by Julia Latham
“I have to retire soon,” she said at last. “It has been a long day.”
“For all of us,” he said. “Good night, Sarah.”
He watched her leave the hall, saw how she said good night to others, and they still replied politely. Robert took his own leave of the keep, and when he arrived in the guest lodgings, he found Walter waiting for him.
Robert dutifully sat down at the table opposite his partner. He imagined Walter wanted to know about the interview with Ramsey, but he wanted to save that until he had Walter’s report.
“Do you have any news about the investigation?” Robert asked.
Walter arched a brow, but didn’t protest. “I received a missive today, from our men investigating Sarah’s background. They could not confirm any truth to the rumor that Sarah murdered her husband, but his family certainly believes so.”
“She told me this. She said he fell from his horse when they were alone together, as I already told you.”
“The Audleys were quite open about their dislike of her from the beginning.”
“Were they open about cheating her out of her right to compensation at her husband’s death?”
“Nay, they were not, although our men did press the point. The Audleys claimed that if Sarah’s father was foolish enough not to fully understand the contract, ’twas not their fault.”
“Coldhearted is what they sound like. What proof did they give for their belief that Sarah killed their son?”
“They said their son spoke often of his dissatisfaction with his marriage.”
“He must not have told his parents that he beat his vulnerable wife.”
Walter’s frown deepened. “That is an ugly thing to do to a woman.”
At least Walter did not try to say they only had Sarah’s word. “Are they trying to claim that Sarah’s inability to have a child was a motive for murder?”
“Nay. They claim that for a woman, she took too much pleasure in studying. They thought that proved she meant all along to rid herself of the marriage and then better her prospects. They implied that with her knowledge of herbs, she might have kept herself from having a child.”
“This is all nonsense.”
“Which is why they were unable to prove their beliefs to the local sheriff. They claimed the blow to their son’s head could have come from Sarah, rather than a fall from a horse.”
“Tiny Sarah, striking a blow that would kill a man?” Robert rolled his eyes. “Did the sheriff consider their case had merit, but just no proof?”
“Apparently not. Except for her husband’s family, Sarah was well loved in the village. She healed and comforted many. She was pitied for having married into the Audley family.”
Robert nodded. “Then her background alone does not make Sarah a suspect.”
“Nay, it does not.”
“And although Ramsey tried to implicate her during our interview, he failed.”
Walter leaned forward, his eyes alert. “You think he did so deliberately?”
“Ramsey claims that Drayton told him he was going to ask Sarah to marry him.”
Walter’s eyes widened, which was practically a shout of emotion for him. “Interesting, yet it cannot be easily confirmed.”
“True.”
“If it could be confirmed, then Sarah’s motive to kill Drayton is gone. How does that implicate her?”
Robert smiled. “Ramsey claims that before Drayton took ill, Lady Ramsey saw him courting a woman in London.”
“Ah,” Walter said, nodding thoughtfully. “You seem rather pleased, considering this might be another motive against Sarah.”
“But it isn’t.” Robert rubbed his hands together. “She has never mentioned a marriage proposal to me—and before you say anything, I know that a guilty woman would not want this motive known. But she’s too intelligent not to realize that it would come out. I don’t believe she ever heard any of this.”
“Are you saying Ramsey is lying?”
“Perhaps not about the marriage proposal. Drayton probably never got around to asking her to marry him.”
“Before he met this other woman.”
Robert slammed his hand onto the table. “And there’s the solution to our dilemma.”
Walter frowned. “What are you saying?”
“We cannot confirm what one man said to the other, but we already know Drayton wasn’t courting another woman. The League investigated his every move in the months before his death. I read detailed accounts of his stay in London. The League never mentioned a woman, and you and I both know they would have.”
Walter cocked his head. “Your memory is impressive.”
Robert leaned back in his chair, stretching out his feet and crossing them at the ankles. “Did you think I wouldn’t tell you something that could potentially incriminate Sarah?”
Walter’s hesitation spoke volumes.
“You’re my partner, Walter, and I take our mission very seriously. I know my duty, and I would never betray our brethren.”
“Glad I am to see you are using League resources,” Walter said.
That was as close to acceptance as Robert knew he was going to get. “Thank you, Walter.”
“Yet we cannot condemn Ramsey based on one lie—or one mistake.”
It wasn’t a mistake, Robert thought, but he didn’t say the words aloud. “I know. But it shows me I’m on the right path. I’ll consider my options.”
Chapter 19
To her own surprise, Sarah slept soundly, as if she’d used up all her worry during the day and her body needed to recover. Of course, she was even more tired because she’d stayed up far too late, hoping that Robert would come to her. He hadn’t. Was all the evidence mounting against her swaying him?
She tried to go on with her normal day, going to mass, eating the morning meal, escorting Francis to the chaplain.
But she also saw the occasional long look from some of her friends, and then their haste as they turned away when they realized she’d seen them. It was difficult to feel optimistic in the face of that. She told herself that everyone would know the truth soon.
Of course, what was the truth? Who was truly guilty? And where was Robert?
Sarah didn’t mind the light, misty summer rain that began to fall in the afternoon. The coolness felt good on her skin. She was accompanying Francis on the horseback ride she’d promised him. He’d been eager to leave the castle behind, and although some part of her felt uneasy, she could not refuse him. She had insisted they would not go far, and he’d pouted but agreed.
Francis rode slightly ahead of her on Lightning, and soon he turned his mount toward a path into the woods.
“This leads to our favorite stream!” he called. “Can we go?”
“Be careful. I will be right behind you.”
With the renewal of his confidence the last few days, he’d proven a competent little rider. She watched him fondly, enjoying his eagerness.
But then he suddenly lurched to one side, and she realized his saddle was giving way.
“Francis!” she screamed.
He slid farther, even as Lightning pranced in confusion. But to her surprise, he caught the pony’s mane and held on tightly. Sarah dismounted and ran to him, calming the pony while helping Francis slide to the ground. He collapsed onto his backside, staring wide-eyed up at his mount as raindrops freckled his face.
“Are you injured?” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him.
He shook his head. “My legs wouldn’t hold me.”
“Because you’ve had such a scare. How did you think to hold Lightning’s mane?”
“Sir Robert taught me.”
She closed her eyes, thanking God for Robert’s forethought.
“What happened?” Francis asked, his voice becoming tremulous.
“’Twas not you,” she insisted, briefly cupping his cheek. “You have become an excellent rider. Something is wrong with your saddle. Will you be well while I look at it?”
He nodd
ed and scrambled back away from the pony.
There was a fear in his eyes she hadn’t seen for at least a sennight, so she decided to take a chance. “Will you hold Lightning’s reins for me? She might be afraid because of what happened.”
Francis slowly got to his feet and went to Lightning’s head. He started talking softly to the pony, petting her nose while holding the reins.
She breathed a little easier, then turned to the saddle, which had fallen to the ground in a heap. Had a buckle broken on the girth? But it was intact. She followed the strip of leather, and inhaled sharply when she saw that it had ripped in half. Then she peered closer.
Only part of it was ripped; most of it had been neatly sliced by a blade. Her hands started to shake, and fear was sour nausea in her stomach.
Someone had wanted Francis to fall from his horse.
Frantic, she told herself that surely the saddle could have been used by anyone—but nay, it was smaller, for a young rider. And the stable boy would have examined the saddle as he put it on Lightning’s back. This had to have been done after the pony was saddled, and the person who did it must have known whom it was for.
This was twice in several days that Francis had had an accident. His injury in the dairy shed from a cow that was suddenly spooked now flashed vividly into her mind. Had an actual person been responsible, rather than a cat? God Above, who could be cruel enough to wish harm on a five-year-old boy?
The same person who could slowly poison a man and watch him suffer until his death.
But why Francis? Was this unknown assailant trying to make her look like a monster who would kill a child? She’d been with Francis during both accidents—nay, she could not call such deliberate crimes accidental. It seemed as if this man wanted to make sure Sarah took the blame for all his crimes. But she couldn’t care about herself, not when Francis was in terrible danger.
“What’s wrong?” Francis suddenly asked, looking past Lightning’s head to stare at her.
She swallowed hard, hoping her voice wouldn’t shake and frighten the boy. “The girth broke.”
“So it really wasn’t me?”
She reached and tousled his hair. “Of course not, silly goose.”
She felt a wave of dizziness hit her. If he hadn’t caught himself, he could have hit his head in this rocky terrain, or been trampled by the pony’s hooves. She shuddered.
“Stupid saddle, huh, Lightning?” Francis said. “Mistress Sarah, we can still walk to the stream before we go home, can’t we? Lightning must be thirsty.”
Part of her wanted to insist they flee, but she didn’t want to frighten him. And after all, the murderer would have had no reason to follow them, had only to wait for the plan to succeed.
But she felt very vulnerable as they led their horses farther down the trail after throwing the damaged saddle across Lightning’s back. She allowed Francis time to look for rocks for his collection, even as she nervously and repeatedly glanced around her. At last she said it was time to go. She managed to tie the saddle awkwardly onto the pony’s back, then took Francis up behind her for the ride back to Drayton Hall.
“Do we have to tell everyone I fell?” he asked.
Perfect, she thought with relief. “Nay, of course not. We’ll say we discovered the broken girth when we tried to tighten it.”
“That’s a lie,” Francis said softly.
And now she had to feel guilty about this. “Do not worry. I’ll talk to the stable boys. You won’t be lying.”
“Oh.” That seemed to brighten his mood.
By the time they reached the courtyard, he tried to slide down so quickly she had to grab his arm to help. He laughed up at her, then ran off toward the boys by the tiltyard.
She froze, not knowing if she should call him back. But there were so many people that surely nothing could happen to him.
In the stables, she showed a groom the broken girth, innocently saying, “Could a spur or a nail have done this?”
He pondered the strap, frowning. “Aye, mistress, perhaps a nail on a fence. I’m so glad his little lordship wasn’t hurt!”
“Do not worry that I will tell anyone of this,” she said in a lower voice. “You should not get into trouble over an accident. In fact, why don’t you bring the strap to me later, so no one will ever have to know?”
“Thank you, mistress!” he said, gulping, his eyes wide with panic.
Oh, that made her feel terrible, but it couldn’t be helped. She hoped fear would keep him from telling anyone what had happened. She could not let the murderer know she was on to his tricks.
Walking slowly toward the tiltyard, she hugged herself even though the rain had let up. She felt cold and damp and dazed with shock, unable to think what to do next.
“Mistress Sarah?”
She jumped with a shot of fear, then told herself to calm down. She turned to face Simon, who was carrying his helm under his arm as he obviously headed for the tiltyard. He looked awkward and uneasy, unable to hide his misery.
“Good afternoon, Simon.”
“Is something bothering you?” he asked, studying her face. He spoke stiffly, as if forced to be near her. “You look…pale.”
She called on every skill she’d once had to pretend her life was fine. “Nay, I just returned from a ride with Francis, and only now realized how cold the rain made me. I will change soon. Thank you for your concern.”
As he nodded and strode away from her, she inwardly berated herself. Too much was at stake for her to lose her calm now. What should she do?
She sent a stable boy to find Margery, then waited perched on a bench, knowing if she rose, she’d start to pace. It seemed like forever before her friend appeared, walking too slowly. Sarah wanted to shout at her to hurry, but bit her lip instead.
She smiled to reassure Margery. “I am so sorry to send for you so abruptly, but Francis is enjoying himself with the boys. Would you mind staying with him for a while?”
Margery’s smile gradually faded. “What is wrong, Sarah? Yer eyes look…haunted.”
She opened her mouth to disagree, then suddenly it proved too much for her, and the story about Francis’s “accidents” spilled out of her.
“Am I wrong, Margery? Tell me I’m wrong, that I’m being too suspicious.”
Margery had covered her mouth with both hands while Sarah talked, and now she dropped them to say, “Ye’re sure someone cut the girth?”
“Aye! I told the stable boy it could have been a nail, but it was too neat a slice. I know I’m not wrong. Someone wants to hurt Francis!”
Margery took her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “Calm down. He’s here and safe out in the open. I’ll keep a close eye on him. What will ye do?”
She hadn’t even thought it to herself, but the words still emerged. “I’m going to Robert. I know not who else to trust. Later, I’ll even be able to show him the damaged strap.”
Her friend sighed. “Good. My thought exactly. He’ll know what to do. But change yer garments first, afore ye catch yer death.”
“Don’t leave Francis alone,” she said, hearing the break in her voice.
“I promise I won’t.”
She quickly turned away, forcing herself to walk with measured steps across the courtyard, splashing through a muddy puddle before she realized she wasn’t even seeing the ground. In her mind the image of Francis starting to slide from the pony kept playing over and over.
In her bedchamber, she could barely pull the wet garments off her body because her hands shook so badly. Once she was suitably dressed, she returned to the great hall, but Robert still wasn’t there. She groaned softly to herself, trying to think of where he’d be. He hadn’t been at the tiltyard…
“Sarah?”
She turned as Sir Anthony called her name. “Aye, sir?”
“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about this investigation.”
She blinked at him in confusion. Why was he apologizing to her?
He gave a fa
int laugh that wasn’t amused. “I feel badly that such a terrible thing had to happen to my cousin. And now that I’ve spoken with Sir Robert, I understand how difficult being questioned is. I assume it was not any easier for you.”
“Nay, Sir Anthony, I—I could not stop wondering who could do such a thing.”
He nodded. “’Tis difficult for me to know that I have a stronger motive than most, as if I’d want my own cousin dead. I imagine you know how I feel,” he said, patting her shoulder.
Of course he thought she had a strong motive, she thought bitterly. Like everyone else, Sir Anthony assumed she’d been Lord Drayton’s mistress.
“I apologize if I’ve made things worse for you,” he said.
Now she was truly confused. “I do not understand, sir.”
“I had to tell Sir Robert about…” His voice faded away, and he gave a soft whistle. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“Know what?” she cried, spreading her hands.
“I could not keep the truth from the king’s man. I had to tell him that Drayton confided in me that he was going to ask you to marry him.”
She stared at him, knowing her mouth had sagged open like a fish. She had always thought Lord Drayton was devoted to his wife’s memory and might never remarry since he had an heir. But apparently he’d planned to trust her to be Francis’s mother…Her eyes began to well up.
“Perhaps I should not have spoken,” Sir Anthony said. “Do you have a handkerchief?”
She nodded, pulling it out of her sleeve to dab at her tears. “Forgive me, but this is so…unexpected. I had…no idea.”
“Glad I am that you are touched by my cousin’s words, but regretfully I must explain it all. We later heard that he’d begun to court a woman in London.”
“Ah, so he never asked me to marry him because he’d already changed his mind,” she said ruefully. She wasn’t surprised. He could have had his pick of well-dowered noblewomen instead of the daughter of a poor knight.
And then she realized why Sir Anthony watched her with hesitation. He’d just explained that she now had another motive to have murdered his lordship.