“Guiscard told me Beaumeis is a skilled pretender, that he can counterfeit emotion, and that he used that skill with such fervor and fear that he induced Winchester to agree to ordain him on that last day of the conference.”
“But why should he pretend so much grief over Baldassare?” Bell asked. “A little, yes. A few tears and head shakings for a friend with whom one has traveled for weeks and of whom one has become fond—that is reasonable. But Beaumeis drew too much attention to himself. He was white and shaking, utterly distraught.”
“To prove he could not have killed a man he loved so much?” But the doubt in William’s voice was clear.
“Because of guilt?” Magdalene suggested.
“That seems—” There was a noise at the door, and William looked up and said, “Yes?”
“The evening meal, my lord. Shall I bring it up?”
“Magdalene? Sir Bellamy? Will you join me?” William asked courteously.
Magdalene could think of nothing more horrible than being trapped between Bell and William exchanging light conversation. While they were both engaged in serious discussion on a subject on which they were cooperating, they were safe. The moment they were just two men together, one or both would remember they had a bone of contention.
She shook her head. “Unless you feel that this conversation should be continued and could lead somewhere important, I would like to go home. There is no one at the guesthouse to deal with anyone who might stop by.”
“You work too hard, chick,” William said, frowning. “I want to talk to you about that someday, but it will have to wait. Do you want me to send a man—”
“I will see her home, my lord,” Bell said.
That time William let his amusement show and Magdalene held her breath, but before Bell could react, William had risen and said to the servant waiting by the door, “I will come down and eat with the men.” He waved the servant off and grinned at Bell, adding, “After that, perhaps I will have a little talk with the ‘guest’ Magdalene was so clever as to furnish.”
As he came abreast of them, he gave Magdalene a rough hug and kissed the top of her head. When he released her, he gave Bell a friendly buffet. “Remember, I was there first. And don’t try to teach your grandfather to suck eggs.”
Chapter Sixteen
25 April 1139
Old Priory Guesthouse; St. Mary Overy Church
“There is no need at all for you to change your lodging to my house,” Magdalene said somewhat stiffly when they were again in the cart driving the mule back up Thames Street toward the bridge. “As you saw, my women and I were well able to—”
Bell, who had been silently considering the interview with William of Ypres and unable to decide what he felt about it, turned his head sharply. “Are you telling me I am not welcome, that one of Lord William’s men would be preferable to you?”
“I am telling you that my women and I do not need a guard.”
“I do not believe you—and you do not believe it, either. Why do you not want me? Because you are William of Ypres’s woman?”
“I am no man’s woman, not William of Ypres’s, not yours, not anyone’s. I am a whore. I am every man’s woman. William knows that, and until you know it, too, I do not want you in my house, glowering at my clients and making them uncomfortable.”
“I thought you told me you were retired.” His voice was low, ice-cold with rage.
“Whether I am or not makes no difference,” she flung back defiantly. “I am a free woman, femme sole in law, nor will I have any ado with any man who thinks I can be his alone and wishes to deny me to other men.”
The answer left him speechless, not with surprise because she had said as much before, but because he realized he had nothing he could offer as an inducement for her to give up her freedom. “I will protect you” was exactly what she was trying to avoid.
They had reached the bridge without speaking again and both started when a voice called a challenge. A lifted lantern showed a shock of filthy, unkempt hair, a raised cudgel, several dimmer forms behind. Bell called his name, identified himself as the Bishop of Winchester’s man, said that he and his companion had been unexpectedly delayed. He named the sheriff of Southwark. The Watchman waved him on. At the other side of the bridge, Tom the Watchman knew Magdalene well, and they were spared further delay.
At her door, Bell jumped down and helped her to the ground. As she pulled the bell rope, he asked, “Are any of the clients who are due tomorrow yours?”
“It happens not,” she replied coldly, “but I cannot swear that one to whom I owe a favor will not arrive. In any case, it is none of your business.”
He smiled faintly. “In this case, it is. If you do not take any client to your bed, I can promise that I will not glower at them, nor even feel disapproving. And I really think that until this matter of Baldassare and his pouch is resolved, you should have a man to answer your gate.”
As if to prove his statement, Sabina’ s voice, wavering with nervousness, called, “Who is there?”
“Bell and Magdalene,” he answered.