It was without guile that he asked her instantly: “Has anything been taken?”
Still possessed by her discovery, and unguardedly honest, Emma said: “No!”
CHAPTER 3
Everything in the boat, and certainly in the small cabin, seemed to Cadfael to be in immaculate order, but he did not therefore doubt her judgment. A girl making her third journey in this fashion, and growing accustomed to making the best use of the cramped space, would know exactly how she had everything folded and stowed, and the mere disturbance of a fold, the crumpling of a corner in the neat low chest under her bench-bed would be enough to alert her, and betray the intervention of another hand. But the very attempt at perfect restoration was surprising. It argued that the interloper had had ample time at his disposal, while all the crew were absent. Yet she had said confidently that nothing had been stolen.
“You are sure? You’ve had little time to examine everything here. Best look round thoroughly and make sure, before we report this to Hugh Beringar.”
“Must I do that?” she asked, a little startled, even, he thought, a little dismayed. “If there’s no harm? They are burdened enough with other matters.”
“But do you not see, child, that this comes too aptly on the other? Your uncle killed, and now his barge ransacked …”
“Why, there can surely be no connection,” she said quickly. “This is the work of some common thief.”
“A common thief who took nothing?” said Cadfael. “Where there are any number of things worth the taking!”
“Perhaps he was interrupted …” But her voice wavered into silence, she could not even convince herself.
“Does it look so to you? I think he must have been through all your belongings at leisure, to leave them so neat for you. And removed himself only when he was satisfied.” But of what? That what he wanted was not there?
Emma gnawed a dubious lip, and looked about her thoughtfully. “Well, if we must report it … You’re right, I spoke too soon, perhaps I should go through everything. No use telling him but half a tale.”
She settled down methodically to take out every item of clothing and equipment from both chests, laying them out on the beds, even unfolding those which showed, to her eyes at least, the most obvious signs of handling, and refolding them to her own satisfaction. At the end of it she sat back on her heels and looked up at Cadfael, thoughtfully frowning.
“Yes, there have been some things taken, but so cunningly. Small things that would never have been missed until we got home. There’s a girdle of mine missing, one with a gold clasp. And a silver chain. And a pair of gloves with gold embroidery. If my thumbs had not pricked when I came in here, I should not have missed them, for I shouldn’t have wanted to wear any of them. What could I want with gloves in August? I bought them all in Gloucester, on the way up the river.”
“And of your uncle’s belongings?”
“I think there is nothing missing. If some moneys were left here, certainly none are here now, but his strongbox is at the booth. He never carried valuables on such journeys as this, except the rings he always wore. I should not have had such rich trifles here myself, if I had not but newly bought them.”
“So it seems,” said Cadfael, “whoever took the opportunity of stepping aboard boldly, to see what he could pick up, had the wit to take only trifles he could slip in his sleeve or his pouch. That makes good sense. However naturally it was done, he’d be likely to cause some curiosity if he stepped ashore with his arms full of your uncle’s gowns and shirts.”
“And we must trouble Hugh Beringar and the sheriff over so trivial a loss?”
wondered Emma, jutting a doubtful lip. “It seems a pity, when he has so many graver matters on his mind. And you see this is only an ordinary, vulgar filching, because the boat was left empty a while. Small creatures of prey have an eye to such chances.”
“Yes, we must,” said Cadfael firmly. “Let the law be the judge whether this has anything to do with your uncle’s death or no. That’s not for us to say. You find what you need to take with you, and we’ll go together and see him, if he’s to be found at this hour.”
Emma put together a fresh gown and tunic, stockings and shift and other such mysteries as girls need, with a composure which Cadfael found at once admirable and baffling. The immediate discovery of the invasion of her possessions had startled and disturbed her, but she had come to terms with it very quickly and calmly, and appeared perfectly indifferent to the loss of her finery. He was just considering how odd it was that she should be so anxious to disconnect this incident from her uncle’s death, when she herself, in perverse and unthinking innocence, restored the link.
“Well, at any rate,” said Emma, gathering her bundle together neatly in the skirt of the gown, and rising nimbly from her knees, “no one can dare say that the provost’s son was to blame for this. He’s safe in a cell in the castle, and the sheriff himself can be his witness this time.”
Hugh Beringar had shrugged off his duties to enjoy at least the evening meal with his wife. Mercifully the first day of the fair had passed so far without further incident, no disorders, no quarrels, no accusations of cheating or overcharging, no throat-cutting or price- cutting, as though the uproar of the previous evening, and its deadly result, had chastened and subdued even the regular offenders. Trade was thriving, rents and tolls bringing in a high revenue for the abbey, and sales seemed set to continue peacefully well into the night.
“And I have bought some spun wool,” said Aline, delighted with her day’s shopping, “and some very fine woollen cloth, so soft?feel it! And Constance chose two beautiful fleeces from Cadfael’s Welsh merchant, she wants to card and spin them herself for the baby. And I changed my mind about a cradle, for I saw nothing in the fair to match what Martin Bellecote can do. I shall go to him.”
“The girl is not back yet?” said Hugh, mildly surprised. “She left the castle well before me.”
“She’ll have gone to bring some things from the barge. She had nothing with her last night, you know. And she was going to Bellecote’s shop, too, to bespeak the coffin for her uncle.”
“That she’d done on the way,” said Hugh, “for Martin came to the castle about the business before I left. They’ll be bringing the body down to the chapel here before dark.” He added appreciatively: “A fair-minded lass, our Emma, as well as a stout-hearted one. She would not have that fool boy of Corviser’s turned into the attacker, even for her uncle’s sake. A straight tale as ever was. He opened civilly, was brusquely received, made the mistake of laying hand on the old man, and was felled like a poled ox.”
