It was a sensible suggestion. Baldwin nodded, absently patted the dog on the head, and began to walk back to his new room. “And now fetch me water and a bowl. I need to wash.”
The meal was not an unqualified success. Edgar remained on his best behavior, which meant he cultivated an air of suave competence, responding to any orders with a distant politeness. His demeanor left Baldwin disgruntled; he would have enjoyed being able to order his man about, to demonstrate he knew how to keep his servant on his toes.
Jeanne could see that Simon and his wife were more interested in her and their host than their food, and that was enough to make her maintain a calm reserve. It was easier than trying to make polite conversation in which every subject was analyzed for a possible second meaning.
Yet she was struck with the knight’s property. The house was a great old cob and thatch longhouse, generously proportioned, but Baldwin had made several improvements, according to Simon and his wife. When they had first visited him here, it had been merely a single-storied hall with a small dairy at the back, a buttery and pantry to one side. Now each end contained upper rooms, areas of privacy from the servants and bondsmen who messed and slept in the hall. That was not all, for the new red sandstone block attached to the rear of the house was Baldwin’s new buttery, where all his brewing equipment was stored. It meant that he now regularly had too much ale for his own people and could sell off his excess. The old buttery was still in use, but like the undercroft was used more as a storeroom than a working area.
“That stew was excellent,” she commented as Edgar placed a fresh bread trencher before her.
“I am glad you enjoyed it,” Baldwin said. “It wasn’t so easy before with the old kitchen.”
“When did you have the new one built?” asked Margaret.
“During the summer. The old one caught fire. I must admit, I’d been thinking about doing something about it for some time already, though. It was too small for my purposes. I used the quarry over at Cadbury for the stone, and now I have a kitchen large enough to feed an earl, should it be necessary!”
“Do you look for advancement, then?” Margaret asked.
“Christ’s Blood, no!” said Baldwin, sincerely shocked. “What benefit would I gain from banneret’s rank or higher? All it would mean would be that I would have to fund more men to no advantage.”
“Come on, Baldwin,” Simon said reasonably. “Largesse is a key attribute for a knight; you should be happy to have more men so you can show your generosity.”
“That may be a good principle for a wealthy duke or prince, but it’s cold comfort to a poor local knight who each year spends all his income feeding the mouths he already has living on his estates.”
“You tell us that you are impecunious, Sir Baldwin? With your new kitchen, solars and brewery?” asked Jeanne teasingly.
“Perhaps not impecunious, but not rich. The brewery is for my workers, for they need the sustenance. My kitchen had to be rebuilt anyway, and it made more sense to have something worthwhile, rather than a cookhouse that was too small for my retinue. But if I was to seek higher rank I would immediately have to find men to flock to my banner in time of war, and they would be extra mouths to feed.”
“Some knights would think that a small price to pay for their elevation,” grunted Emma through a mouthful of stew.
“Some no doubt would,” Baldwin agreed, eyeing her with distaste. “But I consider my first duty to be to protect the poor on my lands, and those who cannot feed themselves. Worldly positions matter little compared with that.”
“I think so too,” said Jeanne, and Baldwin was pleased to see that she gave her maid a look of cold disapproval.
After they had finished their meal, and while Edgar chivvied servants to clear away the mess, Baldwin and his guests moved nearer the fire. While it was not yet deep winter, the nights were cold enough, and the flames offered some defense. The doors had large gaps which let in the drafts, and the tapestries which covered the shuttered but unglazed windows were only partially effective, but for all that, Jeanne felt as comfortable here as if she had spent her childhood in the house. It had a warmth and serenity that was missing in her own.
It was perhaps because she had been orphaned while very young. Her parents had been the victims of a gang of trail bastons, a group of murderous thugs who robbed, murdered and looted wherever they could. Her father had been murdered, and her mother raped and killed. Jeanne herself, although only a child, had been struck with an axe, but the killer had been drunk and had missed his mark.
Jeanne had been saved and taken to Bordeaux, where relations protected her until she met Ralph de Liddinstone and agreed to marry him. But she had found life with him to be a nightmare. He had abused her, beaten her, insulted her before his friends, and finally taken to whipping her. It was a relief when he contracted a fever and died.
It was already well over a year since his death-he died in the summer before she had met Baldwin-and in that time, although the estate had suffered from near-catastrophic disasters, she was happier now than she had been for many years. The only event which had shaken her initial resolve to remain free and uncontracted to any man had been her meeting Sir Baldwin de Furnshill.
Glancing over at him, she felt her face soften at the sight. The knight sat, clearly at his ease, his eyelids drooping with the somnolence induced by a heavy meal, his drink tilting at a dangerous angle in his hand as he tried to fight sleep. Simon had already given up the battle, and was snoring gently, arms folded, head resting against the fireplace, Margaret nodding at his side. They looked comfortable together, and Jeanne felt a quick jealousy. She had never known such companionship with a man, and it seemed unfair that Margaret should have found happiness with the first man she had married.
Baldwin appeared kind, she thought. He had eyes that were keen to smile, rather than scold; his temperament was geared to protecting others rather than taking for himself. The talk about self-advancement they had held over the table had confirmed that, and she could recall conversations with him in Tavistock when he had evinced compassion for the innocent when accused, and for those who were unable to defend themselves. It made her certain that he would make a good husband.
He had asked her to marry him then, but she had temporized. It was not solely because she felt it was too soon after her husband’s death to be seemly, for the Abbot would have married them, and no one would have dared gainsay him; it was more due to her own doubts. After suffering unhappily in one marriage she had no desire to repeat the experience.
And that was her sole remaining source of uncertainty. Was Baldwin pleasant only to her face, and a brute in private? That was how her husband had been: he had been civility and generosity itself while courting her, and it was only when she wed him that she realized his true colors. But there was no denying the fact that she was lonely.
While she contemplated his dozing figure, she heard a soft pattering of paws, which suddenly increased their speed.
Uther had been shut away in the undercroft for the previous two hours while his master ate, not that Uther knew that was the reason. To his simple mind, all that mattered was that he had been away from Baldwin’s side for a long time, and that, he knew, only happened when he had misbehaved. Now he was released, he knew he must make his apologies to his master for whatever he might have done. On entering the hall at a gentle trot, he saw the familiar shape in the chair at the fireside, and launched himself forward.
It was a pleasant dream into which Baldwin had slipped. He was walking once more with Jeanne in the Abbot’s garden at Tavistock, building up to asking her the crucial question, and as he asked, she turned her sweet face to him, and he saw her smiling lips open…and she butted him in the stomach.
“Jeanne!”
He opened his eyes to a mask of horror. Massive brown eyes met his, jowls quivered with saliva which dropped on his chest, and then the jaws opened like the maw of hell, and he saw the tongue flicking forward before he managed to snap his eyes shut.
Only later, long after the disgraced mastiff had been ejected, after the abundant apologies from Edgar, after the pint of strong wine which he had felt entirely justified in drinking to calm his shattered nerves, only then did Baldwin remember the gales of laughter pouring from Jeanne.
But still later, when he was lying in his bed, he recalled with overwhelming horror what he had cried out loud as his dream was shattered by that blasted hound.
In the morning, Simon was annoyed to be woken before daylight. Someone was gently shaking his shoulder,
