Maud wept.
Kneeling beside the physician’s widow, Eleanor embraced her, murmuring words she hoped would soothe, and regretted that she had so quickly sent her guard to bring Brother Thomas out of fear that what she was about to hear was a tale of murder. Maud had her own confessor for the comfort she truly required, but the monk was a gentle priest, a man known in Tyndal for his compassion when told of mortal failings. Perhaps it was wise that she had sent for him. He might well bring this woman immediate peace.
“Does Huet know he is your son?” she whispered.
Maud sat back on her heels, her sobs quieting, and rubbed her cheeks dry. “Not until his recent return home, my lady.”
“I am amazed that no one knew of this and must ask why the secret was necessary. Even if you needed to conceal the birth for your own reasons, your son could have been passed off as another woman’s child by the steward. Bastard sons are often brought into the father’s family.”
“Master Stevyn knew his wife could not bear another, and he loved the boy from the moment he heard of my quickening. He wanted him to have a legitimate son’s status, a deception that would harm but little. Huet was a younger son, thus taking a trivial inheritance from his wife’s beloved Ranulf and nothing the elder would resent.”
“Other wives may have taken on the care of a husband’s by-blow, but few have been so willing to pretend the child is of their own body. Why?”
“She was a saint in her forbearance and willingness to forgive. Her husband was very grateful for her unique charity in this matter, as was I.”
Eleanor understood charity but acting the mother to Huet so well that no one suspected his bastardy was an act most generous by any measure. Had the woman believed this unusual deed would bring her soul special merit? Indeed it should.
Noting the prioress’ reflective frown, Maud explained further. “She was a devout woman, my lady, although her reputation as a mother was based more on the piety she required of her offspring than celebrated for the affection she bestowed. Methinks she hoped to wrench Huet’s soul away from the Prince of Darkness and into God’s hand. Considering his birth, she must have believed that he would be more likely to follow evil ways if she did not intervene.”
As she considered both the steward’s sons, Eleanor hoped his first wife never witnessed how imperfectly they interpreted her instruction. The eldest might be pious enough in outward ways, but she found him brittle of heart. Huet, on the other hand, was quite unsuited to the vocation chosen for him. That said, Brother Thomas had probably taken his own vows with a less than ardent calling, but he honored his oaths more faithfully than many who claimed greater purpose. Might Huet eventually become a similar cleric?
“Does something trouble you, my lady?”
The prioress realized she had been lost in her thoughts too long. “The sons are so very different…”
“She favored Ranulf, of course. He took after her in his piety, and she showered him with praise, especially when he wailed over his sins. As for my Huet, he was not so inclined to prayer, being a boisterous lad much like his father, and thus he seldom found the comfort of a mother’s arms.”
How hard this must have been for Mistress Maud, Eleanor thought, hearing the woman’s pain as she described what maternal warmth each boy had received. “Then you saw your son on occasion?” she chose to ask.
“Before Huet’s birth, my husband and I were invited to join in feasts to celebrate God’s grace, or when sickness attacked the manor tenants. That practice continued afterward. If my husband had no immediate need of my services with herbs, Master Stevyn’s wife let me play with my son and did not take it ill when Huet ran to me when I opened my arms.”
And thus the steward’s wife did demonstrate an even more unusual kindness, Eleanor acknowledged. The lady knew she did not have room enough in her own arms for the little boy, but she did not prevent Mistress Maud from giving him what she could not. Many women would not have dealt with this situation so. “The deception seems to have been skillfully performed to remain secret, but how was the matter of Huet’s birth handled?”
“When I could no longer conceal my quickening, I moved away on the excuse that a far-away cousin required my care. Master Stevyn’s wife pretended a pregnancy at the same time and, when I sent news that my time had come, she took a short journey so that she might feign birthing some distance away. My babe was smuggled in by a loyal servant, her sole attendant, and thus became hers.”
“This servant…?”
“She was well rewarded but died of a fever many years ago. The pretense was successful.”
“Did no one question that a woman who was so frail might give birth to such a healthy child and suffer no further ill-effects herself?”
Maud’s lips turned into a sad smile. “She was most devout, and all assumed that God had performed a miracle, much as he did for the aged wife of Abraham, and blessed her with one last son.”
Eleanor nodded, unsure whether she should condemn such deceit or conclude that God had been kind to the babe by allowing him to stay with a father who loved him and a woman who was willing enough to show kindness if not love. “You had no further issue yourself?”
“God punished me for my sins, and I never bore another child during the years when I was able.”
“Were you not married at the time of Huet’s birth?”
Maud rose and walked over to the bed where Hilda lay. Gently she stroked the cook’s ashen cheek and sighed, a sound troubled enough to match the wounded woman’s rasping breath. “Aye. My husband was much older than I and a better man than I deserved, my lady, one for whom I felt much affection and gratitude even if my heart resided with another and my body sinned.”
“How could your husband not know of this? He was a physician and thus not easily fooled about such matters.”
“Did he know?’ She faced the prioress, her smile twisted with self-contempt. “As you suggested, he must have, but he never spoke of my long absence, nor did he question me about a cousin whom he had never before heard mentioned. When I returned home at long last, he greeted me at the entrance to our house, his bearing formal and proud, but his eyes filled with tears. My wretched heart broke, and I cried out to him. Before I could beg his forgiveness, he touched a finger to his lips, took my hand in his, and led me into the house. Once inside, I fell to my knees and wept, swearing I would never leave his side again, one promise I did faithfully keep. He never once spoke of that absence, nor did he condemn me for any sin.”
“And you were still married when Master Stevyn’s first wife died.” Eleanor’s remark was less a question than an observation.
“My husband did not die until after Master Stevyn had married Mistress Luce.”
“A young woman who could give him more sons,” Eleanor said. “Did you think he might confess Huet’s bastardy if he had other, legitimate issue?”
Maud’s cheeks flushed. “Our adulterous union might suggest we are faithless in honoring all oaths, but I did not doubt that Master Stevyn loved our son. When my husband and I visited the manor, I saw much evidence of Huet’s place in his father’s heart. He would never have cast our lad out.”
Eleanor joined the widow at Hilda’s side. Looking down, she observed a tinge of pink now coloring the cook’s cheeks and feared a fever had set in. She quickly offered a silent prayer for God’s mercy. “There are many tales about Mistress Luce’s infidelity. Some say she longed too much for a child, a babe her husband did not seed in her quickly enough, and thus played the whore,” she said, her thoughts returning to the current discussion. “What do you know of those rumors?”
“I have no right to give credence to any stories nor to criticize.”
The prioress shook her head. “I am not indulging in idle gossip; rather I seek reasons for why murder was committed. As for the pointing of self-righteous fingers, no mortal is so blameless that any have the right to cast stones. That said, observations lacking in malice are not sinful. Please tell me yours.”
“It was well-known that Mistress Luce and Tobye were lovers, yet he was unmarried and she…In truth, I can think of no one who has a greater motive for killing Mistress Luce than I.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows.
Maud took a deep breath. “I was angry, bitter, and jealous when I learned that Master Stevyn had taken such a young woman to his bed, but after my worthy husband gave up his soul to God so suddenly that I could not send his spirit off with a final kiss, I knew He was punishing me for my sins. All my evil thoughts melted into grief while I mourned the loss of that honorable spouse.” She briefly covered her eyes. “Had I wished to kill Mistress Luce, my lady, I surely would have done so after the marriage, not waited until now. Master Stevyn has since regretted the choice of wife, and I have armored my soul against Satan’s pricking.”
“Why were you here when I arrived?” As much as Eleanor wished to believe this woman, there remained too many details, still inadequately explained, that troubled her.
“You have reason to ask that question, my lady. Not long ago, Mistress Luce’s behavior changed and she grew quite erratic. As I learned, she would be melancholic and refuse to share a bed with her husband one night, but the next might swell with wild lust and beg to couple with him most wantonly. Master Stevyn feared illness, perhaps even possession or madness. When he questioned her during one of her calmer moments, she claimed to have quickened. He begged me to attend her for the sake of her health as well as that of any child.”
The prioress gave her a look so incredulous that it needed no other statement.
Maud nodded. “Of course, I knew I should not come, but my husband had been the only physician nearby and he had died. Under his guidance, I have gained some small reputation as a healer and had often acted as midwife. For all his faults, Master Stevyn is not a cruel man and wished each of his wives to receive the best care possible. Thus I did agree to attend Mistress Luce, but only after I told him that my own door would be firmly barred at night.”
“An oath you kept?” Eleanor’s look was skeptical.
Her cheeks reddened. “Despite the firm resolve with which I locked that door, I silenced my conscience one evening and welcomed him to share wine and then my bed. Master Stevyn and I may no longer have youthful bodies, but we should have realized that aging flesh may still spark with lust. Leading us into temptation was easy enough labor for the Devil.”
Eleanor shook her head but refused to be distracted from the direction of her inquiry. “When you examined Mistress Luce, what did you find?”
“She refused to submit to an examination. Had a physician met with her, he would have asked her questions only and thus she might have kept her secret longer. Like any competent midwife, I would have discovered the truth the moment my hand felt her womb. That, she knew. Of course, I quickly suspected she was not pregnant, and I had heard whisperings of her affair with the groom. Just before she was killed, I told her that I believed she was not with child and must cease all deception with her husband. My phrasing was ill-spoken for she thought I was speaking of her adultery.”
“Was that when she abused you in the courtyard and ordered you to leave this place?”
“I fear you were not the only one who overheard that conversation.”
“Including Master Stevyn? If he did not hear the argument, he was surely told of it.”
The woman stiffened. “My lady, I know you must suspect him of murder as well, but he did not kill his wife. We may be guilty of adultery, deception, and foolishness, all evil enough, but they are the worst of our sins. Aye, he was unwise to bring me here, and I was imprudent to agree. After that first night, we often slept quite chastely in each other’s arms, as we did the night his wife was killed. Lust we do feel, but the burning in our loins is more temperate than when I could bear children, and satisfaction of our longings gives us a different contentment. It is not a passion that spawns murder.”
Eleanor turned away, not out of contempt for the woman’s admission, but from need to think without distraction. Was Maud lying to her, assuming that an older woman could easily fool a younger one, especially a prioress who had forsworn carnal love? Her own passion for Brother Thomas was achingly hot and most certainly did not resemble such tranquil longings described by the widow. Eleanor could find nothing in her own lust that might instruct her in the truth of theirs.
Yet as she thought more on that, she remembered Sister Beatrice’s premise that mortal love may have many manifestations. Hadn’t the time spent with her monk during this unfortunate journey been both chaste and sweet? Had she not found as much joy in that as she did agony in her lust? The realization gave her pause.
Making a swift decision, she faced the widow once again. “Sir Reimund will not want to point an accusing finger in your direction even if you each did have cause to kill Mistress Luce and colluded in her death,” the prioress said.
“My lady! Master Stevyn would never commit such a vile…”
She gestured that she had not finished her thought. “My observation about the sheriff is little different from a remark you recently made to me. Nonetheless, I believe you both to be innocent.” Silently she prayed that such a conclusion was not badly mistaken, but the woman’s unselfish attempt to defend the steward’s innocence before that of her own suggested a heart that held goodness in it.
Maud looked as if she had just been given a reprieve from the hangman.
“If not the two of you, tell me who else might have had cause to murder? Surely the deaths of Tobye and Master Stevyn’s wife, as well as the attack on poor Hilda, are connected. You know the people here well. I must have your opinion.”
“Not my Huet!” Maud whispered, her voice mixed with both fresh relief and reborn fear.
“Although I choose not to condemn the deception of his birth, others might decide otherwise. For that reason I must ask if anyone, including Mistress Luce, Hilda, or the groom, knew Huet’s secret.” If any did, Eleanor thought, he might well have had cause enough to kill.
“None of them. I swear to it!”
“You said your son did not learn that you were his true mother until just recently. Why tell him at all?”
“Although Huet was happy enough as a boy, sorrow darkened his soul when he became a man. He fathered a child on a woman who was unsuitable as a wife in his father’s eyes. She died birthing a dead babe, and Huet believed it was all God’s curse for his own sinful lust. He went quite wild with grief, but the noble de Lacy had noted his talents and offered to send Huet to Cambridge where he might become a priest or, barring that, a clerk in his service. My son thought of it as penance. His father was delighted, seeing it as a fine opportunity for a younger son with little inheritance to advance in the world.”
“An education and a calling your son soon rejected, apparently choosing instead to wander abroad as a common minstrel until his recent return.”
“The boy was confused! When he arrived home, filled with doubt over the path on which he had been placed, he found a father too distracted to offer kind advice and a stepmother who cared only for herself. Even I had little time for him, struggling as I was with my own sins. Master Stevyn most certainly greeted Huet with harsh words when the lad returned, but the steward was deeply grieved, fearing that our son would lose his lordship’s favor and thus any hope for a decent living. It was then he said to me that I must tell Huet the truth of his parentage. The shock of learning he was a bastard, with no right of any inheritance from his father, might shock him into a wiser path than he had been following of late.”
“When did you tell him?”
“The night Tobye was killed, I slipped away from Mariota’s side to meet with Huet in my chambers. His longing for a sweet word and gentle direction was piteous, and it was not easy for me to tell him the story. Although I had not intended to leave my vigil over your charge for so long, I fear even the owls had ceased their calling before we finished our discussion.”
“God must have smiled on your efforts. Indeed, Mariota suffered no harm.” Eleanor reached over and gently touched the woman. “But do tell me how he took the news.”
“I expected outrage or grief. Instead, his countenance softened, and he said he was much comforted by the news.”
“Although this meant he had no right to his father’s estate should Ranulf die without issue, as his wife has yet to bring forth heirs?”
Maud clutched her hands together. “He said he was grateful that the woman who reared him was not his mother,” she whispered. “Sinful though this may be, my lady, I found joy in his happiness. As for his bastardy, he grew merry about it, jesting that the truth was just considering his wayward nature.”
What a strange reaction, Eleanor thought as she looked down at Hilda and touched her cheek. Although the skin had regained a suspicious coloring, she was relieved to note there was no feverous heat. “Might he have told this news to anyone else?”
“To whom, my lady? He and Ranulf are not close, and he has not sought out any boyhood friends due to the reasons for his sudden return. He is wise enough to stay silent in any case.” Preparing to defend her lad’s good sense, Maud tensed.
Not having any cause to debate this, Eleanor nodded, and then grew thoughtful. Perhaps Huet’s response had not been so odd. Jests were an honored means of speaking truth through laughter. Even wise kings encouraged their fools to do it, thus allowing bitter honesty to counter the honeyed words of flatterers. The manner in which Huet had defended Hilda had been similar. Maybe he knew how difficult this confession had been for his mother and he had simply tried to make her laugh. That would point to a kind nature and not one prone to murder.
“Indeed, I soon saw hope that Huet might return to Cambridge. As we spoke more in private about the matter, he listened with the grave earnestness befitting a man. When I reminded him that a position with the Earl would bring him a comfortable lot in life, whatever the truth of his birth, he said he would refuse to take even one mazer of a true son’s inheritance from Ranulf.”
“You tell me that you and Huet were together the night Tobye was murdered. Brother Thomas has argued persuasively that Mistress Luce’s death could not have been by her own hand, but you and Master Stevyn were together the night she was killed. Finally, I see no reason why any of you would attack Hilda.” Eleanor threw up her hands in frustration. “Who, then, is the murderer?”