color and texture of the blood, and, though it made me squeamish, I did my best to describe it. He wrote my answers on a sheet of parchment paper. Campion smiled at me, pleased every time I came up with a new detail. “Ah, very good,” he’d exclaim. Geoffrey did nothing but listen.
“What was the humor of his intact eye?” demanded the coroner.
I shook my head, unsure what he meant.
“Was it melancholic, phlegmatic, sanguine, or choleric?” he asked.
I thought back to the expression in that eye. I had formed an impression when I saw it, but now it was hard to articulate. “It was closest to melancholic,” I said finally.
“Not choleric—he was not angry or fearful?” the coroner asked, his thick graying eyebrows twitching in concentration.
“No,” I said. “He was . . . surprised. But not shocked.”
For the first time, Geoffrey spoke.
“As would be the case if Lord Chester died while looking at someone he knew?”
Yes, it was the same voice. He was the same man: Geoffrey Scovill.
I shook my head. “I do not wish to speculate, sir,” I said in the same polite tone.
Justice Campion smiled. “Ah, but we require you to speculate, Sister Joanna. You have an acute eye. You have given us the most detailed descriptions of his lordship so far.” He turned to the prioress. “I commend you for having such an observant and intelligent young woman in your priory.”
Prioress Joan said nothing.
“I was taken aback to see such large quarters for guests in the priory, since you are so adamant about keeping out the world,” mused Justice Campion.
The prioress answered, “The point of the domus hospitum—”
“The what?” The older man squinted at her.
“A house of hospitality,” spoke up Geoffrey.
So Geoffrey Scovill knew Latin. I had not realized.
The prioress explained that special permission was given for certain guests. Widows longing for spiritual comfort had boarded here. Also, in times of war, a local noble might make request that his wife and daughter stay in the guests’ rooms of the priory. When Henry the Fifth led his army to France, the rooms had been full.
Nodding, Justice Campion thought for a moment, then his attention turned back to me. “So please, Sister, your thoughts. You must have formed an idea.”
I swallowed. “Sir?”
He walked across the room, poking the floor with his cane. “Lord Chester comes to the requiem feast. He eats and drinks a great deal, so much so that he loses consciousness and is taken to the front of the priory. I remain surprised that he would be served so much wine that he would lose himself completely.”
Eager to defend Dartford, I said, “He came to the priory drunk.”
“Did he? How do you know that? No one else made note of that.”
“I smelled it on his breath.”
Justice Campion’s eyebrows shot up. “I see.” He glanced over at Geoffrey. “Tell us about Sister Winifred. He attacked her?”
I winced. “Yes.”
“And so Brother Edmund, who is in fact her own older brother, defended her by striking Lord Chester so hard he fell to the floor?”
I nodded.
“And Brother Richard?”
I exchanged a look of confusion with the prioress.
“What do you want to know about him?” asked the prioress.
“Brother Richard himself said that he did not desire Lord Chester’s presence, that he resisted the idea for the feast. That he did not consider it seemly.”
Shifting in her chair, the prioress admitted, “That’s true.”
“So both of these friars, here at Dartford Priory for a month, felt some form of hostility toward Lord Chester.”
Prioress Joan said, “Your inquiry is misguided. These are friars. They would not commit such an act.”
“But Brother Edmund did commit an act of violence against Lord Chester, just hours before he was killed,” Justice Campion said, his voice hardening. “And last night he was in the infirmary, not in the friars’ lodgings, which is a separate building.”
In a panic, I jumped to my feet. “He wouldn’t do such a terrible thing as murder,” I cried. “It’s impossible. Brother Edmund is a good, kind person, a true man of God. He helps people.”
A thick silence filled the room. The coroner stopped writing, and the three men looked at one another. Justice Campion nodded at Geoffrey Scovill, and the younger man hurried out of the prioress’s chamber.
“Someone killed Lord Chester, and it was a most terrible act, I agree,” said Justice Campion. He had resumed his grandfatherly manner, but I no longer felt at ease with him. “I think we can all agree that the murderer was someone who harbored great hatred for