Searcher of the Dead Page 23

  “Maud!” she shouted.

  In response, a noise. She could swear that she’d heard a noise in the room to her left, the old kitchen. Slowly, she moved forward. All looked as it had before though. The same jumble of destruction. The same yawning sky over her head. The same … No. Not the same. A new track wended through the rubbish and led to the pile of what had been the narrow bed set near the far wall. Which appeared to have shifted its position, from what Bess could recollect.

  She crossed the room, each step trod with care, and squatted near the bed. And saw what she had not seen before.

  “Ah, Bess. You were blind.” She had searched for a hiding spot within the walls. Not beneath the floor.

  As quickly as she could, she moved the rubble aside. Her efforts revealed the outline of a door cut into the floor, which at one time had been a solid expanse of limestone tiles. Not any longer, though. A square section had been removed and replaced with planks plastered over to blend in with the filthy limestone all around. She could not tell when the change had been made, but the origin of the door did not matter. All that mattered was that this portal explained how the brown-robed stranger had succeeded in vanishing from sight.

  “Not a specter or a demon, then, are you?”

  She felt around the edge for a handle or such and found a notch large enough to grip with her fingers. Firmly planting her one good foot, she tugged. The door swung upward easily, the concealed hinges recently oiled. Without a lantern, she could not explore what lay below, though. Leaning over the opening, she discovered she would not need one, for a faint light glimmered from the depths. A short flight of steps, hewn of stone and affixed to the clay soil, led to a shallow cellar. The space was lined with more stone to hold back the damp earth that surrounded it.

  “Maud? Are you down there?” she called, gripping the edge of the opening. “It is Widow Ellyott. Come, you are safe with me, child.”

  She heard what sounded like a cascade of pebbles, faint and distant. Next, she would be greeted by a scurrying of rats, no doubt. But a rat had not lit a lantern.

  “Maud! Come, your mother frets for you. I know you are down there.” She knew no such thing. “Maud, I will help you.”

  Come now, girl. Please.

  She held her breath as she strained to hear any noise at all.

  Suddenly, there came a rustling, and a girl raced to the bottom of the steps. Maud looked up at Bess, her eyes wide. Right behind her stood a man.

  A tall, thin man in brown robes.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jesu.

  “Do not hurt her. Prithee, I beg you,” pleaded Bess.

  The ceiling was so low that the man had to stoop. “Hurt her?” he asked, resting a thin hand upon Maud’s shoulder.

  He will not let her go. A breath caught in Bess’s chest. She had no means of fetching help without leaving the girl alone with this man. Who now realized that his hiding place had been discovered.

  “Come, Maud.” Bess held out her hand to the girl, who clung to the wall of the cellar and did not move.

  The man brought the lantern he carried forward, the light illuminating them both. Clean-shaven, as the miller had described, he was of young age. Beneath his long, loose brown robe, though, his fading black tunic and breeches hung upon the bones of a fellow as gaunt as an old hag upon her deathbed. He was pale, and his eyes were rheumy from a recent illness. If he were the murderer, this fellow who could disappear without a trace, he did not appear capable of overwhelming Bess let alone wrestling a healthy man like Fulke to the ground and strangling him. But perhaps he was stronger than he appeared or had made use of Rodge’s assistance. She would keep her guard until Maud was safe.

  “I will not harm the child.” His voice was deep and warm, assured, with only a hint of weakness from the malady he had suffered. His was a good voice for speaking. A good voice for preaching.

  “Maud, prithee come.” Bess wiggled her fingers to encourage the girl.

  “I mean you no harm, do I, child?” Lowering the lantern, he crouched alongside Maud. As he did, the circle of dark-wood rosary beads tucked into the belt that cinched his gown swung free.

  “You are a Catholic,” Bess whispered. The miller had seen correctly. “A Jesuit.”

  The man looked up at her. His hand had not left Maud’s shoulder. Oddly, the girl did not seem frightened of him.

  He answered Bess’s question with one of his own. “What mean you to do?”

  “I saw you at Langham Hall,” she said.

  His gaze flickered. “Ah. Then I know what you mean to do.”

  He could not know, for she did not know what she meant to do.

  “Did the Langhams tell you of this cellar?” she asked. “Someone had to have done, for its entrance is well hidden.”

  “I shall not answer that question. You understand why.”

  Bess tightened her grip on the edge of the opening. “Is the existence of this cellar the reason you murdered Fulke Crofton? Because he had discovered your hiding place, just like he had learned of the Langhams’ priest hole,” she said. “Did someone help you kill him? Rodge Anwicke, perhaps? And then you had to be rid of him as well.”

  “I am not acquainted with either of the men you speak of, Mistress.”

  “Rodge was but a boy. Struck down in the priory ruins across the way.”

  “Ah. The night of the hue and cry. That was the cause of the commotion.” He removed his hand from Maud’s shoulder. Bess stiffened, preparing for that hand to reach for a blade, hidden among his robes. But he did not reach for a blade, and his hand rested at his side. “I have murdered no one, Mistress. To take a life violates God’s commandment.”

  “You intend to murder the queen,” Bess accused.

  “I have not come to harm any living soul but merely to provide succor to those who remain faithful to Rome.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  His gaze was steady. “You have my word as a man of God.”

  “Prithee, let Maud go,” she said. “I shall scream if you do not. There are people everywhere searching for her. They will hear.”

  “I … I will not go,” Maud stuttered, her voice creaking from lack of use. “He is good. I will stay.”

  Bess gaped at her. “You can speak?”

  “She is afraid of some man,” said the priest. “I encountered her near the river. She was so frightened that I offered her refuge down here, until such time as the danger passes. If she had but known that the danger that accompanies my travels was near as treacherous, she might have chosen otherwise.”

  Dare she believe him? “Come, Maud. Your mother is most concerned,” said Bess. “You should return home. I can take you.”

  Maud fiercely shook her head, the ties of her biggin flapping beneath her chin, and took a step backward.

  “She is afraid,” the man said, sounding exasperated with Bess’s slow wits.

  “Let her go.”

  “I am not keeping her here.” He turned the girl to face him. “It is best that you go with this gentlewoman, child. She will see no harm comes to you.”

  “Not home.” Maud shook her head again. “Not home. That man.”

  “Has he forced you to say this?” Bess nodded toward the priest. “Has he threatened you so that you accuse another to protect him?”

  She clasped a small, dirty hand around the priest’s fingers. “He is good!”

  Bess reached for the child. “Your mother is frantic. You cannot stay here.”

  Maud clutched the priest’s fingers more tightly. She curled her other hand into a fist and pounded it against her side. “But that man! That evil man with Rodge!” She was growing hoarse. Likely she had not spoken so many words in a very long time, if ever. “He find me there. He saw me. This morn. I ran.”

  An evil man with Rodge. Mayhap this child had seen a murderer. If so, she had every reason to fear. Bess needed to get Maud to safety and inform the constable.

  “Maud, if I promise to take you to my house w
here you will be safe, will you come with me?”

  The girl looked at the man at her side. In the span of a few hours, she had come to trust him. He is good.

  The priest disentangled his fingers from Maud’s grip. “Go with her, child. You cannot stay here. You will come to grief with me.”

  He gave her a gentle push toward the steps. Reluctantly, Maud climbed them. Bess moved aside to allow her to pass through the opening. The girl huddled into a ball at her side.

  “There. You have the child safely with you. What do you next, Mistress?” the priest asked.

  “I will say nothing about your presence, unless you do not leave before dawn tomorrow.” This is wrong, Bess. This is horribly, horribly wrong. And one day you shall be forced to pay the price for your error. “I have been made to suffer for you, a man whose cause I do not support. But one dear to me loves a Langham, who I suspect does support you. She would die of heartbreak if more harm came to him.”

  “’Tis treason to protect me.”

  “I would say, should any discover my treachery, that you threatened to kill this helpless child if I did not cooperate. Do not force me to tell such a lie,” she answered. “By dawn. I will inform the constable of your whereabouts if I have not learned that you are gone.”

  “My welcome here is long past.” He reached for his beads. “God bless you, child. God bless you both.”

  “By dawn,” repeated Bess, leaning back to rest upon her haunches. She restored the cover over the opening. Maud helped her place bits of timber and scattered ashes atop it to conceal its presence. Their efforts were feeble, and anyone who might look could find it. She hoped none would look.

  “We shall take the path to the west of town.” Bess took the girl’s hand, the one that had been burned but was no longer covered in bandaging. The scald had crusted over and scratched roughly against Bess’s palm. “That way you need not go near your home.”

  Maud nodded, but her eyes scanned the darkening road, her forehead creased with unease. She sought the man who had frightened her. But then, so did Bess.

  * * *

  They skirted town, but there were few entry points into the village, and their arrival was noticed. Bess rushed the girl past the curious, shouting out only that Maud had been found and to let her mother and the remaining searchers know. By the time they reached Robert’s house, twilight had descended. Bess ushered the girl inside, where Joan rushed to greet them, Quail bounding behind her.

  Maud, the thin kirtle that covered her shift wet and filthy, was shivering. Quail padded over to inspect her, but the girl cringed and drew back from the dog.

  “You need not fear Quail, sweeting. He is harmless.” Bess rubbed the dog’s head as proof, then handed the child over to Joan. “Warm her by the kitchen fire. Also, fetch Humphrey and tell him to bring the flock bed from the hall chamber. It is to be placed in the kitchen. The child will be staying with us tonight.”

  “Her mother will want her home, Mistress.”

  “The child will not go. She is too afraid of some man she saw near her house this morning. A fellow connected to Rodge.” She need not say more, for the look upon Joan’s face revealed she understood who the fellow might be.

  “Ah.” Joan smiled warmly at the girl. “Come into my very fine kitchen, Mistress Maud. I have potage on the fire.”

  She led Maud away. Quail sauntered after them, a safe distance behind. Through the open door to the hall, Bess noticed Margery hurrying across the room.

  “You have found her?” she asked. “When Joan returned, she said all had given over searching. Save for the constable and his cousin. Where was the girl?”

  Bess hesitated. If Margery had honestly been unaware of where the priest was hiding, the less she knew now, the better.

  “I found her among the ruins of the plague house. None were willing to search there carefully,” said Bess. A small mistruth but a believable one. The child’s clothes were filthy enough to imagine her huddled among the cinders.

  “That dreadful place,” said Margery, following Bess to the kitchen.

  Maud perched upon a stool near the hearth. She was staring at the brass pot Joan had hung above the flames, the smell of the cooking food mingling with the fire smoke.

  “You must be hungry,” said Margery. Before the girl could answer her, she collected a bowl and began scooping the mutton and onion potage into it.

  Bess took a seat at the trestle table. Besides a meal, the girl was also in need of a thorough washing.

  Joan returned with Humphrey, a mattress under his arm. With a sideways glance at the girl, he set the bed near the hearth and departed with a grunt. No doubt he would report to Robert when he returned home that Bess had been collecting grimy urchins in his absence.

  “Here now, Mistress,” said Joan, taking the bowl from Margery. “Let me tend to the child.”

  Margery joined Bess at the table. “Why will she not return home?”

  “When Maud is ready, I am sure she will tell us about the man she fears.”

  “Tell us?” asked Margery.

  “It appears she is not a mute, after all.”

  Joan finished filling the bowl and handed it to Maud. The girl nodded politely before swiftly scooping potage into her mouth.

  “He is evil,” said Maud. She paused to slurp more food, a trickle of broth running down her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “I saw him with Rodge. And then Rodge hit me.”

  Joan, standing in the corner of the kitchen, touched the spot of her coif that covered her scar. In the world she once inhabited, the world Bess had saved her from, men often hit or cut women.

  “Your brother hit you because you saw him with this man?” Bess’s gaze moved to Maud’s cheek, where the bruise upon it had gone a pale yellow. “Did that happen the day I came to treat your old burn?” The day that Fulke had died.

  “Aye,” she squeaked.

  Which was why the bruise upon her cheek had been fresh.

  “Poor child,” said Joan. She stepped forward to ladle more potage into Maud’s bowl, which the girl had already emptied.

  “The man gave Rodge things,” she said. Bess had to strain to hear her, the girl’s voice was so soft and raspy. “Stolen things. A hat. Green cloak. Purple ribbon, too. Said man would kill me. If I told Mother.” She rubbed tears from her face, leaving behind a streak of clean skin among the grime.

  “Oh,” murmured Margery. “Aunt Bess, could he be—”

  Bess hushed her with a wave of her hand. “Can you describe him, Maud?”

  “He talks like a rich lord.” She puffed out her chest and lifted her chin as though haughty. “Has dark clothes. Dark, devil’s eyes.”

  Dark clothing described the attire of more than half the men in the village. However, Arthur Stamford was pompous enough to sound like a rich lord. Sir Walter as well, although Bess could not summon to mind the color of his eyes.

  “And you saw him again this morning,” said Bess.

  Maud nodded, which meant the evil man was definitely not Bennett, locked away in a cell since yesterday.

  “I have another question, Maud. Had Rodge gone to the ruins the day he died to meet this fellow?” asked Bess.

  Maud shrugged her skinny shoulders. “He went out. After supper. Father did not see. I did, but I was too afeared to follow.”

  “That was wise, child,” said Joan.

  Bess looked at the women assembled in the kitchen, who watched her closely. She signaled to them to move away from Maud, and they huddled together near the entrance to the buttery.

  “So what do we know?” asked Joan.

  “Not as much as I would like,” said Bess. “However, if this fellow sounds like a rich lord, there are but two men to suspect—Sir Walter and Arthur Stamford. We can be assured, Margery, that she does not mean Bennett, as he remains in his cell and could not have been seen by her this morning. That, in addition to my recollection that the man who attacked me did not smell of rosemary—”

  �
�As Bennett always does,” interrupted Margery.

  “Seems proof enough of his innocence in every regard.” They dealt with one murderer, not two. That realization was not much relief, however, when that murderer had yet to be identified.

  “But what of the vagrant, Mistress?” asked Joan. “I thought he was the person you most suspected.”

  Bess shot a look at Maud, who had clambered down from her stool and was focused upon dipping the wooden spoon she’d been given into the pot over the fire. “I have come to decide I was mistaken.”

  Joan lifted a brow but did not question how Bess had arrived at such a decision. “Then which is it—Sir Walter or Master Stamford?”

  “Mayhap she means the churchwarden,” said Margery. “He wears dark clothes and can be quite fearful looking. He sounds like a lord.”

  “He is not the fellow who attacked me,” said Bess. “I would have smelled the scent of camphor and pennyroyal that he ever reeks of, and I did not.”

  “When, though, does Sir Walter wear dark clothes?” her niece asked. “Aside from the occasions when he appears in some official capacity.”

  “So, if not the vagrant, it must be Master Stamford,” said Joan. “He wears dark clothes. In fact, on Sunday last he was attired all in black at services. We should tell the constable, Mistress.”

  Rapping sounded upon the door, and Quail leaped up to bark.

  “Who could that be at such an hour?” asked Joan. “Not good news, I dare say. Mayhap ’tis the person who lurked outside the other day.”

  “Would he knock?” asked Bess.

  Joan smirked and ordered Quail to follow. She returned with a scrappy boy in a rough tunic.

  He doffed his cap and held out a note, his fingernails grimed with Wiltshire dirt. “Brought you this. From Mistress Crofton.”

  “Joan, fetch a penny for the lad.”

  Grinning, he scampered after Joan.

  “Does my mother beg my return after all?” asked Margery.

  “Nay. She wishes me to attend to her. She is distraught. The coroner canceled his inquest today, because of the search for Maud,” said Bess. “Your mother has developed a pain in her head and frets that she will not be able to sleep tonight.”