Deadly Inheritance

Goodrich.’

‘The last of those three rooms was occupied by Hilde and the women from Bicanofre,’ said Geoffrey, thinking Baderon was not the kind of man to set a house alight just to inherit a small manor. He was not stupid.

‘I doubt Hilde set the fire, considering she risked her life to save others,’ said Margaret. ‘But I have not seen Eleanor or Douce since the fuss began.’

Geoffrey recalled the figure in the red cloak, but then remembered that it had stopped for an embrace with a woman. He glanced around, but could not see Eleanor, although that meant nothing. People had scattered into small groups and she could have been anywhere.

‘Eleanor may have started the fire to rid herself of Hugh,’ Margaret went on. ‘He follows her everywhere, and must be tiresome.’

‘He loves her,’ said Isabel. ‘But why would she bother with a fire, when she has other skills at her disposal? She is a witch, after all.’

‘A witch?’ asked Geoffrey uncertainly.

Isabel nodded. ‘She could be a great healer, but she dislikes helping people. You were lucky she did not poison you when she removed those splinters. Why do you think I came so quickly after she told me what she had done? I wanted to counter any evil she might have managed.’

‘Why would Eleanor want to harm me?’

‘You forgot to send the cart – and witches can be vindictive. But more importantly, her father would like her to marry you, and she does not want to.’

‘Few women do,’ said Geoffrey, thinking that Isabel, Margaret and Corwenna had already refused him, while Hilde was not keen, either.

‘Eleanor communes with the Devil,’ Isabel went on. ‘Why do you think toads and bats seek out her company, and ravens do her bidding?’

‘Oh, really, Isabel!’ Geoffrey said, his weariness making his tone a bit sharp. ‘That is nonsense!’

She gripped his hand. ‘It is not, and you would be a fool to ignore it.’

Geoffrey sat for some time, trying to summon the energy to move. Next to him, Isabel and Margaret fell silent, and soon Hilde came to join them, her brother at her side. Hugh curled into a ball and promptly went to sleep.

‘Have you seen Ralph?’ Isabel asked her.

‘Just moments ago, cursing the grooms in the stables,’ Hilde responded.

Isabel jumped to her feet, but did not get far before fitzNorman intercepted her. They exchanged words and, reluctantly, he turned to walk with her towards the horses.

‘Ralph is a mean-spirited bastard,’ said Geoffrey, watching them go.

Margaret nodded. ‘He is a pompous, arrogant fool, and does not deserve Isabel. She is usually astute where men are concerned, but he has blinded her. So to speak.’

‘I fell in love with a duchess once,’ admitted Geoffrey, immediately wondering why he had said it. ‘It was wrong, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. Love is difficult to control and impossible to predict.’

‘What happened to her?’ asked Margaret curiously.

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘She still lives with her husband.’

Margaret did not push him. She nodded towards Hugh. ‘He has the right idea. There is no more we can do, and it is sensible to rest. Everything will look better in the morning.’

‘I doubt it. Your home will be reduced to hot rubble; Isabel will still love Ralph; Agnes will still be suspected of killing Sibylla; and Giffard will still be stricken by sorrow.’

‘But we may feel better about it,’ argued Margaret. She left him and went to where Isabel was calling for Ralph. FitzNorman was standing helplessly, at a loss for what to do.

Geoffrey stood unsteadily, and walked to the hedge where Giffard still snored, oblivious to the chaos. Geoffrey flopped down beside him, bone-weary, and closed his eyes. His peace did not last.

‘Well, Geoffrey,’ said the King, outlined by the flames that still leapt into the air. ‘What do you make of this? FitzNorman claims someone set the blaze deliberately, while Baderon thinks it was careless servants.’

‘At first I thought it was set to harm you, but it was not,’ said Geoffrey, scrambling to his feet.

‘Why?’ asked Henry. ‘Do not look as though you wished you had not spoken, man. I asked a question, and I want an answer. You are one of the few people here who does not tell me what they think I should hear.’

‘If the fire had been aimed at you, it would have started in the guest house. But it almost certainly began above the hall – the room I shared with Giffard was there, and the fire raged very close to it.’

‘You think someone wants Goodrich without an heir?’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘But the adjoining rooms contained fitzNorman, the Bicanofre women and Hilde, Agnes and Walter, and Baderon’s knights. The fire could have been directed at any of them.’

‘It could have been started by any of them, too,’ mused Henry. ‘Or by someone from the guest house. I heard Baderon slipping out to the latrines, while his son is apt to wander, too – I caught him watching me in my bedchamber last night, which was disconcerting.’

‘It could even be a disgruntled servant.’

‘Well, whoever it is, I shall not forget what you did tonight,’ said Henry, reaching out and grasping Geoffrey’s shoulder. ‘You saved my life while others ran to save their own skins.’

They both looked down when Giffard groaned and began to stir. Geoffrey helped him sit, but the Bishop’s eyes were bleary, and his breath carried the sweet scent of wine.

‘Lord!’ he muttered. ‘You should not have given me so much to drink, Geoff. My head is swimming, and there is a smell of burning in my nostrils that I cannot dispel.’

‘Giffard?’ asked Henry. ‘Thank God! I was worried about you.’

‘Why would you be worried?’ slurred Giffard, resting his head in his hands, evidently unaware that he was speaking to his King. ‘I am a Bishop.’

Henry glanced sharply at him. ‘I am saying that I do not want to lose you – there are few who can administer an important see as well as you.’

‘Bugger the see,’ spat Giffard truculently. ‘I am going home to Rouen, where a man can buy a decent sausage.’

Henry looked at Geoffrey in alarm. ‘What is the matter with him?’

‘Smoke, Sire,’ said Geoffrey diplomatically. ‘It can do strange things to a man’s wits.’

Seven

It was the early hours before the flames were under control. The main house still smouldered and crackled, and the thatches of surrounding buildings dripped with water. FitzNorman had abandoned his attempts at directing his men: he sat with his head drooped, while Margaret tried to comfort him. Isabel wandered hopelessly, while everyone prepared to make the best of a night outside. Durand flopped down next to Geoffrey.

‘You survived,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I hoped you would, because you may yet agree to work with me.’

It was typical of Durand that he should see Geoffrey’s escape in terms of his own interests, but Geoffrey was too tired to care. He handed back the gloves, which were wet and burnt through in places. ‘I am sorry; I am afraid they are ruined.’

‘They are,’ agreed Durand. ‘And they were virtually new, too. I should have known better than to trust you – you always were careless. Can I assume that they were of use?’

Geoffrey nodded: he could not have touched the hot beam without them, so they had made the difference between the King rescued and incinerated. ‘And you? You said you were burnt.’

‘Gashed.’ Durand showed him a cut on his hand. ‘But Isabel gave me a salve. It is a pity she has set her heart on Ralph, because he does not deserve her. He was standing next to her when she was calling for him, but he only slunk away. Indeed, there has been a lot of slinking tonight.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The King is safe, but I did not notice many folk rushing to his aid. I was weak from breathing smoke, but