Baldwin watched him impassively. Simon was angry that so much information had taken so much searching out; he was convinced that Thomas Smyth knew more than he liked to admit. It must be the miner’s approach to life, he thought, keeping everything to himself until he was sure it could not be used to bribe or threaten someone else to his own advantage. That was why he had not mentioned the men protecting Bruther, Simon was sure. He had seen no advantage to be gained in it. Simon meditatively sipped at his wine, then set the goblet down. “When did you first send men to protect Bruther?”
“What does it matter?” Thomas Smyth’s face still held a smile, but it was less broad than before.
Baldwin could see that the man was close to exhaustion, and he was less self-assured than at their first meeting. “It matters because the bailiff asked you the question,” he said firmly, and was rewarded by a cold stare.
“Why did you put men there in the first place?” Simon said.
“Because I did not want a miner to be taken by the Beauscyrs,” he said. “It would have been embarrassing to have a worker from the stannary taken away.”
“Eight men just for that? And at a time when you were trying to get other men removed from the same area? It was a very generous act. It would have been easier to bring Bruther to your camp – there was no need to send men all the way out there, surely?”
“It didn’t occur to me. Anyway, if I had let him go to the camp, he would have lost his mine – I couldn’t let the Beauscyrs think they had beaten a miner like that.”
Simon studied him. It made no sense, he thought, frowning. He too could see the lines of strain on Smyth’s face, and even as the bailiff spoke, the miner’s hand twisted nervously at a loose thread on his shirt. “But you wanted the men to leave that part of the moors,” he insisted. “You said so yourself. Why look after one person so extravagantly?”
“In God’s name!” The sudden outburst made them all sit up. “Why shouldn’t I look after him? He… He needed help, and I could give it, and that’s all there is to it! For God’s sake forget it and get on with finding the poor soul’s murderer, that’s what matters now!”
“We intend to, Thomas. But to do that we have to understand what sort of man Bruther was, so that we can find who had a reason to kill him. Take you, for example…”
“Me?”
“Yes. You wanted men like him and Smalhobbe off the moors. You had your three men to enforce that, as we well know…” As he spoke, Simon was aware of movement behind him, and Christine Smyth walked in. Thomas Smyth gazed at his wife as she walked to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder. “So why did you not have your men beat him up as well?” Simon persisted. “Why was he free of attack when you proceeded against his neighbors?”
“All I can say is, I had no reason to harm him, and every reason to protect him. I have told you why: because his Manor wanted him back.” He took hold of his wife’s hand.
To Simon they looked a tragic pair, she standing beside her man like a loyal servant, he staring at Simon with the lines of pain and tiredness carving tracks in his face. The bailiff sighed. If the man would not talk, he could not be forced. “Very well. Another point: you were seen riding toward Bruther’s place on the evening he died. “Why?”
The miner’s eyes slitted. “You accuse me of his murder?”
Christine Smyth tightened her grip on her husband’s shoulder. She knew he was depressed for some reason, had been since first hearing of Bruther’s death, but he would not tell her why, and she was scared. Under her palm she could feel the tenseness of his muscles, and she longed to caress him like a child as she felt the breath catch in his throat.
“No, I just want to know why you were there.”
“I wished to speak to him.”
“You already had, the day before. What did you want to talk to him about?”
“That had nothing to do with his murder.”
“Your refusal to answer seems odd in the circumstances.” Simon waited, but the miner held his gaze steadfastly. “Very well. Why did he lose his guards, then?”
“This has nothing to do with Peter’s death, and I’ll not waste time with this nonsense!”
“Well, at least tell us this: what sort of a man was he?”
“He was a strong, vigorous man. What more can I say? He struck me as an independent sort, the kind who would have done well out here, and who would have worked hard.”
“Did you know he was often involved in fighting at the inn?”
“Fighting – Peter? I find it hard to believe.”
“He had a woman there, too. One of the serving girls.” Simon said it carelessly, but he saw the faint sadness in the man’s face.
“I’m not surprised. It was how he was made, looking after others.”
Frowning, Simon glanced up at his wife. “Madam, you were out on the day that this man was killed, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was in Chagford with my daughter. And George Harang.”
“George was with you all the time?”
“Yes. Until we came home.” She could feel the tension tightening her chest like bands of iron round a barrel. “Then he had to go out with my husband to see to the mining.”
“When was that?”
“Early afternoon – when we returned.”
Simon looked at Thomas again. “And when you got back from the camp, was Bruther here? Did you see Bruther that evening?”
“No, no. Peter did not come here that day.”
“He was at the inn that afternoon, according to his girl. He came back this way afterward, to go home. He would have passed your door, and you did not see him?”
“No, I told you.” Thomas Smyth’s face was haggard. “I did not see him that day. He did not come here.”
“He left the inn a little before John Beauscyr got there, apparently. He and Sir Ralph had come here with his father, but Sir William and he parted at your door.”
“No. He was not here.” Now Christine felt the suppressed emotion in her husband’s grip. His fist was tightening on her hand, squeezing the blood from her fingers, and she pulled it away gently, walking to a bench nearby and sitting composedly.
The examination continued, but she kept her eyes on her husband, filled with foreboding. She knew that he was hiding the truth, but did not know what it was. He was scared, that much was obvious to her, and she feared that his questioners might notice. As the meeting continued, her husband became more and more agitated.
It was the first time he had kept anything from her. Normally even the smallest details of the mining camp would be discussed with her, the vaguest problems thrashed out, but she had no idea what his connection was with the young man, Bruther. She felt scared. Thomas had always been a strong man, determined and self-assured, but now it was like watching the render flake from a wall, first a chip, then a crack, then more pieces falling until the whole wall was unprotected. That was how she felt, that his reserves of strength and determination were being eroded under the steady impact of something to do with this dead man. But what it was she had no idea.
Last night he had not been able to sleep. She had woken suddenly, and reached out for him, but he was not there; and when she blinked around their solar, she saw he was gone. She found him in the hall, sitting in his chair before the fire, grasping a pint of wine. He had said nothing, but she could see that his eyes were anxious and fretful. Even the dogs had known something was wrong. They sat by his side like guards, peering into his face with devoted concern. But even then he still would not explain what it was that plagued him so.
“It comes to this, then. When Sir William came in, you did not see his son or Sir Ralph and you did not see Bruther – is that right? And while you were out, did you see Sir Robert on the moors?”
And Christine bit her lip and threw her husband an anguished glance as he answered, “No.”
“I think there’s little else we need to ask now, Thomas,” said Simon, rising slowly to his feet and staring at the miner with a degree of distaste. “But think on this: if you want the law to protect people here, and not just your men but you and your family as well, you’ve got to tell us everything. I know you’re keeping something back.” He stalked from the room, closely followed by the two servants and Baldwin, who gave Christine a smile and nod.
