and strode out of the infirmary.
He decided to ride down to Tonbridge to see if his deputy had anything to report. The day was drawing on towards evening, and the light was fading fast. He wanted to speak to his deputy before it became too dark to search and everyone went home for the night. Another day had passed, he reflected anxiously, and Rosamund was still missing. And, always lurking behind all his pressing preoccupations, there was that other matter; he must not leave it too long before making the journey out to the House in the Woods to inspect Josse’s valuables…
He was entering the abbey’s stable block when he heard the sound of hooves. Turning, he saw Leofgar Warin riding towards him.
‘What news?’ Gervase demanded.
Leofgar held up a hand. ‘None. I am sorry, that is not why I have sought you.’
Gervase felt himself sag. Just for a moment, he had hoped… He looked up at Leofgar and said, more sharply than he had intended, ‘Why are you here, then?’
Leofgar’s expression suggested that he understood Gervase’s mood. ‘I have to go home,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I wish with all my heart that I could get out there again now, sleep here tonight and return to the search in the morning. She’s my niece, and I cannot imagine what my brother and Paradisa are going through. But I cannot stay. I have pressing concerns of my own.’
‘What’s more important than a missing child?’ The question burst out of Gervase before he could stop it. ‘I apologize,’ he said instantly. ‘I have no right to question your movements.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ Leofgar agreed, with the ghost of a smile. ‘But I’ll explain anyway.’ He slid off his horse and, coming to stand close beside Gervase, said quietly, ‘My wife and I are expecting an important guest. The king is on his way back to his palace at Westminster, and he is to honour us with a visit as he progresses north.’
Gervase was stunned. ‘You — King John is to stay with you? At the Old Manor?’
Leofgar’s smile held genuine amusement now. ‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ he said mildly. ‘We do have a bed or two to offer, and my household can rise to a grand occasion and turn out quite acceptable fare.’
‘I did not mean to imply otherwise,’ Gervase said stiffly.
‘No, I know you didn’t,’ Leofgar replied. ‘Between you and me,’ he added, lowering his voice still further, ‘I wish he was returning to London via a different road. I’m not looking forward in the least to entertaining a demanding king and however many hangers-on he happens to have with him. As my wife so perceptively remarked, it’s nothing to be proud of as he’s only staying with us because our house happens to be conveniently situated.’
‘I am sure it is more than that,’ Gervase said politely.
Leofgar looked at him, his mouth twisted in an ironic grin. ‘You are?’
‘I — er, I-’
Leofgar waved a hand. ‘It is of no matter.’ He gathered up his horse’s reins and put a foot in his stirrup, preparing to mount.
‘Wait!’ Gervase exclaimed, remembering. ‘Can you spare me a moment longer before you leave?’
Leofgar glanced up at the twilight sky and nodded. ‘Yes, if you’re quick. What is it?’
‘We have an unidentified body in the infirmary.’
Leofgar tethered his horse and, as the two men hurried over to the infirmary, Gervase explained how and where the dead man had been found. ‘So nobody knows who he is?’ Leofgar asked.
‘No,’ Gervase replied in a low voice, leading the way to the curtained recess. He stood back, letting the curtain fall behind him, and Leofgar approached the body.
After a moment he said, ‘I do.’ He turned and met Gervase’s eyes. Very quietly he went on, ‘His name is Hugh de Brionne. His father was close to the king’s brother and very readily changed his allegiance to John as soon as Richard died. Josse, I believe, is acquainted with the father, although clearly he did not recognize the son.’ He glanced back at the still face. ‘This death will sorely grieve Felix de Brionne.’
‘Hugh was his only son?’
‘He — Felix’s wife bore him a daughter and two sons. This is the younger son.’ He put a hand on the dead man’s shoulder.
Something about Leofgar’s manner did not seem right. ‘What else?’ Gervase asked in a whisper. ‘What is it that you do not tell me?’
Leofgar shot him a glance, then looked away. ‘Nothing,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s gossip, no more, and I do not believe it is right to spread rumours.’
‘Rumours?’ Gervase demanded.
Leofgar expelled his breath in an angry sound. ‘It is to do with the brother. It is said by those with nothing better to do than wag their idle tongues that he is not Felix’s child.’
‘Ah. I see,’ Gervase murmured.
Leofgar spun round. ‘Do you?’ he hissed. He parted the curtains, looked out and, apparently finding that nobody could overhear, said urgently, ‘I have met Felix de Brionne and his wife several times. Beatrice is a very lovely woman and she was only thirteen when she was wed. Felix was more than twenty years her senior. Her first child was a girl and Felix was not pleased.’ He paused. ‘I tell you this not because it satisfies me to discuss the intimate dealings of another man and his wife, but to make you understand,’ he went on. ‘If indeed Beatrice took another man to her bed — and I am by no means convinced that she did — then the affair was short-lived, for when later she bore Hugh, her second son, there was no doubt who had fathered him for he is the image of Felix.’ He stopped, looking down at the body. ‘He was,’ he corrected himself. He sighed. ‘Poor Felix. Poor Beatrice.’
‘Where do they live?’ Gervase asked. ‘They should be informed that their son is dead.’
‘Their manor is to the east of Tonbridge, on the slope of the North Downs,’ Leofgar said heavily. ‘Felix is old now and his comprehension comes and goes. He will not, I think, understand. It will be Beatrice on whom the blow falls most cruelly.’
Beatrice who has another son who is probably not the offspring of Felix, Gervase thought, in whom it is hoped she will take comfort. But he did not say it aloud.
Tiphaine was heading back to the hut deep in the woodland. She had observed the sheriff and Helewise’s elder son speaking together by the stables and, unseen by either, she had slipped into the infirmary after them. She had heard Leofgar identify the dead man, although the name meant nothing to her. It might to Helewise, however. She increased her pace. Darkness was falling fast and she still had some way to go.
Helewise heard someone approach. She was outside fetching water from the stream, busy preparing vegetables and beans in a stew for supper. She had returned from the House in the Woods earlier with generous supplies of food, which Tilly had helped her carry. But she was not in the least hungry. The ongoing, gnawing anxiety had quite taken away her appetite, but she knew she must force herself to eat. Besides, there were others to consider.
She looked up to see who was coming. It was probably Tiphaine, although she could not help hoping it might be Meggie. Or, even better, Josse…
Tiphaine stepped out from beneath the shadow of the trees and into the clearing. She gave Helewise the low, reverent bow that she had always performed before her superior and, approaching, said, ‘Your son’s given a name to the dead man. He was called Hugh de Brionne.’
Helewise repeated the name to herself. She did not think she had ever heard it before. ‘Who is he?’
Tiphaine shrugged. ‘Some lord’s son. His old father’s close to the king, or was when he had any wits left.’
Helewise thought about that. Then she said, ‘Has his identity had any bearing on the hunt for Rosamund?’
Tiphaine came to stand beside her, and Helewise was grateful for her solid, strong presence. Tiphaine was a woman who was very close to the earth, and strength emanated from her. ‘I don’t know, my lady,’ she said gently. ‘Reckon they’re still thinking about that.’
Helewise studied the lean, weather-beaten face. Tiphaine looked tired. ‘Come and eat,’ she said, taking the older woman’s arm. ‘It’s nothing special but at least now we’ve got enough for the next few days.’
With dismay, she heard what she had just said. The next few days. Dear God, was it going to be as long as that before they found Rosamund? The familiar guilt seared through her again.
They were stepping inside the little hut, and Tiphaine was watching her. ‘She’ll be found, my lady,’ she said. ‘I am quite sure of it. She’s not dead.’
