The Merchant's Daughter

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.

 

Relief flooded her body, buckling her knees. She held on to Mistress Eustacia’s arm to steady herself. She wanted to go to Stephen and hug him, but instead she smiled across the way at him. He simply lifted his brows, as relieved as she was, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

 

But their relief might only be temporary. The bailiff could regain his memory, as Sir Clement had implied, and when he did, he might accuse both Stephen and Annabel of trying to kill him — his word against theirs. But at least there was no threat of Stephen being hung.

 

Lord Le Wyse gave her a whisper of a smile.

 

As Annabel began to relax, Maud rushed to the middle of the disintegrating circle. “What of the teeth marks on my father’s hand?” Her brows were lowered in a fierce scowl, and she directed her question to the members of the jury, turning her body to look each person in the face.

 

Sir Clement stopped at the top of the manor house steps and turned to listen.

 

“Teeth marks don’t appear by accident,” Maud continued, her cheeks red. “And the knife in his hand? What of that?”

 

The other jury members squinted, looked away thoughtfully, or nodded.

 

“Someone tried to kill my father. What do you say to that, Sir Clement? You are the king’s coroner. Shouldn’t you investigate?”

 

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