Roberta Gellis (42 page)

“I didn’t do it!” Herlyoud exclaimed.

Lintun Mercer/Saeger shrugged. “Someone had put a knife in her throat, clean as a whistle, and she was lying on the floor covered with blood. I was so furious that I grabbed the knife that was near her hand and stuck it in her until I was tired.”

Bell raised his brows. That could have been a reason for the extra knife wounds, but so could a desire to cause confusion or a vicious spite, he thought, as Lintun Mercer/Saeger turned his head and spat at Mainard who was cradling Sabina next to his breast.

“The crazy knife kept catching in her flesh, and I tore it out…and then I saw that it was a leather-cutting knife.” He laughed. “And I remembered how that pious prig of a saddler had stood up against me and swore that old Dockett hadn’t sold me the whole business, and I saw a way to a neat little revenge.”

Bell nodded. That, at least, was true. “I suppose you didn’t want too much nosing around into Bertrild’s murder either,” he said. “You say you didn’t do it, but you were there and maybe someone had seen you walk down the alley.”

“Right. So I decided to drop off the body in Mainard’s yard.” He laughed again. “After all, who had better reason to want Bertrild dead?”

“Where did you get the horse?” Bell asked.

“Josne has one at a stable between his place
and mine. I’ve borrowed it before, so the hostler asked no questions. Soon as it was good and dark, I got her out of the shed where I’d hidden her, stuck her on the horse—wasn’t easy, she was pretty stiff but at least I had her straight—and I took her where she belonged. I moved her, but I didn’t kill her.”

Bell’s brows rose again in disbelief. “My, it was like a royal council. A whole company with murder in their hearts converging on one place. How many of you were at Bertrild’s house that day?”

Saeger caught the note of doubt. “Just the one more I spoke of,” he said, then smiled, although his brows were drawn with pain. His gaze flicked to Perekin FitzRevery, hesitated a fraction of a moment, and then passed to Ulfmaer FitzIsabelle. “I said I would not hang alone. You killed her, Ulfmaer. You walked right past me in the alley.”

“No!” FitzIsabelle cried. “I was never there. You are doing this to me because I refused to write you a receipt for double the money you paid Dockett. You wanted me to swear that he had received enough from you to sell you his whole business. Why should I kill Bertrild?
I said that to whichever Crown I paid Gunther Granger’s money, the other would cry treason, you all know—” his eyes swept from Magdalene to Bell to Mainard “—they would never have hanged and gutted me; they would only have demanded the money.”

“No, that was not the reason you killed Bertrild,” Saeger said. “There
was
an heir to Granger’s money.” He laughed.
“Bertrild was the heir. Her mother, also Bertrild, was Gunther Granger’s daughter.”

“Good God, it could be true!” Sir Druerie exclaimed. “Gervase married a girl from London with a very good dowry. Her father…yes, he was in the wool trade, but I don’t remember his name. I do remember that Gervase was disappointed because the old man was not as generous as he hoped. Still, he made his daughter a nice present when little Bertrild was born, but she died…not the daughter…more’s the pity…Gervase’s wife. After that, the father wouldn’t give Gervase another penny. Said he was the cause of his wife’s death.” Sir Druerie shrugged. “Could be he was.”

FitzIsabelle’s mouth had dropped open. When Sir Druerie stopped speaking, he closed it and swallowed. “It isn’t true,” he whispered, “or if it was, I didn’t know. I swear I did not know. Granger never mentioned any family.” Then he shook his head hard. “It doesn’t matter what he says. He is a liar. I was in my shop all day on the Saturday Bertrild was killed.”

“No, you were not,” Saeger said with vicious satisfaction. “You went out to the cookshop to deliver your packet of money, and the cookshop
is not far from Lime Street.”

“Yes, I did bring the money—a whole pound!” FitzIsabelle said forcefully, a tinge of color starting to relieve the gray pallor of his face. “And if I did that, I did not expect Bertrild to be alive and well to collect it? Yes, and I remember that I walked to the cookshop with Master FitzRevery, so the only time I was alone was the little while between leaving my shop and stepping into Perekin’s.” He breathed
a long sigh of relief. “There! You vicious cur—no, you would give a mad dog a bad name—hang alone! I will come to watch and to laugh, I promise.”

Saeger tried to rise and lunge at FitzIsabelle, his expression of rage and frustration wordlessly confirming that he had lied, but Bell cuffed him, and he fell forward onto the table, weeping and cursing. FitzIsabelle cast a single challenging glance at Bell, turned, and marched out the open door.

“You are letting him go?” Sir Druerie asked. “Do you believe him?”

“His journeyman and apprentices confirm he was in the shop,” Bell replied, “and they do not love him as do Herlyoud’s people. They would not lie for FitzIsabelle. Besides, where can he go? He has no country estate, no friends outside the city, and he is not the type to leave everything behind when there is a good chance he can keep it all—well, all except what he stole from Granger. As to believing him…yes, I think I do. But it isn’t important. When I deliver Mercer/Saeger to the justiciar, I am sure he will repeat his accusations, and I will report them also. Master Octadenarius will sift out the truth about Master FitzIsabelle more easily than I.”

“Likely.” But there was a frown on Sir Druerie’s face and in a moment he went on, “Still, I think I will accompany you to this Master Octadenarius. This one—” he cast a nasty glance at Saeger “—escaped justice once, and I do not want to see him escape again. It is too bad that I do not have any of the evidence against him with me, but my word will hold him until I can obtain a copy of the indictment from home.”

“No need.” Bell touched his pouch. “I have that and the two wills also.”

He bent and untied Saeger’s leg from the bench, slapped him hard when Saeger kicked, and then yanked him upright. Sir Druerie grasped his tied wrists and pulled his arms up. Saeger howled. Sir Druerie relaxed the pressure slightly, but Saeger took the hint and stood still while Bell used the rope to make a hobble that would permit him to walk but not run.

“Hold dinner for us,” Bell said to Magdalene over his shoulder as he propelled Saeger after Sir Druerie toward the door. “I am getting so hungry, I could eat you.”

Mischief lightened her eyes, which had, despite her easy manner, been dark and shocked. “That is getting to be a chronic condition with you,” she said.

“Well, if one of Dulcie’s meals will not cure it, I will have to consider other measures.”

As Bell spoke, he pushed Saeger forward on Sir Druerie’s heels and pulled the door closed behind him. Magdalene stared at the door, shaking her head and muttering to herself, “Some day I will have the last word with him, I swear it.”

She started to turn and saw FitzRevery rather hesitantly approaching Mainard. Magdalene stopped moving, not wanting to be noticed.

“Here is your key, Mainard,” FitzRevery said.

His head still bent toward Sabina, Mainard said, “Take it back to the shop and give it to Henry. He will have to lock up if Codi and the boys do not get back before closing time.”

“I am sorry,” FitzRevery said very softly. “There were four against me. I am sorry. I tried to see that there was no damage done.”

Mainard’s head came up and his good-natured mouth was hard. “Except to Sabina’s things. There you let them toss and break as if she were worthless. It will take her weeks and bruises to make her chambers her own again.”

Sabina put a hand on his arm. “It does not matter, Mainard. I have Haesel now. It only means that I must carry my staff for a few days.”

“I didn’t know,” FitzRevery said in a stricken voice. “I was so worried that Mercer—no Saeger—and FitzIsabelle would cut up all your finished saddles and saddlebags in their search that I never went upstairs. I am sorry if my neglect will cause Sa—Mistress Sabina any distress.”

If Magdalene’s ears could have perked up over that “Sa—Mistress Sabina,” they would have. FitzRevery had never called one of the whores “Mistress.” He was kind and jolly but to his mind a whore was a whore. But clearly the form of address, to him, marked a change in Sabina’s status. And if that were true, matters would soon be mended between him and Mainard, which was good. Mainard needed friends, and FitzRevery plainly valued Mainard and wished to be his friend.

“It will be easily amended,” Sabina said to him politely, and then, turning her face up to Mainard, “You must be tired of holding
me up, love, and my knees still feel like warm jelly. Let me sit down.”

FitzRevery sighed and followed the others out.

* * * *

Some two candlemarks later, Magdalene, Bell, Sir Druerie, Mainard, and Sabina were seated at the table finishing a very belated dinner. Diot and Ella had eaten as soon as FitzRevery left while Magdalene had been washing and bandaging Sabina’s neck—more because Mainard had begun to weep each time he saw it than because the nick needed attention. She had left Sabina in her own chamber with its large double bed, and when she realized that Diot and Ella were gone, had sent Mainard in to her. They had not emerged from that seclusion until Magdalene had knocked on the door and told them dinner was on the table.

Magdalene was grateful for their absorption in each other so long as she did not have to watch them. She had used her privacy to deal with Genlis’s documents. Perhaps Bell would be angry, but she could see no real use in inflicting more suffering that would serve no purpose. First, she cut Herlyoud’s name and the information about him out of Gervase’s records. After some thought, she also removed the evidence against Perekin FitzRevery. She had hesitated over the material concerning Jokel de Josne, and then laughed and let it stand. Likely it could not be proven or Josne would be gone from London soon enough, and if there was more to be discovered, doubtless it should be exposed.

When she was finished, she packed everything carefully into the original covering, but without trying to reattach the seals. That would have to wait for Letice’s return—if Bell would agree to that subterfuge. She rewrapped the whole in a piece of coarse cloth and sat down to wait. Fortunately it was not much longer before Bell and Sir Druerie arrived. She put off more unpleasantness, which she really felt she could not bear for the moment, by getting the meal on the table.

Everyone was so starved that conversation had been nil, except for a few comments about the murders. In exchange for somewhat better conditions in prison, Saeger had admitted to the murder of Borc. When Borc asked him for money and used his true name, Saeger had said he could do better than a few pence, that he would employ Borc, but that Borc must come back after the shop was empty. When Borc returned after dark, Saeger had spun him various tales about illegal enterprises and then suggested that he sleep in a storeroom until the journeymen and apprentices returned.

Saeger wakened Borc before dawn, and said he must finish his sleep elsewhere. When Borc protested, Saeger said he would take him to Mainard’s yard, which was never locked, and give him a flask of wine to keep him warm till dawn. To that Borc agreed, and Saeger had taken along the flask of lily-of-the-valley-doctored wine and walked him to Mainard’s back gate.

He told them, grinning, that he had intended Borc die in Mainard’s shed with a Mercer’s Guild flask clutched in his hand, but he had had to hand the flask over while he got the gate open. Then Saeger stopped laughing, Bell said, calling Borc a stupid, drunken clot who could not wait and had taken a large drink. Saeger admitted he had not known the poison would act so fast. Before he could get the latch-string of the gate out, Borc had been vomiting, voiding, and convulsing, and had cast away the flask. Saeger had turned him to his back to make sure he was dead, and having heard sounds of people stirring, decided to make himself scarce.

“He had confessed to killing Borc before, but did he ever admit killing Bertrild?” Magdalene asked.

“Not in so many words. Perhaps he still hopes to take FitzIsabelle or FitzRevery down with him, but his tongue slipped often enough for me to be sure and Octadenarius also.”

Magdalene shook her head and then her whole body, as if she were shedding
something unpleasant. “He just killed whoever was in his way,” she said and sighed. “I am glad it is over, that Mainard is free of any suspicion. Only one loose end remains.” She confessed what she had done to Bell, and waited for his reaction.

He shrugged and sighed. “I suppose I should have taken everything with me. I should have realized that you would go your own way once you had decided that enough punishment had been administered, even if it was not by the law.” Then he frowned. “You did not remove the evidence of FitzIsabelle’s crime, did you? After all, it is possibly Mainard’s money that FitzIsabelle is holding.”

“Mine?” Mainard echoed. “How can it be mine?”

“Don’t be a fool, man,” Sir Druerie said. “If Granger was Bertrild’s grandfather, his estate rightly should have come to her in her lifetime. That would have made the estate yours. You are her heir, and it comes to you.”

“How sad,” Mainard said. “If he was her grandfather and she had had that money, perhaps she could have paid off the mortgages on Moorgreen and had her heart’s desire. But I do not want it. Let—”

“Oh, no,” Magdalene said. “I am not willing for FitzIsabelle to keep his ill-gotten gains. If you do not want the money, Mainard, use it for doing good, or give it to Sabina, or—”

“Of course I will give it to Sabina. It will pay her for all the insult and pain Bertrild inflicted on her. Thank you, Magdalene, that is a wonderful idea.”

“No, it is
not,”
Sabina said, with more force than was normal for her. “I never heard of such an idiotic idea in my whole life. My dear Mainard, cannot you see that Magdalene is joking? You cannot give what might amount to a fortune—for I doubt FitzIsabelle would have stolen less—to a whore. Think what people would say! You would be a laughingstock.”