Cathedral of Bones Page 6

  “Oh, my darlings!” Ela’s mother lavished kisses on the heads of her children, as they crowded around their grandmother and petted her dogs. “Are you taking good care of your mama?”

  “Yes, we are, Grandma,” said Richard with solemn seriousness. “Though she’s been busy.”

  “Has she, my dear? Well, keeping busy can be a good thing when you’re dealing with grief.”

  “Do come sit down and eat.” Ela ushered them to a new table the servants had erected. Deschamps had left and the last of the jurors were now making themselves scarce which avoided the awkwardness of necessary introductions. Her mother was a grand lady of the old world and was not likely to be interested in common tradesmen, no matter how good and true they were.

  “She’s very busy being sheriff of Salisbury,” said Stephen brightly. “She just had a meeting with the jurors.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense, my cherub. Your mother has far more important duties.”

  Ela bit her tongue. “Will you have some of this lovely roulade?” The kitchen staff were rushing out with dishes made for Ela and the children’s’ dinners. Luckily, they knew from long experience to always cook for a crowd. She didn’t know what was rolled up in the light pastry crust, but it was bound to be good. “And a big salmon will be out in a moment.”

  “Oh, goodness, I’m not sure my digestion is up to such indulgence,” Alianore protested. “Especially during Lent. Perhaps a thin barley gruel would do.”

  Ela asked one of the servers to order a barley pottage. The cook would be sure to throw up her big, red arms in dismay at yet another order, but who knows, maybe she had a vat of it going already. She had an almost magical ability to produce what was needed in record time despite her constant grumbling and protestations.

  “My dear, this roulade looks wonderful.” Jean carved it into slices and passed some out to the children before taking a couple for himself and pouring thick almond sauce onto his plate.

  Ela was glad there had been no more mention of her new role. “I’m sorry we don’t have more vegetables but you know how it is at this time of year. There’s a leek and parsnip pottage, and these fried onions look tasty. The cook has a way of making them so sweet and crispy.”

  With the fire roaring and her family gathered around her enjoying the modest feast, Ela took a moment to be thankful for the blessings she enjoyed. The dogs hovered around the table, their faces hopeful, pouncing instantly on any scraps that happened to come their way.

  “Is Deschamps to be sheriff?” asked Jean between mouthfuls. “Or perhaps young William?” He shot a bright smile at Will, who was busy stuffing his face at the far end of the table.

  “Will is still too young.” Ela stuck a spoon in her pottage.

  “I’m not,” he protested, with a full mouth.

  “I intend to hold the role until such time as he’s ready to assume it.”

  “I know it’s too soon to talk of marriage—” Her mother peered over her wine cup. “But perhaps your next marriage will remove you from Salisbury altogether. Young Will needs to—”

  “If I married again, my husband might command the title and estate of Salisbury for himself, thus depriving Will of his inheritance entirely.” She looked her mother hard in the eye. “Luckily, this is not a risk since I do not intend to marry again.”

  She wanted to forestall endless discussions about just which recently widowed baron had the right credentials. No doubt her mother already had a list as long as her forearm. “The Magna Carta states that no widow shall be compelled to remarry, as long as she wishes to remain without a husband. William Longespée was my husband, and he was all the husband I shall ever want or need. When all of my children reach majority I shall take the veil. Until then I intend to manage my household, and my earldom, as I see fit.”

  She knew her face was flushed by the end of her speech. She looked from her mother to Jean. She could see her mother’s mind whirring behind her blue-gray eyes. “You can’t be sheriff, my dear.”

  “It’s really not a subject for discussion.” Ela kept her voice calm, trying not to let her bubbling anger spill out in front of her children. “Since none of his heirs have reached majority, I have inherited the entirety of my husband’s estate and responsibilities, to hold in trust. William kept me in close confidence. During our long marriage I have witnessed and participated in countless meetings here in this hall and abroad. I have experience and authority, and I intend to use them to maintain peace and order in Salisbury.”

  “Well.” Her mother had stopped eating and now flapped a linen napkin in front of her face as if it could provide her with desperately needed air. “That was quite a speech.”

  Jean looked amused. “I admire Ela for making it. She’s a brave woman.”

  “A reckless one,” hissed her mother. “A woman’s duty is running her household. If she tries to do a man’s job it will just invite the ire of other men.”

  “Are there any particular men that spring to mind?” She spoke mostly out of pique, but her mother did have an ear for gossip.

  “Hmm, let me see—” Her mother pursed her lips. “Oh, all the barons. And—” she cast her eyes skywards where a couple of birds roosted up in the rafters. “All the earls and dukes and knights of the realm and perhaps even the king himself.”

  “Then let them come talk to me. My house is open to friends.”

  “And enemies?” Jean asked, his characteristic easy smile still evident.

  “Sometimes admitting enemies can’t be avoided, more’s the pity,” Ela said wryly. She hoped Deschamps wouldn’t become her enemy. It was too early to tell.

  “I ran this household myself as a young woman, don’t forget.” Her mother lifted a brow. “It’s no small feat.” She glanced around at the soldiers who stood in the doorway, along the walls and who sat at the table furthest from the fire. “All these rough garrison soldiers are as essential as they are irritating. I remember wondering how the country housewives in their tiny cottages felt, sitting down in front of their own cozy fires with no one to tend to but their nearest and dearest. It’s our lot to tend to a town and our nation as well as our own families. Your father would be proud of you for all you’ve accomplished.”

  For once Ela couldn’t hear any censure in her mother’s voice. She allowed herself a moment to bask in the thought of her father looking down fondly on her from heaven. Sometimes she forgot that her mother was mistress of this house once.

  “I thank you and my father for raising me with a full awareness of my responsibilities as heiress to Salisbury. And I thank my beloved husband for guiding and protecting us through turbulent times. It’s bitter to face the future without him, but I won’t let him down.”

  “What on earth is that smell?” Her mother’s nose tilted skyward.

  Ela tried not to glance in the direction of the armory. The body was gone but the stench still lingered, mingling with the smoke from the fire and the aroma of roasted fish. “Since you’re keen for a wedding, you can help me plan Will’s and Isabella’s. I intend to have them both married by this summer.”

  Her mother looked surprised for a moment. Then her familiar knowing look returned. Her mother knew that wealthy wards were not a prize to risk. “How lovely! Isabella, you must be so excited.”

  Isabella looked like she wanted to cry.

  “William de Vesci is awfully handsome, my love! I’m great friends with his grandmamma. We took the boat back from Normandy together last summer. It is a shame that he’s called William like almost everyone else in this family, but I’m sure you can find a pet name for him.” She turned to the other young William, who was seated next to her, and patted his knee. “And Idonea de Camville is a lovely young girl. I’m sure her grandmamma will forgive your father for all the trouble he’s caused her.” She winked at Ela.

  Ela wasn’t so sure, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her folding the castle of Lincoln and its attendant manors into her own family. All part of the great chess game of life.
At least the attention was off her and onto her children.

  “It’s a good idea to get Will settled with his wife before he reaches the stage where serving girls start to look pretty to him.”

  “Indeed.” Ela shot a pointed glance at Will, who had the decency to redden. Ela didn’t mention that she’d had to send one poor girl away just after Christmas because she was worried he’d sully her virtue. It was unfair that the girl’s family should suffer the loss of her pay due to Will’s foolishness. “He’s more than ready for marriage.”

  “I shall have a new sword made for you, befitting a young man who’ll soon be a knight.” Will brightened at the prospect. Then she turned to Isabella. “And you’ll be the most radiant bride in England. I know a man who sells the finest silk brocade from Italy, my dear. We shall order some for your dress, Izzy. A yellow gold, perhaps? That would bring out the gold highlights in your dark hair. Your weddings shall be glittering occasions that will bring smiles back to our sad faces.”

  Isabella glanced at Ela, who winked at her. Isabella managed a brave smile for her grandmother.

  They chattered about musicians and food and which guests to definitely invite and which to keep away. If she could keep her mother and Jean up late enough perhaps she’d be able to sneak out tomorrow before they noticed she was gone. She certainly didn’t intend to explain to them that she intended to enter the house of a suspected murderer.

  In the morning Ela dressed in a dark-green gown and asked Sibel to add extra pins to her wimple and fillet so they’d survive a windy cross-country ride. She hurried through her morning rounds and ate a light breakfast before the children—and more importantly, her mother—were even awake. Giles Haughton and Hugh Clifford were early. When Peter Howard arrived, flour still clinging to his tunic, she mounted Freya and they set out, with two guards in tow.

  “I know where the house is,” Hugh reassured her. “My mother grew up out that way.”

  “Have you asked her if she knew Alan Morse?” Ela wanted to know everything she could before they encountered him.

  “I did last night. She remembered him as a boy from when his father kept cows there. She said he was pale and sickly but didn’t know that much else about him. His parents had an older son who was supposed to inherit the farm but he was killed in an accident years ago.”

  “What kind of accident?” Had Morse murdered before? Or was she now seeing murder everywhere she looked?

  He shrugged. “She wasn’t sure. She’s lived here in town twenty-five years or more and hasn’t been back out that way since her father died and her mother moved in with us going on twenty years. She told me the best route to get there, though. She said to avoid the river because it will be boggy at this time of year. She said we should go the hilltop route even though it’s longer.”

  “Please thank her for her advice.” Ela led them onto the suggested path, which took them past a flock of sheep grazing on the first tiny shoots of spring grass.

  The morning was bright and dry and they made good progress across the fields, through a dismal hamlet and into a small knot of still-leafless woodland where they watered their horses at a stream. There was no trace of ice left anywhere. Ela wondered how long Katie Morse had been missing from her home and hoped they’d learn the truth.

  The track to Morse’s house passed along the side of a field with a large bull in it—they could see it over the hedgerow—and another field with a fine herd of brown dairy cows. Morse’s barn was a big wattle-and-daub structure, with a neat thatched roof, that towered over the small cottage nearby.

  The cottage itself looked in poor repair, the thatch dark with age and missing in patches. The daub had washed off the walls in some places, exposing the woven wattle beneath. Morse clearly took better care of his cows than his wife or himself. A thin trickle of smoke rose above the roof, suggesting that he was at home.

  Ela drew in a steadying breath as they approached.

  Chapter 5

  “P’raps it would be best if one of us knocked, my lady,” said one of the guards, a big jovial fellow who’d been chattering away to his companions the entire ride.

  “I shall announce myself,” she responded. She doubted they’d need to knock. Morse must be deaf if he hadn’t heard the approach of six horses in this remote valley. As expected the unpainted front door flung open and a man appeared.

  He had a broad build and stood at medium height. His dark hair was thinning on top. His tunic was soiled and he wore no hose or shoes, despite the still bitter weather. He looked like he was about to start yelling but when he saw the entourage of armed guards he stilled and frowned.

  He knows why we’re here. She rode right up to him, deciding for now to stay in her saddle. “Alan Morse?”

  “That’s my name, my lady.”

  Did he recognize her? It didn’t matter. “My name is Ela Longespée, Countess of Salisbury. We are here to inquire about your wife.”

  His brows lowered slightly. “What about her?”

  “Is she here?” Ela looked behind him into the darkened doorway.

  “No, she ain’t here.” He half-mumbled it.

  “Where is she?” Ela disliked asking a question when she was almost sure of the answer.

  “She up and left about three weeks ago.”

  “What do you mean left?”

  “Left. That’s what I mean. Left her home and hearth and took off.”

  It was Ela’s turn to frown. He was lying. No woman in her right mind would take off in February, especially if she was pregnant.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “She’s a woman, ain’t she? Fickle and flighty.” He looked directly at her. She was tempted to reach down from her saddle and slap him across the face. Luckily, she was too well schooled to allow such a display of temper.

  The guards moved in closer. They hadn’t missed his open insolence.

  “She was pregnant.” Ela wanted to come right out and accuse him of murder, but the process of arresting him would go more smoothly if he somehow confessed it. “Why would a pregnant woman leave her family?”

  “T’weren’t my baby.”

  Ela stared at him for a moment, trying to find her bearings. “Whose baby was it?”

  “I have no idea. But it weren’t mine.”

  She shifted in her saddle. If his wife was pregnant with another man’s baby, that gave her husband a solid motive to kill her and her bastard child.

  She didn’t approve of the word bastard, or the concept, since her husband could fit that description, but that is certainly how the husband of a cheating wife would see the baby in her belly.

  Or was Morse lying?

  “How do you know it’s not yours?”

  He tugged at the front of his grubby and faded blue tunic. “I were injured in battle nigh on ten year ago. Never were able to perform since.”

  “In the barons’ revolt?” The timing was right.

  He squinted at her. “Aye.” She was tempted to ask which side he fought on, but since he would have been only a hired foot soldier, it was likely of little significance and his answer might upset her own guards or the jurors.

  “Do you have—proof of this injury?” She silently prayed that he wouldn’t hoist up his tunic and reveal it.

  His eyes narrowed. “Never had no children before now, did I?”

  “I don’t know, did you?” She didn’t like his attitude at all. Her guards didn’t either. Their irritation was being transmitted to their restless horses. “How long were you married to Katherine?” It was hard to believe that a woman would marry a man who told her he couldn’t give her children.

  “Seven years.”

  “Did she know you couldn’t sire an heir?”

  “Aye. I told her. She didn’t care. Couldn’t wait to be free of that old bastard what raised her.”

  “He told me she wasn’t living with him at the time. That she lived in the dairy where she worked as a dairymaid.”

  “Aye. Sending him all her mon
ey, though. And what woman doesn’t crave her own roof over her head instead of her master’s?”

  Ela looked up at the deteriorated roof of his grim cottage and wondered. Still, she’d had no say in her own marriage, so she could hardly criticize another woman’s choices.

  “Why didn’t you report your wife missing if she’s been gone more than three weeks?” Surely even a murderer would cover his tracks with feigned sorrow.

  “Report it to who? When a man’s wife runs off with another man, he tends to his wounds. He don’t want to shout it all over the countryside.”

  “You have no idea who this other man was?”

  “No.” His face grew ruddier, and Ela could feel the full extent of his mortification.

  Her mind whirled. If there was indeed another man involved with Katie, he was a new suspect. If he was a married man he might have plenty to lose if evidence of his adultery showed up on his doorstep. He might be tempted to make his problems disappear—permanently.

  She decided to stab for the heart and gauge his reaction. “Are you aware that your wife is dead?”

  He stared at her for a moment, as if once again he didn’t understand. Then he blinked, face still unmoving. “Katie’s dead?”

  “Her body was found tangled into reeds at a bend in the Avon.” She didn’t mince words or attempt to spare his feelings.

  His eyes darted about, though he stood frozen in place. “She were drowned?”

  “Murdered, according to the coroner. We found her body on Sunday.” She kept her gaze pinned to him even as her horse shifted under her. “Bludgeoned.”

  “Oh.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. His lack of sadness should be a concern, but he did look genuinely shocked. Too shocked to even feign sorrow he didn’t feel. “He must’ve murdered her.”

  “You are also a suspect.” She watched him closely.