3 The Outlaw's Tale Read online

  Leaving Maud to draw up the covers and tuck them firmly about Sister Emma, who went on talking while she did, Magdalen came to Frevisse at the other end of the room.

  “Is she indeed better?” Frevisse asked.

  “She is. The rheum is looser and the cough has gone no deeper. But she won’t stop chattering long enough to rest.”

  “Then she’s better,” Frevisse said.

  Magdalen seemed to forget her patient. In the small privacy that distance afforded them she asked, “And at supper? What was said?”

  With great care, trying to keep it all in order, Frevisse told her, even to the gossip of Beatrice and “old Nick”, watching Magdalen’s response through all of it. But Magdalen, listening intently, showed nothing at all until at the end Frevisse brought out her brother’s version of the stranger accosting her in the orchard. Then a slight frown drew between her eyes. Frevisse paused, then asked, “Was he a stranger? Or do you know him?”

  Magdalen hesitated a betraying instant, then shook her head, leaving it unclear which question she was answering, or if she were answering at all. Frevisse waited, but Magdalen held to her silence, her eyes on her lap until Frevisse continued. She showed no more emotion until Frevisse finished with, “So now the idea is that this fellow that Colfoot frighted off lay in wait for him and killed him.”

  At that Magdalen’s head jerked up as if whip-struck and, nakedly furious, she cried out, “No! That isn’t so! I won’t let Oliver do that!” And before Maud or Bess, coming from the other end of the room, could reach her or Frevisse stop her, she had flung herself from the room, leaving the door wide behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Now what was that about?” Sister Emma queried from the bed. “Dame Frevisse, what were you thinking of to do that? You’ve upset her. It takes both guest and host to make a visit gracious.”

  Not even illness could daunt Sister Emma’s Wise Sayings. Distracted, Frevisse went to soothe her with assurances that it was a family matter that had alarmed Mistress Dow, not something she, Frevisse, had done.

  “I should hope not!” Sister Emma declared. “What Domina Edith is going to say about this I don’t want to think about, and we certainly don’t want to make it worse by causing trouble for this family.” Frevisse’s conscience twitched with the realization that she had never written her second letter. Sister Emma chatted on, “This is a fine house, judging by what little I remember of it and this room, which I gather this isn’t the best one.” Maud and Bess, probably glad to escape their duties to Sister Emma for a while, were the length of the room away; Sister Emma dropped her voice to a whisper to ask, “Who are these people we’re staying with?”

  Keeping her own voice low, Frevisse answered, “Nicholas brought us here, you remember that. Master Payne is someone he does business with, and is doing him the favor of taking us in. They’ve been very kind to us, Master Payne and his family. Mistress Dow is his widowed sister.”

  “They certainly have all the comforts they could want. Who is this Master Payne?”

  The answer to that took up the little while until darkness had fully come and Magdalen returned. Frevisse tried to tell only as much as would content Sister Emma without rousing other questions. Deliberately she left out anything about the murder, and, as it happened, Sister Emma tired easily. After some exclamations about what the world was coming to when no more than a steward could rise to live like a knight – why, her own brother lived hardly so well as this! - she subsided to a drowse that had deepened to sleep by the time Magdalen returned.

  Clearly Magdalen was in no better mind than when she left. To her quick orders her women brought the truckle beds out from under the great bed, readying first the room and then Magdalen and then themselves for bed. Magdalen paced while they did, stood still only long enough to be undressed and wrapped in her bedrobe, and refused any help with combing out or braiding her hair. “Let it be,” she said impatiently. “Go away for a while. Or you can go to bed, if you want, Bess, since it’s ready. But I don’t want to talk or be bothered. Go away.”

  Frevisse caught the looks the two waiting women exchanged. Clearly this was not Magdalen’s usual way or temper. But Maud obediently left, and Bess chose to crawl into the truckle bed at the foot of the great bed and curl up with whatever thoughts she had.

  Frevisse presumed to go to where Magdalen sat near the small fire against the evening’s damp chill, her hands clenched into fists. As she sat down across the hearth from her, Magdalen gave her a sideways glance.

  “He holds to that story,” she whispered viciously, aware there were other ears in the room but not able to hold it in. “He says it must have been the man in the orchard. But it wasn’t!”

  “Can you be so sure?” Frevisse asked.

  “Yes! He only knew we’d been seen. I don’t think he even knew it was Colfoot, only that we were seen. He left straight away.”

  “What did Colfoot do?”

  “He claimed he recognized him. He said he’d seen him in the village last night and knew he was a thief, an outlaw.” Magdalen shuddered. “And then he laughed – he had an ugly laugh – and grabbed my arm when I tried to walk away. He said I’d have to marry him now, that Oliver would have no choice. No one else would have me once it was known I met secretly with outlaws. And he would see to it everyone knew.”

  Frevisse inwardly winced. Nicholas had caused more trouble than he could have guessed by his alehouse carouses and secret wooings. And that was another lie he’d told her; he had said he stayed always in the woods, afraid to be seen by anyone.

  Magdalen went on, “Then he made me return to the house with him. I pulled loose when we reached the door and came up here. He went to talk to Oliver.”

  She stopped, breathless with renewed anger.

  “And told him what he’d seen,” Frevisse prompted.

  “And told him what he’d seen,” Magdalen agreed. “And threatened that if Oliver didn’t make me marry him he would defame me through all the countryside with what he’d seen.” She looked at Frevisse, her eyes shining with mixed bitterness and anger. “We were in each other’s arms, standing there at the edge of the orchard, that’s all. Nothing else. But Colfoot meant to say dreadful things and ruin me. When Oliver called me down after Colfoot was gone he was still furious. Family and reputation mean nearly everything to him.”

  “But he didn’t give in to Colfoot?” Frevisse asked.

  Magdalen lifted her head proudly. “He never would! He sent him away, both of them in a rage before they’d finished, but Oliver had made it clear that Colfoot wasn’t forcing anyone into marriage. Then Oliver sent for me.” The proud head came down again.

  “And was equally angry at you.”

  “Equally. First, because I’d been meeting anyone secretly. And second, because it was someone I should never have been meeting at all. And then that I had let myself be caught, by Colfoot of all people.” Her voice broke with the unhappiness of everything. “Oh, Dame Frevisse, I’ve made so much trouble. I’m in so much trouble.”

  Without meaning to, Frevisse looked down toward Magdalen’s lap.

  Laying a hand over her belly, Magdalen said hurriedly, “Not that, no! There’s been nothing - that way – between us.” Tears glimmered in her eyes but did not fall.

  “You’d marry if you could?”

  “Instantly. If we could.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Nearly a year.”

  “Meeting always in secret?”

  “When we can.”

  Frevisse sensed more than was said in that, but she already had more of Magdalen’s confidence than she had ever expected. She reached out, touched her hand, and said, aware it was inadequate, “I need to say Compline now. You’ll be in my prayers.”

  It was more than a way to end their conversation: She had scanted the offices again this afternoon, and felt very much in need of prayer just now.

  Magdalen bowed her head. “Prayers are all I can place my h
opes in now. Thank you for letting me ease my heart.”

  Frevisse had long since concluded that “easing the heart” could be a costly indulgence, but she only said, “I’m sorry I’ve no help for you.”

  Magdalen rose to her feet. She looked abruptly very tired, as if letting loose her pent emotions had drained her strength. “I don’t think there’s help anywhere. It has to be in God’s hands. May you sleep well.”

  “And you also,” Frevisse returned.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frevisse, awaking from a restless sleep, lay quietly. She remembered where she was and why, and though there was no way to be certain of the hour, she supposed that years of habit had probably roused her now for midnight’s Matins and Lauds. Under the pressure of the past days she had missed them. Now would be time to correct that fault; and almost without any effort to recollect them, the prayers began to come to her. For the sake of the others sleeping around her she did not rise but stayed in the bed with Sister Emma’s throaty inhale and exhale beside her and softer breathing from where Magdalen and Bess slept on the truckle beds nearer the floor.

  There was comfort in the familiar prayers; they laid a balm over the unease she had taken into sleep with her. But she lacked a prayer book to tell her which psalms were to be said this night. She hesitated, and then simply chose among her favorites. She began them properly in Latin, but found herself slipping once again into the English of her uncle’s Wyclif Bible. It was there that she had first learned that the psalms in English could be as rich and, for her, sometimes more comforting than they were in Latin. She finished with a favorite:

  “The Lord governs me, and no thing shall I lack; in the place of pasture he has set me. He nourishes me on the water of fulfilling… if I shall go in the midst of the shadow of death, I shall not dread evils, for thou art with me… and my chalice, filled greatly, is full clear… Thy mercy shall pursue me all the days of my life… and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord in the length of days.”

  But, when she was done, she was left with only her own thoughts, and the bare fact that she had come to this place and trouble as much by her own doing as anyone else’s. And that, having come to it, she must needs do something. She had solicited pardon for Nicholas and now it seemed he might be guilty of Colfoot’s murder. If he were, he should be hanged instead of pardoned, and she must correct her error.

  But after all he might be innocent of Colfoot’s death and wrongly accused. Master Payne had hesitated at supper before revealing a man had been with Magdalen in the orchard. Since the man had almost certainly been Nicholas, Master Payne might well hesitate over accusing him, torn between justice and the peril of putting the hunt out for an outlaw with whom he had undeniably had dealings.

  And what if Nicholas were not guilty? It was shame to ask pardon for a murderer but greater shame to refuse help to an innocent man. And an unkindness to Magdalen who deserved at least the truth, one way or the other.

  Slowly, regretting her thoughts but unable to avoid them, Frevisse considered whether she could find ways of questioning the Payne household about yesterday. For if Nicholas was not the murderer, then almost surely someone from here was.

  But if that was true, then maybe any truth she found would be unkind to Magdalen.

  Wanly Frevisse wished she were back in St. Frideswide’s, with nothing but a common day’s prayers and duties ahead of her, instead of decisions she did not want to make.

  * * * * *

  Bess went down to morning prayers and breakfast alone, returning afterwards with ale and cold meat and bread and a broth for Sister Emma. As she set the tray down, she declared, “I think Sir Perys believes he can hurry the sheriff and crowner on the wings of his prayers alone, and all the sooner if we’ll but add our fervor to his own. I thought we’d starve before he’d done. He even prayed for the murderer’s repentance as if he thought his words were enough to bring it about.” She sniffed. “I’d have to be staring at the rope that was going to hang me ere I’d repent of killing Colfoot.”

  “Bess,” Magdalen said reprovingly. She had been feeding Sister Emma the thin chicken broth; Sister Emma receiving each spoonful like a fledgling bird, with waiting open mouth. Now Sister Emma turned away from the spoon with widened eyes.

  “Someone’s been killed?” she asked. “Who’s Colfoot?”

  “A man nobody liked. He died near here yesterday,” Frevisse said.

  “Someone stabbed him and left him dead in the road almost at our gates,” Bess explained. “Ever so many folks hated him, and we don’t know who did it.”

  “There’s a murderer somewhere here?” Sister Emma asked with mounting alarm.

  “Whoever did this is long on his way by now and not for us to worry on,” Magdalen said firmly, with a quelling look at Bess.

  Bess, missing Magdalen’s look, went on, “Anyway, the sheriff and crowner can’t come too soon for me. And Colfoot’s people, too, so we can have the body out of here. Even dead, the man’s a bother. Jack and Adam and Tam have to keep watch by him turn and turn about all day and night until some of his own folk come to do it. And all the while his murderer is likely lurking near about.”

  Magdalen’s hand spasmed a little; a few drops of soup spilled onto the napkin she held under the spoon before she steadied. But her voice was calm as she said, putting the spoon into Sister Emma’s mouth, “The murderer is surely miles away by now.”

  Sister Emma swallowed quickly and asked, “Who is the murderer, Dame Frevisse?”

  Frevisse’s surprise was as great as Magdalen’s and Bess’s. “I have no idea,” she said.

  “But of course you do.” Sister Emma pouted at her. “You always know those sort of things.”

  Magdalen turned to Frevisse. “You do?”

  Frevisse began to wave such nonsense away, but Sister Emma insisted, “She does it all the time at St. Frideswide’s.”

  “I do not,” Frevisse said with some asperity. But Magdalen and Bess went on looking at her, and in defense she added, “Twice things have happened at the priory, and our prioress asked me to find the truth. There was nothing particular about it. All I did was ask questions.”

  “But she both times proved the crowner wrong. He thought it was someone else and Dame Frevisse showed it wasn’t,” Sister Emma declared. And opened her mouth for more broth.

  “The most lack-witted goose of a girl in Oxfordshire could find the truth out better than our crowner Master Montfort,” Frevisse said sharply.

  “Well, I certainly had no idea who the murderers were,” Sister Emma said. “Nor did anyone else. But she discovered it easily. Old foxes want no tutors, as they say.”

  Magdalen blinked at this description of Frevisse, then tapped the spoon on the rim of the bowl to rid it of drips and gave it to Sister Emma. And while Sister Emma dealt with it, Magdalen looked over to Frevisse and asked, “But you are indeed good at finding out the truth of things?”

  “Sometimes, with God’s help,” Frevisse said unwillingly. She had lost much of the pride she might have had in her skill after her failure last Christmastide, when she had been so set on proving one particular person innocent that someone had died who otherwise might have lived.

  “Then find out the truth here,” said Magdalen quietly.

  Frevisse had been enough in Magdalen’s company, even this little while, not to be deceived by her quietness. There were passion and strength in her. And in this matter their desires matched; Frevisse wanted the truth as much as Magdalen did. But she also wanted Magdalen to understand the cost. Choosing words carefully, Frevisse said, “I’ll need to ask questions. I’ll need to know a great deal more than I do about everyone here, both from yesterday and before.”

  “I’ll answer whatever you ask,” Magdalen said. “About anyone.”

  “And if I discover it’s someone… near to you? Family or… friend?”

  “Better the truth without than doubt within?” Sister Emma remarked doubtfully.

  Magdalen glanced at her,
surprised that this wise saying was apt, but then turned her unflinching gaze back to Frevisse. “I’d rather have the truth, whatever the cost.”

  Frevisse drew a deep breath. She had lost what little appetite she had had for her breakfast, so she folded her hands in her lap and began. “What about your brother?”

  Magdalen looked startled. “Oliver? You surely don’t think-“ She stopped herself and said levelly, “What about him?”

  “He’s steward to how many lords?”

  “Five. He oversees their properties here and in Berkshire.”

  “And has for a number of years?”

  “Since before he and Iseult were married. He’s done very well.”

  “And has property of his own?”

  “This manor, some lands in Berkshire, some property at rent in Bedford and Burford and Oxford. All bought at his own cost.”

  “He’s not in debt or other trouble?”

  Frevisse watched her response closely but if Magdalen was aware of anything untoward – such as his league with an outlaw – it did not show in her gentle shrug. “He manages his money well and his investments pay back far more than their expense.”

  “Has he known Colfoot long or well?”

  “They’ve been acquainted for years, but Oliver has kept as distant from him. He’s never liked the way Colfoot bullies – bullied – and too often cheated.”

  “But he wasn’t afraid of him?”

  Magdalen showed her surprise. “Of Colfoot? Why should he be? Colfoot could never do anything to him.”

  Until yesterday.

  “So there was never a question of your brother forcing you to marry him?”

  Bess made a rude, dismissing noise. She had taken Magdalen’s place with the bowl of broth and was busily spooning it into Sister Emma’s mouth, effectively keeping her quiet. Magdalen smiled slightly. “Oliver could not force me into any such thing. I’m widowed and independent of any man’s will that way.”