Obeying with a sheepish look, he was grateful when a nearby commotion caught his attention.
A woman, whose stringy hair and pinched features suggested greater age than she might truly own, moved with evident pain on roughly made crutches toward the door. From outside, a man leaned into the inn and shouted that she must hurry. She stumbled, falling against a table from which she struggled to right herself.
A young boy rushed to her aid.
“Nute is a good lad,” Ralf said, nodding in the boy’s direction and happy he could so quickly change the subject.
“He and his sister were gifts to me from God.” Signy looked equally relieved before she turned to watch Nute help the woman find her balance with the crutches.
“More likely they believe you are His blessing on them,” he replied, his expression soft with respect. When Nute’s parents died of the sweating sickness, soon after the death of Signy’s uncle, she had taken in the child and his infant sister because they had no kin to care for them. This act was not the innkeeper’s only charity, as Ralf had good reason to suspect. It was one of the few she openly admitted.
Signy ignored him and gestured to a man to bring ale for the crowner. “How may I help in this matter of murder?” Her tone announced that the sharp-witted owner of this inn had just supplanted the gentle saint.
“You are lodging the men who brought the queen’s party to Tyndal Priory long after the bells for None. The murder occurred between their arrival and early this morning.”
Gesturing with dismay, Signy’s laugh was harsh. “And you think I should know if any of these guards disappeared long enough to kill?” Then she shrugged and gave the crowner a sympathetic look. “How many men did Prioress Eleanor say she had sent to me?”
He quoted a figure.
“I can easily confirm that is the number who came here. They did arrive together about the time you suggest. I counted the free beds; we stabled the horses and showed them where they might sleep. Since we also happen to have a group of goldsmiths with their families on pilgrimage to Norwich, a company of soldiers stands out.” Briefly she flashed a mischievous smile. “Not that pilgrims always possess greater chastity and temperance than soldiers. They are simply more inclined to practice discretion with their sinning.”
For just that instant, she became again the lively serving maid who had once shared his bed. Ralf grinned.
Signy turned so he could no longer see her face.
Fearing she had understood his thoughts, the crowner fell silent and hoped she would continue.
Suddenly, her attention was caught by a disturbance in a far corner of the inn. She called a man over, gave brief instructions, and seemed to forget Ralf was even there until the man gestured that he had settled the matter. Then she went on as if the conversation had never been interrupted.
“The queen’s guards kept to themselves as I recall. They took their evening meal at that table.” She pointed to a place just left of the door. “Drank profitably enough for the inn’s benefit. Not too much to start fights or cause the pilgrims to complain. Were you to ask if any one of them went missing that night, I could not swear to it either way.” She thought for a moment. “Surely the number gathered for supper must closely match those who arrived. If it would help, I could go over what the inn earned and see if that suggests how many of the soldiers ate here.”
“Grateful as I am for the kind offer, I doubt the effort would point out a murderer. There is no way to connect a coin with the man who paid it,” Ralf said. “They drank and ate. What did they do afterward?”
“Gambled. A few sought sleep. One tried to seduce a serving wench, but, knowing I do not tolerate any hint of whoring, she chose the pay I give over any babe with which he might have left her.”
Ralf heard the trace of bitterness in her voice. Questions about Signy’s own virtue had fluttered about in the past. After her uncle’s death, when she became quite somber and forsook adornment in her dress as if she had been a grieving widow, rumors were finally silenced. Knowing he had a part in both the tales and the change in her, he saddened, yet he was happy the village now greeted her with respect, when she visited the stalls on market day, and that her business prospered.
Nute raced past the crowner and skidded to a stop in front of Signy, looking up at her without speaking.
She put an arm around him and hugged him close.
The orphan’s eyes closed, but not before Ralf saw in them a child’s longing to trust mixed with an equal fear of it.
“I saw your good deed, Nute,” she whispered. “I am proud of you.”
He hid his face in her robe.
Even though he wished otherwise, Ralf knew he must question the child. “Will it trouble Nute if I inquire about any knowledge he has of this matter?”
He regretted he had not asked Signy more privately and earlier. If she refused permission now, he would have to find another way of getting the information. A crowner might have the right to demand answers from whomever might have them. Ralf was also a father who did not want to frighten any child.
For a moment, she looked as if she might refuse his request, then she sat on the nearby bench and pulled the child into her lap. “Our crowner has some questions,” she said to Nute, holding him tight, “and you have no cause to fear him. He is a good man. If you are uncertain about any answer, whisper it into my ear. I shall decide whether you must reply, stay silent, or should let me answer on your behalf.”
From her glance Ralf knew just how zealously she would protect the boy. He nodded that he understood this well.
“Remember there is no excuse for hurtful lies or evasions. God honors those who speak the truth with courage and compassion.” Signy ruffled Nute’s hair.
Giving Ralf a wary look, the boy snuggled closer to the innkeeper.
The crowner cursed in silence. If he must do this, he hoped he caused no anguish.
“Ask your questions,” Signy said, “but no harm shall come to my Nute.”
Nute muttered something incomprehensible into her breast.
“Even if he is guilty of doing something wrong,” she added, hugging the boy with fierce reassurance.
Ralf got down on his knees so his eyes were almost level with Nute’s. The first question must be an easy one, he decided. “Our hermit is a terrifying sight and many fear him. Most do not have the courage to admit it.” He waited for a moment to let the boy think about this. “Are you afraid of him?”
Nute nodded with vigor.
“Had I not known him as gentle Brother Thomas from the priory, before he moved into that hut, he would frighten me too with that long beard and wild red hair.” Ralf winked companionably.
“And his hair does shine like fire in the sunlight.” Signy added, her chin resting on top of Nute’s head. “Many have been awestruck.”
The crowner was not too sure how to interpret all she meant by those words. Then Nute rewarded him with a weak smile, and Ralf’s thoughts returned to the problem of murder.
“Some boys tell wicked tales,” he continued, “lies meant to foster terror because, out of false pride, they wish to hide their own, far greater dread.” Ralf saw from Nute’s expression that he had taken the right path here. “If you tell me what the stories were, I promise that those who lied to you will never know you told me.”
“The hermit flies like a bat,” Nute mumbled, “and captures in his claws those boys who have neither father nor mother. Then he bites them to death.”
“Even were that true, which it is not, you would have nothing to fear.” Despite his anger over the cruel teasing, Ralf forced a grin. “You have found a mother in Mistress Signy who has sworn to protect you and your sister against all evil.”
Signy took the boy’s chin in her hand and turned his face so he must look into her eyes. “Aye,” she said, “and you heard me swear on a holy relic.”
Nute wriggled in her lap until he could sit up, then he straighten his thin shoulders with manly purpose. “You speak the truth, Master Crowner! I watched the hermit. He never flew, morning or night, and he never tried to bite me although he surely knew I was hiding in the bushes near his door.”