Baldwin wanted Jeanne, but he most categorically did not want Emma into the bargain.
Edgar had done well, he saw. The best available meats and fowls were laid out and steadily consumed. And yet Baldwin found he didn’t have an appetite.
In the town, William arrived at the hall wearing a pensive frown. He had done the best he could, and he was reasonably satisfied. It hadn’t taken much to wind up the smith into a vindictive rage against lepers in general, and as William had walked home, he had seen two of them limping and shuffling back toward their lazar house. He had felt agreeably confident that they would meet Jack and his friend and had halted, listening. Sure enough, soon he heard the sneers and taunts, then the cries as stones were hurled.
Now, leaning at the door and staring back the way he had come, he could see that there were few fires or candles burning. It was late enough, and most people were already in their beds, but here and there a stray beam lightened the gloom. His own master was not yet abed, or if he was, wasn’t asleep, for the shutters of the bedchamber in the private block were showing clearly, outlined by the yellow glow, and William could hear voices: his a low rumble; hers a malevolent whisper. A door slammed, and William heard Coffyn stride through the hall. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his master at the screens. Matthew ignored his guard and walked out to the garden.
William shook his head. It was not good to see a couple so bitter toward each other. God knew it happened often enough, but that didn’t make it any better. His master couldn’t control his wife, and that was wrong.
Turning, he walked through the screens to the hall and peered inside. Two of his men were drinking and playing dice, while another was rolled in a heavy cloak and lay asleep on a bench. Glancing at the dice players, William guessed they must be playing Raffle. It was the only game the heavily bearded Welshman, who was even now groaning as he counted his score, knew the rules for.
Grinning at the curses hurled at the dice, William walked on along the passage and out into the yard after his master. Something, he didn’t know what, was setting his nerves on edge. Standing on the threshold, he leaned against the doorpost.
There was another light, this one from the house next door. It was broad, like a partly opened window, and as he watched, he saw it darken and become smothered, then blaze again. It looked as if someone was standing before an open shutter-or climbing through the window, hiding for a moment the bright candlelight inside. Intrigued, he stepped quietly along the path until he came to the stone wall that separated the two properties.
Godfrey had built his wall highest at the road. Here, at the boundary of his own and Matthew’s properties, it was only some five feet high, and William could just peep over. At first he could see nothing, but William was experienced in warfare, and a man who has mounted guard over encampments learns how to watch and listen. He stood, his mouth slightly open, staring at nothing, but waiting for a sound or movement to catch his attention. Soon he heard it.
It was a faint rustle, then the snap of a twig. A man was stealthily making his way round from Godfrey’s hall toward the kitchen. As William concentrated, he could just make out the muffled and cloaked shape of someone crouched low, someone stepping cautiously along near the hall’s wall. As soon as he was away from the yard area, which, although it was dark and unlighted, must have felt threatening by virtue of its being a large, open space, the figure came upright, apparently staring back the way he had come. As William watched, he saw the man-for he was sure it was a man-raise one hand and hold it to his face for a moment before letting it fall.
That was when William decided to make his presence known, and he pursed his lips to give a piercing whistle.
The man dropped his hand, gave a short bleat as if of terror and bolted away, behind the kitchen, up over the enclosing yard wall, and off.
William was still laughing as he shut the door behind him and returned to the hall.
The food all done, Baldwin washed his hands again in the bowl of warm, scented water, and dried them.
Jeanne watched him with renewed interest. She had begun her meal feeling irritable with her maid, but once Emma had been removed, and the food began to arrive, she had lost her annoyance, and with the knight beside her trying so hard to make sure she was at ease, she had found herself succumbing to that warm, pleasurable sensation of being desired and pampered.
There were conventions, of course, and Baldwin was scrupulously polite and charming, although at certain moments she caught a gleam in his eye, as if he was maintaining the outward aspect of gentility with difficulty, and would prefer to take her outside, away from all these eager eyes, to a place where they might talk and laugh together without restraint.
It was like that first meal they had eaten, a year ago in Tavistock: on that occasion they had been placed together, and then observed closely by the Abbot as well as Simon’s wife, Jeanne recalled. The whole time she had felt Margaret’s gaze on her, as if watching for the slightest indication that Baldwin and she might be prepared to pledge their vows. It had been aggravating, and had caused the same reaction in both, that neither wanted to speak to the other. It was only later, as they were leaving the room, that Baldwin had tentatively asked her to join him in a quiet walk, away from the view of people whose sole desire was to see them engaged, and whose enthusiasm for the alliance was so overwhelming that it threatened to prevent it.
Servants and bondsmen were rising from the tables and standing talking, but she saw that their attention was focused on her and their master. There was a measuring quality in their looks, as if they were assessing what sort of a mistress she might be to them: whether she would be harsh and might order them whipped for being late with her food or logs for her fire; or whether she would be kindly, a gentle lady who would show them compassion, who would tend to their wants, who would see to it that those who were in need would get help.
They could not know that Jeanne herself had not had an easy life. Her first husband was dead, God be praised! When he died of that sudden fever which had struck him down, she had sworn that she would be careful in her selection of a new husband if she was ever to remarry, and she had vowed never to show a servant needless cruelty.
There was nothing she could do that would convince any of these people as to the quality of her temperament; she would only win them over once she was mistress here-if she ever was, she added to herself.
“Jeanne…”
She turned to face him, and was surprised to see that his expression was quite blank, as if he was keeping his own feelings hidden behind an emotionless mask. “Yes, Sir Baldwin?”
“Some people can be fearful about dogs, I know. In fact, I know some ladies hate them.”
“I cannot understand why.”
“But some hounds…like my mastiff, for example…can be rather fierce-looking. And some ladies, even those who are well-bred and noble, can feel revolted by such ugly brutes.”
“Sir Baldwin,” she said softly, trying to suppress a smile, “if you are asking whether I am scared of your dog, I am not; if you feel that I think him ugly, I do not; if you fear that I would not have such a hound in my house, all I can say is, I would feel safer with a dog such as he in my house than with ten men-at-arms, because Uther is loyal by nature, not by purchase.”
The knight gave a heartfelt smile of relief and gratitude. They had all eaten their fill, and the last of the wine and ale had been consumed. At length he stood, and all those remaining at the tables rose to their feet. Baldwin was about to leave the room when he realized that Jeanne hadn’t moved. She was watching him with a raised eyebrow, and on catching her glance, he gave an apologetic smile and held out his hand to help her up. “Would you like me to have the fire remade, Lady? I would be happy to sit with you. There is much I would like to talk to you about.”
Jeanne seemed pensive. “You remember that walk we took last year?”
“Of course! That was where we saw the monk running from the girl.”
“I was thinking,” she said caustically, “of the pleasantness of walking with you. Not of the fact that it led you to finding a murderer.”
“I know,” he chuckled. “In fact, so was I. Would you like to walk around my grounds tonight?”
“Why, Sir Baldwin, I fear I would feel the cold.”
It was with those same words that she had refused him at first a year ago. Then he had been devastated, thinking that she was refusing him any opportunity of speaking with her in private. Now he bowed, mock-seriously, and inclined his head toward the door. “But if you were to have your cloak brought down, you would be fine, wouldn’t you?”
