“Perhaps I have missed something? I have no wife to keep me informed.”
The woman chuckled again but was otherwise silent, considering, I suppose, whether or not to enlighten this foolish man regarding things he should already know.
“He spoke of Lady Joan,” she said finally.
“Oh?’ The one-word question worked again, this time assisted by a raised eyebrow. I had seen Lord Gilbert perform this asymmetrical feat and was laboring to perfect it myself. The woman answered readily.
“Word is she traveled to Cornwall to catch a husband, but,” she cackled, “he got away.”
“Anything else?” I prompted.
“Of Lady Joan? No, not that I recall.”
“Of townsfolk, then?”
“Hah. S’pose it’ll do no harm, as I don’t know the woman, but rumor is there’s a wife of the town grown unnatural fond of the smith.”
Bampton’s smith rarely scrubbed away soot and sweat. On approach he could be smelled from thirty paces. Fondness for him, bachelor though he was, might be construed as unnatural in several ways.
I thanked the woman for her time and rose to leave. Both she and Thomas peered quizzically at me. Why should I be satisfied with information so inconsequential and disjointed? When we were well away from the house, Thomas voiced his puzzlement.
“What was that about, then?” he challenged. “Did you not know of Lady Joan, or the smith?”
“Not the smith, no, although I take her story lightly there. Does it not seem odd to you, Thomas, that her husband would speak to her of such ordinary things but not tell her the startling news of a murdered girl found in Lord Gilbert’s cesspit? If he would tell you, why not his wife?”
“You doubt my word?” he challenged.
“It had occurred to me.”
“No man can say I’ve been false to him, nor woman, either! Ask any in Shilton. I was not with Margaret in t’churchyard when the crone accuses me, and Roger atte Well did speak to me of Lord Gilbert’s men finding my Margaret!”
“Your Margaret?”
“Aye! She would have been. When whoever was misleading her affections tired of her.”
“Would a man have grown tired of Margaret?”
“A gentleman might have…would have, surely. I would not.”
I thought I heard a choke in his voice. But perhaps it was the wind whipping snow about the eaves of his dwelling as we approached.
He stopped at the door, blocked it, and turned to me. “You think I killed her, then?”
“I am unsure,” I replied. “But I will tell you there is no warrant to accuse any other.”
“Will Lord Gilbert’s bailiff charge me?”
“I do not know.” That was no lie. I did not know, and saw no point in yielding more information to him then. “Murder is not business for a manor court, as you well know. The king’s sheriff, in Oxford, will take whatever steps he sees fit.”
“Aye,” he muttered, “at Lord Gilbert’s word and the coroner’s court.”
That, I agreed, was probably true.
Chapter 11
I pointed Bruce toward home. He knew a stable and respite from the snow awaited him, so ploughed resolutely through the drifts.
The spire of the Church of St Beornwald was invisible in the falling snow, but as I approached the town, well past the ninth hour, I heard, over the sighing wind, the slow steady tolling of a passing bell ringing from the tower. Someone in Bampton was dying this cold evening.
Wilfred took Bruce when I entered the castle gatehouse and told me that Lord Gilbert wished to see me immediately upon my return. I walked across the castle yard, ankle deep now in mud and slush. John the Chamberlain set off to seek Lord Gilbert while I brushed snow from my threadbare cloak and stomped my boots clean. As I did so, feeling began to return to my frozen feet.
“Ah…what news, Master Hugh?” Lord Gilbert hailed as he approached across the now-empty hall. He led me to the solar before I could answer and bid me warm myself at the fire. We sat before the blaze, and I related my discoveries to him.
“You are no better informed of Sir Robert’s death than before your journey, then?”
“No,” I agreed. “I fear not, but those who knew him think it likely his habits had much to do with his death.”
“Well, no matter,” Lord Gilbert commented. “You have done well on the other business. I think we know what happened to the lass from Burford, and how she came to be here.”
“You believe the testimony against Thomas Shilton strong enough to prosecute him?”
“Do you not?” he replied, with one quizzically raised eyebrow. (It was this skill of his I was trying, with little success, to emulate. Perhaps it is a talent inbred only in the nobility.)
“I see no other likely culprit,” I agreed, “yet I admit to misgivings.”
“Why?” Lord Gilbert was not pulling at his chin. I thought this significant.
“I have met the man. I said once before, you may remember, that he seems incapable of such a crime.”
“What do you think me capable of, Hugh?”
He caught me unready for such a question. I was silent.
“I am a calm, reflective man, am I not? Most of the time?”
I agreed that this was so.
“But in battle, when my blood was hot, I have hewed men limb from limb with no regard. Is there a thing which raises a man’s blood more than battle?”
“Jealousy, perhaps,” I answered.
“Precisely,” he said, and smacked me on the knee. “You take my point readily.”
“Then what is to be done?” I replied.
“Your discoveries and the verdict of the coroner’s court must be presented to the sheriff at Oxford. I have delayed departure for Goodrich long enough. I will leave justice in your hands, Master Hugh. When the weather improves you must go to Oxford.
“I will send Arthur and two others with you. An unaccompanied bailiff is more easily dismissed than a man who commands a retinue. I know Sir Roger.”
I nodded understanding of what was expected of me. Indeed, distasteful as I found it to imagine Thomas Shilton performing the sheriff’s dance at the end of a rope, I saw no other course. Perhaps the jurors would decide our evidence flimsy and release the fellow.
Then justice for Margaret Smith might not be done. But to hang the wrong man would give no peace to the girl’s spirit, either.
I changed the subject. Through the castle walls and muffling snow the dismal ringing of the passing bell could yet be heard. I enquired of Lord Gilbert who was dying.
“Some cotter in the Weald. I know him not. A tenant of the bishop.”
“My patient,” I said. “I feared this would be the outcome.”
“Of what does the man suffer?” Lord Gilbert inquired.
“Old age, and a broken hip.”
“Ah…well, either will suffice to end a man’s life.”
“I must call on him on my way home,” I said.
“Home? Oh, you speak of Galen House. Ha…this is now your home,” he exclaimed, sweeping his hand about him as he did so. “Galen House will be cold, but I will have a fire laid in your room here, and bread and meat provided.”
“I will return shortly. I must visit Galen House for more of the draught I use to ease the man’s
