Read Online Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood by Ellis Peters - Free Book Online
Authors: Ellis Peters
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and the lady, naturally." No, he was not a stupid man, he could count, and he had noted the absence of one person both from the house and from their talk, as if they were all united to smooth the sixth trencherman out of sight. "Here are three places laid. Who was the third?"
There was no help for it, someone had to answer. Richildis made the best of it. With apparently ingenuous readiness, rather as though surprised at the introduction of an irrelevancy, she said: "My son. But he left well before my husband was taken ill."
"Without finishing his dinner! If this was his place?"
"It was," she said with dignity, and volunteered nothing more.
"I think, madam," said the sergeant, with a darkly patient smile, "you had better sit down and tell me more about this son of yours. As I have heard from Prior Robert, your husband was by way of granting his lands to the abbey in return for this house and guest status for the rest of his life and yours. After what has happened here, that agreement would seem to be forcibly in abeyance, since it is not yet sealed. Now, it would be greatly to the advantage of an heir to those lands, supposing such to be living, to have your husband removed from this world before the charter was ratified. Yet if there was a son of your marriage, his consent would have been required before any such agreement could have been drawn up. Read me this riddle. How did he succeed in disinheriting his son?"
Plainly she did not want to volunteer anything more than she must, but she was wise enough to know that too stubborn reticence would only arouse suspicion. Resignedly she replied: "Edwin is my son by my first marriage. Gervase had no paternal obligation to him. He could dispose of his lands as he wished." There was more, and if she left it to be ferreted out through others it would sound far worse. "Though he had previously made a will making Edwin his heir, there was nothing to prevent him from changing his mind."
"Ah! So there was, it seems, an heir who was being dispossessed by this charter, and had much to regain by rendering it void. And limited time for the business - only a few days or weeks, until a new abbot is appointed. Oh, don't mistake me, my mind is open. Every man's death may be convenient to someone, often to more than one. There could be others with something to gain. But you'll grant me, your son is certainly one such."
She bit her lip, which was unsteady, and took a moment to compose herself before she said gallantly: "I don't quarrel with your reasoning. I do know that my son, however much he may have wanted his manor, would never have wanted it at this price. He is learning a trade, and resolved to be independent and make his own future."
"But he was here today. And departed, it appears, in some haste. When did he come?"
Meurig said readily: "He came with me. He's apprenticed himself to Martin Bellecote, who is his sister's husband and my master. We came here together this morning, and he came with me, as he has once before, to see my old uncle in the infirmary."
"Then you arrived at this house together? You were together throughout that time? A while ago you said you came into the kitchen - 'I,' you said, not 'we.' "
"He came before me. He was restive after a while ... he's young, he grew tired of standing by the old man's bed while we spoke only Welsh together. And his mother was here waiting to see him. So he went ahead. He was in at the table when I got here."
"And left the table almost dinnerless," said the sergeant very thoughtfully. "Why? Can that have been a very comfortable dinner-table, a young man come to eat with the man who disinherited him? Was this the first time they had so met, since the abbey supplanted him?"
He had his nose well down on a strong trail now, and small blame to him, it reeked enough to lure the rawest pup, and this man was far from being that. What would I have said to such a strong set of circumstances, Cadfael wondered, had I been in his shoes? A
There was no help for it, someone had to answer. Richildis made the best of it. With apparently ingenuous readiness, rather as though surprised at the introduction of an irrelevancy, she said: "My son. But he left well before my husband was taken ill."
"Without finishing his dinner! If this was his place?"
"It was," she said with dignity, and volunteered nothing more.
"I think, madam," said the sergeant, with a darkly patient smile, "you had better sit down and tell me more about this son of yours. As I have heard from Prior Robert, your husband was by way of granting his lands to the abbey in return for this house and guest status for the rest of his life and yours. After what has happened here, that agreement would seem to be forcibly in abeyance, since it is not yet sealed. Now, it would be greatly to the advantage of an heir to those lands, supposing such to be living, to have your husband removed from this world before the charter was ratified. Yet if there was a son of your marriage, his consent would have been required before any such agreement could have been drawn up. Read me this riddle. How did he succeed in disinheriting his son?"
Plainly she did not want to volunteer anything more than she must, but she was wise enough to know that too stubborn reticence would only arouse suspicion. Resignedly she replied: "Edwin is my son by my first marriage. Gervase had no paternal obligation to him. He could dispose of his lands as he wished." There was more, and if she left it to be ferreted out through others it would sound far worse. "Though he had previously made a will making Edwin his heir, there was nothing to prevent him from changing his mind."
"Ah! So there was, it seems, an heir who was being dispossessed by this charter, and had much to regain by rendering it void. And limited time for the business - only a few days or weeks, until a new abbot is appointed. Oh, don't mistake me, my mind is open. Every man's death may be convenient to someone, often to more than one. There could be others with something to gain. But you'll grant me, your son is certainly one such."
She bit her lip, which was unsteady, and took a moment to compose herself before she said gallantly: "I don't quarrel with your reasoning. I do know that my son, however much he may have wanted his manor, would never have wanted it at this price. He is learning a trade, and resolved to be independent and make his own future."
"But he was here today. And departed, it appears, in some haste. When did he come?"
Meurig said readily: "He came with me. He's apprenticed himself to Martin Bellecote, who is his sister's husband and my master. We came here together this morning, and he came with me, as he has once before, to see my old uncle in the infirmary."
"Then you arrived at this house together? You were together throughout that time? A while ago you said you came into the kitchen - 'I,' you said, not 'we.' "
"He came before me. He was restive after a while ... he's young, he grew tired of standing by the old man's bed while we spoke only Welsh together. And his mother was here waiting to see him. So he went ahead. He was in at the table when I got here."
"And left the table almost dinnerless," said the sergeant very thoughtfully. "Why? Can that have been a very comfortable dinner-table, a young man come to eat with the man who disinherited him? Was this the first time they had so met, since the abbey supplanted him?"
He had his nose well down on a strong trail now, and small blame to him, it reeked enough to lure the rawest pup, and this man was far from being that. What would I have said to such a strong set of circumstances, Cadfael wondered, had I been in his shoes? A
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