Cruel as the Grave

  Nell grimaced. "Why are you carrying that... that thing around with you?" Justin shrugged. "I had it in mind to get rid of it after the abjuration, mayhap put it back in the churchyard where she died. Out of curiosity, how did Geoffrey explain away the rock whilst he was making his tearful confession?"

  "He did not," Jonas said, and Justin turned to stare at the serjeant. "What are you saying? Doesn't a man have to confess fully ere he can abjure the realm?"

  "Supposedly so, but he made no mention of it in his confession. He admitted quarreling with Melangell after she threatened to go to Adela and he admitted panicking and trying to make it look as if she'd been raped. But he claimed that she died when she fell back against the cross. Nary a word about picking up a rock and dashing her brains out with it. I guess the lad is getting forgetful under the strain."

  "Why did the sheriff not challenge him on it?" Justin demanded, and Jonas gave a weary shake of his head.

  "Ask him, de Quincy, not me. Mayhap Tobias neglected to tell him about that particular detail, or mayhap he decided it did not matter."

  Justin was outraged. "It does matter," he insisted. "He owes Melangell the truth!" Tossing the reins of their mounts to Gunter, he swung around and began to shove his way through the crowd. He had no difficulty in overtaking Geoffrey, who was already leaving bloody footprints in the dust. Lugging the cross, he was staring straight ahead, resolutely ignoring the occasional jeer or catcall as he plodded along the Cheapside, trailed by several of Jonas's men to make sure he got safely out of London. When Justin caught up with him, he flinched at the sound of pursuing footsteps, his shoulders slumping with relief as he recognized Justin.

  "I was half expecting her father to be here to confront me," he confessed, "and no blame to him if he did. How could he not hate me for what I did?"

  "And what did you do, Geoffrey? I understand your memory needs prodding, for you omitted the most important part of your confession."

  Geoffrey came to a halt in the roadway. "What do you mean? I held nothing back. Why would I?"

  His feigned bewilderment only stoked Justin's anger all the higher. "You told only half the truth, the half that works in your favor. The other half you ignored, hoping it would be forgotten... like Melangell herself."

  Geoffrey shook his head slowly. "I do not know what you are talking about. Melangell will never be forgotten, not by me."

  "Well said, Geoffrey; you'd have made a fine actor. I would almost believe you... if not for this!" Pulling the rock from his pouch, Justin slammed it into the palm of Geoffrey's hand.

  Geoffrey looked down at the rock, then back up at Justin, uncomprehending. "What is this?" he asked. "I do not understand."

  Justin stared at him in disbelief. "You truly do not... do you?"

  Jonas's men were growing impatient at the delay and one of them ordered Geoffrey to move along. Reluctantly, he did, first politely handing Justin back the rock. As the men hustled him away, he looked over his shoulder, making one final plaintive protest. "I would not have let Daniel take the blame, Justin, I swear I would not!"

  Justin would later wish that he had responded, given Geoffrey the assurance he sought. Now, though, he was too stunned, unable to do anything but stare down at the rock in his hand. "Jesus God," he said softly, as much to himself as the Almighty, "how can this be?"

  "How can what be?" Jonas had muscled his way onto the Cheapside. His gaze flicked from the rock to Justin's face, that lone eye narrowing at what he found. "What ails you? What happened?"

  Justin swallowed. "I showed him the rock, Jonas, and it meant nothing to him... nothing at all."

  "Jesu! Are you sure about this?"

  Justin nodded and they turned as one to stare after Geoffrey's slow progress along Cheapside, not moving until long after he had vanished from sight.

  ~~

  "Justin, this serves for naught." Nell set a fresh flagon down on the table, then took a seat across from him. "You're not even drinking," she scolded, glancing toward his brimming cup, "just brooding. For the love of the Lord, let it go!"

  "I cannot," he admitted, "God help me, I cannot. How could I have been so wrong, Nell? I was so sure this rock was the murder weapon, so sure!"

  Nell regarded the troublesome rock with distaste. "Must you have it out on the table like this? It does have blood on it, after all, even if it is not Melangell's."

  "Whose is it, then, if not hers? It makes no sense, Nell. What of the black hairs on it? I keep going around in a circle, always ending up back where I started."

  "You're in a rut, not a circle, and getting nowhere fast. Put the rock away, Justin. Not all of God's mysteries are meant to be solved. Curfew will be ringing soon and I do not want to send you out sober into the night... so drink up, and let's talk of other matters besides that wretched rock. How is Luke faring these days? Have you heard from him since he returned to Winchester?"

  "One letter, saying he'd gotten home safely and complaining at length about that 'four-legged fiend,' Aldith's dog, who ate his best boots whilst he was away... or so Aldith claims." Justin mustered up a smile at the domestic discord of his friends, but almost at once lapsed back into a distracted silence.

  Nell gave an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. "Like a dog with a bone, you are." Seeing that Justin was not going to drink his ale, she reached over and helped herself to it, taking a deep swallow and then another. "This batch tastes a bit off; I'll be having a word with the brewer. You know what surprised me, Justin? That Melangell's father was not there today to see Geoffrey's public penance. I thought the Welsh put a great store by vengeance."

  "Vengeance is a luxury, one Godwin cannot afford, not since his mule died."

  "Misfortune does seem to be dogging that poor man's footsteps. I saw him and the little lass the other day in the Cheapside, and my heart went out to them, Justin. Worn down to skin and bones and blisters, he is, and Cati like a wild creature, as bedraggled and unkempt as any beggar's child. What will befall her if her father drops dead in the mule's traces one day? Has she no other kin at all?"

  "Her mother has family back in Wales." Justin reached for the drink Nell had appropriated. Thinking about Cati's bleak future was as troubling as thoughts of that blasted, bloodied rock. "She is tougher than she looks," he said, seeking to convince himself as much as Nell. "Her grieving for Melangell is an open wound, one that will be a long time healing. But she is not one for sharing her grief. Only once do I remember her being on the brink of tears, when she was telling me about her sister's funeral and the red dress she'd set her heart upon ..."

  The image of Cati's stifled sorrow was too vivid for comfort, needed to be washed away with ale, and he brought the cup up with such haste that it slopped over the rim. It never reached his mouth. Setting the cup down with a thud, he gave Nell such a blind, unfocused look that she felt a superstitious chill and plucked uneasily at his sleeve.

  "Justin, what is it? You look like you've seen one of God's own ghosts!"

  He blinked, like a man coming out of a spell. "Not exactly. But it may be that Melangell just whispered a word in my ear, for I remembered something..." Before Nell could question him further, he was on his feet. "I have to go, Nell. There is someone I must see."

  "Tonight?" Curfew is night! She protested in vain, though; he was already halfway toward the door.

  ~~

  The usually affable landlord was less accommodating after being roused from bed and it took a combination of coins and blandishments to win his cooperation. Grumbling under his breath, he lit a candle and led Justin up the stairs to the room rented by Melangell's father. Godwin awoke at once, sitting up in alarm and fumbling for his clothes. Justin claimed the candle, raising it so that its wan flame would identify them. Godwin squinted up at the shivering light, then gestured for silence, pointing toward the pallet where Cati slept. The men retreated, Justin to wait in the stairwell, the landlord to go back to bed. After a few moments, Godwin emerged, half-dressed, to sit beside Justin on the stairs.
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  "Why are you here? What now?" His voice sounded muffled, sleep-sodden, and the candle's light showed hollows and grooves, his features blurred and flattened by exhaustion and despair.

  "I am sorry I awakened you, Godwin, but I needed to speak with you straightaway."

  "And it could not wait till the morrow? But men like you are not ones for waiting, are they? Ask what you will, then and try not to wake up my girl."

  It took Justin a moment to realize what Godwin meant by "men like you." Men with power. He almost laughed, for he too often felt like an orphan buffeted by storms beyond his control. He had to remind himself that the bishop's bastard foundling was also the queen's man, and to the peddler, the gap between them must have seemed vast, indeed. "You were not there to watch as Geoffrey Aston abjured the realm."

  "What good would it do? I'm glad he was found out, glad that he's paying for what he did to my Melangell. But he could bleed his life away a drop at a time and it would not bring her back, now would it?

  "No," Justing agreed, "It would not. Yet there is more to this than you know, Godwin. Bear with me, for I've reason for asking. I need to know about Melangell's red dress, the one you bought her ere she died."

  Godwin looked baffled, but he was accustomed to obeying orders. "What of it?"

  "Cati told me that she'd never had a red dress before. Is that true?"

  Godwin was beginning to eye Justin as if he was not quite in his right wits. "Aye… she was wearing it that Friday, the day she died."

  It was the answer Justin was expecting. But he'd needed to hear it from Godwin. Rising, he reached for his money pouch. "I have something for you. We promised you'd get it back once the sheriff was sure it would not be needed at trial. He handed it to Jonas this afternoon." The candle flame illuminated the tarnished, worn sheen of Melangell's pilgrim pledge. Godwin snatched it up, his gnarled fingers clenching into a fist around the cross. Justin dropped his hand to the older man's shoulder, and left him sitting there in the darkened stairwell, clutching his murdered child's talisman.

  ~~

  Justin slept poorly that night and was up and dressed by the time the sky had begun to lighten. A hazy dawn was breaking over London, the streets slowly filling as the city stirred. There was no sign of life at Humphrey Aston's shop, the shutters still down, the door barred. Justin was turning toward the side gate that led to the mercer's great hall when he saw one of the Aston journeymen on the other side of the street. Crossing over, he hailed the man. "Are you about to open the shop?"

  The man shook his head, grinning broadly. "We got the day off! I can still scarce believe it, but the old man said he had work to do on his own and did not want the lot of us underfoot."

  "Where is he now?"

  "In the shop. If you want my guess, he tried to drink himself into a stupor last night and is dog-sick this morn. I never thought to hear myself saying this, but I can almost feel sorry for him ... almost. There was room for but one person in that shriveled walnut of a heart of his, and that was Geoffrey."

  After the journeyman went off to enjoy his day of liberty, Justin returned to the mercer's shop and began to pound loudly for admittance. The response was a curse-laden warning to go away. Justin continued to hammer on the door until it was wrenched open.

  "I am closed, you witless, misbegotten lout!" Humphrey bellowed, but Justin shoved the door back, forcing his way into the shop. It was like falling into a damp, dark hole, for the room was lit only by a sputtering candle and the air reeked of tallow grease, sweat, and wine. Getting his first good look at this intruder, Humphrey growled low in his throat. "You!" Snatching up an empty clay flagon, he swung it clumsily at Justin's head.

  His aim was off, though, and Justin had no trouble evading the blow. Before Humphrey could try again, Justin clamped his hand on the other man's wrist, forcing him to drop the flagon. It shattered and the impact seemed to bring Humphrey back to his senses. Rubbing his wrist, he glared defiantly at Justin. "Who could blame me if I'd split your head open? Because of your meddling, I lost my son!"

  He did not seem drunk, although not for want of trying; the floor was littered with discarded flagons and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his tunic so wrinkled and disheveled that he must have slept in it. Justin looked upon this evidence of a man's disintegration and felt not a flicker of pity. "Where is your wife? Is she above-stairs?"

  "No, at her sister's. What is it to you?"

  "Nothing to me, but this is a conversation you'll not be wanting her to overhear."

  "This conversation is over. Get out!"

  "Why not try to throw me out? I think I'd enjoy that."

  Humphrey tensed to launch himself at the younger man, then thought better of it. "What are you doing here? Have you not done enough harm to my family?"

  "Let's talk about that, Humphrey, about family. Growing up, I never knew my father and I felt that loss keenly. Looking at you now, I see that I was the lucky one. Your sons would have fared better as orphans."

  It had been many years since anyone had dared to talk to Humphrey like this and his face flooded with color. "I want you out of my shop - now!"

  "You still do not see it, do you? I know the truth. I know how Melangell died and the part you played in it."

  Humphrey scarcely seemed to be breathing, so still was he of a sudden. Only his eyes moved, shifting from Justin's face to the sword at his hip. "What sort of nonsense is this?" he said, sounding more wary now than indignant. "I had naught to do with that Welsh whore's death."

  "That is what I once thought, too. Even this did not put me on the right track/' Justin said, taking out his money pouch and slowly extracting that broken piece of tombstone.

  Humphrey's body sagged and he sank down on a workbench piled with bolts of cloth. Justin held the rock toward the candle's light. "You can see her blood better now. She bled a lot. Was she conscious when you hit her? Had she started to revive, mayhap moaning? Or were you just making sure, finishing what Geoffrey had begun?"

  Humphrey said nothing. He'd yet to take his eyes from the rock, transfixed by those brownish stains. Justin leaned back against the door, one hand sliding down to loosen his sword in its scabbard. "You do not want to talk about it? I suppose it is up to me, then. Where shall I start? How about with Melangell's red dress? You were the first one to make mention of it, ranting about her 'whore's scarlet.' I remembered because your outburst was so poisonous, but it took a while to understand its true significance. You see, Humphrey, Melangell had but one red dress, worn for the first time on the day she died. So you lied when you said you'd not seen her that Friday."

  Humphrey's face was suffused with heat, with hatred so intense it was almost palpable. "She was a slut," he said harshly, "chasing shamelessly after Geoffrey day and night. I'd warned him away from her, but he kept sneaking around, futtering her on the sly... young fool!"

  "So you followed him to the churchyard that night, meaning to catch them in the act. Instead you overheard her telling him she was with child. You knew that could wreck Geoffrey's chances of wedding Adela and you were not about to let that happen. My guess is that you hid to hear more. We both know what happened next. Geoffrey pushed her, she fell, and he panicked, thinking he'd killed her. As soon as he fled, you emerged from the shadows. Geoffrey may have lost his head, but not you. No, you saw your chance and took it. Was she already dying when you reached for that rock? I suppose you're the only one who'll ever know that, and you're not likely to say, are you?"

  "You've got that right!" Humphrey's lip curled scornfully. "You spin a good tale, de Quincy, but all you've got is a bloody rock and lots of suspicions. You cannot prove a word of this!"

  "You are right," Justin admitted. "I cannot prove it. If I could, I'd have gone to the sheriff. I spent the night trying to figure out how to bring you to justice and realized I cannot. Geoffrey has confessed and the sheriff was never all that interested in the killing of a peddler's daughter, so he's not about to reopen this case without proof. And as you
pointed out, I lack proof, at least the sort of proof that would convince a court. What I do have, though, is a remarkably compelling story of greed and guilt and mortal sin. I'm willing to wager that your family, your neighbors, and fellow mercers will be hanging on to my every word."

  Humphrey shot to his feet, fists balled. "You cannot do that!"

  "I can," Justin said coldly, "and I will. I thought I'd go first to Master Serlo. I think he'll believe me. I think anyone who knows you will believe me"

  "You treacherous bastard!" Humphrey took a threatening step forward, only to halt when Justin let his hand drop to the hilt of his sword. "I'll sue you for slander," he said, and Justin laughed.

  "Have you forgotten? I'm the queen's man. Which one of us do you think a court would heed?"

  The mercer responded with a curse so profane that Justin was impressed in spite of himself. But he was right about Humphrey Aston; this was not a man to lose his head. There was a long silence and then Humphrey said in a flat, dispassionate voice, "I am not admitting any of this, mind you. I'll deny it with my last breath. I'd rather not have to do that, though, for lies are like mud. They tend to stick. So what will it take to keep you quiet about these ludicrous suspicions of yours?"