“She was the Devil’s creature, my lady.”
“As are all of us, Ralf. Never forget that. Robert of Arbrissel, our Order’s founder, followed the example of God’s Son and spent time winning over the souls of many prostitutes. Their eagerness to listen to him suggests that their hearts might be more likely to understand God’s message than many deemed less sinful. For this reason, and charity, I cannot condemn Ivetta more than others.”
The crowner opened his mouth, seemingly to protest, but then fell silent. Instead, he nodded.
Eleanor went on. “You may dislike the idea of a man using poison as a murder weapon, but that might also be a clever device to avert discovery. For instance, Will might have wished to kill Martin after the latter publicly mocked his manhood. Could the blacksmith have felt his humiliation so keenly that he killed the cooper and then Ivetta, a woman who witnessed his impotence and possibly ridiculed him as well?”
“Although Will may be obsessed with his sexual failures, I never thought him quick enough in wit to be that devious, my lady.” Ralf suddenly turned to Thomas. “I forgot to ask you. Did you ever query the old woman about what she might have seen at the inn that night?”
“Her pain has been too great when I came with her potion. I did not wish to trouble her with murder.”
“I was hoping she had seen some odd thing that might lead us to a killer we have yet to consider.” The crowner shrugged. “But if she suffers that much, I doubt she would remember anything of value. Pain that severe must sharpen the soul’s fear of God’s judgement while it dulls interest in more trivial worldly matters.”
“What of Hob?” Eleanor asked. “Might he have had reason to kill?
“Of the two brothers, he is possessed of greater wit. He is also loyal to his brother, even if he does not always follow his lead any longer. Maybe he did something to protect…” The crowner angrily rubbed his eyes as if they annoyed him. “The suspects grow in number. Will cannot be entirely discounted. Nor, it seems, can Hob.”
“Nor Signy,” Eleanor added with sadness.
Ralf bowed his head in weary resignation.
Silence fell with the bleak chill of sea fog on everyone in the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The day had dawned with pleasing warmth, tempered by a cool breeze from the coast.
Eleanor, however, was not soothed. “What am I failing to understand?” she asked, seating herself on the stone bench in the middle of the cloister gardens.
The previous night had been a restless one for the prioress, her dreams filled with writhing shapes and troubling images. This time, the creature shattering her sleep was not an incubus in the shape of Brother Thomas but the tormented soul of Ivetta. Even now the woman’s screams echoed sharply in her ears.
The sight of the blackened burns from Hell’s fire on the woman’s naked body was terrible enough, but her piteous cries had so distressed Eleanor that she abruptly awoke with hot sweat streaming down her trembling body. Mercifully, sleep failed to return. The prioress could bear no further meetings with the dead woman’s spirit.
Eleanor now shut her eyes, but the most terrible image from the night remained as if burned into her eyelids lest she try to forget it. In the dream, Ivetta had held the image of a perfectly formed but tiny child in her hand, stretching it out for Eleanor to take. “I promised her to the priory when she was born,” the spirit had howled. “I may deserve this eternity of fire, but she never had the chance for salvation. For pity’s sake, take her to your heart!”
The voice, as piercing now in bright daylight as it had been in darkness, chased Eleanor from her seat. She ran a few steps, then dropped to her knees and wept.
After a few minutes, she calmed, breathing in a fragrance of almost holy sweetness as if the breeze from the North Sea carried the scent of Heaven. “I shall find your murderer,” she whispered. “To deny a soul the chance for absolution is grave, but to deny a babe baptism before death is an unspeakable and most cruel sin.”
Prioress Eleanor rose and walked back to her chambers with a determined step, swearing that she would do more than she had in this matter. Martin’s murder may have been a secular concern, but God had made it quite clear that Ivetta’s death was her responsibility.
As she walked into her private room, her attention was drawn to the tapestry hanging on the wall at the end of her bed. The depiction of Mary Magdalene at the foot of Jesus never ceased to fascinate her, the expression of love and compassion between the two figures bringing comfort on dark nights when the wind howled outside her window. Now they seemed to rebuke her for not casting aside all other concerns when justice should have been the foremost one.
“Had I dealt with Ivetta differently, she might have repented and sought our cloister, thus saving her life and that of her child. I must find the killer,” she murmured, closing her eyes to banish all possible distractions.
“My lady, do you have need of anything?”
The prioress spun around and faced Gytha.
Her maid did not need to express her concern. Her eyes conveyed it eloquently enough.
“Stay, if you will. I have need of your advice,” Eleanor said, smiling as an idea struck her. “Indeed, I may even ask for gossip.”
“Of that I have some knowledge, my lady.” Gytha grinned with both humor and evident relief.
“It is about a priory matter. What does the village say about Sister Juliana?”
“Most believe she is a holy woman who speaks as if blessed with the tongue of Heaven’s Queen. A few are troubled that she sits by her window only at night. These voices are the same who question whether it is seemly for any woman to go to her after the sun sets. Yet others counter with the argument that our anchoress’ virtue might be more truly doubted if most of the visitors were men.”
The prioress reached down and petted the cat now rubbing against her robe. “Men do not seek her out?”
“I know of only two from Tyndal village, although a few strangers may have visited. Each of our local men came away uneasy, wondering why she did not seem to welcome them. My brother spoke with her and left as terrified as if God Himself had spoken. When he told me about it afterward, he said her words may have been wise but he could not convey the tone with which she spoke them. The very thought of returning filled him with dread. He mentioned only one other man from here who had sought her out. It was he who told my brother that he understood at last what it must have been like to talk to God in the burning bush.”
“Tostig is not a man who frightens easily,” the prioress remarked. “Who among the women have told any tales?”
“Signy. When she visited, she found both welcome and comfort in our anchoress’ words, unlike my brother and his friend.”
Eleanor clutched her hands tightly, hoping to hide her delight in the way this discussion was going. “She felt no terror?”
“Sister Juliana did beg her to kneel farther from the window, but Signy was not disquieted, believing that our anchoress would rightly fear corruption from a mortal woman if she came too close to her.”
“Did the innkeeper’s niece say why she had sought counsel?”
“I did not ask, my lady, nor did she offer to tell me.”
“Has anyone mentioned if Ivetta visited Sister Juliana?”
“Aye! Signy herself told me that she had seen the woman once or twice and wondered why a harlot, who did nothing to change her ways, would seek out an anchoress. As you must know, the innkeeper’s niece and Ivetta were not friends. There was no reason for either to confide her reasons for visiting or even acknowledge that one might have seen the other. If it would help you find who committed this crime, I could ask about. Someone might know why Ivetta wanted to speak with our anchoress.”
Either I have failed in subtlety or else Gytha is too clever by half, Eleanor thought with affection as she noted her maid’s eagerness to be involved in hunting down a killer. “I will not involve you in murder, and the asking of questions might bring you harm.”