Margery had taken up her usual position as custodian of the brazier. The two women waited patiently, time slipping away.
“One turn of the glass after Terce, when my sick-call ministry is complete. That was his reply from my message.” Emma quoted bitterly. “I know he has duties, I understand, I do… but every grain felt like an eternity… One night, Margery. After tonight, the court sits. If we find nothing today…”
“Then we find something today.”
“Yes. One way or another, it ends today.”
Margery pulled her cloak tighter. “Christ’s teeth, my toes are blocks of ice.”
“Susan begged you to wear pattens.”
“And look like a lay sister? My guild would be mortified.” She looked at Emma. “You don’t understand the cross I bear.”
“Quiet now, remember where we are.” But she couldn’t help but smile.
The quiet was broken by the sound of, not one, but two sets of sandals slapping along the corridor.
“He’s not on his own!”
“Shhh. Get away from that brazier and sit down!” Emma hissed
The door opened and Friar Jacob entered, a few steps behind was Walter carrying some wax tablets. Walter closed the door as the friar asked the women to sit.
“Let us not stand on ceremony, your letter indicated that you wished to speak about our poor departed Edmund… you said that you wished to talk on some matters?”
Emma cast a glance at Margery who shrugged her shoulders in confusion.
“In case you are wondering why Walter is here. He was Edmund’s closest companion and has been collating his work since. I thought he might help shed light on matters. But if you would rather privacy…?”
“Not at all Friar Jacob, Margery and I are glad that Walter is offering some assistance, it is very much needed, and appreciated.”
The friar spread out his hands in an expansive gesture, inviting Emma to continue. Margery took out her wax tablet ready to take notes.
“Friar, we have exhausted all roads that could lead us to the culprit to no avail. We are at the stage now of thinking that we might need to retrace our steps, in the hope that we may have missed something.”
“You mentioned in your letter, a wax tablet?”
“Yes, indeed. Walter, you may remember we returned a wax tablet to you that was found on Edmund’s person?”
“Do you have that tablet with you, Walter?”
“Unfortunately not Friar. Well, not exactly. Let me explain,” as he sorted through the ones that he had brought with him, extracting one. “This is that tablet, but it has been re-used many times and no longer contains the symbols from Edmund’s time – may our Lord protect his soul.”
“That is of no concern, Walter. I made a copy in case the coroner should wish to view it again. Margery?”
Margery took the rolled parchment from inside her cloak and handed it to the Friar.
Emma leaned forward.
“Do these symbols and numbers have any significance, any significance at all that might give some path that we can follow?”
“Edmund had his own cipher – he never shared it with anyone. I’ve spent hours trying to decode these since his death.” Walter spread his hands. “Nothing. Whatever secrets he kept, he took them to his grave.”
“Friar, could anyone else shed light on it?”
The friar looked thoughtful for a moment, pondering, rubbing his hand over his tonsured scalp. “I am at a loss. Walter, can you think of anyone?”
“No friar, I was his closest work companion. There was no one else.”
“Thank you Walter. If there are no more questions…?” looking in turn at Emma and Margery, but none came to mind.
“Very well then Walter, you may return to your duties.”
With the briefest of nods to the mistresses and a reverential bow to Friar Jacob, Walter left carrying his tablets.
For her part, Margery had written not one word because they had not progressed at all.
“Mistress Emma and Margery, I am heartbroken that we could not help. I had great hopes that Walter would have been privy to some information, not known to most.”
“Not at all Friar, it was good of you to see us today.” Emma arose reluctantly and the friar escorted them out onto the grounds.
“I will bid you God speed, I must arrange for the alms collections. That was Edmund’s chief duty. We were at a loss for a day or two till Walter stepped in. It is not a task any clerk could accomplish, but Walter is an expert at it.”
“What will you do when he leaves?”
“This time I intend to train a second clerk. It will take time, but Walter assured me that he is not going anywhere.” He chuckled.
“I thought I heard he was leaving Bristol.”
“What? No, no, you must have misheard, Mistress Margery. Walter mentioned only yester-afternoon how content he is here.”
Emma frowned but said nothing. His landlord seemed certain he was leaving…
“Thank you for your time. We will redouble our efforts, and with God’s will…”
“Yes, with God’s will. Call again if you think of any way I can be of assistance.” The Friar walked quickly towards the main building, leaving them in the care of Brother Dominic.
The lay brother led them along the cloister path towards the gate, his sandals slapping a steady rhythm on the flagstones. The weak winter sun did little to warm the grounds, though a few friars moved about their duties, breath misting in the cold air.
Over to the left, towards the wash-house, Margery spotted movement in the shadows.
“Emma… is that Walter with Catherine?”
“Where?”
“Over there, in the shade of the wash-house eastern wall.”
Walter and Catherine, heads close together, speaking urgently. They split apart when they noticed the women watching.
Emma frowned. “What are those two plotting?”
“I, also, would love to know.”
“Some other time, not now. Guild-Master next, are we of one mind on it?”
Margery’s swiftly departing cloak was answer enough.
“I could grow to like this guild hall, the wool merchants have nothing as grand by any measure.”
“What is this I hear, the mighty Margery says that this ward has a superior guild to those in Redcliff? I fear the good Lord will send bolts of lightning to mark this day.”
“If I am anything, I am honest. Credit where it is earned, and this is … impressive. That I do acknowledge. And, if I may continue… don’t ever return that Guild-Master token, we should make more use of it in the future.”
They were speaking in whispers, it felt almost like a church.
“We are the only unaccompanied women here,” Emma murmured. “Does the token even entitle me to attend like this?”
Margery’s whispered reply never came. Instead…
“You come calling, Mistress Emma… and bring an outsider too.”
The voice was unmistakable.
“Yes, Guild-Master. She is a close friend and of the wool trade.”
“I would like a private conversation, perhaps you would prefer to sit elsewhere?” pointedly looking at Margery.
“Guild-Master, I was invited in as a guest of my friend, I feel it would not be morally right for me to sit alone at some other bench and… ” continuing quickly to prevent an interruption, “I am sure that you would not wish for Mistress Emma to have her name sullied by being seen talking with a… a man, such as yourself, unaccompanied. I will stay as her companion – to ensure propriety.” Smiling broadly.
“This… this is…”
“This is right and proper, sir. I agree wholeheartedly,” Margery rejoined leaving no room to wriggle.
“Mistress Emma, I hear from many sources that you, and your companion, are causing… how can I put this? You are causing some difficulties for many merchants in the guild. This is not what I bade you to do. Not at all.”
“That is not my intention, in fact it is the exact opposite.”
“I fail to see that by any manner of imagining.”
“We,” indicating both Margery and herself, “have been investigating the death of Edmund and have found that there are many people who do not have proof of their innocence, and could be asked to account for their whereabouts. You understand?”
“Yes, I do, but fail to see why you are engaging in the acts that have been reported to me. You seem to be trying to find any excuse to get the murderer Thomas freed.”
“That is not our main motivation – though if we can prove his innocence, that will be a bonus. The dilemma that we found ourselves in was… if I may speak plainly, sir?”
“Yes, yes go on. I wish you would make your meaning clear, my patience is almost at an end.”
“There are rumours around town, that we have found to be true, that put yourself and a woman…”
“Not your wife.” Margery couldn’t help herself.
“What! Who says this… this… lie?”
“Many people. You were both seen on Corne Strete when Edmund was stabbed…”
“Enough.” His voice dropped, cold and dangerous. “You go too far, Mistress Fenwick.”
“Sir, I only meant to…”
“You meant to threaten me. In my own guild hall.” He stepped closer, looming over them. “Let me be plain. Your Father’s membership in this guild hangs by a thread. One word from me and Fenwick wines will rot unsold in your cellar. No merchant in Bristol will touch them. Is that what you want?”
Emma held her ground. “I want the truth, Sir.”
“The truth?” He laughed, a harsh sound. “The truth is that you are a widow with no standing, meddling in affairs far beyond your reach. The truth is that your Father’s reputation – what remains of it – rests entirely on my goodwill.”
Margery shifted beside her, but for once held her tongue.
“Now.” He extended his hand. “My token. Return it.”
Emma’s mind raced. “I… I do not have it with me, Sir. It is in my chamber at Fenwick Hall.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then you will bring it to me. Tomorrow. Before Terce.”
“The court sits at Terce.”
“Then you had best rise early… And one more thing. Alice.”
Emma’s breath caught.
“She came to me this morning. Told me of your… visit. Your questions. Your insinuations.” His lip curled. “You will not approach her again. You will not speak to her. You will not send messages through others. She is under my protection. Do you understand?”
“Sir, if she saw something that night…”
“She saw nothing. She knows nothing. And you will leave her be.” He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I hear that either of you has troubled her again, I will see your father ruined. Not threatened. Ruined. The Fenwick name will be worth less than the mud in the gutter. Am I clear?”
Emma met his gaze. Held it.
“Perfectly clear, Sir.”
“Good.” He straightened, adjusted his gown. “Now remove yourselves from my hall. You are no longer welcome here.”
Susan met them at the back door, reading their faces before a word was spoken.
“That bad?”
Emma said nothing, just walked past her to the hall and slumped onto the bench by the hearth. Margery followed, gave Susan a hug, and unwound her cloak as she followed Emma to the bench.
Susan busied herself stirring the embers back to life. “You’ve been out since morning. Let me bring you some pottage, warm your insides.”
“I couldn’t eat.” Emma stared at the growing flames. “I couldn’t stomach it.”
Margery’s belly growled in protest, but she shook her head. “No, thank you Susan. I’ll wait.”
The fire spat out a stone. Somewhere below, Ned moved casks in the shop. The ordinary sounds of an ordinary day, while a man sat in prison waiting…
“Come.” Margery stood, extending her hand. “Let us go to your chamber. Away from… everything. Just for a while.”
“To what end?”
“To rest. To think. To… I don’t know, Emma. But sitting here in the hall won’t help… I would like some sleep.”
Emma let herself be pulled to her feet. Susan watched them go, worry creasing her face.
Inside the chamber was dim, the brazier barely glowing. Margery coaxed it back to life while Emma stood at the narrow window, looking out at nothing.
“Lie down.” Margery gestured to the pallet. “Rest your eyes. You were up half the night with your lists and your worrying.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Suit yourself. I intend to rest my eyes a spell,” she lay down on the second pallet with a contented sigh.
“Just a few moments of peace,” Margery murmured. “That’s all I ask.”
Within minutes, the snoring began.
Emma lay on her pallet and stared at the ceiling. The light through the window shifted slowly as the afternoon crept past. She counted the beams. Counted them again. Her mind would not stop turning, counting, calculating.
Finally, frustrated, she rose looking over at Margery – a look of annoyance and jealousy rolled into one. Margery lay sprawled on her back, mouth open, one arm hanging over the edge of the pallet, fingers brushing the floor. The warmth of the brazier had done its work – she had kicked off her blanket and her shift had ridden up past her knees. She looked like a child worn out from play, utterly abandoned to sleep. How easy some can surrender to slumber.
She gathered her writing materials and brought them to the small table by the window – tablets, stylus, a scrap of parchment, her quill and ink. She set an hourglass beside her and turned it, watching the first grains fall. Like the condemned counting his hours, unwilling to waste a single grain.
She began to write.
‘Things we know’. A list. She stared at it, crossed out half, started again.
‘People we Questioned’. Another list. Catherine. Walter. Dyers. Alice. Guild-Master. Goldsmith – no, they never got proper answers from him. The old man with the tables. All of them, and none of them had given her anything.
On another tablet she posed questions.
What was Edmund doing that night? She didn’t know. She had never known. Why did he intrude on our peace? Why?
Who wanted him dead? She had no idea. Even after all this time of talk, of questioning of… useless waste of time.
She erased the tablet angrily with the heel of her hand and started over.
The hourglass emptied. She turned it again. The snoring continued, punctuated now by the occasional snort and mumble.
Emma’s lists grew. Shrank. Grew again. None of it connected. None of it led anywhere. The brazier was growing cold.
She flung the tablet down, knocking the inkpot and shouting, “A curse on it!”
“Whassat?” Margery’s voice was thick with sleep. She pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking. Looked balefully at the now dead brazier.
“Emma? What hour is it?”
“Late afternoon. I don’t know exactly.” In truth, she could not have cared less.
Margery sat up slowly, reaching for her gown. She padded over to the table, peering at the scattered tablets with sleep-fogged eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Failing.” Emma slumped back in her chair and gestured at the mess. “I’ve been over it and over it. There’s nothing. No connection, nothing we haven’t already… “
Margery picked up one of the tablets, squinting at Emma’s cramped writing. “What’s this? People Questioned. Catherine, Walter…”
“Everyone is there. Everyone who might know anything. Everyone who had any connection to Edmund. And none of them… Useless waste of time.”
“Who have we not asked… and Emma Fenwick, do NOT say we have asked everyone. Think, woman.”
“But we have! Even Ned, remember we asked him as well. Maybe Susan. Is that what you mean?” She asked quite sarcastically. Dismissive even.
Margery didn’t take the bait. “Let me tell you, Emma Fenwick. No, don’t question Susan. Not because she doesn’t matter because of her low station in life but because she was not here. But I will tell you who was. You.” She pointed an accusatory finger in Emma’s direction.
Emma stared at her.
“You were here, Emma. In this very house when Edmund came to the door. You held him as he died. You heard his last words.” Margery’s voice was quiet now. “We never once properly questioned you.”
The obvious, there before us all along.
“Tell me,” Margery said. “Tell me everything about that evening. From the beginning.” She pulled a tablet close, ready to write a note.
“I have told you many times, it was shortly before Compline when… “ it was as if she was reciting some story learned many years ago.
Margery jumped up. “No, Emma. We do this properly, proper recollection. Give me time to dress, and you – go dress for outdoors. It is not yet Compline, there is still time.”
“What is wrong with you woman?” Emma watched Margery as she was throwing on her finery without thought, as a child would dress. In no time at all, she was ready..
“Emma – I told you. Get dressed for outdoors. Hurry, woman!”
Ciaran Leamy - Author 