Cathedral of Bones Read online

  “As I said, my wife—”

  “If you were summoned to appear before a jury you would send your wife?” Ela lifted her chin.

  “I’d just hitched my horse to the plough and I have work to do.”

  “The coroner and myself also have work to do.” Ela looked at Giles. “Master Houghton, do you have questions for Master Lesser?” She was beginning to suspect his lack of deference had something to do with her gender.

  “Indeed I do. Patrick Lesser, did you murder John Brice?”

  Chapter 16

  Lesser turned white. “Nay! I never did.”

  “You may not know I’ve been coroner in Salisbury for some eight years. Your evasive behavior is the type I’ve come to associate with guilt.” Houghton moved his horse forward a few steps, perhaps to better loom over his quarry. “Perhaps you saw a way to remove two of your neighbors in one night, to reduce your competition and simultaneously expand your holdings and increase your herd.”

  “Never! I didn’t kill anyone. I don’t know who did kill them but it wasn’t me.”

  At least they had his attention now. And his respect. Ela resolved to remember that accusation focused a man’s mind.

  “Well, now we’re back to the subject of your opinion. Who, in your opinion, killed Katherine Morse?”

  He shrugged. “I want to say her husband, but he was better off with her than without her so I don’t see why he’d do it, even if he did know she was cheating. He’s not what you’d call a man of strong passions.”

  “Would you look so kindly on your wife if she was sleeping with a neighbor?”

  Ela glanced at Haughton, impressed that he was going for the throat again.

  “No! Well, no, I wouldn’t. But it’s different. I don’t have those…deficiencies that he has. We have children.”

  “Perhaps he thought he could overlook her infidelities, but one day his temper got the better of him?” suggested Haughton.

  “I couldn’t say.” Lesser had realized Haughton’s approach was likely a tactic, and his face settled back into its stony repose.

  “But you can think of no one else with motive?”

  “Nay. Who would want to kill her? She was a kind woman, hardworking and good to everyone.”

  “Ambitious, we hear. Wanted to open her own dairy.”

  “So what if she did? Her opening a dairy in the new town wouldn’t affect my business.”

  “It might if it took too much business from the one you supply. What about Nance, would he be afraid of the competition?”

  Lesser stared at him for a moment. “I doubt it. It was just a woman’s talk. None of us thought she could actually do it. How would she raise the money to buy a milking shed and creamery?” He laughed. “It’s the stuff of dreams.”

  Ela found her horse dancing under her and realized she’d tensed her body. Poor Katie Morse. And she found herself feeling pity for her husband as well. She’d never been convinced of his guilt, despite his strong motive. Was she starting to believe in his innocence?

  “What about Brice? Who’d have reason to kill him?” continued Haughton.

  Lesser looked perturbed. “If it wasn’t Morse, wanting revenge for his wife’s affair, I don’t know who’d kill him. He was a harmless man, never caused any trouble that I know of.”

  “Your neighbor Dawson said he’d had a lawsuit with Morse. Have you had any lawsuits with the farmers along this road?”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  “Do you think Brice’s wife could have killed him?”

  “No. Why would she? Leave her own children fatherless? It doesn’t make sense. She can’t run the farm alone and her oldest is but ten or eleven.”

  “Which all rather leaves you as the prime suspect, doesn’t it?” Haughton raised a brow, but that familiar twinkle of amusement shone in his eyes.

  This time Lesser wasn’t taking the bait. “I’ve no more motive than Dawson. And, no, I don’t suspect him either. And I wish you’d catch whoever the real killer is. A man can’t sleep sound in his bed these days.”

  “Alan Morse and Elizabeth Brice are both jailed, so if you find evidence of their innocence or someone else’s guilt it’s your duty to come to us with it forthwith.” Haughton spoke sternly. “Withholding evidence from the sheriff and the king’s coroner is a crime.”

  “I understand.” Lesser looked rather cowed.

  They were none the wiser. It wasn’t even midday yet and already Ela felt exhausted. Her children had likely finished with their tutoring and would be asking where she was. Again she wondered if she should leave all this riding and inquisition to Giles Haughton, who was an experienced master at it.

  They rode back to the farmyard and out onto the street.

  “Two people are dead and two innocent souls are locked up in my castle,” said Ela with a sigh, as they joined the road again. “Or that’s the result of this morning’s interviews.”

  “Nay. One of them is guilty. I’m pretty sure Elizabeth Brice killed her husband. We just need to know why.”

  “Crime of passion? She was furious with him in the town square. Enough to make a scene.” Ela was still shocked that anyone would bring such negative attention to their own marriage.

  “But Lesser makes the good point that she can hardly run the farm without him.”

  “Maybe she’d prefer to sell up and be a merry widow?” Ela felt like a traitor to her gender by suggesting it. No doubt some would accuse her of such when she didn’t remarry.

  Haughton lifted a brow. “I suppose it’s a possibility. No doubt many a wife wishes her husband dead on occasion.”

  “I doubt that sincerely.” For a chilling instant Ela wondered if people thought she might have killed her husband. He’d been gone so long—missing in France—that people had started to call her a widow, then suddenly he returned…and then she was a widow. “Most women, myself included, depend on their husband in inexpressible ways. The prospect of life without a protector is a fearful one.”

  Haughton glanced back at the soldiers. “Should we send these two to make sure that Mistress Brice is safely in custody and on her way to the castle?”

  Does he want to be alone so we can talk in confidence? Ela nodded and gave the command. The soldiers turned their horses and trotted back up the lane to the Brice farm, leaving Ela and Giles Haughton alone at last.

  They rode along silently for a few moments.

  “My husband—”

  “Your husband—”

  They spoke at the same time. Would Haughton laugh? That would be like him. But he didn’t.

  “You think your husband was murdered?”

  “I do but I hesitate to even tell you the facts of the matter.”

  Haughton reined his horse to a stop, which caused Ela’s horse to hesitate. She pulled Freya to a halt as well and called on her courage.

  “Why do you hesitate?”

  “Because I angered a powerful man. I believe he took revenge on me to further his own aims.”

  “A man more powerful than William Longespée?” Haughton looked intrigued.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Ela felt her courage fail and called upon the Lord to strengthen her. “A man with the king’s ear. Someone with the power to make sure justice is never served.”

  “The king’s justiciar?” He whispered it as if it must be impossible. His eyes searched her face. “Why would Hubert De Burgh want your husband dead?”

  He didn’t believe her. And now the dreaded name had been spoken aloud she couldn’t take back her accusation and say it was all a misunderstanding.

  Fear clawed at her insides. Fear for her children, for Will’s future. “Can you promise me complete secrecy?”

  “On my honor.” He held up his right hand. His horse stamped and snorted, impatient to continue home.

  Ela told him of De Burgh’s ill-fated attempt to betroth her to his nephew while her husband was still alive but missing.

  Giles’s eyes widened. “A bold move, to be sure.�
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  “When my husband returned, I told him that De Burgh had pressed an adulterous marriage. William wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands, and although he’d barely had time to recover from his journey and warm himself at the hearth after his long absence, he rode at once to see the king. He told the king that he demanded apology and redress for De Burgh’s shocking insult to me and to himself or he would have to turn the kingdom upside down in his quest for revenge.” She spoke so fast her words tumbled over each other. “You know William didn’t mince words.”

  “De Burgh must have been the picture of contrition.”

  “One would hope that he felt shame. He apologized and made some extravagant presents to my husband. William was never one to hold a grudge—they’ve been on opposite ends of a sword before—so he accepted De Burgh’s invitation to dinner at his home.”

  She paused, wondering for the thousandth time at her husband’s decision to sup in his enemy’s hall. He’d probably see refusing as an act of cowardice. “He ate and drank and thought all was well but by the next morning he felt sick to his stomach.”

  The coroner frowned.

  “William rode home at once and took to his bed. At first we thought it was the rich feasting after months of privation—and a punishment for breaking Lenten rules to feast on meat under De Burgh’s roof.” She cursed De Burgh for laying temptation in her husband’s path. She should have known he’d think as little of God’s laws as he apparently did of man’s.

  “Instead of recovering, my beloved husband sickened until he felt death tugging at his sleeve. He begged for the bishop to attend him. They prayed and my husband offered confession after confession—by his own admission he did not live the most Christian of lives—but to no avail. Within days he was dead, taken from his children, who had barely welcomed him home.” Tears now flowed freely down her cheeks, and she raised her hand to shield her face. Her pain was so fresh and raw—these events barely a week old.

  Protracted silence made her swipe at her eyes with her veil and meet the coroner’s gaze. He looked more astonished than anything, frowning at the bank of clouds over the treetops. “But your husband is the present king’s uncle. And De Burgh is the king’s closest confidant. It beggars belief that he would do something so—heinous.”

  He didn’t believe her. Ela’s heart sank, and fresh tears pricked her eyes. “You can see why I didn’t dare tell anyone. Who would believe such a thing?”

  “Have you shared your thoughts with anyone else?”

  “No. Who would I tell?”

  “Your family?”

  “My mother is my only family left, apart from my innocent children. I don’t wish to endanger any of them by burdening them with this news.”

  “I see.” His mouth grew smaller. She could tell he was troubled by this secret she’d laid on him. “And what do you propose that I should do?”

  Ela stiffened. Her horse shifted under her. “I have no idea. Honestly. Could justice ever be served? I have no proof.”

  “We might be able to find proof of poison in your husband’s body.” He grimaced slightly. “If we were to, say…feed a small amount of his—”

  “No.” Ela couldn’t imagine anything worse than feeding his flesh to some innocent animal in the hope that it would die. “He’s already dead. Let him rest in peace. Even if we could prove he’d been poisoned there would be no evidence of who did it. For all I know I might end up accused.”

  “Who would accuse you?”

  “De Burgh.” She said it, then lifted a brow. “Attack is often the best form of defense, I’ve heard. He could accuse me of wanting to maintain my autonomy. He could even use my refusal of the marriage proposal as proof of it.”

  Haughton let out a long sigh. “I see what you mean. Do you plan to marry again?”

  Ela froze. Was this really a question she needed to answer right now? “No. I intend to found a holy order of sisters and join it myself once my children are of age.”

  He nodded slowly. “If I were you, I’d found it sooner rather than later.”

  “Why?”

  “To avoid the kind of speculation you’ve just suggested. An unmarried woman is an attractive nuisance in some quarters. Especially if she’s as well landed and moneyed as yourself.”

  Ela’s gut clenched. “I appreciate your sage counsel, Master Houghton.”

  “It’s offered with tenderness as much as wisdom. You are a credit to your late husband and do honor to his memory.”

  “You don’t think it bold of me to command the role of sheriff?”

  He laughed. Sometimes his laughter really annoyed her. “Bold? Of course it’s bold. Why should men only have boldness as a good quality? Perhaps more women should be bold and the world would know less war and strife.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears, Master Houghton. But I know that many feel a woman’s counsel is best whispered in her husband’s ear for him to execute.”

  “There may be some truth to that.” He let out a sigh. “Your husband’s ancestor Empress Matilda was never able to claim the crown her father left to her.”

  “I hardly intend to rule as queen, and I study myself daily for the sin of pride.” She didn’t like being compared to Matilda, though she couldn’t help admiring her spirit. “I simply seek to do my duty as Countess of Salisbury, the title and role my father left me.” Hmm. Maybe she wasn’t so different from Matilda after all.

  “You have far to fall. You’re right to be cautious.”

  Ela felt the boldness seep out of her. He wasn’t going to do anything. She’d shared her dangerous secret, and now nothing would come of it.

  At least nothing good.

  She pushed her horse back into a walk. Why had she told him? Had she hoped he’d lead an investigation that would uncover the truth? That he’d seek redress as if his life depended on it?

  That was what her big-hearted, brash, brave-to-a-fault husband would have done.

  Houghton was too wise for such rashness, as was she.

  “If I were to tell my children of my suspicions they might waste their lives in a futile quest for revenge.”

  “Indeed. Young Will is blessed with his father’s courage and daring. I’m sure he would take it upon himself to avenge your loss.”

  An odd thought occurred to her. “You don’t think that would be right, do you? Am I wrong to want his want safety at the cost of redress?”

  “Some might say so, but I wouldn’t be one of them. Your son has a bright future ahead of him as Earl of Salisbury. Hubert De Burgh is the king’s right hand, and the king—God bless him—has not yet reached majority, so effectively Hubert De Burgh is in charge of all England, including the courts. It’s inconceivable that you could win with an outright accusation in a court of law and quite likely that you might end up imprisoned for treason or worse if you were to accuse him.”

  Ela felt a trickle of fear at the base of her spine. He could yet do all those things in revenge for her refusal to marry his nephew.

  “But if you were to sow the seeds of rumor…” He tailed off. “If word were to somehow travel that William might have been murdered. And that—outrageous as it seems—the king’s justiciar might be the hand behind it—”

  He turned and looked at her. Her whole body pricked to attention. “Are you suggesting you might be willing to sow these seeds for me?”

  His face was grim. “I can’t promise any results. And if pressed I will staunchly deny that I heard any suspicion from you. You must remain blameless and above reproach for your own safety and that of your children.” He frowned. “But if over a cup of ale, I might happen to mention the strange circumstances of your husband’s death to one man…”

  He looked ahead. The clouds over the hills had grown darker, threatening rain. “And if Hubert De Burgh’s ambition and aspirations were to be mentioned to another man over another mug of ale—”

  Ela felt her chest swell. Perhaps her husband’s cruel murder wouldn’t remain a secret buried i
n her heart.

  “And if, over a cup of wine, two of those men might find themselves talking and might find that two puzzle pieces unexpectedly fit together... De Burgh is an arrogant man and prone to ruffling feathers. His vice grip on power cannot last forever.”

  “I’m deeply grateful.” Ela’s voice emerged as a whisper. “And I have no expectations of any kind. God is our judge, and De Burgh will meet him at last. Until then I must content myself with raising my children to bring honor to their father’s memory.”

  “Indeed, my lady. You’re wise as well as good.”

  Ela still felt that the word cowardly might apply. But she could not sacrifice her children on the altar of revenge.

  “I just hope you don’t find yourself forced to marry De Burgh’s nephew against your will. Worse things have happened.”

  “The Magna Carta permits a woman to remain as a widow. I do not brag if I give myself some credit for that.”

  “I know you were there when the king signed it.”

  “And my husband signed it. We keep one copy here in safety in Salisbury. Even the king’s justiciar can’t contravene the last king’s promise to his barons and his people.”

  “God go with you, my lady.”

  “And with you, Master Houghton. Forgive me for burdening you with this hard news.”

  “You do me great honor with your confidence. And I intend to do you and your late husband honor with how I manage it.”

  Back at the castle, Ela consulted with the cook about the menus for the next few days. It would be so much easier if the meatless season fell later in the year, when there was a decent array of fruits and vegetables to eat, rather than at the end of winter, when it was hard to find a bushel of carrots that hadn’t moldered yet. Her mother was used to the best, and she intended to make sure that she had no reason to complain of her daughter’s hospitality.

  Ela felt a sense of lightness after unburdening herself from her terrible secret. She knew it might be months, or years, before Haughton could safely get word to spread, but the prospect gave her hope.

  Elizabeth Brice was safely imprisoned in the dungeon awaiting the assizes, and arrangements had been made for the Brice cattle to be taken for milking and tended until her fate was determined.