would be a slut?”
Baldwin threw him a curious look. “Probably not, but I suppose I’d be more glad to have even one whore regret my passing than no one at all.”
“I expect you’re right,” Simon agreed. “All I can say is, I thank God that I have a wife and daughter to mourn me when I pass.”
“Yes, you are lucky.”
“Baldwin, I’m sorry. I know you crave the company of a wife.”
The knight gave a dry grin. “There is no harm in being proud of your wife, Simon. Any man could be proud of a woman like Margaret. And the same is true for Edith. She is a daughter any man would be pleased to call his own.”
“Yes. I am fortunate,” said Simon complacently. Then he pursed his lips and whistled, low and mournfully.
“All right, Simon. What is it?”
“What do you mean?” the bailiff asked.
“Why have you adopted that innocent demeanor? Why are you whistling like a slow wind soughing through the trees? In short, spit it out, whatever it is!”
“Baldwin, I really don’t know what you’re on about. All I was thinking was, what a pleasant woman Jeanne de Liddinstone is.”
“Oh, good God!”
“She’s good at sewing, too,” Simon mused, casting an approving eye over the knight’s new tunic.
“Hmm. Yes, she was most kind to make it for me,” said Baldwin, unconsciously fingering the embroidery at his neck.
“In fact, I should think you are a very lucky man,” Simon said judiciously.
“Simon…” Baldwin paused. It was hard to broach such a topic even with his closest friend, especially when he knew his servant was listening to every word. But Edgar had been his servant for so many years, it would have been unthinkable to send him away, and he knew in his heart of hearts he could trust Simon completely. “Simon, what would you do in my position?”
“Me? I’d marry her tomorrow. If you really love her, I mean, and certainly your expression when she appears seems to bear out that construction. Anyway, her lands are good, she’s beautiful, and her needlework is excellent.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Oh well, if you’re asking the best way to propose…”
“Simon, do you intend to be the most exasperating man alive, or is it just a skill you were born with? I mean, how in God’s name can I get rid of that damned gorgon who masquerades as a maid? What can I do about Emma?”
“Ah, now there you have me. I’ve never had that specific problem before myself. I’ll tell you who you should ask about her, though, and that is Meg.”
“Your wife?”
“She has thrown out more useless staff than anyone else I know of. If she can’t help you, no one can.”
“I shall speak to her.” With this determination, Baldwin settled to staring at the road ahead. They had hardly come halfway yet, and he shook his shoulders to settle his cloak more evenly, pulling at the trailing end until it came over his chest and kept the wind out.
“Baldwin, who do you think might have done this murder?”
The knight sat silently for some while, and Simon almost thought he hadn’t heard. He was about to ask the question again when the knight began speaking quietly and ruminatively.
“I know who I don’t think it is: Cecily. To me it seems highly improbable that she committed the crime, even though I am quite convinced she lied to us about the events of the evening. That makes me wonder why she should want to lie. The only logical assumption has to be that she is trying to protect someone-but we don’t know whom.
“Then again there is that dreadful little tranter. John could have tried to rob the place-in fact, that was my first thought, that he might be a drawlatch, and the robbery went sadly wrong when he was found-but that is not the case. The goods are back, so there was no theft.”
“Isn’t it possible that someone broke in to steal the plate and was found out? Maybe that’s why. It’s all back, because someone went to fetch it back?”
“If that was the case, why keep it secret? They’d call the constable to fetch it for them, and to see that the drawlatch was arrested.”
“Unless they wanted to take their own revenge. They might have thought it more suitable.”
Baldwin considered this. “You mean that John was the thief, and was beaten for his felony, rather than for his assumed adultery? If Coffyn hadn’t admitted his attack, I’d be tempted by that as a theory. But the fact is, Coffyn confessed to having him beaten. Thus we are left with why someone should steal the plate only to return it. In which case, why was it removed at all? Why do people move their plate?”
“They’ll take it out if there’s a fire,” Simon mused.
“There was no fire,” pointed out the knight.
“Well, people pack it up when they are going to travel.”
“There was no sign that Godfrey was about to leave, was there?” Baldwin frowned suddenly. “Unless…”
Simon waited, but the knight sat silently, and at last the bailiff burst out, “You had the nerve to accuse me of being frustrating! ”Unless’ what?“
“I was thinking-people take their most valuable things with them when they travel, and leave anything that they can’t take with them in safekeeping.”
“So?”
“So-perhaps someone took Godfrey’s silver and looked after it. There was no theft because it is all back there now. Godfrey wasn’t going away, there was no fire, but perhaps someone felt the plate could be at risk if it was allowed to stay where it was, so it was put in a safe place.”
“Why should it be safe now, when it wasn’t before?” Simon demanded, mystified.
“Clearly it was unsafe when the whole household was unconscious. Now members of the house are fine once more, it is safe to return it.”
Simon shook his head, “What of the other suspects, then? You’ve only considered Cecily and John.”
“Who else? Putthe I cannot understand. I would be more suspicious of him if he had not been struck down himself. Since he was, I can’t see how he could have been involved.”
“There’s his friend, Jack the smith.”
“Except even the stablelad said Putthe couldn’t stand the smith. I would need to see some kind of proof that they regularly met before I could see them as conspirators. No, I find it hard to accept that Putthe could have killed his master and then Jack knocked him out. What would be the point? Jack can’t even have robbed the place-the stuffs all back on the sideboard now.”
“Coffyn said he came in from the front, too, so he should have seen Jack running away if he’d been there.”
“Whoever was there obviously made off through the garden at the back. That in itself tells us nothing. Jack could have come back, committed his acts, and then run off through the back.”
“True enough. And we still have the question of this mysterious stranger at the window. Someone with whom Cecily spoke, and presumably a man since Jack heard a man and a woman.”
“Yes, and since his identity is being kept from us, he is naturally very suspicious.” Baldwin nodded. “I should like to question Cecily more about him-or them, if we believe John. Surely the two he saw must be the same. That is something we shall have to do tomorrow.”
“Fine. In the meantime, let’s hurry back to your house. This wind is cutting through to my bones!”
Baldwin laughed, and glanced about him. “Another mile or so, not more. Come on!”
Moving at a fast trot, they soon warmed themselves. The land was peaceful as they passed. Smoke rose from cottage fires, only to be dissipated by the gentle breeze. As night fell, Simon found himself looking up at the stars more-his horse would follow Baldwin’s without needing guidance. Already the sky was blue-black, with a sprinkling of white stars standing out distinctly, like flour shaken finely over a dark cloth. A solitary cloud floated above him, as
