The Merchant's Daughter (32 page)

Annabel stood in the courtyard with Mistress Eustacia. The goats that usually grazed there had been shut in their pen as people descended onto the open space, talking low among themselves. She watched them, her heart pounding against her chest.

Two of Lord le Wyse’s men hauled a table and some stools out of the manor house and set them up on the grassy court, which had lately turned brown with the coming frost. The coroner’s clerk, Ralph Abovebrook, who had arrived the night before, sat on the stool and unfolded his leather case, from which he drew out a pot of ink, a quill, and a long sheet of parchment.

The stools were set up for the twelve members of the jury, arranged in a circle on the yard. Soon she might be forced to stand in that circle, to answer the coroner’s questions in front of the jury; indeed, in front of the entire village, which was gathering around to witness the proceedings. She wanted so much to run away and hide. How could she possibly allow Sir Clement to ask those questions he was sure to press her with? She had prayed and prayed for a miracle, a way out of this terrible mess. Surely God would rescue her somehow.

When she saw the twelve men of the jury sit on the stools, she groaned, drawing a look from Mistress Eustacia.
O God, please don’t place me in front of all those men. What will happen if I am forced to tell Stephen’s secret? God, save me! Don’t make me do this.

“Child! Are you ill?” Mistress Eustacia’s voice registered alarm, breaking into Annabel’s fevered prayer. “You’re so pale.”

“I am well, I am well.” She forced herself to stop wringing her hands and instead clasped her arms around herself, willing herself to be still, if not calm.

“Annabel.”

Stephen stood at her left elbow. “Oh!” She jumped then placed her hand over her heart, wondering if it would thump straight out of her body. “What are you doing here?” She lowered her voice, hoping that even Mistress Eustacia, who was beside her, wouldn’t hear. She stepped away with Stephen a few feet and leaned against the cold stone of the manor house, beside the undercroft door.

“I know I shouldn’t have come, but I couldn’t help it. Do you think they will question you?”

Her lip trembled, and she bit it to make it stop. “I am almost certain of it.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be angry with you, even if you tell them everything.”

“Oh, Stephen. Please forgive me … if I do.”

“I will.”

“I will do my best. I promise.” Tears stung her eyelids as she tried not to think about what might happen to Stephen. “I have to go.” Not wanting people to see her and Stephen together, she turned and fled back to Mistress Eustacia, plastering herself against her mistress’s side.

Ranulf caught sight of Sir Clement standing by the corner of the manor house and started toward him, but Sir Clement was intent on watching two people several feet away — Annabel and Stephen.

Annabel looked pale and distressed. But Sir Clement’s eyes were trained on Stephen, his head cocked as though listening intently. Annabel ran away, eliciting a grim expression from the young woodworker. However, Ranulf was interested in Sir Clement’s expression. His brows had pulled together to form a V between his eyes, and his mouth was slightly ajar.

When Sir Clement turned his gaze on Ranulf, the coroner hurried over to him. “Ranulf, who is that man yonder with the impaired legs?”

“That is Stephen Blundel, a furniture maker and woodworker.”

“Call him over here, and the maiden Annabel.”

Ranulf hadn’t obeyed anyone since his father died. But he had little choice now.

“Stephen.” Ranulf beckoned with his hand then strode to where Annabel stood with Eustacia.

“Annabel.” He spoke her name softly, but still she started and turned. “Come with me for a moment. Sir Clement wants to speak with you and Stephen.”

Her cheeks were already devoid of their usual color, but she lifted her chin and followed. She must have known as well as he did that she had no choice.

Stephen’s face was almost as pale as Annabel’s.
Like sheep to the slaughter.

Sir Clement focused on Stephen’s face. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are the king’s coroner.”

“And you must answer me truthfully. Where were you the night the bailiff was struck in the head, rendering him senseless to this day?”

“I was here.”

“Did you see what happened to him?”

Stephen stood still and silent. Even his eyes didn’t blink.

“Did you strike him?”

“I was trying to protect Annabel. I wasn’t trying to kill him. That is all.”

“What did you hit him with?”

“He was holding a knife and was trying to hurt an innocent maiden.” Defiance mixed with the fear in his eyes.

Stephen shifted his weight awkwardly, placing his hip at an abnormal angle that drew the coroner’s notice.

Sir Clement’s lips parted, obviously deep in thought. His voice was somehow softer when he resumed. “You were protecting Annabel?”

Stephen didn’t reply. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Yes.” Sir Clement answered his own question then rubbed
his palm over his cheek and chin. He stared in the direction of the circle of jurors across the yard, but his eyes were vacant.

Shouts came from the direction of the lane that led to the village. Adam came running into the yard, panting and out of breath, with his father rather far behind him, also running.

“Bailiff Tom is awake!”

Several people exclaimed, “What?”

“He’s awake,” Adam repeated. “My father sent me to fetch the coroner.”

Annabel looked at Lord le Wyse. He gave her a grim smile and a nod. While she still appeared fragile, a new strength seemed to enter her as she returned his smile.

Tom was alive. And awake.
I’m glad he’s survived, God. I pray he will repent of his evil ways.
But what would this mean for Annabel? Would he say that Stephen threw the rock, that Stephen tried to kill him? No doubt Annabel would be forced to tell what the bailiff had done, and had been planning to do, to her.

But at least Stephen wouldn’t be hanged for the bailiff’s death.

Ranulf hurried down the road, with Sir Clement close behind him. He was well aware that the entire village, which had turned out for the jury’s inquisition, was following close on his heels.

When they arrived at Joan Smith’s house, Sir Clement demanded that the rest of the village go back to the manor, but he allowed Ranulf to go inside with him. They found the bailiff in a half-sitting position, eating some oat and pea pottage that his sister, Joan, was feeding him. He looked very weak, his head propped up with blankets and a pillow.

“Good morning, Bailiff Tom,” Ranulf greeted him, fighting to keep the disdain from his voice.

The bailiff stared blankly back at him and swallowed a mouthful of pottage.

“Tom, this is Sir Clement, the king’s coroner.”

The bailiff stared at him as well.

“Tom? Can you hear me?”

“Aye, I can hear you,” he said weakly.

His sister shook her head as she looked up at them. “He don’t know you, don’t know me, don’t know anybody.”

Better and better.

Sir Clement stepped toward the bailiff. “I wonder if you could tell me how you got that wound?” Sir Clement pointed to the front of Bailiff Tom’s head.

The bailiff slowly raised his hand to his head, feeling gingerly at the bump that had receded so much as to be barely visible. “No, I don’t know.”

“What is your name?” the coroner asked.

The bailiff opened his mouth, but his eyes went blank as he stared past the two men. Finally, he said, “I can’t remember.”

Sir Clement stepped back. “That’s all right.” He nodded at Joan. “Thank you. We won’t need to ask any more questions. Good day.”

They left the house and walked slowly. Several villagers looked at them, obviously wanting to know what happened and what the bailiff had said to them.

What would happen now? Ranulf wondered just as much as the villagers. But Sir Clement was silent all the way back to the manor house courtyard.

Annabel didn’t have to wait long for the coroner and Lord le Wyse to return. When they arrived, the jurors went back to their places on their stools, and the clerk sat back down and took up his quill.

Sir Clement stood in their midst. When everyone was perfectly quiet and every eye was on him, the coroner announced, “Praise be to God, who orders all our days, Bailiff Tom atte Water is awake and recovering from his injury. I’ve just spoken with him, and he is speaking as clearly as I am speaking to you now.”

A cheer went up — a rather half-hearted cheer, as many had already heard this news and were more interested in how the inquest would proceed.

“I am sure we all want to thank the hundred bailiff for coming and assembling this special jury to inquire into the suspicious circumstances surrounding the bailiff’s serious injury. And we want to thank the jurors who were willing to come and do their duty to their fellow man. However …”

What had Bailiff Tom told him?

Everyone, Annabel included, seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the coroner to continue.

“Bailiff Tom, we all hope, shall recover from this injury. When he grows stronger, we pray he remembers all that happened.”

Does he not remember?

“And when he remembers, you may either summon me to return, at which time the hundred bailiff and jury may be reassembled, or you may assess this matter in your own manorial court with your own jury, as you please, since this is not a death inquest.” The hundred bailiff nodded around the circle at the gathered assembly. “Good day to you all.”

With that, Sir Clement turned and strode away.

As he came near to where Stephen stood, he nodded to him, and as he passed Annabel he nodded to her as well. He headed up the manor house steps, Annabel supposed, to collect his things.

So, Sir Clement intended to conceal the fact that Stephen was the attacker and that Bailiff Tom had been trying to assault Annabel. He wouldn’t force Stephen and Annabel to tell what happened after all.

He chose mercy instead of justice.

Thank you, God.

Annabel closed her mouth and looked at Lord le Wyse for confirmation. He simply stared back, the lines in his forehead relaxing and his jaw going slack.