were quiet now — perhaps, like the others, they, too, were asleep — and the man frowned as he thought about why the lord might be happy to go to the abbey.
An image began to firm in his mind. It was misty and vague at first, but then it solidified and he knew what he was seeing. Of course.
A slow smile spread across his face. He drew up his cloak, made himself comfortable and very soon, against all his expectations, he fell asleep.
Helewise woke very early the next morning, worrying about Rosamund and trying to puzzle out whether the death of this Hugh de Brionne could be connected with the girl’s disappearance. She got up quietly — Tiphaine was still asleep — and built up the fire in the hearth. She knelt beside it to say a heartfelt prayer for her granddaughter’s safety: ‘Please, dear Lord, let her be waking in warmth and safety this morning. Let her find her way back to we who love her.’
She prayed for a little longer, then stood up and, with quick, decisive movements, put water on to heat and set about making the breakfast porridge. The Lord could not bring Rosamund home by himself, and it was up to Helewise to do whatever she could to help. She did not know quite why, but she had the growing conviction that she must tell Josse the dead man’s name as soon as she could. She ate her bowl of hot food standing up, swallowing it so fast that she burned her throat. Then she shook Tiphaine gently, told her where she was going and set off.
The morning was still young as she strode along. In the weak sunlight the grass by the track was glistening with frost; the first frost of the autumn. Hurry, she told herself. She increased her pace.
By the time she reached the House in the Woods, she was out of breath and glowing. She ran up the steps and opened the door, finding Josse and Geoffroi eating at the big table by the hearth. Ignoring their surprised expressions, she said, ‘The dead man’s name was Hugh de Brionne. Tiphaine overheard my son Leofgar identify him last night.’ She pulled up a bench and sat down on it, only then realizing that she felt quite exhausted.
Josse was staring at her, repeating the name under his breath. ‘Hugh de Brionne. Aye, I know the family. His father Felix and I both saw service with King Richard.’ He narrowed his eyes, clearly concentrating hard. ‘Aye, now that I know the man’s identity, I can see that he did indeed look a little like his father, although his face was badly-’ Belatedly, he recalled his son’s presence. ‘Er, his face had suffered some wounds, and so I did not see the resemblance yesterday.’
‘It is easier to detect similarity between two people when you are looking out for it,’ she said. ‘You had no idea who the dead man was.’
He gave her an affectionate smile. ‘Kind of you to say so,’ he murmured. Then, speaking so softly that he merely mouthed the question: ‘Has Meggie turned up?’
She shook her head. So Meggie was not here at the house either…
Josse had turned to Geoffroi, who was listening wide-eyed to the conversation about the dead man. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘I have to go to speak to Gervase. Somebody must go to inform the dead man’s parents what has happened and, since I know Felix de Brionne, I think it ought to be me.’
Geoffroi nodded. ‘Can I come too?’
Josse put his arm round his son’s shoulders. ‘You could,’ he said, ‘but, if you are willing, I have a much more important job for you.’
Geoffroi’s expression brightened. ‘What is it?’ he asked eagerly.
‘Son, Helewise has to get back to the hut, and neither Ninian nor Meggie has yet returned. I need someone here who can come and find me if anything happens, and, since Will, Ella, Tilly and Gus all have a full day’s work ahead of them, the obvious person to ask is you.’
For a moment Helewise thought the boy would see through the ruse. Josse was right: the house of a mother and father being informed of their son’s death was no place for anyone who did not have to be there, especially one of such tender years as Geoffroi. The boy’s expression was at first doubtful, but then, as he thought about the suggestion, his face cleared. ‘I’ll ride like the wind and by the most secret ways,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’ll-’
Gently, Josse stopped the eager flow of words. ‘If you need me, go to the abbey. I will leave word there of where I am bound.’
Geoffroi looked at him solemnly. ‘I will.’
Josse reached over to embrace him briefly then, with a glance at Helewise, led the way out of the hall. ‘I’ll go and get Alfred,’ he said as they hurried across the courtyard. ‘Will you ride with me?’
‘As far as the path to the hut, yes,’ she replied.
He looked at her. ‘You still will not come to the abbey?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Josse. Abbess Caliste has quite enough to cope with in these dreadful times without her predecessor turning up uninvited.’
‘Very well.’
Will was busy in the stable block and swiftly helped Josse prepare his horse. ‘I’m going first to Hawkenlye, Will,’ Josse told him, ‘and then on from there. I don’t know how long I shall be.’
Will nodded. ‘Gus and I will take care of the place in your absence,’ he said.
Josse got into the saddle and reached down his hand to Helewise, pulling her up so that she sat in front of him, sideways across the horse’s withers. Then he kicked Alfred and they set off across the forest.
Riding through the abbey gates some time later, Josse wished, not for the first time, that Helewise was not quite so stubborn. He understood her reason for avoiding Hawkenlye, but surely this was an emergency and she should have made an exception to her own rule.
Still irritated, Josse left Alfred in the stables with the young nun who had taken over from old Sister Martha and hurried to the abbess’s room. If Gervase was at the abbey or expected soon, she would know. He knocked and went in.
Gervase stood just inside the door. ‘I was about to come and seek you out, Josse,’ he said. A slight frown creased his forehead.
‘Good morning, Gervase.’ Josse turned to bow to the abbess. ‘My lady abbess.’
‘As always, you arrive when we need you,’ she murmured. She inclined her head towards Gervase. ‘The sheriff has a task for you, if you will accept it,’ she said, her voice grave.
‘You want me to inform the dead man’s parents of his death,’ Josse said quietly. ‘Aye, I guessed as much. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Leofgar believes you know the family,’ Gervase said.
‘I know Felix, or I did,’ Josse replied. ‘He may not remember me, for they say his mind wanders.’
‘Shall you and I ride there together?’ Gervase said. ‘It is not far, I believe. We can be back here later today.’
‘Aye, I’d be glad of your company,’ Josse said. ‘It’s a grim task.’
As he and Gervase left the room, he sensed the abbess’s sad eyes on them. Listening carefully, he could just make out the soft words of her prayer.
They made good time to the manor of the de Brionnes. The day was cold and bright, and the ground was hard. Even the descent into the low lands around the river did not slow them, as it usually did, for the weather had been dry recently and the rise in the water level that regularly came every winter had yet to happen.
They followed the track as it rose from the valley towards the North Downs, and presently Josse indicated the turning that led off it towards their destination. It was years since he had visited Felix de Brionne — back in the early days of King Richard’s reign, he recalled — but he found the way without mistake.
They knew as soon as they rode into the well-kept yard that the sad news they brought had already reached the household. It was evident in the total absence of cheerful, everyday sounds and in the red-rimmed eyes of the lad who came out to take their horses. As they walked towards the impressive, iron-studded oak door, it opened and a grim-faced servant looked out at them.
‘The family is grateful for your condolences,’ he began, with the air of a man who had said the same thing many times already that day, ‘but Sir Felix and Lady Beatrice are not receiving visitors today.’
The door was already closing when Gervase put his foot in the gap. ‘I am Gervase de Gifford, sheriff of Tonbridge,’ he said. ‘This is Sir Josse d’Acquin, an old friend of your master.’ He leaned closer and said very softly, ‘We are the ones who attended the dead man’s body and took it to Hawkenlye Abbey.’
The servant shot them a swift, inquisitive look. Then he nodded and, opening the door widely, ushered them inside.
