The Woodville Connection

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The Woodville Connection Page 12

by K. E. Martin


  This must have struck the decrepit retainer as plausible, or else in his eagerness to shift his duties onto me he didn’t much care what questions I asked. In any event, he readily agreed to my bargain. Thus, when I had made short work of hauling the wood into the hall I joined Shuffler who was busily arranging the new logs into neat stacks. He now seemed warmly disposed towards me and informed me that his name was Alan Rolf. His sister, he said, was Dulcy Rolf, the rotund, red-faced washerwoman I had spied earlier.

  Whilst I had been toiling I had reached a decision to risk bringing up the subject of young Geoffrey’s death. I had spent time that morning both in the kitchen and the stable and if Old Shuffler – or Rolf, as I must now think of him – asked how I had learned of the matter I would simply say that I had overheard talk of it somewhere about the manor. As it turned out, I need not have worried for Rolf registered no surprise when I broached the subject.

  “‘Tis clear that this is a goodly, prosperous place,” I began, “yet I gather until but recently the master was a delicate lad confined to a sickbed. Well, poor boy, if naught else he was fortunate in his steward for the man has kept the manor in prime condition.”

  “That dost show how little thee knowst then, master minstrel,” the old man said rudely.

  “It were not the steward as looked after Plaincourt for young Master Geoffrey, it were his uncle Sir Stephen, him that is now master in law as well as in fact. And I’ll tell thee summat else, ‘tis no wonder he didst make a good fist of keeping the land fat and the coffers full, for getting rich and living high is what Plaincourts allus didst best.”

  He stopped then and looked at me expectantly. I wondered if the old fool wanted money to continue but then I realised that he was of the garrulous type who like to show off their knowledge in front of an audience but need to have it encouraged from them little by little.

  Sighing inwardly, I hurried to oblige.

  “Pray don’t stop there,” I implored, “for I would gladly know more about the Plaincourts if I am to become part of their household.”

  “Bah!” he spat, “‘Tis a mystery to me why any man of sense dost give good money to hear songs and all that foolish folderol. And I dost know not why a strapping, hearty fellow like thee dost choose to mince thy way through life ’stead of earning thy bread in a way that’s good and manly.

  “Yet Sir Stephen is like to take thee on, Master Minstrel, sobeit thee is skilled,” he continued, “for ‘tis known he dost have a fondness for music and such doggerybaw. Not like his old father! That tough old bugger didst have no truck with owt of that sort. No, of a certainty Sir Stephen didst have it from his lady mother. She were from London where they dost go in for all manner of strangeness, I dost hear tell.

  “Ah, I’m an old man now and there’s much in the world today I dossent comprehend. Mind,” he chuckled, “in some ways the new master dost carry on like enough to his sire. He dost know that if a man hopes to protect what’s his he dost need to be strong and ruthless. And if he dost wish to add to what he has, why then he dost need cunning and plenty of it.

  “Aye, cunning! There’s summat the Plaincourt men dost allus have. The family didst come here in the time of the first William, they dost say, granted the land as payment for fighting in his army. Rough folk they were, no better’n thee nor I. But they didst fight mighty fierce for old King William and he didst need to reward them in consequence. So he didst give them a parcel of land at a place finer folk didst reckon the arse-end of nowhere. It didst keep Plaincourts happy and got them out the way at the same time, dost thee see?

  “There weren’t no manor house here then, of course, and no village to speak of neither but that didst not stop the Plaincourts. They didst set to at once, cultivating the land and striving to make rich.

  “Over time the rough soldiers didst grow into noble knights and then they didst find an easy way to increase the manor’s fortune. Plaincourts have allus been blessed with sons, see, and sons dost need wives. Unlike most families of their sort, the Plaincourts didst go a-courting amongst the merchant folk, hunting for rich girls with fat dowries, or fat girls with rich dowries come to that. They didst not care a swine’s fart who they took to wife so long as she didst bring gold or land or both.

  “That ‘tis what has made Plaincourt Manor the rich place it is today. Plaincourt heirs are allus born knowing ‘tis their duty to wed a fortune, and none didst know it better than old Sir Thomas.”

  Rolf paused and I knew I was expected to prompt him once again.

  “Sir Thomas?” I enquired. “He that was father to the present lord of Plaincourt?”

  “The very same,” he replied, “and some dost say the cleverest Plaincourt of them all. He didst surpass all previous matches by fixing for his bride the oldest lass of the richest goldsmith in London.

  “Alice Lambert, that were her name,” Rolf remembered. “Old Sir Thomas, he didst well for himself bringing that one home to Plaincourt, and not only on account of the riches she didst bring with her. Her father didst have powerful friends at Court. It were said he didst regular turn a blind eye to the huge debts run up by jewel-hungry nobles and in return they didst whisper to him things that he could use to his advantage. When clever old Sir Tom didst wed this gold grubber’s daughter, he didst too begin to benefit from these whisperings.

  “Sir Thomas were a hard man but he were gentle as a lamb with his Alice. Oh dear me, I dossent reckon no Plaincourt man didst ever before cosset his wife half so much as Sir Thomas didst cosset Lady Alice. He didst know her worth to him and treated her accordingly. Didst treat her better’n a queen if you dost ask me! Why, after she didst give him two sons he didst even leave her in peace, if you dost take my meaning, for it were said she didst much mislike that part of married life. Yet that were not well, as it happened, for there’s no denying old Sir Thomas didst have a powerful lust.”

  “Ah yes,” I interrupted, “I have heard something of that, and also that he had a habit of slaking it in the village.”

  I kept my voice free of any reproach but Rolf regarded me closely all the same.

  “Aye, well,” he mumbled, “that’s true enough, I cain’t deny. I didst hear tell that when the heat was on him there was nowt any man couldst do to stop him having his way. Some might say that didst make him an evil man deserving of punishment in the hereafter. I say he didst take his punishment in this life, in the heavy cares his oldest son didst place on him.

  “William his name was, and he were the sire of young Geoffrey, him that didst die so recent, God rest his poor soul. William didst look like a Plaincourt sure enough but there was allus something different about him. Folk said by nature he was more Lambert than Plaincourt and it is true he were strong attached to his mother and didst take on most fierce when she didst die.

  “She were not long in her grave when it didst come time for him to wed. Then what dost the naughty lad but spurn his father’s choice of bride, a girl from Lincoln with a face like the bleached flannel from which her old pa hadst made his fine fortune. Far as the old master were concerned, her face didst not come into it. What didst matter were the riches she would bring when the match were made.

  “But William, he didst insist he would not have her! Instead, he didst swear none would do for him but Philippa Braunche. How old Sir Tom didst rail at him then, naming him a disgrace to the family and no true son of his.”

  The disloyal servant cackled gleefully at the memory of this familial discord.

  “What was so amiss with this Philippa?” I asked, drawn into the tale even though I doubted it had any bearing on the matter I was investigating.

  “Why nowt,” Rolf answered acidly, “save that she were penniless and of no account. Her father were Sir Ralph Braunche and he didst once own the manor of Ringthorpe that borders Plaincourt to the west. The Braunches were an old family of higher blood than the Plaincourts if truth be said, but over time they didst lose their fortune.

  “Proper knights they were, living only to w
age war for their King. Across the sea they didst go, with all their destriers and armour and men-at-arms eating into their gold. Much good didst it do them! By the time Ringthorpe come to Sir Ralph he were weighed down in debt and in time didst have no recourse but to sell up. It were Sir Thomas that didst buy it from him, and being the cunning dog he were I dost know for certain the price he gave were niggardly.

  “When young William didst come to him saying he didst wish to marry the Braunche lass the old man didst strike him hard in the face and forbid it. So the disobedient lad didst go behind his father’s back and didst wed her all the same. I can tell you Master Cranley, it didst nigh on kill Sir Thomas to have his heir tied to the penniless daughter of a disgraced knight! But the marriage were done proper and consummated afore he learned of it, so there were nowt he could do. That was when he didst sign away the manor of Ringthorpe to his younger son, Stephen.”

  “For what reason?” I asked, although I had already guessed the answer.

  “Why to punish William and his wretched new wife, of course. The old master didst believe the girl had snared his heir in order to regain her family home. If he couldst do nowt else he’d make certain he didst thwart her plan. Stephen were despatched to make the place fit to live in again, and a pretty sum of money were paid out to get him a knighthood. All his father didst require of him in return was to swear afore the priest that he’d never suffer his brother’s wife to set foot in his house.”

  “Poor lady,” I commented, “I can see how grievous something like that would be to a soft-hearted girl. And her husband, he must surely have resented losing part of his rightful inheritance to his brother.”

  Rolf grinned delightedly.

  “Aye, thee’d think so, would thee not? But not a bit of it! The daft devil were too moonstruck over his lady to care about owt much save pleasing her. And as it turned out she didst give not so much as a tinker’s belch for her old family home! No, William and Philippa were happy as couldst be. At first even the daily jibing of Sir Tom didst not lift the shine off it.

  “Yet after a year of marriage and no bairn to show for it, the old master didst start abusing Lady Philipppa for being barren as well as penniless. Then she didst take to weeping and that didst not sit well with William. One day he didst go out hunting with his father and didst return with the old man’s corpse. There’d been an accident, he didst say. Sir Thomas didst fall off his hoss and hit his head on a rock.

  “There were those that didst whisper it were a mighty lucky fall for William and his lady but Sir Thomas had not been well-loved, not even by Sir Stephen, and anywise none didst know how to prove it had happened other than what William claimed. So now there could be peace at Plaincourt with no more insults to affront the Lady Philippa. It were all she didst need to quicken with child. Soon enough she didst show a big belly and in the fullness of time young Geoffrey were born.

  “Ah, but he were a sorry scrap even at that age! Small and maungey, all didst think him like to die but against the odds he didst make it through his first twelve-month. Then for the lady nowt would suit but she and her husband must away to Lincoln to give thanks at the cathedral for the boy’s survival. Poor pious fools! While there they didst catch a fever and were dead afore they knew it. Only Geoffrey didst survive for he’d been left here at Plaincourt with a nurse.”

  “A tragic tale!” I exclaimed, for so it struck me. The young couple had scarcely had a chance to enjoy their lives free from the malign influence of the old man before death had claimed them.

  “What happened next?”

  Rolf took his time answering, sensing perhaps that I would be less willing to bide so companionably with him once his story was told.

  “Just so soon as word didst reach Ringthorpe that William were dead, Sir Stephen didst up and ride to Plaincourt and didst make plain his intention to set himself up as Geoffrey’s guardian. He didst think to have it all his own way, mind, but he didst forget the Lamberts, his mother’s kin in London. Within a matter of weeks their lawyers didst come to Plaincourt with demands to see the infant master and inspect the arrangements made for his care.

  “According to Gervase Root – him that’s steward here at Plaincourt - the Lamberts didst fear Sir Stephen meant to do away with his nephew so that he could claim Plaincourt for his own. But by sending in the lawyers, they didst tell him they were watching. He didst know then that questions would be asked should the boy come to ill.”

  At these words I pretended to be greatly shocked and asked Rolf if he seriously believed Sir Stephen to be capable of killing a child, and his own nephew at that, for material advantage. Before he could reply, a loud commotion issued from the courtyard and then a breathless boy rushed into the hall. Gasping for air, he brought word that the master was arrived home. What’s more, he brought with him a fine lord accompanied by several attendants, all of whom would be wanting bed and board.

  Grimacing, Rolf rose to his feet as swiftly as his creaking bones would allow. The divers tasks that now awaited him would, I felt sure, drive all thought of my last question from his mind. Yet I was wrong.

  “Be the master the murdering kind?” he whispered. “Thee’d best judge for thyself, minstrel. No doubt thee’ll be meeting Sir Stephen soon enough.”

  Chapter 8

  Plaincourt Receives a Mighty Guest

  At once, the erstwhile peace of the hall gave way to frenetic bustle as a stream of dusty menials tramped inside, their arms aching from the weight of saddlebags and travel chests. All looked to Rolf for instruction. He had begun directing them when a messenger boy burst in, shouting that the master desired dinner to be served the minute he and his honoured guest were rid of the dirt from the road.

  “They’ve rid hard and fast,” the lad said, “and dost have a mean hunger upon them. Master dost say he’s not of a mind to wait at cook’s convenience.”

  Rolf groaned and looked at me imploringly.

  “T’would be doing me a service, master minstrel, if thee didst get thyself to the kitchen rightaways and relay to Jem Flood Master’s order for dinner without delay. I cain’t go myself, thee dost see how I’m fixed here.”

  I did indeed see that the poor old devil had his hands full directing the new arrivals. I wondered that the steward had not yet shown his face to order affairs, or Mistress Blanche come to that. But then, she was most likely still sleeping off the terrifying quantity of wine she had imbibed at supper yesterday. Deciding it was no hardship to be helpful, I agreed to carry Rolf’s message and much relieved, he thanked me kindly before returning to the business in hand.

  I found the kitchen staff already appraised of the master’s return but not of the presence of a noble guest. Flood was contentedly bringing forth the herring dish he had been preparing earlier and he cursed angrily when I told him of the need for finer fare.

  “And how dost Master imagine I am to fashion a fancy Advent dinner at a moment’s notice?” he bellowed, his brow furrowing alarmingly. The girl Cuckoo, cowering a few paces from him, turned paler than I would have thought possible. Only Matthew seemed to have his wits about him. Having anticipated Sir Stephen’s need for hot water, he was at that moment filling a basin from a cauldron over the fire.

  “They’ll want clean cloths as well,” I remarked, and he nodded, indicating a stack of linen set ready on the table. Grabbing them, he carried the filled basin to the door and exited as quickly as he could manage without spilling the water.

  Flood may have been a competent cook but I could tell he was not the sort to cope well when faced with a challenge. He stood at the table, flailing his arms as he expostulated about the impossibility of providing a fine dinner without prior notice. Cuckoo stared at the floor, shuffling helplessly from one foot to another. I saw that in the absence of any real authority - where in sweet Jesu’s name was the steward? - I would have to take charge of the situation.

  “Cuckoo,” I ordered firmly, “stop your dithering and listen. Quick as you can, you must rouse Mistress Blanch
e. Tell her she must hasten to make herself presentable, for the master has returned with fine company and he will be desirous of her presence.”

  As she fled the room, I turned my attention to Flood.

  “Be calm, master cook,” I said firmly, raising a hand to silence his bawling, “there’s no call for this commotion. With your skill and my wits, I warrant we’ll make a dinner the King himself would relish.

  “Let us have the herrings baked in sugar to begin. Then pluck a fat pike from the freshwater vats I spied out yonder, and prepare for it a galantine. To follow… have you pickled sturgeon? Aye, of course you do. Then it will do very well if you dress it with a verjuice. And to finish, a simple dish of sweet raisins, dates and figs will be most pleasing. “

  Flood’s scowling lessened somewhat and he leapt to follow my suggestions yet I had the feeling the touchy churl resented my intervention.

  “I know not how we didst ever manage without thee, Master Cranley,” he threw sarcastically at me as he set to grinding spices with a pestle.

  Shrugging, I took my leave and strolled outside. At the corner of the courtyard nearest the kitchen I found a cosy nook in which to conceal myself whilst observing all the hubbub.

  As grooms and valets darted to and fro, a pair of richly dressed men stood in conversation outside the stables. Straining my ears, I managed to gather that they were delivering detailed instructions to the grooms about the care of a particularly magnificent destrier. One of the two had his back to me but the other faced towards the manor house and thus I had a clear view of his features.

  From the authoritatively familiar way in which he issued his commands I guessed that this must be Sir Stephen Plaincourt. I was glad at last to have a chance to look upon his face, and to do so quietly and unobserved by others. After studying him closely for a short while, noticing his mannerisms as much as his features, I felt I had the measure of the man.

 

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