“I think you should leave us now, daughter. Go down to the chamber below and Brother Fareman will see you home.”
“Thank you, Father Prior,” she said, and then, struck by a notion, added softly, “Is it possible that because the little pyx is so small, it was left out when the other vessels were cleaned and returned? Could it be that after the box was locked, the person who forgot it was afraid to admit his fault and hid it somewhere in the church, intending to return it today when the box was opened to make the vessels ready for Sunday? If the church were searched—”
“You are a good-hearted, forgiving creature,” Father Benin said, smiling. “I am supposed to be humble and submissive to God’s will, but I do not know whether I could try so hard to help someone so eager to harm me. I will certainly ask the sacristan’s assistant if the pyx could have been mislaid, and I will also speak to Sir Bellamy about the murder to learn what he knows and to offer what help I can. Go with God, my daughter.”
Feeling somewhat guilty for gaining Father Benin’s good opinion on completely false premises, Magdalene bowed, kissed the hand he held out to her, and left the room. Her purpose in suggesting the pyx had been mislaid with good intentions had been to get the church searched and Baldassare’s pouch found, not to protect Brother Paulinus, of course. Unfortunately, Father Benin had not taken the notion seriously. She could not decide whether she was more annoyed with him for being so good-hearted himself that he saw her suggestion in that light, or pleased at being called “daughter” just as if she were not an excommunicated whore.
She went down the inner stair into the chamber below and almost ran into Brother Fareman, who was staring up at her with a troubled expression. He said he was sorry her interview with the prior had been interrupted and exclaimed over the sacristan’s behavior in thrusting him aside and intruding on the prior without leave or announcement. Magdalene promptly told him about the lost pyx.
Brother Fareman was shocked, but now he understood why the sacristan had been so distraught. He tched and clucked, wondering how anyone could have broken open the safe box, it being so strong and bound in iron. But when he took out the huge ring of keys he was carrying to open the gate for her, Magdalene suddenly remembered her own question to the prior.
“But the box was not broken,” she said. “It must have been unlocked.”
“Nonsense!” the secretary said. “I do not like Brother Paulinus—I cannot deny it; he makes Father Prior very unhappy from time to time—but steal from the church? Nonsense.”
Magdalene laughed. “Well, the prior said something about money for the leaking belfry, but the first question that came to my mind was, who had another key?”
“Who? I. Father Prior has duplicates of all the keys to the church and the monastery, and those keys are in my charge. Are you suggesting—”
“Of course not. That is even more ridiculous. It is barely possible that Brother Paulinus could blind himself to the impropriety of taking the pyx for some purpose like repairing the belfry and call what he did God’s will; he is not a reasonable or clear-sighted person. You could never be so self-deluded. But you and Father Benin were away last week. Is it not possible that someone found your keys—”
“I took them with me.” Brother Fareman grimaced and then sighed. “I did not intend to take the keys to the church and the monastery, just those to Father Prior’s house and personal chests, but I was in a hurry and instead of taking the time to separate them, I took them all.”
“That does seem to fix the blame more surely on Brother Paulinus.” But her doubt still sounded in her voice.
“Who could imagine that such things would happen? A murder on our very doorstep! And now a theft. We have never had anything stolen. Oh, a little food now and again when the novices find themselves still hungry on a fast day, and once—yes, I remember, it was soon after the Bishop of Winchester was appointed to administer the London diocese—a monk’s robe was stolen. Brother Almoner was annoyed. He does not like carelessness. But nothing came of his seeking and questioning. Likely it was taken by some poor soul in need of a warm cloak.” He sighed and pulled open the gate for her. “Poor Father Benin. He will blame himself for all of this.”
Magdalene stepped through, but put out her hand to stop the secretary from closing the gate for a moment. “The murder at least is nothing to do with Father Benin, Brother Fareman. Send for Sir Bellamy of Itchen, the bishop’s knight. He will explain what happened to Messer Baldassare, and Father Benin will understand at once that there would have been nothing he could have done even if he had been here.”
“Sir Bellamy?” The secretary looked relieved. “Then the bishop is seeking the killer?”