The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman Read Free Book Online Page B

Cite, stopping at a tavern Edgar knew well from his student days and finally arrived back home as twilight was fading.
    Hubert greeted them with a grunt of annoyance.
    “You reek of beer,” he told them.
    “We filled a jug for you.” Edgar held it out.
    “Oh. In that case.” Hubert took the clay bottle and drank deeply from it. He wiped his mouth. “Thank you. I needed something.”
    “What’s wrong, Sir?” Walter asked.
    Hubert gestured to a pile of writing tablets on the table before him. Lists and numbers were scrawled over every clear space.
    “Agnes couldn’t have picked a worse time to be married,” he said. “Especially so far away. Look at these prices! Everything needed
for a journey is being bought up by the pilgrims. And everything I sell is being condemned as frivolous luxury. I had a man today tell me I should give him a bolt of my best Scottish wool because he was off to die for my sins! I told him I’d do my own penances and he’d best look to his own sins. He can die in clothes he can afford.”
    Edgar fought back the urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny. He sometimes forgot that their livelihood depended on trade. His own father had thought it shameful but Edgar had come to the conclusion that it was no worse than depending on the kindness of kings or the loyalty of peasants, and more reliable. Usually.
    “Will there be a problem getting everything Agnes needs?” he asked Hubert.
    “There’s always a problem.” Hubert took another draught of beer. “But I think I can manage, if she makes no more extravagant demands. At least you and Catherine made no nonsense about pearl earrings and gold-plated wedding coffers.”
    “Gold-plated?” Edgar was interested at once. “Does she want a design on one? Precious stones added? I might have time before she goes.”
    “No, you won’t.” Catherine’s voice came from the doorway. “You promised to finish the gold pyx for Mother Heloise. I would very much like to visit her this summer. She’s never seen the children.”
    “Oh, yes.” Edgar grimaced. “It’s ready, all but the handles. Those will take a few more days. I don’t have any solder made. I’d prefer to deliver it to the nuns myself, so I see no reason why we can’t plan on a few days at the Paraclete, if they can accommodate us all.”
    “I wish I could go that far with you, to pray at Alys’s grave,” Walter said softly. “It’s been some time since I was last there, although I send the nuns ten chickens every month to remember her in their prayers.”
    Hubert tried to remember who Alys had been. Walter’s sister? No. Something Catherine had told him. Of course, the poor woman who had been beaten to death.
    “I’m sorry, Walter, I’d forgotten.” Catherine was ashamed of herself. “How could I! I know the sisters would never forget to pray for Alys, even if you sent them nothing.”
    It hurt her to see how Walter still grieved for the one woman
he had loved. Alys had been married to someone richer and of a higher rank than Walter but her husband hadn’t cared for her at all. And she had died without ever knowing that she mattered to anyone or what it felt like to be loved.
    And what of Agnes? Could she be going into just such a trap? What did anyone know of this man she was going to marry?
    Catherine forced down her fears and handed Walter a cloth. He wiped his eyes and gave it back.
    “They say God knows best, but I expect him to do some explaining when I face him,” Walter muttered and sniffed deeply.
    “I think we’re the ones who’ll have to explain ourselves,” she told him. “But I do hope a few things will be justified. I’ve listened to the masters lecture and I’ve read the fathers of the Church, but none of them have really explained to me why there is such suffering in the world. How could we have sinned so badly?”
    Walter shrugged, embarrassed. His theology was much more basic than Catherine’s. God was his Lord and must be obeyed. As with an