give us her lover’s name? And why tell us that the man wore a scarlet tunic when she declares that she couldn’t see what kind of cloak he had on? If she could see the one distinctly, she could also see the other, so she was lying for some reason-although why I cannot think. And as far as the piece of blue tunic goes, we haven’t seen the dress she wore last night, so we cannot be certain that the scrap came from it. We have, in reality, learned very little.”
“Baldwin, you can raise objections like that for as long as you like, but-”
“And what were Putthe and the maid doing here?”
“Eh?”
“Come, Simon. If Mistress Cecily was so keen to get rid of any dangerous witnesses, why didn’t she go the whole hog? Why let two remain?”
“I suppose the maid Alison could be entirely trusted, so Cecily allowed her to remain; while Putthe was her father’s most loyal employee, and was expected to guard the place. Presumably someone had to stay with her to chaperone her. Even if the chaperones weren’t as competent as Jeanne’s appears to be!”
Baldwin ignored the dig. “Also, what was her father shouting about? Why say ”defile“ her-why not just say ”rape‘?“ he mused.
“That’s one thing you’ll probably never know. You can’t ask him now,” said Simon callously.
“No,” Baldwin agreed thoughtfully. “And another thing: I don’t understand what is happening regarding the plate. Why should Putthe describe a load of stuff which doesn’t exist?”
“It was the knock on his head.”
“No. I’ve known men lose their memories, but I’ve never known a man invent things after a bang. I am certain he was describing the plate when I saw him last night. You weren’t there-he was absolutely convincing. Yet it’s not there, and Alison denies anything is amiss.”
“For now, the theft, if there was one, must play second string to the murder,” Simon said decisively, and looked upward. “And we’d better make our way back. It’s late, and I don’t want to have to ride all the way to your house in the dark.”
“Hmm, I suppose you’re right,” Baldwin said. He nodded to Tanner at the gate as they passed, and the two turned back up the street toward the inn to collect their horses.
The grooms came running as soon as Jeanne and Margaret turned into the yard. Simon’s wife remained on her horse while all the travellers’ bags and boxes were untied from their packhorse, before springing down and leading Jeanne to the front door.
Jeanne stood for a moment and surveyed the country. From this slightly prominent position, she found she was looking down a shaft of greensward between trees standing like walls on either side. The sky was almost perfectly clear, and the sun shone with cold brilliance on the rich grassland where the sheep browsed. She drew in a deep breath and let it slowly sigh out. “It’s beautiful!”
“Isn’t it? You have no idea how jealous I am of Baldwin having this view to look at each day, when all I have is the sight of those bleak moors,” said Margaret at her side. It wasn’t strictly true, since their little house was at the western edge of Lydford, and their view was of farmland and woods like this, but Margaret was peeved by Emma’s words on the journey and intended to ensure that Jeanne appreciated Baldwin’s assets. “Shall we go inside?”
Jeanne shivered suddenly. “Oh, yes! It’s amazing how quickly one feels the cold once one has stopped riding, isn’t it? I was fine all the way here, and now I am quite frozen. Let’s find a fire!”
Hugh appeared, carrying a large and apparently very heavy strongbox, while Emma chivvied him. Jeanne, seeing his strained features, called sharply, “Emma, open the door for him! He can’t carry that and operate the latch.”
“Oh, very well, but why on earth the knight hasn’t got enough servants, I don’t like to think. You’d have thought a man to open the door wouldn’t be too-”
At this point Emma had reached the door. She put her hand to the latch. Her thumb pressed the lever. She pushed the door wide.
Margaret was surprised. She’d expected Edgar to be there to open up the place to guests. She caught a glimpse of him, heard a growl from somewhere and saw the expectation on his face. She wondered why for a moment.
Then Wat gave a loud scream, which was drowned by Emma’s, as the growl became a roar and Uther burst forth.
Thomas Rodde hesitated. It was tempting to go after the two men and try to listen to what they were saying, but that kind of spying was easier for the able-bodied. In his leper’s clothes it was impossible to be discreet, and if he was to approach too close, especially now that the wind had changed direction, he would be shouted at. He knew the law: lepers must always stay downwind of other people so that their contagion couldn’t be passed on the corrupt air that emanated from their leprous flesh.
The crowd had all left the gate, and there was only the constable left. Making a quick decision, Rodde left Quivil, stepping forward, his clapper sounding its knell as he walked. “Constable, sir,” he called.
Tanner turned sharply on hearing himself hailed, but seeing who it was, he curled his lip. “Keep away, sinner.”
“I’m sorry, constable, if I alarmed you,” Rodde said, standing at a decent distance. “But I’ve been watching, and I wondered whether there was any idea who was the murderer of poor Master Godfrey?”
“If we knew that we’d have arrested him,” Tanner said shortly. He was not a cruel man by nature, but he detested the sight of lepers. They reminded him that no matter how strong he himself was, one day he would also suffer illness and perish. He shivered at the thought.
“Sir, it’s only that I wondered who could want to kill a man like him.”
“You’re right there,” Tanner said, glancing over his shoulder at the great dark building behind him. “I mean, he was rich, respected, and didn’t have any enemies that I know of.”
“So there is no obvious suspect?”
Tanner stirred himself and gave the leper a sharp look. “Why, do you know anything about all this?”
“No, sir, nothing. I’m not even a local man. But when you have to wear this dress and toll your clapper to warn others to keep away, any news is interesting.”
The constable watched as the leper made his way off along the street, collecting the other on his way, their little wooden bells sounding at regular intervals. Tanner leaned back against the wall. It was a relief to see them go: it was unsettling having them nearby, their hungry eyes fixed on him as if needing not only food but something more simple: mere human company.
And that thought made him shiver again as it gave him a glimpse of the worst punishment that leprosy inflicted upon its victims: that of utter loneliness. He looked up the street, tempted to offer the two men a drink at his expense, or the price of a loaf of bread, but they had disappeared.
Bugger them, he thought. But he crossed himself nonetheless as he offered up a short prayer for a speedy death, and no lingering anguish such as he had seen in Rodde’s eyes.
All the way home, Baldwin was curiously silent. Simon had expected passing comments about the murder, or perhaps words reflecting his nervousness about seeing Jeanne again, but the knight said nothing.
Unknown to the bailiff, his friend was repeating certain phrases in his mind, then editing them with cold brutality. They were none of them very imaginative, for Baldwin had never before felt the need to try out expressions of love. It took him five miles of riding to give up the attempt and erase from his memory all the hard effort. All he could do was pray that she would be content with his obvious devotion. It was all he felt capable of relying on-he certainly couldn’t trust to his tongue.
The house was quiet-ominously so-when Simon and Baldwin arrived. Their horses left with the groom, they made their way to the front door. Simon almost laughed out loud to see how Baldwin dawdled.
Baldwin sensed impending doom. The glimpse of Jeanne at the inn had been as refreshing as he had hoped. She was as attractive as he remembered, and his decision to try to win her hand was strongly reinforced-but such a decision was hard to put into action. From all he had heard from others, it was a simple case of asking the question, gaining the required acquiescence after a moderate show of unwillingness, and then “hey for the priest.” But with Jeanne it was not so straightforward. He had already asked her once, the year before, and although she had not firmly rejected him, neither had she promised that a repetition of his offer would receive a different response. The only favorable sign she had given was her suggestion that she should visit him here; in effect, as he had so often
