A Play of Piety (30 page)

“For all of which, we have only Geoffrey’s word, yes?”

“Yes. The crowner says the carrier says he never brought anything for Aylton or Geoffrey, and he has no reason to lie about it.”

“So far as we know.”

“Don’t add to my troubles. But, yes, so far as we know,” Joliffe granted. “The one sure point seems to be that Aylton had the ginger before passing it on to Geoffrey. I’m willing to think he poisoned it in hope of being rid of Mistress Thorncoffyn because he thought that Geoffrey might be easier to work for—and to deceive—than she might be.”

“Unless he and Geoffrey were together in deceiving her
and
in trying to poison her.”

“Which would at least make sense of Aylton being dead. Except Geoffrey was with his grandmother, giving him no chance at Aylton.”

“So far as you know. His grandmother and that woman of hers would almost surely lie for him.”

“It would need Master Hewstere’s lying, too.”

“Always possible,” Basset pointed out.

Joliffe sighed. “Always possible. But I think I’d like it best if the ginger could somehow be proved to be all and only Aylton’s doing—he had attempted murder but instead died himself trying to escape his other crime. Mistress Thorncoffyn, at least, would find that a highly satisfying example of God’s justice at work in the world. Unfortunately, we’re still left with that bothersome bread in Aylton’s stomach. Did he get it here or somewhere else? Nobody admits to feeding him here, but if he was somewhere else, why did he come back here? Except, given how he was lying in the stream, he was not coming back here but going away.”

Two beds away, Dick Leek called softly, sleepily, “You talking to yourself, Tom Player?”

“Counting over my sins is all, Dick,” Basset called as softly back.

“Eh, say ’em louder for us to enjoy ’em with you.”

“I’d not dent your innocence that badly.”

Since the only chuckle that brought was from Dick, Joliffe guessed the rest of the men were to sleep. For safety’s sake, he and Basset sat quietly a while, until an uneven snore suggested Dick had joined the others. By then, the hall was too dark to see each other’s faces, and Joliffe, with no new thoughts come to him in the wait and supposing Basset, too, was ready to sleep, made to rise, but Basset, having used the time for his own thoughts and not sounding sleepy at all, said, “What it comes down to is that you
think
there has to be a link between Aylton’s death and the fact that someone tried to poison Mistress Thorncoffyn, but all you know for
certain
is that someone poisoned the candied ginger Geoffrey gave to his grandmother and that Aylton ate some bread before he died. There’s no proof that Aylton’s death was other than accident. If you allow that it was and that Aylton poisoned the ginger, then everything is settled and you can let it go.”

“It’s the bread,” Joliffe whispered glumly.

“Forget the bread and you’ll be fine.”

Just the way Jack said they should forget the stream. The stream that showed Aylton had been going away from the hospital with bread in his belly that should not have been there.

The stream that he had so conveniently fallen in to drown.

He shook his head despite Basset probably could not see him in the dark and whispered, “There’s almost surely someone else in this. Someone who put him into that stream.”

“You
think
,” Basset said. “You don’t
know
. It could be no more than the accident it seems.”

“Seems except for the bread.”

“Let it go, Joliffe.”

“I probably have to. I can hardly set about asking questions of those I most want to. Master Hewstere. Master Soule. Father Richard. Let alone Mistress Thorncoffyn and Geoffrey,” he ended dryly, meaning to make a jest of it and leave Basset to a quiet night.

But Basset said, not jesting, “If you can’t let it go, you have to consider the sisters, too.”

Although he already had, Joliffe said, “No, I don’t.” Then gave the lie to his denial by adding, “All else aside, I doubt any of them could have carried Aylton to the stream and put him in it, and he assuredly was not dragged there.”

Not any one of them, his mind said treacherously—but what of two of them together?

“Supposing he didn’t just fall into the stream by
accident
,” Basset persisted.

To shove his unwanted thought further off, Joliffe said lightly, “I hate to say you’re likely right and it was only accident. Besides, if the sisters were going to trouble with killing someone, it would be Mistress Thorncoffyn. Come to it, if
anyone
was going to trouble with killing someone, that someone would surely be Mistress Thorncoffyn.”

“Someone
has
tried,” Basset pointed out.

But it was Aylton who was dead. Not Mistress Thorncoffyn.

Yet.

Chapter 22

T
he night went more quietly than Joliffe had feared it would. He was restless, yes, his sleep uneven and embroidered with senseless fragments of dark dreams, but the men slept steadily. Neither he nor Sister Petronilla had to leave their beds until dawn. Better than that, he thought wryly as the sisters gathered to break their night’s fast by candlelight, they had made it to morning with everyone alive. Even Mistress Thorncoffyn.

Or had they?

Hewstere coming all unexpectedly into the kitchen startled them all from their early morning quiet around the kitchen’s table. He was never seen at the hospital before late morning unless there were dire cause for it, and Sister Ursula’s sharp, “What is it?” reflected all their instant alarm.

“Nothing, nothing,” Hewstere assured them with a cheer that, from a man usually grave with his own great dignity, was alarming in a different way. “I was summoned in the night to see to Mistress Thorncoffyn is all. What do you have to break my fast?”

Sister Ursula gestured to the table where the bread loaf and wedge of cheese sat on their boards. He looked on it with disfavor but said, “Well enough, if that’s what there is.” He made no move to help himself, in clear expectation of being served. Joliffe obliged, less for Hewstere’s sake than to save the sisters from the bother, while Sister Ursula asked, “Was she sick in the night again?”

“Not as she was before, no. Her body has purged itself that far. The trouble is in restoring her humours to balance after such affliction. At the best of times that would take much skill and careful judgment. With the planets in their present aspect, the difficulty of it is doubled, and likewise doubly necessary.”

With becoming solemnity, Sister Ursula said, “I’m certain it’s within your skill.”

“It is,” he agreed, taking the bread and cheese Joliffe held out to him. He frowned down at it. “You’ve nothing better?”

“No,” Sister Ursula said.

Hewstere made a dismissive and disapproving sound and went away with the bread and cheese and no thanks.

No one said anything, good or ill, when he was gone, their silence sufficient comment on what they were likely thinking among themselves.

Rose, coming in soon afterward, was better welcomed. To Joliffe’s question about Piers, she said he was all but well and turned to ask Sister Letice how she was.

“Almost altogether well, too,” she said with her quiet smile that went deep in her eyes.

“Nonetheless, it will do you no harm to rest today,” Sister Margaret said.

Sister Letice started to protest that with a shake of her head, but was forestalled by Sister Ursula saying, mock-sternly, “What she shall do is spend the day in the garden, doing as little or much as she feels able and strictly charged”—she turned a truly stern look on Sister Letice—“
strictly
charged to sit and rest whenever the need comes on her.”

To that, Sister Letice bent her head in acceptance.

From there, the morning went on its usual ways outwardly at least. The men asked some questions about what the crowner had wanted with watching how they were settled for the night but were satisfied with being told Master Osburne was only being thorough about Aylton’s last hours. Other than that, having heard no questions about his death or whispers of poison, there was little else to say except what had been said among them yesterday. Nor, so far as Joliffe heard, did the sisters talk of any of it. For them, not knowing of the bread, there was no great question about Aylton’s death, and the poisoned ginger had nothing whatever to do with them now that Mistress Thorncoffyn was past the danger of it.

Joliffe, unfortunately, could not keep his mind as inwardly quiet as everyone else outwardly was. Not that he had anything new to think. With nothing added since yesterday to what he knew and guessed at, and Master Osburne failing to show himself at the hospital all morning, his thoughts only went in circles on themselves. He was braced when he took his dinner and Jack’s to the gatehouse for whatever questions Jack might have about what was happening beyond sight of the gatehouse windows, only to be greeted by Jack asking merrily, “Has the rejoicing begun yet?”

“About what?” Joliffe asked blankly.

“At Mistress Thorncoffyn leaving!”

“Leaving?” Joliffe said, even more blankly. “She’s leaving?”

Jack laughed at him. “You’d not heard?”

“None of us have. You’re sure of it?”

“She means to go as soon as her carriage can rumble here from her near manor. The soonest it can be here is tomorrow sometime, I would guess, but yes, she means to be away as soon as may be. Unless she’s changed her mind in the past half of an hour or so.”

“You’re
sure
of it?” Joliffe repeated, not yet willing to give way to the rise of his spirits at the very thought of her, her dogs, Geoffrey, and Idany being gone.

“If Geoffrey swearing to himself as he went out and in and out again this morning is anything to go by, yes. From what Simms at the inn says, she’s going to be out of this ‘house of death and sickness’ as soon as may be. She’s not told the sisters yet?”

“No. Which is maybe just as well. Seeing them sing and dance at the news might set her to choler again, and Hewstere would hardly approve of that.”

Jack laughed. “Your Master Hewstere . . .”

“He’s not mine.” Joliffe caught at a new hope that shoved his spirits another notch higher. “He’s going, too, isn’t he? That’s what you’re going to tell me. That he’s going with the Thorncoffyns.”

“Seems so. Simms says he’s hired a pack-pony for tomorrow. My guess is he’s going with his golden goose.”

So she looked that way to Jack, too. Joliffe gave a single, sharp, triumphant clap of his hands. “I
knew
it! He’s surely got her believing her life depends on him and she isn’t willing to leave him behind.”

“He knows a richer pot when he sees it, that’s certain,” Jack said. “But if you’ve not heard about even that, what about this apothecary the crowner has sent for?”

“What apothecary?”

“Some apothecary he particularly trusts, I gather. He wants more confirmation of the poison, I’d guess. Besides what Sister Letice told him. Showed him.”

“How do you know about that?” Joliffe asked in surprise.

“Amice,” Jack said, sounding very satisfied with himself. “Last night.”

“Ah.”

“All night,” Jack added.

“And maybe the night before, too?” Joliffe tried, matching Jack’s light-heartedness but curious for another reason.

“The night before, too,” Jack said readily. “Luckily enough, given Master Osburne was here asking if there was anyone besides myself could swear Aylton didn’t leave or come back this way that night.”

That Amice
could
swear on Jack’s behalf would have relieved Joliffe’s mind of the small shadow of suspicion about Jack that Basset had planted there, except he himself had told Jack about the bread in Aylton’s stomach and the questions it raised. Had that warned Jack he should have ready a safe account of himself for that night should the crowner ask?

There was no way to know now, and he covered his discomfiture by asking jibingly, “Does Father Richard know about this between you and Amice?”

“It’s Master Borton finding out that we worry on. There’ll be a fine to pay if he finds out before we wed.”

“It’s going to come to wedding then?”

“We mean for it to. About Martinmas, we think.”

“My best wishes for you both,” Joliffe said, meaning it fully. “But how do you know about this sent-for apothecary when no one else here does? You didn’t have
that
from Amice.”

“Simms at the stable again.”

“Who is this talkative Simms?”

“A friend from grammar school days. He comes by now and again to see if there’s anything I can’t limp to get for myself, and when he fetches me the occasional pottle of wine from the tavern, we share a cup and talk.” Jack grinned. “As we did this morning, with him wanting to hear what I could tell him about matters here and him telling me all he was hearing.”

That was one of the advantages of being familiar in a place, instead of only a stranger passing through, Joliffe thought: you could have friends who told you things you’d not hear otherwise. Come to it, being friends with Jack was now doing the same for him as Jack went on, “Seems, from a guess made from something Simms half overheard, the crowner wants this apothecary of his to look through the hospital’s medicines and all.” Jack looked suddenly worried. “Although maybe this is something that shouldn’t be passed on to the sisters, nobody supposedly knowing about it save the crowner.”

“You’re likely right,” Joliffe agreed slowly. “I’ll say nothing.” Little though he liked leaving Sister Letice to whatever suspicions Master Osburne must have about what she claimed about the poisoned ginger. Or maybe he was simply unwilling to settle for one person’s word about something if he could have two person’s, and one of them no part of this mess here. He was thorough at his work, was Master Osburne.

More than that, by all Joliffe had seen so far he was even-minded, too, looking for right answers rather than merely quick ones. Besides, what would be the point of warning the sisters about the apothecary coming? Anyone who had used anything here against Mistress Thorncoffyn—whether Sister Letice or someone else—had surely had sense enough to be rid of it, now that the crowner was involved.