The Murderer's Tale by Murderer's Tale The

with a line of mullioned windows overlooking the yard and a clutter of women’s things around the beds and chests and benches along its inner wall. Nearest the door a bed and the space around it had been tidied and cleared, with a wide basin and a cloth-covered ewer set on the bench at its foot. Luce held out her hand to show this was for them. “There’s warmed water in the ewer. At least it’s supposed to be warm.” Luce touched the ewer. “Yes, that’s all right then. And someone will have your baggage here soon. Is there anything else you need?”
    “No, I think not,” Dame Claire answered. “Our thanks. This is very well indeed.”
    And it would be better, Frevisse thought, if they could be left alone to wash their faces and hands and road-dirty feet and sit for a while in peace. As if she had read the thought, Luce said, smiling, “Then I’ll come back when you’ve had a little time to rest. Lady Lovell hopes you’ll be at leisure to come to her before supper.” She gave them one of her bobbing curtsies and left them.
    “Finally,” Frevisse said when the girl was well gone and sat down on the bed she and Dame Claire would share.
    “She was very courteous,” Dame Claire murmured. “It was kind of Lady Lovell to send her to see to us.”
    Frevisse stood back up with sudden concern. She had been too involved in her own verging on ill temper—from tiredness, she knew—to remember that Dame Claire was in worse case than she was. Now she saw that Dame Claire was standing as if she were too tired to remember how to sit and wavering slightly on her feet. Frevisse went to her, took her by the arm to steady her, turned her back to the edge of the bed, and said peremptorily, “Sit.”
    Dame Claire sank down with a heavy sigh that was relief mingled with all the weariness she had been trying not to show. “Thank you. I didn’t know I was this tired.”
    “Well, you are, and better you admit it than collapse.”
    Dame Claire smiled at Frevisse’s tartness. Her hands moved vaguely to remove her veil and confining wimple. Frevisse set down the water ewer she had just picked up and did it for her, careful to put the pins in the veil and fold it neatly before setting it aside. Then she took up the ewer again, poured warm water into the basin, soaked a cloth laid to hand for the purpose, and gave it to Dame Claire, who washed her face and hands with the care she gave to any task but very slowly, as if it needed concentration beyond the ordinary.
    Frevisse waited and when she had done, took the cloth and knelt down on the floor, took off Dame Claire’s shoes and her stockings, and washed her feet. Dame Claire sighed with pleasure. “Now I should do as much for you.”
    “I’ll welcome it some other time,” Frevisse said. “But just now you are going to lie down and stay down until time for supper.”
    “Yes,” Dame Claire agreed. “I think I am.” She was already sinking back toward the pillow, her eyes closing as if nothing could have kept them open. She seemed to be asleep before she was quite fully down.
    Frevisse watched and was satisfied. Rest was exactly what Dame Claire needed, and sleep with it was even better. Their other nights on the road had been spent at an inn and a small chantry house, and their comfort and well-being had not been particularly seen to at either one. Minster Lovell promised to be a respite Dame Claire much needed, and because of their business from St. Frideswide’s they could hope to spend at least two nights here, giving her a true rest.
    Frevisse doubted she would have borne such unaccustomed effort as Dame Claire had faced these past few days with anything like Dame Claire’s forbearance. Her own anger at Domina Alys, still there despite the while since they had left St. Frideswide’s, would have fueled her aggravation at every discomfort and inconvenience. The only reason it had not was that she had not felt particularly discomfortable or inconvenienced on the