Free Rest Not in Peace by Mel Starr Page B

Portpains whenever needful.”
    “So if this bit of linen came from your pantry it would not have been carved from a napkin, else the damage would have been found the same day. When were the table cloths last laundered?”
    “Half was done yesterday.”
    “And none were found marred?”
    “Nay.”
    “How many portpains are kept in the pantry?”
    “Fourteen.”
    “Is more than one needed for a meal?”
    “Not generally. But when Lord Gilbert welcomes guests we’ll use more. Since Sir Henry come we need three portpains for dinner an’ three more for supper.”
    “And then these are washed?”
    “Aye. Six laundered every day since Whitsuntide.”
    “Has any of Lord Gilbert’s table linen gone missing?”
    “The pantry’s kept locked, an’ only me an’ John Chamberlain’s got keys.”
    “But do you count the table linen often, just to be certain ’tis all accounted for?”
    “Don’t see the point. The closet’s locked. ’Course, I do a tally every year, when steward comes for hallmote.”
    “So the linen has not been counted since January?”
    “No need.”
    “I’d be obliged if you would count your stock now, whilst I wait.”
    Humphrey sighed his displeasure at the unwanted and, to him, unnecessary task, but swung open the heavy door and with a candle to light his way entered the pantry.
    I had no desire to crowd behind the valet into the cramped, dark chamber, so waited at the door in the screens passage. I heard Humphrey rummage about in the pantry, then silence. The fellow muttered something to himself, and I heard the audit resume.
    A few moments later the pantler joined me in the screens passage, blinking in the light. “Must be one more’n I thought got sent to laundry,” he said.
    “One more of what?”
    “Portpains.”
    “You sent six to the laundry yesterday?”
    “Thought so. Must’ve been seven.”
    “Because you found only seven where there should be eight?”
    “Aye,” Humphrey agreed.
    “I will accompany you to the laundry. We will see how many are there,” I said.
    The pantler locked the pantry door, then hobbled after me past the kitchen to where the laundresses labored. Kettles of water, soap, and soiled clothing boiled upon a great hearth. The heat and steam were onerous on a warm summer morn, but the work would be pleasant enough when winter cast a chill over all other corners of Bampton Castle.
    I stood at the laundry entry, where a cooling breeze kept the heat at bay, and watched as Humphrey approached a woman who seemed to be in charge of the place. I have served Lord Gilbert at Bampton for three years, yet I did not recognize the laundress. Perhaps her crimson cheeks and sweat-beaded brow rendered her unrecognizable to me.
    The pantler spoke, and through the steam I saw the woman shake her head. Humphrey spoke again, and waved his arms about to punctuate his words. Again the laundress shook her head, more vigorously this time. I saw Humphrey then point to a shelf, visible through the steamy space as through a winter fog, and the two walked to it. Folded upon this shelf were stacks of white fabric; Lord Gilbert’s table linen, I decided.
    I watched as the laundress approached one of the pale piles and began to count through the stack. Even from my place across the room I could see that when she reached the number six all of the folded linen on that part of the shelf was accounted for.
    The pantler’s head swung to the other stacks of folded linen on the shelf and he gestured toward them. Thelaundress seemed to sigh, then turned to the remaining table linen and carefully sorted through the mounds. She completed the work, turned to Humphrey, and with palms upraised before her indicated to him a lack of success. The pantler spoke again, then turned and walked as quickly as he could from the shelf to my place at the door.
    “Lost one,” he declared when he faced me. “Incompetent woman! Lord Gilbert will hear of this. Portpains is made of finest linen. Cost near a