm. Nor was Messer Baldassare one of my regular clients.”

“Then how did he come to use your back gate?”

“I believe he was to meet someone in the church,” she replied, and launched into the tale of Baldassare’s coming to her gate, just as she had told it to Brother Paulinus.

She had just begun to explain—for the thousandth time, it seemed to her—why it was ridiculous to suspect her or her women of the crime, when the door burst open and Brother Paulinus stalked in. When he saw Magdalene, his eyes widened and he stopped dead, then rushed forward.