Read Online Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood by Ellis Peters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ellis Peters
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master? When you went in to serve him his meat, did you not tell him of the prior's kind attention, and make the most of the compliment to him, and the treat in store?"
She cast down her eyes and pleated the corner of her apron. "I thought it might sweeten him," she said despairingly.
The sergeant had all he needed, or so he thought, to lay his hands promptly upon the murderer. He gave a final look round the shattered household, and said: "Well, I think you may put things in order here, I've seen all there is to be seen. Brother Infirmarer is prepared to help you take care of your dead. Should I need to question you further, I must be sure of finding you here."
"Where else should we be?" asked Richildis bleakly. "What is it you mean to do? Will you at least let me know what happens, if you ... if you should ..." She could not put it into words. She stiffened her still straight and lissome back, and said with dignity: "My son has no part in this villainy, and so you will find. He is not yet fifteen years old, a mere child!"
"The shop of Martin Bellecote, you said."
"I know it," said one of the men-at-arms.
"Good! Show the way, and we'll see what this lad has to say for himself." And they turned confidently to the door and the highway.
Brother Cadfael saw fit to toss one disturbing ripple, at least, into the pool of their complacency. "There is the matter of a container for this oil. Whoever purloined it, whether from my store or from the infirmary, must have brought a vial to put it in. Meurig, did you see any sign of such about Edwin this morning? You came from the shop with him. In a pocket, or a pouch of cloth, even a small vial would hang in a noticeable way."
"Never a sign of anything such," said Meurig stoutly.
"And further, even well stoppered and tied down, such an oil is very penetrating, and can leave both a stain and an odour where even a drop seeps through or is left on the lip. Pay attention to the clothing of any man you think suspect in this matter."
"Are you teaching me my business, brother?" enquired the sergeant with a tolerant grin.
"I am mentioning certain peculiarities about my business, which may be of help to you and keep you from error," said Cadfael placidly.
"By your leave," said the sergeant over his shoulder, from the doorway, "I think we'll first lay hands on the culprit. I doubt if we shall need your learned advice, once we have him." And he was off along the short path to the roadway where the horses were tethered, and his two men after him.
The sergeant and his men came to Martin Bellecote's shop on the Wyle late in the afternoon. The carpenter, a big, comely fellow in his late thirties, looked up cheerfully enough from his work, and enquired their business without wonder or alarm. He had done work for Prestcote's garrison once or twice, and the appearance of one of the sheriff's officers in his workshop held no menace for him. A brown-haired, handsome wife looked out curiously from the house-door beyond, and three children erupted one by one from that quarter to examine the customers fearlessly and frankly. A grave girl of about eleven, very housewifely and prim, a small, square boy of eight or so, and an elfin miss no more than four, with a wooden doll under her arm. All of them gazed and listened. The door to the house remained open and the sergeant had a loud, peremptory voice.
"You have an apprentice here by the name of Edwin. My business is with him."
"I have," agreed Martin loudly, rising and dusting the resin of polish from his hands. "Edwin Gurney, my wife's young brother. He's not yet home. He went down to see his mother in the Foregate. He should have been back before this, but I daresay she's wanted to keep him longer. What's your will with him?" He was still quite serene; he knew of nothing amiss.
"He left his mother's house above two hours since," said the sergeant flatly. "We are come from there. No offence, friend, if you say he's not here, but it's my duty to
She cast down her eyes and pleated the corner of her apron. "I thought it might sweeten him," she said despairingly.
The sergeant had all he needed, or so he thought, to lay his hands promptly upon the murderer. He gave a final look round the shattered household, and said: "Well, I think you may put things in order here, I've seen all there is to be seen. Brother Infirmarer is prepared to help you take care of your dead. Should I need to question you further, I must be sure of finding you here."
"Where else should we be?" asked Richildis bleakly. "What is it you mean to do? Will you at least let me know what happens, if you ... if you should ..." She could not put it into words. She stiffened her still straight and lissome back, and said with dignity: "My son has no part in this villainy, and so you will find. He is not yet fifteen years old, a mere child!"
"The shop of Martin Bellecote, you said."
"I know it," said one of the men-at-arms.
"Good! Show the way, and we'll see what this lad has to say for himself." And they turned confidently to the door and the highway.
Brother Cadfael saw fit to toss one disturbing ripple, at least, into the pool of their complacency. "There is the matter of a container for this oil. Whoever purloined it, whether from my store or from the infirmary, must have brought a vial to put it in. Meurig, did you see any sign of such about Edwin this morning? You came from the shop with him. In a pocket, or a pouch of cloth, even a small vial would hang in a noticeable way."
"Never a sign of anything such," said Meurig stoutly.
"And further, even well stoppered and tied down, such an oil is very penetrating, and can leave both a stain and an odour where even a drop seeps through or is left on the lip. Pay attention to the clothing of any man you think suspect in this matter."
"Are you teaching me my business, brother?" enquired the sergeant with a tolerant grin.
"I am mentioning certain peculiarities about my business, which may be of help to you and keep you from error," said Cadfael placidly.
"By your leave," said the sergeant over his shoulder, from the doorway, "I think we'll first lay hands on the culprit. I doubt if we shall need your learned advice, once we have him." And he was off along the short path to the roadway where the horses were tethered, and his two men after him.
The sergeant and his men came to Martin Bellecote's shop on the Wyle late in the afternoon. The carpenter, a big, comely fellow in his late thirties, looked up cheerfully enough from his work, and enquired their business without wonder or alarm. He had done work for Prestcote's garrison once or twice, and the appearance of one of the sheriff's officers in his workshop held no menace for him. A brown-haired, handsome wife looked out curiously from the house-door beyond, and three children erupted one by one from that quarter to examine the customers fearlessly and frankly. A grave girl of about eleven, very housewifely and prim, a small, square boy of eight or so, and an elfin miss no more than four, with a wooden doll under her arm. All of them gazed and listened. The door to the house remained open and the sergeant had a loud, peremptory voice.
"You have an apprentice here by the name of Edwin. My business is with him."
"I have," agreed Martin loudly, rising and dusting the resin of polish from his hands. "Edwin Gurney, my wife's young brother. He's not yet home. He went down to see his mother in the Foregate. He should have been back before this, but I daresay she's wanted to keep him longer. What's your will with him?" He was still quite serene; he knew of nothing amiss.
"He left his mother's house above two hours since," said the sergeant flatly. "We are come from there. No offence, friend, if you say he's not here, but it's my duty to
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