know all this for?”
“Lord Gilbert Talbot has charged me with finding Margaret’s killer.”
“Oh!” She sat up straight, eyes wide. “You think her Tom mighta done it, or one of t’others she’d trifle with?”
“I know not what to think,” I answered. “Perhaps you can help me. Can you find answers to my question by tomorrow, or should I wait another day or two?”
“I got friends who know what I don’t,” the woman smiled. “An’ I don’t wanna live with me toe a day longer than I got to. You come back tomorrow. I’ll have somethin’ for you, if there’s anythin’ to be knowed.”
“Don’t forget the wine.”
I intended to speak also to the smith that day. But I was of two minds. Should I interrogate a man, who two hours earlier had buried his daughter, about her friends and activities? Should I wait until the morrow, when my presence in the town would be bandied about? I’d ridden up and down the streets often enough that many saw me. A stranger in such a place is likely to create questions anyway, particularly one who seems to wander the streets aimlessly. The smith lived on the opposite bank of the river Windrush, but gossip would carry that far soon enough.
I turned Bruce north when I reached the High Street and crossed the bridge. As I approached the smith’s hut, I saw a wisp of smoke rise from his forge. Bereaved or not, a man must earn a living.
I heard the rhythmic pounding of his hammer before I dismounted. I had to speak his name twice before Alard laid down his hammer and turned to me.
“Oh. You have news? I must finish this hinge before it cools.” And he turned back to his work. A few more skilled blows, and the work was done.
“Now, then, you said as you’d tell me soon as you learned what befell my Margaret…” He left the phrase dangling, not as a question, but as an acknowledgment of either my competence or his faith.
“I did, but I do not know that yet. I am here to learn more of her, that I may solve this puzzle.”
“What good will that do? Know what you will of her…won’t tell who killed her,” he said with bitterness in his voice.
“It might. I think most who are murdered are done to death by someone they know, not some stranger or unknown thief on some deserted byway.”
Alard shrugged. “Then ask what you will.”
“Had Margaret any other suitors?”
“You mean more than Tom? Aye, she was one who caught men’s eyes. Like her mother.” He crossed himself.
“Any in particular?”
“None as had a chance with her. She’d set her cap for Tom Shilton.”
“Did the others know that?”
“Yer askin’ did she lead lads on, like?”
Alard was no fool. He saw the answers I sought before I asked the questions. “Yes, that’s what I wish to know.”
Alard looked down at the hammer dangling from his right hand. “We had words ’bout that. A few times.”
I thought, from his manner and tone, that Alard and his daughter might have visited the subject more than a few times. I said nothing, waiting for him to continue on his own.
“She liked the attention, y’see. ’Twas Tom she’d chosen. Most other lads hereabout knew it. Didn’t stop ’em as thought the matter weren’t settled.”
“Did Margaret give them reason to think ‘the matter weren’t settled’? Is that what you had words about?”
“Aye.” He hesitated. “Told her as it wasn’t right, leadin’ lads on. She’d laugh an’ say ’twas but a lark. I told her they might not see it that way.”
“Any young men in particular who thought they might have a chance with her?”
Alard paused and contemplated his hammer again. “’Bout all of ’em, I suppose. Maybe John, the miller’s boy,” he bent his head toward the mill, just in view upstream, “was most taken with her.”
“What kind of fellow is he?”
“Oh, he’ll do well. Inherit the mill with but a small fine to the Earl. His wife’ll not want for bread nor ale.”
Spoken like a true father. I asked again, phrasing my question differently. “What of his appearance? Tall? Short? Handsome? Ill-favored?”
“Oh…well, not so handsome. Short, stocky fellow. Some lasses might not care for his looks, but he’ll get more appealin’ to his wife as the years pass an’ the family grows an’ he provides.”
“Are there girls who are interested in him?”
“I suppose. I think Theobald’s daughter — he’s in trade, wool merchant — would have him.”
“Would have him, or wants him?”
Alard smiled thinly. “All right…wants him.”
“What did the merchant’s daughter think of Margaret?”
“They wasn’t close. Her bein’ of a different station. She didn’t much like it that the smithy’s daughter could dress plain an’ get more attention than her in fine clothes.”
I thought my next appointment should be with the miller’s son. I bid Alard farewell, took Bruce by the reins, and led him up the path along the river to the mill.
The creaking and grinding machinery drowned out my call, so I walked through the open door and found the miller at his work in the dusty interior. He peered through the haze at me, trying to place me among his circle of acquaintances. He held up a finger to indicate a brief delay, then resumed his work. When he finished he pushed past the sacks of flour recently ground and made his way to me.
“I am Hugh de Singleton, surgeon of Bampton. You know of the fate of Margaret, the smith’s girl?”
The miller motioned me to follow him out the door to the relative quiet of the yard. “Aye…woeful thing.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Watched her grow up.”
That did not answer my question, but I could see that the miller thought it did. I was to learn that he was a man of few words.
“I’ve heard she was likely to marry Thomas of Shilton.”
“So it’s said.”
“Had she other suitors?”
“Nay. How am I to know?”
“I heard your son was interested.”
“More the fool he.”
“Oh…Why do you say so?”
“Always puttin’ on airs. Nose in the air. A smith’s daughter, mind you. Thought she was too good for my John…or most o’ the rest ’round here.”
“But not too good for Thomas Shilton?”
“Even him.”
This was a surprise. “How so?” I asked.
“He’s to come into a yardland an’ hopeful of another. She probably thought he was as good as she could catch. But she made ’im work for it.”
“Work?”
“Followed her about like a slave, he did.”
“So you’d not have been pleased had she set her cap for your John?”
“Nay. I suppose a babe or two would have shifted her mind…but there are those it don’t.”
“Is your son about? I would speak to him before I go.”
“Nay. Gone to Swinbrook.”
“Does he return today?”
“Tomorrow.”
