“Oh, yes, my lord!” Magdalene exclaimed, clasping her hands together to keep from hugging him. If the bishop would back her search for the murderer, she and her women had a far better chance of succeeding than they would on their own. “We will do everything we can to find the killer.”
The Bishop of Winchester’s brows rose. “You do not fear retribution? That your clients will not like too much curiosity associated with your house?”
Controlling her impulse to swallow hard, Magdalene smiled faintly. “You think it strange I should be so eager to help? It is not, not at all. If the murderer is not found, will not Brother Paulinus’s accusations seem more and more likely? Our only hope of complete vindication is that the true killer will be found and exposed. And as to my clients, some will never know but others may wish to help.” Magdalene hesitated for a moment, then looked aside and said, “William of Ypres would not be sorry to see your enemies discomfited.”
“Perhaps he would not,” the bishop said, “but—” His voice checked as the bells of St. Mary Overy rang for Sext. His lips thinned. “I have no more time to spare for you just now, Magdalene, but if you wish to help, you must have an innocent reason to come here. You may say I have given you a commission to embroider an altar cloth for my private chapel and need my opinion, and…yes, a woman is too confined by custom to move about and freely question. Wait here. I will bring in Sir Bellamy of Itchen, who does for me such tasks as are more suitable to a knight than to a clerk.”
When the door of the bishop’s closet opened. Bell got quickly to his feet. He was interested to see that the letter Winchester had been holding was still in his hand. Either what the bishop had heard in his inner chamber was so absorbing he had forgotten to put it down or the letter itself was important. The bishop raised the hand with the letter toward him; Bell started forward to take it, feeling slightly disappointed, but Winchester shook his head and looked past him, out toward the hall as if he were seeking a new messenger. Bell stood still, thinking with pleasure that the bishop might have more interesting work for him than delivering letters, unless…but at that moment, Guiscard stood up. Winchester looked at him.
“Ah, Guiscard,” he said. “I was going to send Bell to the Archdeacon of London with this letter and a request that he bring to me all the particulars about the quarrel between St. Matthew’s and St. Peter’s. But you will serve my purpose better. You can explain to the archdeacon that I will tolerate no more delay. I wish to see that matter settled before I leave for Winchester again.”
Guiscard stood up, his mouth turned down in a discontented arch. Bell swallowed a chuckle. Doubtless Guiscard considered it beneath his dignity to be a messenger. “But my lord,” he protested, “the murder…the whore. She is not to be trusted. The sacristan of St. Mary Overy has often complained of her insolence, her unwillingness to be guided to a better life. Would it not be better if I—”
“No,” the bishop said, a certain rigidity about his mouth telling Bell that he probably wanted to laugh. “I have bethought me that you are better fitted than Bell to deal with the archdeacon. Bell would have no idea what was a just objection, which you will surely understand. On the other hand, Bell is just the man to deal with murderers and whores.”
Bell bowed slightly, now wanting to laugh himself. He took what the bishop said as a compliment, not an insult, but Guiscard de Tournai, the common physician’s son, would probably think the bishop had been denigrating him. He felt a flash of admiration for Winchester’s cleverness and then found himself grateful rather than amused. As one of the bishop’s secretaries, Guiscard could make a nuisance of himself if he took a person in despite. Bell’s messages could get lost or garbled, his stipend delayed. Not that the bishop had been thinking of him, Bell reminded himself; he was relatively new to Winchester’s service, having been taken into the Household only three years back. By soothing Guiscard with a few words, Winchester was trying to avoid a discord between his servants that might interfere with his business.
“You can send young, Phillipe, to sit here until you return,” the bishop continued to Guiscard. “I do not expect any visitor of note until nearly Vespers.” He turned to Bell. “You come with me.”