"You are quite right in your observation, Brother. Young Alys, although she is to be Master Herbert's wife, wants to marry this glover and has said she will take vows rather than go against her heart. According to her, Master Bernard loves her well in return, but Mistress Jhone claims he is both improvident and greedy."
Thomas snorted. "Both men may be beset with the sin of greed, my lady, but, of the two, I did not like what I saw in Master Herbert. He may be well-favored, but he struck me as a cunning man. The glover?" The monk shrugged. "He is a dreamer, for cert, but I might pick Master Glover to be the more trustworthy."
"I have not met Master Bernard but did meet Master Herbert on my way to the woolmonger's house. My own impression of the vintner is quite different from yours, but I did not speak with him long."
"My encounter was brief as well," Thomas conceded. "There was something else that I may not have mentioned before. When I asked Mistress Jhone and the vintner if Wulfstan had enemies, the widow suggested there might be something relevant that had happened of late. Master Herbert quickly hushed her and refused to let me speak further with her."
"A kindness, I think, to a woman who was among those who discovered Wulfstan's headless corpse and is a widow recently bereaved of her husband."
"Shall I pursue the reason with her now, my lady?"
"I will do that for I have cause to return to her house. I suspect that she may have meant the seduction of Mistress Eda by Sayer. That would explain why the vintner did not want her to speak of it. Surely he would not wish the story repeated in public."
Thomas did not look pleased.
"You do not like the wine merchant, Brother. Surely the reason is founded in more than his trade?"
"I cannot say for sure, my lady. There are some that do good amongst their fellows." He smiled at Anne. "Others reek of avarice. There is a sour smell about this vintner."
"I would never disregard your opinion and will think more on it. Nor have I met the glover so cannot judge whether Mistress Jhone is correct in her judgement of him. Should I meet Master Herbert again, I will keep your words in mind."
"I see one more troubling aspect to this murder," Anne said. "The phantom remains accused of the act, and all witnesses have claimed the apparition is one of two women: Queen Elfrida or Mistress Eda. Few women have the strength to do what was done to that corpse. Yet how could a man be mistaken as a woman's ghost?"
"An excellent question and one to which I have no answer," Eleanor replied. "Even though I dismiss the idea of ghosts, something has been troubling the priory. Might a human murderer hide his deed behind the form of a damned soul, casting all suspicion on a creature which cannot be brought to mortal judgement, and thus escape justice?"
"Master Herbert," Thomas said, almost under his breath.
"I doubt it. Would you not agree that he would be more likely to kill Sayer, not the father, if the son had seduced his wife? And why would he eagerly arrange a marriage with the cousin? When he spoke of Alys and her mother, he expressed great devotion. That is not the way of a man who has been wronged by a family."
"I agree, my lady." Thomas' voice suggested regret.
"We need so much more information. I shall return to talk with Mistress Jhone and her daughter. The house is near enough not to tax my strength. In the meantime, I think you should seek out our lusty roofer."
Thomas flushed. "If he is not to be found, do you have another task?"
"A visit to Wulfstan's widow, Mistress Drifa. As a member of this Order, if not of this community, Sister Beatrice would want you to bring her comfort. Perhaps this widow will be the one to help untangle the dark knot."
"And what of Master Bernard?" Anne asked.
"Brother Thomas might have reason to meet with him again, although another visit to the inn is not wise, especially at night." Eleanor smiled at the monk with sympathy. "My aunt can find reason to send you out on market day."
"I will do as you ask most willingly," Thomas said.
"And I pray we learn the truth soon." Eleanor shivered as if some unseen thing had just stroked an icy finger on the back of her neck. "I fear that Satan is not yet done here."
Chapter Eighteen
Thomas chose to visit Wulfstan's widow first. He was purposely delaying any further contact with the son but, with God's grace, hoped he might learn enough without having to talk to Sayer at all. At the priory gate, he asked the porter for directions to Drifa's dwelling, explaining that he had been sent by Sister Beatrice to offer comfort.
The place was easy enough to find. Thomas knew what to expect of a home where a husband had been a laborer in the priory fields and one son a bit more skilled. As a consequence, he was surprised to see a house larger than he imagined with a flock of many healthy chickens, watched over by a large and bright-eyed cock with his leg tethered to a stake, in the front of a round poultry hut.
A woman's voice, raised with mild maternal irritation, caught his attention, and he followed the sound around a corner to a freshly tilled garden. It was with much relief that he did not see Sayer amongst the busily working brood, whom he assumed must be the younger siblings.
"Mistress?" Thomas asked with gentle courtesy. "I pray I have not come at a time inconvenient for you."
The woman he addressed was jabbing a sharpened stick into the ground while a lad of about thirteen summers followed, carefully dropping and covering seeds.
A spring crop of peas, Thomas concluded.
She turned around and smiled. Lean, with nut-brown hair and an impish tilt to her head, she much resembled the elder son she had borne. Although her skin was roughened from exposure to sun, wind, and most likely her years in this world, the widow's hazel eyes were bright with affable curiosity.
"You are most welcome, Brother. A visit from the priory is never amiss." She cast an affectionate look on the lad beside her. "Finish this work. You know how well enough if you set your mind to it. And keep your sisters at their tasks while I offer this holy monk some ale."
From the expression on the boy's face, Thomas had no doubt that she would be obeyed-and out of love, not fear.
As the monk followed her through the open door into the dim and smoky house, he noted how alike, yet how dissimilar, Mistress Jhone and her sister were. Their height, coloring, and head shape might be the same, but there all resemblance ceased. Jhone's eyes were dull. Wulfstan's widow had a sparkle yet in hers. Both may have lost the support of husbands, he thought, but Drifa lacked the scars that marked the face of the woolmonger's widow. Hard though this woman's life may have been, Thomas doubted she would have thought her sister's possessions worth the price.
"I come to offer consolation on the death of your husband."
She nodded, pulled a rough bench from against the wall, and gestured for the monk to sit. A mottled cat yowled protest at the disruption in his nap and skittered across the floor to the door, scattering straw as he ran.
"I am called Drifa," she said, disappearing behind a partition.
Thomas looked around him. The three small windows and open door let in little light, but the footed pot over the fire, bubbling with a bean pottage, and lack of animal stench suggested a well-run household. Bastard son of an earl though he was, he had grown up with women of peasant birth. He was not surprised at what a woman could do with little enough to aid her.
Hearing the clunk of an earthen jug as Drifa poured ale, he also realized that he expected her to cope with the death of her husband. Not all women of poor families faced these things with grim determination any more than did all widows of noblemen when their lords were killed and the enemy was at the gates, but this place showed the touch of one who, no matter what her sorrow, believed in the importance of feeding children, planting a garden, and milking that nearby lowing cow. Mistress Drifa was not one who would fall into a whining grief.