9 The Reeve's Tale Page 6

  Meanwhile, the boys had begun to sidle across the yard as soon as the plate had been uncovered, coming faster when they saw Lucy claiming cakes, and now the taller of the fair-haired boys, with his brother and Dickon Naylor crowded close at his back, said, “Thank you, too,” with earnest hope behind Elena, and she turned and held the plate out to them all. Hands flashed and with chorused thanks the boys retreated toward the byre as Elena turned back to Anne and Frevisse, holding the plate out to them, too, laughing silently.

  Frevisse said thanks but shook her head. Anne said, “Keep mine a moment while I bring a cup for you and see to a pot I left on the fire. Please, sit.”

  She gestured to the bench and left them, and Elena sat, holding the plate toward Frevisse again, asking, “You’re sure?”

  Frevisse assured her she was. Elena looked briefly across the yard to Sister Thomasine beneath the apple tree, her head bowed over the rosary in her hands and made no offer that way but settled with the plate and its remaining cakes on her lap. “It’s a warm day,” she observed.

  ‘You wanted to talk to me?“ Frevisse said in return.

  The neat arch of Elena’s eyebrows curved higher and her smile suddenly warmed past mere good manners. “Yes, I do indeed, if you please, my lady. About my husband.”

  How had so well-spoken a woman come to be a villein’s wife in Prior Byfield, Frevisse wondered. But only asked cautiously, “Yes?” Because from what she knew of Gilbey Dunn, caution seemed best.

  ‘You’ll be talked to about him this while that village matters are in your hands. I wanted to talk to you about him first.“

  That it was already so widely known that she was taking Master Naylor’s place came as no surprise to Frevisse, knowledgeable of village ways. To show she, too, knew more than might be expected of her, she said, “I understand he’s interested in acquiring more land.”

  ‘That’s not a fault,“ Elena said quickly, a little too carefully.

  ‘It’s not a fault,“ Frevisse agreed. ”Most men want to better themselves.“ She hesitated, then added, deliberately to see Elena’s response, ”The fault only comes if they do it with harm to others.“

  ‘Gilbey has harmed no one.“

  That might be strictly true, if harm direct was meant, but there was harm indirect, and she asked, “Didn’t he lately bid a lease away from a man who’s now run off because of it?”

  ‘It’s more likely Matthew Woderove left because of his wife than because of Gilbey,“ Elena answered calmly. And raised herself in Frevisse’s opinion by saying nothing else of Matthew Woderove’s wife, though surely there was more that could have been. Instead she said, ”He’s a good man, my husband. He does well by all he holds, whether from Lord Lovell or your priory, and pays well for it, too. Better than most could or would. Any of the accounts you look at will show you that. There’s some who hold it against him that he does so well, but that’s all they have to hold against him. What I’ve come to ask is that you don’t, that’s all.“

  Frevisse could hear Anne inside, telling Cisily what to do with the stew on the fire and moving toward the door while she did, and quickly she asked Elena, “Why does your husband pay the fine to keep from ever being reeve here?”

  Elena paused at the shift of direction, then answered openly enough, “He isn’t liked.”

  ‘That isn’t needed for the office,“ Frevisse returned. Years and experience and a degree of wealth grown out of both were what were looked for, whether the office was appointed by the lord, as in Prior Byfield, or elected, as in other places. By that, Gilbey was as likely to the office as Simon Perryn was. ”There’s money to be made in it,“ she added bluntly.

  ‘There’s better ways to make money without having to daily deal with people who dislike you,“ Elena returned as bluntly. And laughed as if suddenly, truly pleased. ”My husband said I’d likely find talking with you more challenge than I’d expect.“

  It was one thing for her to remember Gilbey Dunn and another to find that he remembered her, Frevisse found. Somewhat discomfited, she asked, “Why did he say that?”

  ‘Because unlike most women, he said, you see further than the flutter of your veil.“

  And so did his wife, Frevisse judged; but Anne came out then, with a cup for Elena and a stool for herself. As she poured Elena ale after Frevisse refused more, she said, “So. You’ve kept in talk?”

  ‘I was about to set to persuading Dame Frevisse that she should put in good word for my husband when the matter of Matthew Woderove’s holding comes up,“ Elena said easily.

  ‘Matthew might still come back,“ Anne answered, a little stiffly.

  ‘He might,“ Elena allowed. ”But if he doesn’t…“

  ‘I think your husband has done Matthew enough harm without being the one to take his holding, too,“ Anne said, more stiffly.

  ‘The only person who’s harmed Matthew Woderove is himself,“ Elena said, unangrily but giving no ground.

  Anne began an answer but Lucy called from inside and instead she rose with, “I pray you excuse me.”

  When she was inside, Elena rose, too, not outwardly bothered, and said smilingly to Frevisse, “I’ll go, too, I think. By your leave.” What could have been regret tinged her smile and voice as she added, “Anne will be more comfortable if I’m not here.”

  To Frevisse’s granting she could go, she made a low curtsy of farewell and went, leaving the plate and the remaining cakes on the bench. Anne was in time, coming out, to see her leaving and could have called farewell, or Elena might have looked back and waved, but neither did, and Anne, sitting down on the bench again, said while watching her out of sight, “I’ll say for her she never overstays her welcome.”

  Frevisse almost asked how much welcome Elena had ever had but changed to, “Is she freeborn? Your husband said she’s from Banbury.” The nearest market town.

  ‘Aye, she’s freeborn. Her father is a baker there, with property and a likelihood of being mayor. What she was thinking of, to marry Gilbey and come here, I don’t know.“ Anne broke off a corner of one of the cakes and crumbled it between her fingers. ”She’s too young for him by far and… well, you’ve seen her. Men can’t help but look at her, and they want to do more than look, too, that’s sure. That Tom Hulcote that works for Gilbey, for one. Gilbey’d do well to watch him.“ It sounded a well-worn theme, with more to be said about it, just as with Matthew Woderove’s wife, but Anne broke off, turning a little pink across the cheeks, probably at such tale-telling to a nun, and changed course with, ”It’s that Gilbey’s not given to doing fool things. It was years since his first wife and their daughter died, and he seemed content enough. Then, next thing we knew, he’d married her and built a bigger house and started a family all over again. At his age! What was either of them thinking?“

  ‘There’s children then?“

  ‘Oh, yes. Two sweet little boys.“

  ‘Are they villein or free?“

  ‘Free. When she nears her birthing time, Elena goes to Gilbey’s sister. She bought herself free years ago and married and lives in Banbury. Both boys were born there.“

  And so were free, like their mother, instead of villein like their father.

  ‘Gilbey isn’t well liked, is he?“ Frevisse asked.

  Anne sniffed. “He’s too lucky, making money at everything he turns his hand to, and keeps what he has to himself, no fear, while letting you know he has it.” She waxed openly indignant. “You know he bought a lease away from Matthew Woderove this past Midsummer’s court? It’s for a stretch of rough pasturage gone to scrub and not worth the bother of clearing it again, everyone thought, but he’s bought half a dozen cows in milk from somewhere and turned them out on it, hired two girls and set them to be his milkmaids, making cheese as fast as can be to sell in Banbury, and the word is that come autumn, he won’t try to overwinter the cows but slaughter them and salt the beef down to sell. You see how he goes about things?”

  What Frevisse saw was that Gilbey Dunn had a skill fo
r turning money into more money and, covering her interest, asked, “Why didn’t Matthew Woderove use it that way?”

  ‘Matthew has only the one cow and no skill at making money enough to have more. He never had the chance, did he?“

  But he had had the land and let it waste. Gilbey had seen its possibility and taken it, able to because of what he had not wasted through the years in the way of money and other chances, Frevisse guessed.

  ‘For all he’s so clever, though,“ Anne said, nibbling crumbs from one of the cakes as if grudging they tasted so good but unable to help herself, ”I’d keep an eye on Elena and that Tom Hulcote together if I were him.“

  Perryn came into sight at that moment, long-striding up the street, his hand raised in greeting and an apology started as he crossed the plank bridge into the yard. Frevisse and Anne stood up and moved to meet him, but the boys were quicker, tumbling up like a rout of puppies from a game they had been scratching in the dust beside the byre, to pelt across the yard with happy shouts and cluster around him, jostling each other to be the first to tell him something while he tousled their hair and told them, “You wait on a moment. I’ll hear it all later. Right now there’s strangers by the alehouse if you want to go and have a stare at them.”

  They did, and in a flurry of bare legs and yells they dashed away, leaving Perryn abruptly deserted and sharing a smile warm with affection with his wife as she came toward him. It was a smile full of so many things understood between them past the need of saying that Frevisse understood far more about them both—beginning with how glad they were of each other and how much they loved their sons—than words would have sufficed for.

  But Perryn was already saying, “I pray your pardon, my lady. It was something more than I thought it would be. There’s men of the crowner come with questions about a body.”

  ‘Here?“ Frevisse asked, unlikely though that was. The village would know of any body before the crowner would, surely.

  ‘Nay. Over Wroxton way. Seems there’s been one found near there, with no one knowing who he was. The crowner’s sent these men out on rounds with some of what was found with him in hopes someone can say who he was after all.“

  ‘Poor man,“ Anne said.

  ‘The trouble is,“ Perryn went on, ”they don’t want to spend long over it, so I’ve had to send to bring everyone in from the fields, and when they’re done, I’ll have to see to them all going out again or they’ll likely stand about talking the rest of the day away.“

  ‘And you’d rather I came back tomorrow to finish our business,“ Frevisse said.

  ‘If it’d not be too much trouble, my lady.“

  ‘None. Or not compared to what you have on your hands now.“ Not that it would not have mattered if it had been too much trouble, because the crowner and his men were charged, as officers of the king, with looking into any uncertain deaths, to find if there was guilt or only happenstance involved, and whether or no the matter should be given over to the county sheriff. Therefore their business had precedence over hers. But then, neither did she mind the excuse it gave her to have done with manor business for today.

  While she thanked Anne for her hospitality and beckoned for Sister Thomasine to join her, Perryn left them, returning down the street toward the alehouse, where Frevisse could now see the five horsemen waiting near a widespread oak on the green. A scattering of village folk not out to the fields today for one reason or another were already gathering to them and, grateful she needed have no part in it, she turned with Sister Thomasine to go the other way, back to St. Frideswide’s.

  Chapter 5

  When, next day, the nuns came out of the church into the cloister walk after the midmorning Office of Terce, the day was already far warmer than other days had been of late, and Sister Amicia, slipping a finger inside her wimple to loosen it and let in a little air, murmured, “It’s going to be hot before it’s done,” while Dame Juliana looked up from the cloister garth’s garden of herbs and flowers to the narrowness of blue sky, naked of clouds, that was all that could be seen of the world from there and said, “We need rain.” Domina Elisabeth, having led the way out of the church, was already well away, headed back toward her rooms and whatever work awaited her there. Dame Perpetua and Sister Johane were returning to their scribe’s desks, set against the church wall here along the walk for best light on their copying. There were no commissions in hand just now, but Domina Elisabeth had set them to the Revelations of St. Birgitta on the expectation that something so popular could be sold to someone when it was finished. The other nuns, and now Sister Amicia and Dame Juliana, were straying their various ways away along the cloister walk, in no haste to be back to what they had been doing before the bell called them to Terce, while Frevisse stood undecided between going to her own scribal work, as she would have to do sometime today, or else to talk with Master Naylor since she had not yesterday.

  The question was resolved by a guesthall servant coming into the cloister walk from the passage to the outer door and guesthall yard. Frevisse, having been hosteler, in charge of St. Frideswide’s guesthalls more than once through the years, knew her and started toward her, saying, “Ela,” and the woman turned her way with a relieved smile, making a quick curtsy as they met at the corner of the cloister walk and saying, “There’s someone come as wants to see you, my lady. Can you come out to him?”

  ‘Who?“

  ‘Simon Perryn, the reeve.“

  ‘Where is he?“ Frevisse asked, already on her way to the outer door.

  ‘By the well in the yard,“ Ela answered, following her, but in the yard veered away, back toward the guesthall, as Perryn rose from where he had sat down on one of the well’s steps, hood in hand and looking uncertain whether he should be here, but he bowed and said, ”Good day, my lady. I hope it’s no trouble I’ve come without asking leave but I didn’t know when you’d be back and there’s something happened I thought you ought to know as soon as might be.“

  ‘When there’s need, better you come than not. What’s happened?“

  ‘That body up Wroxton way that those men came about yesterday, you remember?“

  She nodded that she did, though after saying a prayer for the fellow’s soul on her way back to St. Frideswide’s, she had not thought of him again until now.

  ‘Seems, by what the crowner’s man brought, it’s Matthew Woderove.“

  ‘The man who ran off a few weeks ago?“

  ‘Aye. His wife knew his shirt and says the bit of hair they’d brought along matches his. I’d say the same,“ Perryn added unhappily. ”She’s my sister, see, and taking it hard.“

  ‘Do they know how he died?“

  ‘There wasn’t much left to tell by from the body, what there was of it. By the look of it, he’s been dead most of the time he’s been gone and was lying out in a ditch the while.“

  And the weather had been warm, and birds and other things would have been at him.

  ‘But it’s sure his skull was broken,“ Perryn went on, ”and it looks like he was stabbed twice at least. There were knife-scrapes on his ribs.“

  Probably killed for the horse he’d stolen, then robbed of whatever little else he’d had and left to rot, Frevisse supposed and shook her head against the waste and ugliness of it.

  ‘It’s Wroxton folk are in trouble,“ Perryn said. ”They knew the body was there but said naught about it to anyone since he wasn’t one of their own.“

  By law, any untimely deaths had to be reported to crowner or sheriff, but those who reported such a death were then burdened with legal duties because of it, whether they had aught to do with the death or not, and sometimes, especially when the death had nothing to do with anyone they knew, folk would ignore the law, in hope the trouble would pass unnoticed. That would have been Wroxton’s hope and they would be paying in fines and penalties for it.

  ‘How did it come to be known?“ Frevisse asked.

  ‘Someone who’d seen talked of it in Banbury, and the crowner heard about it.“


  ‘You’ll have the body brought back here for burying?“

  ‘Oh, aye. Among his own folk and all. But it’s other than that I’ve come about. Now it’s sure he’s dead, his holding is open, no mistake, and there’s a quarrel already shaping over it.“

  ‘Over who’s to have it? There’re no children to inherit? Doesn’t his wife have right in it?“

  ‘When he and Mary married, our father settled a toft and some land on her for a marriage portion, the thought being that instead of some of Matthew’s land being given over for her widow’s dower, it would all go to their children. Only they never had children, and there’s no one going to make the mistake of thinking Mary can manage the holding on her own. She’s clever enough, all in all, but not that way, if you see what I mean.“

  Frevisse saw and acknowledged Perryn’s careful way of saying his sister was no fool but not given to what was needed for the running of a holding. “So, now it’s known that Woderove is dead and won’t ever be back,” Frevisse said, “she’s lost all rights to the holding and there are others interested.”

  Perryn gave a glooming nod. “Gilbey Dunn, for one. Last night, almost as soon as it was known Matthew was dead, he told me he’d take it over and see to the harvest and Mary having a fair share of it this year for compensation, though what Gilbey thinks is a fair share is anyone’s guess.”

  ‘If the ’fair share‘ is settled on and agreed to beforehand, it sounds a reasonable offer,“ Frevisse said slowly, looking for reasons it was not but finding none except that Gilbey Dunn maybe had enough already and didn’t need more.

  ‘Gilbey’d do better by the holding than ever Matthew did, that’s sure,“ Perryn said, ”so there’s no problem with that. The trouble lies in that Tom Hulcote’s offered for it, too, and almost as fast as Gilbey did.“

  Frevisse searched and found she knew Hulcote’s name from Anne Perryn’s talk yesterday and said, “He works for Gilbey Dunn.”

  ‘He did but quit of late, just ere Gilbey would have turned him off anyway. He holds a toft and not much else and works for other men to make his way. Lately mostly for Gilbey.“