The Merchant's Partner

by Michael Jecks

  “Eh?” Baldwin’s face registered bafflement.

  “I said: the knife - he still had it with him. It even had the blood on it.”

  “Oh, you mean Greencliff. No, I didn’t know that.” he returned to his gloomy perusal of the trees ahead.

  “Baldwin?” Simon attempted. ‘Baldwin?“

  “What is it?” the knight turned to him irritably.

  “What the hell’s the matter?”

  At the exasperation in his voice, the knight smiled apologetically. He looked as though he was about to deny any concern, but then, after a quick glance around, seeing that Edgar and Hugh were some distance behind and that Mark Rush was a little way in front of them, he dropped his voice conspiratorially and leaned over towards the bailiff.

  “This is very difficult, old friend. I think I might have… No, that’s not right… I feel that there could be a… Well now, since…‘He suddenly broke off, and Simon almost laughed aloud at the sight. Here was a brave and resolute modern knight, completely lost for words. His eyes met Simon’s and the bailiff saw near panic in them.

  “And what does she say?”

  “I haven’t… How did you know?”

  This time Simon did laugh. “Baldwin, did you really think you had kept it secret? God in heaven! The very first time you saw her it was like watching a cock with a hen. It was obvious what you were thinking…‘

  “Please, Simon, save my blushes,” the knight murmured.

  “So you have not yet said anything to her?”

  “How can I, after the death of her husband?”

  “Baldwin, at the very least you must get to know her better. Otherwise she may not even think of you. If you don’t let her know you are interested, how can she tell you are?”

  “You did!”

  “That’s different. I know you.”

  He digested this in silence for a moment. “But what should I do? I can’t just go to her house and say, ”Hello, Mrs. Trevellyn, would you like to be my wife now your husband’s been murdered?“ can I?”

  The bailiff sighed. “Look,” he said, “you need to find ways of getting to know her. Ways to get her alone so that you can both talk. Maybe take her hawking, or just out for rides sometimes.”

  “Is that how you won Margaret?” the knight said, his eyes clouded with anxiety and doubt.

  “No, I simply asked her father.”

  “Well, shouldn’t I…‘

  “No, Baldwin. I was winning a young girl. You’re trying to get a woman, one who knows her own mind, possesses her own household, has her own land and wealth. You have to win her, not her relatives.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Then why do you look so worried?”

  “I’d rather be riding into a battle than trying to take on this role, old friend. That’s why!”

  Simon laughed, but then his face grew serious for a moment as he gazed ahead with a pensive expression, chewing his lip. “We’re not far. Come on, we’ll drop in on her now.”

  “No, Simon, I think…‘

  “Come on, Baldwin. To battle!” the bailiff laughed, and to the knight’s abject misery, he turned to the servants and called, “Hugh! Edgar! We’re going to the Trevellyn house first, before going back to Furnshill.”

  The bailiff was still grinning as they clattered up the hill to the Trevellyn manor, and his good humour did not fade as he banged on the door with his fist. It was only later, after they had entered, that the doubts began to assail him, but the thought had its inception with the opening of the front door, the rest was merely the gestation period.

  When the door swung open, Simon found himself confronted by a pretty maidservant, a slim young woman of maybe twenty, with pert breasts and a cheeky smile. Her face was prettily framed by curling brown hair, and her lips parted in a smile as she saw him. Acknowledging her, Simon led his friend through to the hall, where both waited for the lady of the house to enter. Their servants waited with the horses in the stables, feeding them.

  Upon the arrival of Angelina Trevellyn, Simon glanced at Baldwin expecting to see him step forward, but seeing his friend transfixed, he instead took a half-pace back. The knight appeared to be tongue-tied, standing as if in a dream as she approached, and Simon was pleased to see the way that the woman’s face changed on seeing Baldwin. It was as if her features were lighted by a subtle glow, and her step quickened as though she was keen to be close to the knight.

  Looking at her, Simon felt a warm delight. It was not only her obvious pleasure at seeing Baldwin, it was also partly the sight of a woman in the perfection of her youth. There was no hardness to her. Her face, her body, all were composed of soft curves. Under the rich-looking blue tunic, her body moved with the grace and elegance of a well-bred Arab horse, all controlled energy carefully harnessed. Her hair was pulled back and today she was bare-headed, emphasising her wide brow, unmarked by lines, above narrow eyebrows. It was the eyes that immediately caught the interest, though.

  To Simon they looked like twin chips of emerald, glinting in the firelight, not with cold arrogance, but with a warm and calm joy. Self-confident, self-possessed, she radiated a distinct and deliberate sexuality, and even Simon found it difficult to take his eyes from her.

  While she chatted inconsequentially, she kept her eyes on the knight, hardly seeming to acknowledge the bailiff, and led them to chairs before the fire. Then she ordered wine, and it was then, when the maidservant returned with a jug and three pots, that Simon’s eyes quickly hardened. It was then that the idea took root.

  Suddenly the whole room felt full of danger and risk, the warmth of their welcome hollow and empty. The bailiffs eyes glazed for an instant as he reviewed every moment since he and the knight had entered the place, and then focused back on his friend. He was talking to her and stammering as he invited her to join him in a day’s hawking. The bailiff watched the maid as she walked to the door, having filled their pots. Picking up his own, he rose.

  “Excuse me, madam, but I find it a little warm. I’ll just go out for some air,” he said, though the others hardly noticed him. Leaving the room by the screens, he saw the girl walking into the buttery, and quickly strode after her.

  In the little room, filled with pots, jars and barrels, he found the maid drawing a pot of beer for herself. As he entered, she turned quickly, then, seeing who it was, she gave him a quick smile, shooting a glance to the door behind him.

  “I wanted to speak to you. What is your name?“

  Her eyes dropped demurely. “Mary, sir.”

  “You seem a very happy girl, Mary.”

  “Thank you, sir. This is a happy household.”

  “It is now, isn’t it?”

  “Now, sir?”

  “When I first came here, you were very different, you know.”

  Her fingers began to play with a cord dangling from the neckline of her tunic. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Oh, I think you do, Mary. I think you do.” He sat on a barrel. “Did he beat you often? I suppose that was not all he did, either, was it?”

  “Beat me?” Her eyes seemed to grow large in her face as she stared at him, but not with confusion. There was complete understanding there.

  “When I first saw you, you were a nervous, shy thing, scared and fretful. Not now, not since he died. Not since he stopped hitting you, is that it? And what about his wife? Did he beat her too? She wasn’t sad to see-him dead either, was she?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  He spun around. There in the doorway was Angelina Trevellyn.

  “You can go, Mary.” When the girl had scampered past, relieved to be free, the lady turned back on to the bailiff. “Well? Do you wish to interrogate me here, or shall we go back to the hall?” She picked up a jug, filled it with wine, and motioned with her hand towards the door.

  Entering the room, the bailiff found Baldwin standing before the fire, his back to it, and staring at the door hopefully. Seeing Simon, his face fell a little, but then he grinned. At the sig
ht of Mrs. Trevellyn behind, his face cleared and he smiled again.

  “Please sit down, Baldwin,” she said, and pointed Simon to another chair before filling their pots with wine. “I have some things to tell you; things you may not like.”

  The knight’s eyes moved over her, then flashed to Simon, black with suspicion. She carried on softly, sitting and resting her hands in her lap with an almost deliberate attempt at composure.

  “Your friend is most astute, Baldwin. He has noticed the change in my house since your first visit. It is not surprising, really, but I should have admitted it to you before. It was not fair to let you think…‘ She paused for a moment, as if in sadness. Taking a deep breath, she carried on.

  “Anyway, he is right to think that we are all much happier now. My husband, Baldwin, was a monster! He was a brute. He took me when I was young, and forced me to marry him. He trained the servants well, and beat them often when they displeased him, but he treated me the same! He thrashed me as if I was one of his hostlers! When he wished to, he ignored me and took the maids to his bed - and they dared not refuse him, just as I dared not complain.”

  Baldwin stared at her in silence, but Simon was sure that there was pain in his eyes.

  “So, my friend,” she continued, “when you found his body, I think none of us here were sad. Oh, no! How could we be?”

  Leaning forward, the bailiff gazed at her intently, but she kept her eyes downcast, refusing to meet his. “Mrs. Trevellyn, why did you stay with him? You could have left him and gone home again.”

  She looked up at that, with an unmistakable look of sadness. “Could I? How? My home is in Gascony, a little to the south of Bordeaux, so yes, I am English, the same as any other Gascon. And my father was always loyal to the English king, so I should be able to get home. But when your husband owns ships and knows all the people in the ports, how can you gain a passage? And even if there was someone to take me, how could I pay? My husband,” it sounded as if she wanted to spit at the word, “kept control of all our money. He even refused me permission to keep my jewels. Oh, no. There was no way I could leave!”

  “Why did you agree to marry him in the first place?”

  “I did not.” Her voice dropped and her head fell to her breast, as if slumping with exhaustion. “How could I marry a man like him? No! He captured my parents and me when we were travelling from Normandy to our home. He took all our cargo, everything, and then bargained with my father. He would have me, and let my father keep half of his goods. I was bartered like a slave! But that is how hostages are treated: whether the daughter of a merchant or the king of a province, all are treated the same.”

  Nodding, Simon contemplated her. It was common enough for a man to be held until his ransom had been paid, and if her father saw a way of retrieving half of his cargo, paying the rest as a dowry, he might well consider it a good arrangement. “I understand, madam. Could you tell me what happened on the night your husband disappeared as well, please?”

  “Simon, you don’t think she had anything to do with the killing of her own husband!”

  Looking at his friend, the bailiff was saddened to see the anguish in his eyes. He gave Baldwin a grave shake of his head, and then faced the woman once more. “Madam?”

  Her eyes rose to meet his again, and she spoke simply, expecting to be believed. “I was outside and walking. It appears that my husband came running inside. He had decided he wanted to speak with me, and he asked all the servants where I had gone. When they said they didn’t know, he beat two of them, including little Mary, my maid. Then he stormed out. I came back inside an hour or so later, and spent the evening in trying to calm the servants. When he didn’t appear, I thought little of it. He often went out to visit the inns of the area. Usually drinking made him violent towards me, but when he went to an inn he was often too drunk, when he finally got home, to be able to hurt me.”

  “And the next morning?”

  “I awoke as usual. He was not with me, but that was not unusual. I was surprised, though, when I found he was not asleep in the hall. When he was incapable of making his way to the solar, I usually found him there, spread out on a table or a bench. Still, it was no real surprise, not when I saw how much snow had fallen over the night. I would have sent out a man to ask at the village, but the drifts were too deep. I was surprised when you managed to get here.”

  “Tell me, madam. When Agatha Kyteler died, why were you there that day? You are not with child, and you have not had any children, is that right?”

  “Yes. We… We were not lucky with children.”

  “So why were you seeing the midwife?”

  Her face rose in a faintly haughty manner. “I cannot tell you that. I did not kill her. Or my husband!”

  Simon held her gaze for a moment, his face serious. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will not force you. But I would like to know this. Did you see anyone that night? The night that your husband disappeared. Was there anyone here?”

  She seemed to become even more pale as she stared at him, her eyes wide and seeming to hold a secret fear as her lips mouthed the word ‘No.“

  It was then that Baldwin stood decisively and bowed to her. “Madam, I think we should leave you in peace now. I am sorry that we have caused you distress. Simon, come on. We must leave.”

  The bailiff rose and walked to the door behind the impassive knight. At the screens he turned, partly to take his leave of the woman, perhaps also to apologise, but when he caught sight of her face, he turned and left.

  Her features were contorted with loathing, and it was concentrated and focused on him.

  They had ridden almost to the door of Greencliff’s house before Baldwin turned to face the bailiff. “Simon you can’t believe that she was involved. How could you think…?

  After all, Greencliffs confessed… And she’s far too beautiful to be a murderess. God! Why did you have to be so hard on the poor woman?“

  “Baldwin, be still! Calm down.” Simon stared at his friend and the knight could see his misery. Baldwin was torn between his strong attraction to the woman and his friendship to the bailiff, but although his loyalty to Simon was intense, he was so moved by Angelina Trevellyn that he felt a sense of near disgust for Simon after the interrogation he had just witnessed. Even so, the signs of misery on his friend’s face compelled him to be silent and wait for the explanation.

  “Look, we know she was there. She was with the witch on the day the poor woman was murdered, after the Bourc had left. She won’t say why. We know she hated her husband - she hardly hides the fact, does she? Even her servants were not with her when her husband disappeared, from the sound of things.”

  “Simon, for the love of God! You can’t believe this! How could a woman like her kill? It’s not possible - it’s mad!”

  “Listen to me, old friend. You know as well as I do that there have been warlike women before, women who could kill, or wage war. You know this. Why should Mrs. Trevellyn be different?”

  “But Simon…”

  “You recall how her husband’s body was? Lying as if outstretched? You remember I said it was as if he was pleading? Couldn’t she have got Greencliff to cut his throat while he was begging her not to kill him?”

  “But Simon! You cannot believe that, surely! A woman like her…‘ Through his horror, Baldwin, realised that his friend was pleading with him, his face set, his eyes intense.

  “Baldwin, I don’t know, I don’t know! That’s the point! I have to make sure she’s innocent of the murders.” ‘But you said that Greencliff admitted to them.“ ’Yes, and he had a knife with blood on it, but even so, he might have had help… Or he might have helped another. I don’t know. All I do know is that she is involved somehow. I don’t know how or why, but I’m sure she knows what happened. Baldwin, I must know what she has done. So must you!”

  Margaret was worried by the sight of the two men. She had expected Simon’s return to be a joyful occasion, not miserable like this. The two men were hardly
talking.

  They entered the hall together, but almost immediately Baldwin muttered about wanting to change out of his clothes, damp as they were from his journey, and left them alone. Simon stood and watched him go, then sighed and dropped on to a bench.

  “Simon, what has happened?”

  Briefly he explained, telling her about their visit to Mrs. Trevellyn, and his conclusions. Margaret listened with misery. She could not comprehend the feelings of the knight, who at last appeared to have found his ideal woman, only to have his best friend suggest that she could have been involved in a murder - maybe two.

  When the door opened, both looked up. Seeing it was Hugh, she turned back to her husband. “But you only have some suspicions against her, nothing concrete, nothing that should make Baldwin doubt her. Why not leave him to make his own choice. If she is as beautiful as you say, then…‘