“Why? After all, it is as likely that you are guilty as that we are. More likely, perhaps. For all I know, you and Messer Baldassare were deadly enemies. As for us, it is in our interest to protect any who come to our house from harm. Your own reaction should be proof that I speak the truth. If one client is hurt, the others abandon us.”
He stared at her, hesitating because he recognized the good sense in what she said, yet he still protested, “But—but you are whores! And you were here, where the murder was committed. I was at a guild dinner on Wednesday. Many guilds have their dinners on Wednesdays.”
That was an interesting piece of information, Magdalene thought—and true, too, she believed. She realized, now that the fact had been brought clearly to her mind, that few craftsmasters visited the Old Priory Guesthouse on Wednesdays. She nodded slowly.
“We were here, but all of us were together, all of us behind locked doors. I cannot make you take my word, but I will take yours that you are innocent, and I will protect you to the best of my ability.”
That was not a lie. She had already given Bell his name, but she would certainly urge Bell to be discreet. Nonetheless, it would do no harm to lay a base to push blame elsewhere.
Before he could speak again, she went on. “But you must know that if you gave yourself away to the sacristan, there is no way I can silence him. It is he who is mad, driven not by any evidence against us, but by his own hatred of carnal weakness. If he guessed— She shrugged.
She explained yet again how ridiculous it was that she or her women should choose so stupid a way to kill—making a great mess and scandal by stabbing Baldassare on the church porch instead of protecting themselves by quietly poisoning him or strangling him in bed and dumping the body in the river. By the time she was finished, Seynturer looked rather shamefaced, his conviction that he had leapt to the wrong conclusion strongly reinforced by the knowledge that if those of the Old Priory Guesthouse were innocent, his relationship with them would be less likely to be uncovered. Magdalene then assured him that the killing was being dealt with by the bishop’s knight. Sir Bellamy of Itchen. That seemed to be a clinching argument, and their innocence was assumed since the bishop’s man had not delivered them to the sheriff.
He told her that though he believed her, he could not come again until the gate was reopened. But then Sabina entered, having taken Basyngs out the back and washed and tidied herself, and Seynturer laughed uneasily and said, since he was already in the house, he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, paid his three pence, and followed the smiling Sabina to her chamber.
Not another half-candlemark had passed before the bell was ringing again and the whole scene was repeated with another goldsmith, who also had had business with the sacristan. Fortunately, Ella was quite ready to receive the second man. He said that since anyone who had noticed him at the front gate would say there was no smoke without fire, he might as well enjoy the fire instead of being blamed and missing the warmth.
Both clients were ill at ease, however, and because they did not linger, Ella and Sabina were able to join Magdalene and Letice for dinner. They were aware of being late and ate quickly, but Dulcie had hardly cleared the wine cups from the table when the bell was pealing again. Ella jumped to her feet; the other three women sighed and then found smiles. Saturday, before the confessions and Masses of Sunday, was always very busy.
On that day, Magdalene worked no less hard than her women. Although she never left the common room, she was responsible for keeping those guests who came ahead of their time—or those who followed clients who were slow to find arousal and release—busy, amused, and just titillated enough to be unwilling to leave but not excited enough to demand immediate service. Everyone, even Ella, was exhausted by dusk, and when Magdalene went out to lock the gate, she was actually looking at the bell rope and thinking of pulling it in when a man strode up.
“I am very sorry,” she began, then stopped and laughed. “Bell! Come in. I thought you were another client and was about to turn you away. For once, I and my women need rest more than custom.”
He seemed to stiffen and hesitate, but she gestured him in and added as she closed and locked the gate, “Between those who came to blame us for murder—and stayed to enjoy what they fear they must deny themselves in the future—and those who knew nothing of the crime, I have had my fill of pacifying impatient men. And my women are tired. Still, I am glad to see you. I have learned where a round dozen of my clients were on Wednesday night.”
“And you believe what they told you?”
“Mostly yes, and if what I learned is true, you will find it very easy to prove, most discreetly, the whereabouts of more than half those on my list. Did you know that many guilds have their meetings on Wednesday?”
“Yes, I knew—oh! Your clients are mostly craftmasters. I understand.”