Again she nodded. “He was here when we came back.”
“How did he seem? Did he look the same as when you left him?”
“I don’t know what you mean – I suppose he was a bit excited… he was flushed. But he had been when they arrived.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “No, he wasn’t quite the same. When they arrived he was angry, swearing under his breath most of the time, and ignoring me and the other girls. He’s not usually like that; normally he’d give us all a smile and have a joke. He wasn’t himself that night. He just came in with his friend, took a drink and sat at a bench.”
“Did he talk to anyone?”
“Might have,” she said carelessly, and yawned. “I don’t know. Sir Ralph, he was taking up my time. All I know is, John had a black mood on him, and I was keeping away.”
“I see. And he wasn’t the same when you came back down?”
She nodded. “That’s right. By the time we came back, he was more cheerful. He bought a drink for me, and joked with Sir Ralph. I thought he must have rested with one of the other girls, but they said no, he’d been out for a while and returned in a better mood.”
“Did he say where he’d been, or why he was feeling better when he got back?” Simon asked, chewing at a fingernail.
“No, at least, not that I heard. All the girls said was, he’d gone out for an hour or so, and when he came back, it was like his troubles were all over.”
“I see.” Wearily he waved his hand. Clearly the girl knew little. At that moment, though, Baldwin leaned forward.
“Molly,” he asked, “how well did you know Peter Bruther?”
“Well enough,” she said, her eyes sharp with suspicion. “Why?”
“We want to learn as much about him as we can, that’s all.”
“Well, I don’t care what they say,” she stated with a quiet passion, glancing at the bar where the innkeeper stood occasionally looking over at them.
“What do they say, Molly?”
“That he was bad, that he was cruel. He wasn’t like that!”
Her vehemence surprised him, but not as much as the sudden watering of her eyes and the way that her shoulders gave a slight shudder. “Molly, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you…”
“No. No one ever thinks about us serving girls having any feelings, do they? We don’t matter.” Her voice was hard, not with self-pity, but a kind of regret.
“It isn’t that, Molly,” Baldwin said gently. “I just did not realize you knew him. You did, didn’t you?”
“He wasn’t like the other men, they always promise anything. Like John and the others, they often say they’ll take us away from here, set us up in our own cottage and look after us. It happens, but most men just don’t care about us. Peter was different. He really did care. When he had the money, he said, he’d come and get me, and we’d live somewhere else, far away. He said he’d take me to a city, to Exeter or somewhere, and he meant it. With the others it was just a way to try to get me to be more friendly, but Peter, he really cared, I know it. And now, well…”
“How long had you known him?”
“Peter? A good year. He started coming here as soon as he ran from the Manor.”
“We’ve heard that he used to get into arguments.”
“Sometimes. He hated me working here, and he didn’t like me going with the other men. It made him mad. He’s been thrown out several times for arguing in here.”
“And John Beauscyr used to see you too?”
“Yes. But I never liked him, he’s cruel. He hurts the girls. Peter was never like that. He knew what it was like to be owned, he said, and how good it was to escape – and that’s how he understood what I wanted, to get away and live free. How could John Beauscyr understand that? All he knows is how to take what he wants, use it and throw it away.”
“Was Peter Bruther here the night he died?” Baldwin asked quietly.
“Yes, but he left just before John and Sir Ralph arrived.”
“You are sure?”
“Oh yes,” she said emphatically. “He’d embarrassed master John’s knight. The fool had threatened to tie up Peter and drag him back to Beauscyr, and didn’t notice Peter’s friends standing behind him. He had to leave with his tail between his legs when he saw the others. And Peter kept his rope, too!”
“His rope?”
“Yes. Peter and his friends brought it here to show me the night he died. He was really proud, you see. It was like a prize, taking the rope from the man who thought he could haul him back to be a serf again.”
“And Peter took it with him when he left?” Simon asked the girl.
“Oh yes, sir. He wouldn’t leave it behind.”
“And he was on his way home before John and his friend arrived?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know which way he would have gone home from here?”
“Down the road, then over the moors once he was past the miner’s house by the stream. He always took the same route.”
“So, if John and Sir Ralph were coming here from Thomas Smyth’s house, they would have passed him on the way, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes, sir, they… What are you saying? That John could have killed Peter?”
“I don’t know. How long after you had gone upstairs would John have left, I wonder?”
“Nobody saw him go as far as I know. After I’d gone with Sir Ralph, somebody noticed John’s seat was empty, but no one saw him go out. Later on, Alison went to help a farmer to his horse, because he couldn’t mount it on his own, and she saw that John’s horse had gone too. That was when she realized that John had ridden off.”
“I see,” said Baldwin, and lounged back, glancing at Simon.
The bailiff frowned at the table top as he thought. “Molly,” he said after a moment, “you say Peter Bruther told you he would take you away and make you free when he had the money. He had his own mine, so why didn’t you go there with him?”
“He always said it would be too dangerous, with the Beauscyrs trying to get him back. He was afraid there would be a fight.”
“You knew he had guards from the miners’ camp with him. I don’t understand. We’ve heard that the miners wanted him and the other small tinners who weren’t working for Smyth to leave the moors. Why did they agree to help him and not others? Why should his neighbor, Henry Smalhobbe, be beaten and threatened while Bruther was allowed to stay – and not just that, but was given men to protect him?”
“I don’t know, but that evening, the day when he was killed, he said there wouldn’t be a need for guards any more. He said he could start his new life, free.”
“What did he mean?”
“Something had happened the day before. He had seen Thomas Smyth, but didn’t say what they had talked about. All Peter said was, he’d soon be safe and I’d be able to leave this place and live with him. I’d be safe too, he said.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “And the next day I heard he was dead.” Suddenly her face was animated, and she hissed, “Ask that bastard Smyth what he did! Ask him; he must have killed my Peter!”
She sprang up and walked away, keeping her back to the small group of men huddled round the table. When she finally heard her name called, she glanced round just once, quickly, and saw that they had all gone.
“Hello, Molly,” said George Harang. He leaned back in his chair and grinned up at her wolfishly. “I think I’ll have a pint of ale first. Then I’d like to speak to you – alone.”
There was little talking among the four as they made their way to the great house of Thomas Smyth. At the hall they passed their horses to a groom on hearing that the master of the house was indoors, and soon they were sitting inside, while the bottler poured wine for them. In a moment Thomas Smyth arrived, striding through the door, ever the man of affairs with little time to talk, and too much to do.
“Bailiff, Sir Baldwin. Welcome again. How can I serve you?” he said, dropping into a chair.
