by Alys Clare
There was an oak settle drawn up beside the hearth, and a tapestry work bag lay on the stone floor beside it. The piece of embroidery on which Sabin had presumably been at work had been thrown down on the settle. Removing it, Josse sat Sabin down, crouching beside her and vigorously patting her hands. He had some vague recollection that slapping people’s hands brought them out of a faint.
After a moment, Sabin, her eyes still closed, murmured, ‘If you go on doing that, Josse, you’re going to leave bruises.’
Instantly he dropped her hands, rising to his feet and backing away from her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. He waited, but she did not speak. ‘Are you all right?’ he ventured. When she still made no reply, he said, attempting a joke, ‘I know I’m no beauty, but the sudden sight of my face doesn’t usually make a woman faint!’
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She was still deathly pale. ‘She’s told you, hasn’t she?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, God, Josse, and you’ve come to report me to Gervase!’ She bit hard at her lip, drawing a bead of blood.
Josse sat down beside her, taking her cold hand. ‘Who has told me what? And what have you done, Sabin, that needs reporting?’
She was studying his face, eyes desperate in their intensity. She shook her head, apparently incapable of further speech.
‘This concerns whatever it was that made you come to Meggie for help, doesn’t it?’ he asked. She didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t really need to. Josse was remembering, only too clearly. What was it Helewise said? Aye: It was Meggie she was so keen to see. Without being actually rude, Sabin managed to make it perfectly clear that the rest of us were of no more use to her than the flags of the floor.
And Josse also recalled that they’d been quite sure Gervase would have had no idea where Sabin had gone until Josse’s Gus rode down to tell him …
‘What’s the matter, Sabin?’ he asked, lowering his voice, even though they were alone in the hall and the door to the servants’ quarters was closed. ‘What was it for which you needed Meggie’s help so desperately?’
She was still watching him closely, but he thought the panic was receding. ‘Don’t you know?’ she whispered.
‘I have no idea,’ he said gruffly. ‘My daughter observes a strict, professional silence where patients are concerned, and it appears that applies to other healers’ patients, too. Such as yours,’ he added, in case the message wasn’t sufficiently clear.
Sabin wrested her thin fingers out of his grasp, putting both hands up over her mouth, as if trying to push back the recent flow of words. ‘You’re not … you haven’t …’
His anger threatening to overcome him, Josse stood up, moving a couple of swift paces away from her. ‘I’m looking for Gervase,’ he said tetchily, ‘and, as far as I can see, the business I have with him is absolutely nothing to do with you, with Meggie, or with the mysterious patient you dragged her away to help you treat – if, indeed, that’s what you wanted with her, and I don’t know the truth of it because she didn’t see fit to tell me.’
The echoes of his loud voice rang through the sudden silence in the room. Then Sabin said meekly, ‘I’m sorry, Josse.’
‘Hrrmph.’
‘I thought … I mean, I had no reason to act as I did when I saw you down there in the yard.’ Her tone was sweet, childlike. She sounds, Josse thought, as if she’s trying to get round me. He’d played his part in the raising of three children, not to mention having lived cheek by jowl with Gus and Tilly’s brood all their lives. He knew what wheedling sounded like. ‘Could you – I don’t suppose you could forget it happened?’ She gave him a pretty, dimpled smile.
He snorted. ‘Forget?’ he repeated. ‘Well, Sabin, I suppose I could try. But why should you—?’
She gave him no time to finish the question. Standing up and rushing to take his arm, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘Dear Josse, what a friend you are!’ She was, he realized, gently but firmly walking him towards the door. ‘Gervase is down at the lock-up. You’ll find him there, or, more likely, cross paths with him on his way back here. He didn’t expect to be gone long.’ She opened the door, and ushered him through. ‘Farewell!’ she said brightly. ‘Remember me to your family, won’t you?’
Then the door was closed in his face.
As she predicted, he spotted Gervase riding towards him before he had gone a couple of hundred paces. In the brief interval between first seeing Gervase and being near enough to speak, Josse made up his mind not to mention Sabin’s odd behaviour. It was probably some lurid woman’s thing that had required her and Meggie’s expertise, he told himself, and in all likelihood Sabin’s rather dramatic reaction had been born of embarrassment.
In any case, Josse had a fair idea that Meggie would tell him, in her own good time. Hadn’t she, after all, been waiting up for him the night after she’d returned from her mysterious outing? She’d actually said she wanted to talk to him, but then had added that it would keep till later.
It is for Sabin, not me, to raise this matter with Gervase, Josse thought. Resolutely he put it from his mind.
‘Good day to you, Josse,’ Gervase called out. ‘You’re looking for me?’
‘Aye,’ Josse agreed, returning the sheriff’s smile. The two drew rein and, briefly and succinctly, Josse began to relate the little he knew about the two murdered young men.
Soon Gervase interrupted him. ‘And they were apparently on their way to see Lord Wimarc. Yes, Josse, I already know. I’d have come to seek you out, if you hadn’t found me first. Where are the bodies now?’
‘The one found at the sanctuary is already in the crypt at Hawkenlye Abbey. The other one spent last night in my undercroft. Gus and Will are going to remove him to the abbey today.’ Feeling that this perhaps required explanation, he added, ‘It seems preferable to have both dead men in the same place, in case anyone turns up looking for them.’
‘Yes,’ Gervase agreed. ‘Is there anything to identify them?’
‘One’s called Symon.’ Briefly Josse relayed how he knew. ‘The other’s his cousin.’
‘Symon is not an uncommon name,’ Gervase observed. ‘And the descriptions, I suppose, could apply to many wealthy young men. I have no idea who they are.’ He sighed. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if, just once, we came across a dead body bearing a label with name, address and next of kin?’
Dismissing the question as rhetorical, Josse said, ‘I had thought that someone should go up to Wealdsend to break the news of the men’s deaths to Lord Robert.’
‘I could send one of my men, if you’re reluctant,’ Gervase replied.
Josse considered the offer. It was tempting, he had to admit. He found the prospect of the reclusive lord of Wealdsend slightly alarming, and arriving to break news of the man’s expected visitors’ demise was hardly going to ensure a warm welcome. But experience had taught Josse that men who habitually shy away from tasks that alarm them soon become cowards. ‘No, I’ll go,’ he said. ‘After all, it was members of my household who found the bodies. The young man who Helewise tried to help, up at the sanctuary, actually died in her arms.’
‘As you wish,’ Gervase replied. ‘Let me know how the business develops, Josse.’ He frowned, his face darkening. ‘I fear that perhaps …’ He stopped, abruptly cutting off whatever thought he had been about to share. ‘Never mind. Goodbye for now, Josse.’
With only a brief mental struggle, Josse was able to persuade himself that his mission to Lord Wimarc could wait a while. Far more urgent was the need to speak to Meggie. Although he had told himself repeatedly that this mysterious business with Sabin was a purely female affair, and nothing whatever to do with him, still it bothered him. This morning, Sabin had looked terrified, he recalled. And, he reminded himself, two nights ago Meggie had waited up specifically to talk to him …
Before I do anything else, I will go home and seek out my daughter, he thought. At the top of the long hill leading up out of Tonbridge, however, he turned first for the abbey. It was always
possible that somebody had already come looking for the two young men, and his conscience compelled him to check. As he left Alfred in the stables, he noticed Eloise’s mare. Barely pausing to return the greeting of the nun busy mucking out, he broke into a run and headed for Abbess Caliste’s room.
‘You have only just missed her, Sir Josse,’ the abbess said. ‘We needed her help with one of our patients, and one of my novices went out very early to ask her to come to the abbey.’
‘But the mare she’s riding is still in your stables,’ Josse pointed out.
‘Yes. Meggie asked if that would be all right. She’s gone to her mother’s hut.’
Josse smiled. ‘Then may I ask permission to leave Alfred in your care too?’
‘Of course. Go and find her, Sir Josse.’
It was only as he strode up the narrow path to the clearing that it occurred to him to wonder if Meggie would welcome him. Although she was far too kind to say so, he knew full well that she often found the hectic family life at the House in the Woods wearisome, and in her heart she longed for the peaceful solitude of what had been her mother’s special place. Would Meggie want him to approach? Joanna, Josse remembered painfully, had occasionally managed to disguise the hut’s location when he had gone looking for her.
As he emerged into the clearing, he said a silent prayer of thanks that Meggie had never done the same.
So far.
He tapped softly on the door. ‘Meggie? It’s me.’
The door was flung open. ‘Father, I’m so pleased to see you!’ Meggie cried. She put her arms round him and hugged him. ‘I’ve had … I’ve been remembering, and …’ She shook her head. ‘I need to be distracted!’ she said instead, with what sounded to Josse like a forced laugh. ‘Come in, and I’ll mix a hot drink for you.’
‘Why do you need to be distracted?’ he asked, going into the little room and closing the door.
Busy with packets of herbs and hot water, she did not meet his eye. ‘Oh – Abbess Caliste asked me to speak to a poor old woman in the infirmary. She’s been experiencing visions in which she’s seen dangerous things, and there’s a possibility that unscrupulous men may try to use her for their own ends. It’s all right, though.’ She turned and flashed him a smile. ‘Abbess Caliste will keep her safe.’
Now why, Josse wondered, would that distress my daughter so? It was not, he decided, looking at Meggie’s set expression, the moment to pursue it.
He settled himself comfortably beside the hearth, and presently she put an earthenware mug into his hands, the contents of which smelt pleasantly sweet and spicy. He took a sip, then said, ‘Meggie, I need to speak to you concerning Sabin. I saw her this morning – I was looking for Gervase – and something’s wrong.’ Meggie began to speak, but he held up a hand. ‘I wasn’t going to ask you about that mysterious mission you set off on with her, respecting as I do your perfectly correct professional discretion, but I’m worried, Meggie, and I really think I—’
‘Father, I’ve been longing to tell you!’ she interrupted, her expression tense. ‘That’s why I waited up for you the other night, when Helewise found the dying man at the sanctuary. I was going to confide in you, but you looked exhausted, and I reckoned you had enough to worry about. Then, last night, there was the body of the poor young man and, what with one thing and another, somehow there just hasn’t been the opportunity to speak. Until now.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Here you are, the very person I could have wished for, because I can talk to you about Sabin and her patient and it’ll stop me thinking about … about something else,’ she finished lamely.
Silently Josse reached out and took her hand. He held it for a moment, then said softly, ‘I’m always here, Meggie.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. Then, with a very obvious effort, she sat up straight and said, ‘Sabin took me to see the dead body of a patient. She had been treating him on behalf of his wife, who she was also treating, and her wish to help the wife led her to do something she really shouldn’t have done. Then the man died, and she was very afraid that she would be blamed.’
Josse was horrified. ‘So she wanted you to check to see if there was any sign of this treatment she prescribed for him? But, Meggie, that’s terrible – it goes against every value that a healer ought to have!’
‘I know, Father,’ Meggie said calmly. ‘It was very wrong of her, and also extremely unwise. But please, be assured that nothing Sabin did was in any way responsible for the man’s death. She used a very small amount of something that is potentially dangerous, but, had it been in sufficient quantities to kill him, it would have done so straight away.’ She paused, her brown eyes intent on his. ‘He was murdered. Either through luck or uncommon skill, someone stuck a long, thin blade right into his heart.’
Josse had a dreadful feeling that he already knew the answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway. ‘Who was this man?’
And his daughter said, ‘Benedict de Vitré.’
He buried his face in his hands. Then, his voice muffled, he said, ‘You’d better tell me the whole story.’
Some time later, still digesting Meggie’s dramatic revelations, Josse got up to go. He did not like leaving Meggie in the hut, but she was adamant. ‘I’ll come home when I’m ready,’ she told him gently.
‘But it’s not safe to travel alone, and—’
‘It won’t be for a few days, though,’ Meggie interrupted him. ‘Abbess Caliste asked me to stay at the abbey for a while, and help them with the old woman I spoke of. Don’t worry, Father.’ She reached for his hand. ‘I know your rule about not riding by myself.’
She didn’t, he noticed, say that she would obey it. Trudging back to the abbey to collect Alfred, Josse wished that his daughter had a little less of her mother’s independence.
He would have liked to turn for home. He wanted more than anything to tell Helewise what Meggie had just revealed. Fascinated as he was with wondering how the killer could have inflicted such a wound, and with what weapon, he hadn’t even begun to consider the wider implications, and he itched to share them with his old friend. But there was something else he had to do first and, reluctantly, he turned Alfred’s head to the left and, once again, set off for Wealdsend.
This time he followed the track that ran along between the two wooded ridges, and presently Lord Robert Wimarc’s dwelling appeared, at the head of the shallow hanging valley opening up before him. It was quite hard to make out the details of the little settlement, for pockets of mist swirled in the valley, giving the illusion that Wealdsend was appearing and disappearing. It seemed, however, to consist of a long, low hall, beside which rose up a slender watchtower on a low rise. There might have been a curl of smoke from the roof of the hall, or it might have been a fragment of mist.
Josse remembered Helewise’s description: It is well placed, on the northern edge of the High Weald. The prudent men who originally built a dwelling place there sited it wisely, for, whilst it is itself sheltered in a fold of the hills, its tower commands a view right over the valley.
Here was the valley, here was Wealdsend, and there was the tower. It was, Josse appreciated, a perfectly sited stronghold, and so well hidden in the landscape that, even now, it was quite difficult to make it out.
It was a lonely, haunted place. Josse felt a shiver of fear crawl up his back.
You have a job to do, he told himself firmly. Get on with it.
He put his heels to Alfred’s sides and rode on up the track to Wealdsend.
The settlement was enclosed by a tall paling fence, and the upper ends of the supporting wooden stakes were sharpened to points. On the outer edge of the fence a ditch had been dug. Josse rode up to the gate, which was closed and, he discovered, locked. Standing up in the stirrups, he peered down into the deserted yard. He called out, ‘Halloa! Is anyone there? I wish to speak to Lord Robert Wimarc. Is he within?’
There was no reply. Josse gazed out at the long, low hall, at the scatter of outbuildings, at the tall tower up on its h
ump. No door opened; no one came on hurrying feet to enquire what the visitor wanted with the lord.
Strange, he thought. Today, Wealdsend was deserted. Yet only four days ago, two bright young men had called at Hawkenlye Abbey to ask the way to this very place. Had Lord Wimarc been expecting them? Or had they come without invitation, confident of finding the lord in residence?
Josse called out once more. ‘Halloa the house! I wish to speak to Lord Wimarc, for I bring ill tidings!’
Still there was no response. The mist swirled, a solitary crow cawed as if in warning, and Wealdsend dreamed on.
The earlier shiver of fear came back again, more strongly now. Josse turned Alfred’s head and, kicking the horse into sudden action, hurried away.
Wealdsend was not deserted.
Inside the great hall, an elderly man sat beside the hearth. The fire was small but hot, burning with a fierce intensity that gave off a minimum of smoke, for the old man wished to give the illusion that Wealdsend was unoccupied. He had taken the precaution of fetching blankets and a fur rug against the cold, and he was warmly wrapped as he sat on his cushions in his oak chair.
He stared into the bright flames, absently turning the ring with the huge citrine.
He had suffered a great shock. Sheer mischance had almost ruined a year of meticulous planning. When he thought about how nearly the whole careful edifice had come to crashing down around his ears, it made his heart lurch painfully.
Do not dwell upon it, he commanded himself coldly.
He wondered who had come calling. He had made out a male voice, shouting something about wanting to speak to Lord Robert Wimarc.
The old man’s bony face cracked into a grimace, or it might have been a smile.
Nobody could speak to Lord Wimarc now, he mused, for he was occupied, to the exclusion of everything else, with his great scheme.
Which, so far, despite what had almost happened, was proceeding just as it should.
NINE
At the close of what had seemed an endless day, at long last Josse was exactly where he wanted to be: sitting beside his own fire, mug of wine in his hand, belly comfortably full from Tilly’s excellent evening meal and, with the rest of the household retired for the night, alone with Helewise.