“That is without a doubt,” muttered Coroner Hancock.
“Certainly this was not a thief wandering the countryside,” Justice Campion said. “A thief would have taken the rings off his fingers—they are worth a fortune—and there would have been more noise. Lady Chester slept in the room next to his, and she heard nothing. The doors were closed between them and the walls are thick, but still, she would have heard her husband had there been a prolonged struggle.”
The prioress said, “But Lord Chester was killed in his sleep.”
“I don’t think so, Prioress. Sister Joanna’s description is of a man sitting up in the bed at the moment of the attack. He did not get up or try to evade his attacker. I think someone entered the room and communicated with Lord Chester in such a way that his lordship was not in fear of his life initially. And then he was struck hard by a man of some strength.”
“He had enemies at court,” insisted the prioress.
Justice Campion nodded. “Yes, I am sure he did. A violent death, committed within these walls, would also taint the priory, the whole monastic way of life. On my way to Dartford from Rochester I suspected a crazed reformer, eager to cast such a taint on the old ways.” He paused and shook his head. “To kill him here, though, first the murderer would have to know that Lord Chester stayed in the guest lodging rooms. That was a spontaneous decision, made after the feast. How would an outsider know of it, and then . . . know where to find the rooms? There is the problem of how he entered a locked and guarded priory. No one should have been able to gain entry to the guest bedchamber, from the cloister or the outside. And, finally, we have the reliquary.”
A chill rippled through me.
“I find it interesting that Lord Chester was killed with the reliquary, the most sacred possession you have. And the one that he had groped, in order to taunt all of the sisters, at the feast? Do you not agree that the choice of weapon is significant?”
Campion paced across the room, his cane thumping on the floor.
“But how did the reliquary make its way from the church to the front of the priory? Someone removed it from the church after the last service of Matins, after midnight, and then carried it to the lodging rooms. Your porter seems a steady man, and he has sworn that the door between the front of the priory and the cloistered area was locked. Is he the only one with a key?”
“I have my own key,” the prioress said.
The coroner and justice of the peace exchanged a quick look.
“Where was it last night?” asked Justice Campion.
“In my room, I sleep separately from the sisters. It was there this morning, Justice Campion. And no one crept into my room and took it, let me assure you. I am a very light sleeper.”
“And you did not leave your bedchamber between Matins and Lauds?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
“I have already told you twice that I did not.” I heard the rapid click, click, click of the prioress fingering her pomander ball.
Justice Campion stopped pacing and looked out the window. “Do you have any building plans, made at the time of the priory’s construction? I must learn how the murderer was able to move around the building. It is almost two centuries old. There could be doors or windows or even passageways, not readily visible, that he was able to use.”
I went rigid in my chair. The secret room.
Prioress Joan said, “I have never seen any such plans.”
“They must exist, Prioress.”
I heard raised voices outside the prioress’s chamber. The door flung open, and Geoffrey Scovill strode in carrying a box, with an irate Brother Richard on his heels.
“You have no right—no right to do that!” shouted the friar.
“What’s this?” asked Justice Campion.
Geoffrey grinned. “He’s all a-fluster because I found this next to his pallet in the friars’ quarters during my search.” He pulled a slim book out of the box and held it up in the air.
I recognized it at once: From Caractacus to Athelstan.
Brother Richard reached for the book, and Geoffrey, taller than the friar, held it up high, over his head, with a laugh. Justice Campion smiled, and the coroner looked up from his writing with a snicker. With athletic ease, Geoffrey tossed the book to the justice of the peace.