‘I’d forgotten,’ she answered, forbearing to add: but only at a slow walk. Sir Richard’s riding skills had been so poor, and his fear of Eleanor wriggling so great, that he’d been afraid of falling himself. And for once Lady Anne had sympathy with him. ‘What of my bag?’ she asked, closing her mind to the dangers of being tossed to the ground at speed.
Ian lifted the packs of gold from behind Edmund’s saddle to lighten his mount’s load. ‘I’ll attach it with this and Thaddeus’s writing desk to Killer’s back, milady,’ he said, stepping aside and instructing Edmund to set off. ‘We’ll follow when we’ve struck camp. Wait for us at the crossroad if we don’t catch up with you sooner.’
Was there ever such a ride? It was surely sinful for a woman of Lady Anne’s years to experience such excitement in the arms of a boy half her age. Even more sinful to wish that the arms had been Thaddeus’s. Yet she felt every exhilarating moment as Edmund spurred his mount from walk to trot to canter. He steered one-handed, wrapping his left arm about her waist to hold her tight against him, and as her fear of falling lessened, she gave way to the thrill of moving at speed.
She recalled something Thaddeus had written in one of his accounts about his first journey out of Develish. It was a description of the fear and elation he’d felt at riding a bolting horse with ravening hounds at its heels.
It’s good to be afraid. In that quarter-hour dash, I felt more alive than I’d done in the twenty years that went before.
Thaddeus acknowledged Hugh de Courtesmain with a nod, running his gaze over the other’s peasant clothes. ‘You seem much diminished from the last time I saw you, sir. I thought you set for life as steward at Bourne.’
Hugh cast a look of triumph towards the priest, as if to say Thurkell’s acknowledgement of him proved his accusations. ‘It’s you who wears shackles. Not I.’
‘Indeed. God tests us all. I pray Bourne and his people are well, and that it’s not through fear of the pestilence returning that you left your post.’
‘They are well.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Did you ignore my advice to work with My Lord and not against him?’
‘I was unable to work with him at all. He found his serfs’ company more congenial than mine and refused to listen to anything I said.’
A gleam of humour sparked in Thaddeus’s dark eyes. ‘You should have been more careful, Master de Courtesmain. Ambition is never served well by the spreading of falsehoods. Have you not learnt that by now?’
D’Amiens stirred impatiently. ‘Enough. It’s your deceit that’s in question not this man’s.’ He moved to the altar and placed several rolls of parchment in front of the cross, selecting one to read before handing it to Thaddeus. ‘Do you recognise this letter? De Courtesmain tells me you left it for him to find when you departed Bourne. It’s signed Thaddeus Thurkell. How so when you’re now calling yourself My Lord of Athelstan?’
Thaddeus scanned the words to remind himself of what he’d written. ‘I remember it well,’ he agreed. ‘I wrote it in friendship to try to help de Courtesmain keep his position. I doubted he had the ability to stay long in Bourne’s good graces—’ he replaced the scroll on the altar—‘and I was right.’
‘Why is it signed Thaddeus Thurkell?’
Thaddeus shrugged. ‘It’s the name by which de Courtesmain knew me when he first came to Develish. He grew embittered when he learnt my true status. I thought he’d take Thurkell’s advice more readily than Athelstan’s.’
‘You call the preaching of heresy and insurrection “advice”?’
‘I was merely repeating what Bourne believes,’ Thaddeus answered. ‘Blandeforde too, in all probability. There won’t be a landowner anywhere who isn’t counting the cost of the pestilence to his revenues and working out how best to manage the serfs who remain to him. Bourne chose to bring his together on one demesne and offer them rewards for increased production. Will you accuse him of heresy and insurrection? He seeks only to protect the land the King gave him, and the position and responsibilities bestowed on him by God.’
D’Amiens eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Explain why you went by a different name in Develish from the one you’re claiming now.’
Thaddeus nodded to the priest. ‘For the same reason this man called himself Jacques d’Amiens when he came to my camp. It suited my purpose for the brief time I was there.’
The answer seemed to throw d’Amiens. He turned to Hugh de Courtesmain with a frown. ‘You said Thurkell was born in Develish.’
‘He was . . . to a harlot called Eva. She was already with child when she arrived in Develish and looked to pass the infant off as her husband’s once they were wed. I heard the story from Lady Eleanor who had no reason to lie.’
‘How do you answer that?’ d’Amiens asked Thaddeus.
‘With the contempt it deserves. De Courtesmain’s stay in Develish was briefer than mine and he was greatly disliked. Every person in Develish had reason to lie to him.’
‘Not Lady Eleanor,’ Hugh cried. ‘She took me as her confidant and begged me to escort her from the demesne after Sir Richard died.’
‘Only because her mother told her you’d refuse. Lady Eleanor wanted to see for herself how far your hypocrisy went. You changed your loyalties so quickly it was hard to keep up with them.’
Hugh turned a haggard gaze on the steward. ‘He twists the girl’s feelings as falsely as he twists my words. Her hatred for her mother and the Develish serfs was nothing compared to the hatred she had for this—’ he pointed a trembling finger at Thaddeus—‘slave.’
‘You surprise me,’ d’Amiens said dryly. ‘If Lady Eleanor is like other young women, I would have thought the opposite to be true. Whoever this man is, he is not without charm.’ He ran the back of his thumb down the stain on his nose as if to point up his own deficiencies. ‘What purpose took you to Develish?’ he asked Thaddeus.
‘I can’t tell you that. I gave my pledge never to speak of it.’
‘You will make me doubt you if you don’t.’
‘Then do so. The matter was a private one. Would you have me betray a confidence because a duplicitous steward puts ambition before allegiance to those who employ him?’
‘Who can release you from the pledge?’
‘My cousin, Lady Anne of Develish.’
‘He lies,’ protested Hugh. ‘There’s no familial relationship between them. He took the woman for his whore on her husband’s death.’
With a sigh, Thaddeus slammed his elbow into the Frenchman’s throat. ‘Next time you slur Milady so vilely, I’ll have your liver,’ he murmured, watching in idle curiosity as de Courtesmain toppled backwards to the floor, gasping for breath. ‘You were never deserving of the kindness she showed you.’
Fifteen
Develish, Dorseteshire
ISABELLA SOUGHT OUT HER FATHER and begged him to come to Lady Anne’s chamber to speak with Lady Eleanor. ‘She’s in great distress, Papa, and through my fault. I told her of Thaddeus’s arrest and now she fears her mother will be condemned alongside him. I’ve tried to explain that Milady’s in no danger from the Blandeforde steward but she doesn’t believe me. She may understand it better if it comes from you.’
Gyles was on the forecourt, having just made his rounds of the boundary wall. ‘I’m not the person to do it,’ he said. ‘You must ask John Trueblood. We all agreed he should govern the demesne in Milady’s absence.’
She caught his hand. ‘But you told me he tried to stop Milady leaving, Papa, and I fear it will make Lady Eleanor’s distress worse if Master Trueblood agrees Milady should never have gone.’
Gyles squeezed her fingers by way of comfort. ‘How real is her concern? Is it truly for her mother . . . or only for herself?’
‘It seems real to me, Papa. She talked about Lady Anne leaving a letter but she was crying so much I didn’t really understand her meaning. I think it has something to do with Master de Courtesmain. She believes her mother will be burnt because Master de Courtesmain was in t
he great hall when she accused her of heresy.’
Gyles made what he could of these confused ideas. ‘Come,’ he said, drawing her towards the house. ‘We’ll talk to the girl together. I’m sure I can persuade her that she worries unnecessarily. It’s My Lord of Blandeforde’s steward Milady expects to confront, not de Courtesmain.’
But he wondered if he was right after he’d heard what Eleanor had to say. They found her standing at the window of Lady Anne’s chamber with a parchment in her hands. Through tears, she told Gyles her mother had written it the afternoon before. ‘She placed it atop the gowns in my coffer and I asked her what it was and why she had put it there. She said it was a letter to me which I would be able to read for myself when I was practised enough.’
‘She teased Isabella in the same way, milady,’ Gyles said gently. ‘It’s her way of persuading her pupils to work harder at their alphabets. Can you make sense of it?’
Eleanor shook her head. ‘There are too many words I’ve never seen before though she taught me to know the name de Courtesmain, and I see that here.’ She stared down at the script. ‘I think she wrote it this way so that I wouldn’t know what it said before she left.’
Gyles was sure she was right and wondered if Lady Anne had hoped Eleanor would ask for help in deciphering it. ‘Will you permit Isabella to read it to you, milady? I’ll wait outside while she does. You can be sure she’ll not repeat the contents to anyone else unless you give her leave.’
The girl raised anguished eyes. ‘What if Mother blames me?’
‘For what, milady?’
‘Revealing so much to Master de Courtesmain. I said many cruel things about her and he’ll remember them all.’
Gyles shook his head. ‘She’ll not blame you for that, Lady Eleanor. Herself, perhaps, because she knew he wasn’t to be trusted, but never you. The words will be kind. Let Isabella read them to you.’
My Dear Eleanor,
I worry that my departure will frighten you but beg that you put your trust and faith in our people. They accept you fully as my daughter and will protect you until my return. Have confidence that you will see me again before the week is out.
You have asked me several times about the dreams that have disturbed my sleep this past week. I did not give you an answer, for I knew it would trouble you to learn about them, but I do so now. The images I see are of My Lord of Blandeforde’s steward and Hugh de Courtesmain. The steward sits in judgement while de Courtesmain accuses every man, woman and child in Develish of treason and heresy.
I know not if these visions were God-sent, Eleanor, but I do believe I would be wrong to ignore them since hearing of Thaddeus’s arrest. It seems his imposture was discovered even before he entered Blandeforde, and that speaks to betrayal by one who carries deep resentments against both him and Develish.
Dear Daughter, only Master de Courtesmain fits that description. Can you understand why I must try to prevent him speaking against Thaddeus and our people? There will be no future for anyone in Develish, yourself included, if all are punished for decisions that I—and I alone—have made.
Be strong and brave, and know that I love you.
Your Affectionate Mother,
Anne
The sun was still an hour from noon when the column of horses neared the hill from where Thaddeus and his companions had looked down on Blandeforde two days before. Ian, at the head, slowed to a walk to allow the others to draw level with him. ‘We’re almost there, milady,’ he said, signalling a halt. ‘When we top that crest, we’ll be in sight of the bridge. You said there were preparations you needed to make before we present ourselves.’
She glanced towards the woodland on their left. ‘Which can be done inside the privacy of those trees if one of you is kind enough to carry my bag and give me a goatskin of water.’
Ian performed the service for her and, when he returned, he instructed his companions to brush the dust of the road from their liveries and hair and use their own goatskins of water to moisten their cloths and wash their faces. ‘We’ll let Milady down if we look like paupers,’ he told them.
‘What’s she doing?’ asked Peter.
‘You’ll see.’
It was a quarter-hour before Lady Anne emerged again from the trees and asked Ian to be kind enough to retrieve the bag. She smiled at the look of astonishment on the youth’s faces. ‘The guards on the bridge won’t give us passage if they think me a peasant,’ she said.
‘You look like a queen, milady,’ said Joshua.
‘Thank you, Joshua, but a real queen would have a carriage. Can you think of a way to convey me to Blandeforde in a fitting manner? Much as I’ve enjoyed riding with Edmund, it’s hardly seemly for a liege lady to sit across a soldier’s lap.’
Ian could only guess at what the guards on the bridge made of their approach. Even when My Lord of Bourne was in Develish, she had never been so finely adorned as she was now, sitting sideways on Killer’s saddle. To see her arrayed in blue silk, with gold around her neck and on her fingers, was to be reminded of how high her status really was. Even so, he worried that appearance alone wouldn’t be enough to convince the guards to let them pass. Thaddeus had looked every inch a lord and had been denied.
Their progress down the hill was necessarily slow, for Lady Anne’s position was too precarious for anything faster than a walk. Ian and Olyver rode at her side, controlling Killer with thin rope halters through the metal loops of his bit strap, while Edmund and Peter followed close behind. At the rear, some ten paces back, came Joshua with the dogs and the pack horses, giving a sense of greater numbers than there were. By the time they reached the bridge, Ian took some relief from the fact that the attention of every guard was fixed on Lady Anne.
He was conscious that the crests on his and his companions’ tabards were Athelstan’s when they should have been Develish’s. Conscious, too, that, even if the guards were different from those two days ago, they would know from what their fellows had told them that Lady Anne’s entourage was the same as Thaddeus’s. He’d worried about embroiling her in trouble before she ever reached the steward; but when he’d voiced his concerns, she had begged him not to worry, saying her peril would be greater if she rode alone.
Ian discovered the truth of this when they were some two-thirds across the bridge and he could see the way the guards were leering at her. One was moving the circled forefinger and thumb of his right hand up and down the middle finger of his left, another was rubbing his rod within his britches. Perhaps Lady Anne felt his anger for she urged him in a whisper to pay no heed, but he was offended enough on her behalf to act on impulse. The men were ranged at the end of the bridge some fifteen yards distant and, with a command to Olyver to hold fast to Killer, he let drop his rope and spurred his mount from a walk to a canter. The charge was so rapid and unexpected that the line of guards fragmented without a sword or bow being drawn.
Olyver watched his twin wrestle the animal to a halt on the road as the soldiers scattered in disarray towards the riverbank. ‘By rights he should be flat on his back on the ground,’ he murmured, clicking his tongue to set Killer moving again. ‘Only a mad man rides his horse at speed over cobbles.’
‘Or a brave one,’ Lady Anne said.
Olyver grinned. ‘Thaddeus would tell you they’re one and the same, milady.’
The steward took another parchment from the altar and handed it to Thaddeus. ‘What is this, if not further evidence of imposture?’
Thaddeus unrolled it and recognised it immediately as a page from the Develish parish register. It was a record of births and deaths in 1328 and towards the bottom he saw his own name. A sun, Thades, was bor this 2 week of June, 1328, to Wil and Ev Thkell. The script was poorly formed and the words ill-spelt, and he knew them to be Father Anselm’s because it wasn’t until Sir Richard’s violation of Abigail Startout some decade later that Lady Anne had taken charge of the register. Her anger against the priest for supporting Sir Richard’s claim that an unformed maid, yet
to reach her eleventh year, was above fourteen and known to have experience of men was so great that she had forbade him from ever recording the lives of her serfs again.
Each page of parchment was held inside the wooden covers of the ledger by leather thongs, threaded through holes on the left-hand side, and he saw the careful snips de Courtesmain had made to allow him to withdraw this page without its removal being obvious. Such planning spoke of the Frenchman’s intent to unmask Thaddeus, and by entanglement Lady Anne, even before he knew he would be going to Bourne. There hadn’t been time between Lady Anne giving him permission to leave, and his departure three hours later, to extract and hide documents in the chest of clothes he took with him.
Thaddeus scanned the scroll. ‘Why should a list of names and dates in a hand I don’t recognise suggest imposture? The letters are so poorly drawn and the words so illiterate I would hazard a guess the scribe sought to disguise his own style. Where do you say it comes from?’
D’Amiens watched Hugh de Courtesmain struggle to his feet. ‘From the Develish parish record, if this man is to be believed.’
‘I’ve seen that record. It’s a detailed history, kept by Lady Anne. She was taught the art of inscription by nuns and has a fine hand which looks nothing like this.’
‘It’s rare for a lady to have such a skill.’
‘Milady is a rare woman, Master d’Amiens. As you should know since you’ve met her.’
‘You credit me with too much knowledge. I’ve never had the pleasure of speaking with her. She always stood in the shadow of her husband, ready to prompt him with answers that would satisfy me.’ D’Amiens turned to Hugh. ‘Explain why the document is so flawed.’
‘At the time of Thurkell’s birth, the scribe was Father Anselm,’ muttered Hugh. ‘Lady Anne discharged him from the responsibility some ten years ago. The reason why is unknown to me, but she holds the priest in great animosity . . . and he her.’
The Turn of Midnight Page 25