She sighed. No matter what she said, Bell might grow jealous. Magdalene sat up abruptly, recalling that she had been talking about William when Bell suddenly asked her price—and she had mentioned William again when Bell became enraged. Was he jealous already? Of William?
Ridiculous! Bell knew what William had done for her, what she owed him. God knew to what depths she might have fallen if not for William’s support. If Bell was jealous of William, she must have nothing to do with him, not even as a one-time client. Then Magdalene bit her lip again. It was not so simple; if she drove the bishop’s knight to hatred, he could do her infinite harm.
Throwing back the covers and swinging her legs down, Magdalene uttered an exasperated sigh. It was useless to think about this. For now, she had a good excuse to refuse to take him as a client. As she got out of bed, she resolved firmly to put Bell out of her mind. That was easier to resolve than to accomplish, Magdalene found. Somehow, the mechanics of preparing for the day—chewing a green twig into a brush to clean her teeth, washing her face, neck, and hands, pulling on clothing—kept bringing Bell to her mind. However, emptying her inner pocket of coins to be transferred to the strongbox locked in the bottom of her chest turned her thoughts into more profitable paths.
Business, she now thought, would not be affected adversely by the murder. The mercer had already made an appointment for the next week and paid in advance for it to be sure no older or better-favored client would oust him. Far from turning away from the Old Priory Guesthouse, he and the leatherworker had been titillated by hearing about the messenger’s death.
As soon as she opened her door, Magdalene heard the voices of her women and went out to join them. The table was laden with cheese, bread, the remains of a rabbit pasty, a bowl of cold stew, ale, and wine. As Magdalene helped herself to a substantial breakfast, Ella told her that she had fed Somer de Loo cold meat and pasty and served him wine from William of Ypres’s casks so he could break his fast at first light. He had been off to Rochester as soon as he finished. He would have liked to stay, Ella said, smiling; he told her he had enjoyed himself, but this time it was only for one night. He would try to return soon.
Magdalene praised her for contenting her client, and for remembering to provide him with food and drink. She was about to ask Ella whether she had tried to persuade Somer to stay, and if she confessed she had, explain again that she should not importune a guest who wanted to leave. As she sought the simplest words, the bell at the gate began to peal.
Ella might lack understanding, but she had a remarkable sense of self-preservation. Sensing a coming lecture, she rose from her seat at once. “I’ll get Dulcie,” she said. “I don’t think it can be a visitor at this time.”
Although Magdalene had a sinking feeling that anyone who rang her bell so early in the morning was carrying trouble, she went on with her meal with determination. Trouble might curtail either time or appetite. Her decision was correct. She was just washing down the last bit of pasty with several swallows of ale when Dulcie ushered in a robed monk. Ella, sensitized to monks’ robes, had disappeared.
Keeping her face as expressionless as possible, Magdalene looked up at the intruder and said, “Yes?” Then she caught sight of the face half hidden in the hood, set down her cup hastily, and got to her feet. “Brother Fareman!” she exclaimed. “Please forgive my rudeness. Is the Father Prior returned?”
“Yes, we arrived last night. What a terrible homecoming! Poor Father Benin, he was much overset at hearing of the dreadful events of Wednesday night, but was too fatigued to do anything then. However, this morning he wishes you to come to his chambers and explain to him how you are involved in this horrible murder.”
“I will gladly come, Brother Fareman, and I will tell Father Benin all I know, but I must assure you that neither I nor my women are involved in any way.”
“Brother Paulinus insists you are.” A very small, pinched smile moved Brother Fareman’s lips. “And it is no use protesting to me. You must come and speak to Father Benin.”
“Most willingly,” Magdalene said. “Letice, bring me my veil.”
While Letice fetched the veil, Magdalene swung her cloak over her shoulders. Having swathed her hair and most of her face in the veil Letice brought, she started for the back door. After a step or two, she corrected herself with a low exclamation of irritation.
“The gate between the church and this house was locked by Brother Paulinus on Thursday,” she explained.