The Turn of Midnight

by Minette Walters

  With a shrug, Thaddeus handed the page back to d’Amiens. ‘Anselm must have lived well beyond his natural span for his hand to have been trembling so badly more than two decades ago. What age does de Courtesmain say he’s claiming?’

  Hugh stared at him with loathing. ‘You know the cause as well as I,’ he snapped. ‘The priest is an inebriate. His office weighs heavily on him because of his mistress’s rejection of the Church and the heretical beliefs she teaches her people.’

  Thaddeus’s eyes creased with amusement. ‘You should rehearse your history before you assign yet more villainy to Lady Anne, Master de Courtesmain. Whatever ailed Father Anselm when he was appointed to the benefice of Develish could not have originated with her. He was in position a good eight years before Sir Richard brought her to the demesne as a bride of fourteen.’

  There was a lengthy silence which was finally broken by Father Aristide. ‘This man offers other documents to prove you’re a base-born serf. Will you deny them all?’

  It was a foolish question. ‘What else would you have me do? Admit de Courtesmain tells the truth? At least acknowledge that my age alone rules me out of being a serf called Thurkell. My years are thirty but, if this man lives, he has yet to pass twenty-one.’

  The priest gave an uneasy shrug. ‘De Courtesmain has less reason to lie than you. He gains nothing by what he does.’

  Thaddeus smiled slightly. ‘I doubt you’re wise to disappoint him so early, Father. Treachery looks more enticing when it’s rewarded with thirty pieces of silver.’

  Ian hadn’t counted on people leaving their houses to watch Lady Anne’s passage. He was used to riding through towns which seemed deserted, with only the odd glimpse of faces at open doors and unshuttered windows to show that anyone had survived. To say the streets of Blandeforde were thronged would be an exaggeration, but enough were drawn by the sight of a richly gowned lady to give a sense of numbers.

  For Lady Anne, it was her first experience of the despair most felt to still be alive. She saw the early signs of starvation in the hollow eyes of children who had been left to fend for themselves on the deaths of their parents, and the seeming lack of purpose in men who stood listlessly at corners, barely speaking with each other. More particularly, she was struck by the empty expressions of widows who stood alone and bereft before houses that had once been filled with laughter. It was as if the women had turned in on themselves, so consumed by their own woes that they barely noticed the trials and tribulations of others. She asked Ian why this should be. Would they not benefit from taking the orphans into their homes?

  ‘You would think so,’ he answered, ‘but we see the same everywhere we go. Thaddeus says it’s because their priests are dead and there’s no one to guide them. When men are without answers—worse, believe the pestilence will take us all in the end—women lose their resolve. It’s hard to make decisions for yourself when your life has been lived in obedience to others.’

  Lady Anne looked ahead to where a cluster of men was gathered outside a church. ‘What of the three guildsmen who were at your camp two nights ago?’ she asked Ian. ‘Are they not leaders here?’

  He shook his head to say he didn’t know.

  ‘Do you remember their names?’

  ‘The one who talked the most was called Andrew Tench, milady. He said he was a wool merchant.’

  She nodded to the group by the church. ‘Will you halt us there and ask for him to be brought to me? It’s surely right to offer hope if we can.’

  Ian kept to himself that Thaddeus had tried the same many times and had learnt that it took days of persuasion to convince survivors to embrace life. A person on his own, such as the fisherman or Robin Pikeman might listen to a quarter-hour of reasoned sense, but a company of more than two rarely did. It was as if their minds were so firmly set on death that resistance to hearing good news was strengthened in proportion to their numbers.

  He was surprised, therefore, when his request that Master Tench be summoned to speak with Lady Anne of Develish was greeted with warmth. A young urchin was dispatched and an old man dropped to one knee. ‘We’ve heard stories of Develish from travellers who’ve passed through our town, milady. They say the village is deserted but a multitude of men and women in peasant clothing are alive inside the moat. It leads us to wonder if their lord seeks to protect his serfs from the pestilence.’

  Ian answered when Lady Anne hesitated. ‘The lord of Develish is this lady,’ he said. ‘The responsibility for her husband’s demesne fell to her when Sir Richard died away from home, and, yes, she has sought from the beginning to protect all her people—be they nobles, freemen or serfs.’

  ‘We could wish our own lord as generous.’

  ‘Is he here?’ asked Lady Anne, wondering if Bourne’s captain of arms had led her false the previous autumn by saying Blandeforde had left for his estates in the west.

  ‘He is not, milady. He abandoned us when news of the pestilence first arrived.’

  ‘Who acts on his behalf?’

  ‘The steward, Master d’Amiens, who takes his instructions from the priest.’

  Lady Anne saw discomfort in the faces of the younger men around him, as if they felt he’d been more honest than he should. ‘Would that be My Lord of Blandeforde’s confessor? Why did he leave him behind?’

  The greybeard made to spit on the ground but thought better of it when the hand of one of his companions gripped his shoulder. ‘Father Aristide would make any journey burdensome, milady.’

  There was a bustle of movement behind him as a man of middle years with a sheepskin collar about his cloak pushed through the small crowd and presented himself to Lady Anne with a bow. ‘You summoned me, milady. I am your obedient servant, Andrew Tench. How may I be of service to you?’

  He had a pleasant, if careworn, face and she dipped her own head in acknowledgement. ‘I sought rather to be of service to you and the people of your town, sir. I see children looking hungry, men without purpose standing at corners, and women, alone and sad, in doorways. Is there a reason why all feel so lost and desolate?’

  ‘Each one of us has had to watch our families die before our eyes, milady.’

  ‘And for that I am deeply sorry, Master Tench. The pestilence is a cruel disease.’ She glanced from one man to the next. ‘God cries out in pain each time another innocent dies . . . as all of you will have done to see your beloved wives and children perish. But is that cause to turn your backs on the widows and orphans of your neighbours?’

  They shuffled their feet as if the question had been put to them before. ‘Master Tench has argued the same, milady, as have I,’ said the greybeard, pushing himself upright, ‘but these fellows—’ he gestured towards the crowd—‘would rather debate issues of property than the welfare of women and children.’

  Tench placed a calming hand on the older man’s arm. ‘Many of us would willingly take the needy into our homes, milady—God knows we are all in want of companionship—but none can agree on how to do it. The man who offers his home to a widow, rich in property, will double his wealth overnight if she agrees to tie her assets to his. Orphaned sons of successful merchants are as prized.’

  Lady Anne nodded understanding. ‘For the value of their inheritances.’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘It’s a great problem,’ she said thoughtfully.

  Tench nodded. ‘Master Slater and I—’ he indicated the greybeard—‘have proposed drawing lots, but most resist the idea for fear of picking badly. Concern about the pestilence remains strong and few wish to invite it into their homes through ill chance. It’s but eight weeks since the last sufferer was buried.’

  Lady Anne had heard this from Edmund when she’d asked him to repeat as much as he could remember of Thaddeus’s conversation with the guildsmen. ‘Eight weeks is a long time, Master Tench. Did my cousin Athelstan not tell you that towns to the south have been without deaths since Christmas? God willing, we can dare to hope that Dorseteshire’s suffering is almost ov
er.’

  He looked startled. ‘My Lord is your cousin, milady?’

  ‘He is, sir, and has travelled the land, seeking and dispersing news so that all who survive may know they’re not alone. I trust he gave you reasons to believe in a future free of the pestilence. His men tell me you spoke with him two nights ago.’

  Tench stared at her in horror. ‘We did our best to warn him, milady.’

  Her kind eyes smiled into his. ‘About what, Master Tench?’

  ‘The fate that awaited him, milady.’

  The greybeard gave a grunt of impatience. ‘There’s no sense mouthing riddles,’ he said. ‘Milady wouldn’t be here if she didn’t know of the arrest.’ He raised his gaze to Lady Anne’s. ‘If it’s information you seek, I can tell you the little we know. The steward’s guards brought your cousin through the town in chains two nights ago after three of our people were ordered to meet him. The priest told them he was an absconding serf, looking to pass for a lord, and tasked them with unmasking him. He thought an English peasant would speak more openly with men of his own kind.’

  Lady Anne pretended surprise. ‘How strange. Whatever gave the priest such ideas?’

  The greybeard shook his head to say he didn’t know.

  She turned to Tench. ‘Was my cousin easily mistaken for a serf?’

  ‘Not at all, milady. I doubt I’ve ever seen so fine a noble. Father Aristide feigned the role of steward in order to question him on matters of heresy, but I heard nothing untoward in what My Lord said.’

  ‘Then why does the Father accuse him of imposture?’

  ‘We don’t know, milady, unless the allegation was made by the Frenchman who entered the town from the north some dozen days ago. He demanded to be taken to Master d’Amiens, claiming to be a messenger, but since none is allowed to approach My Lord’s house, we could only point out the direction he should take.’

  ‘Was he on horseback?’

  ‘No, milady, he came on foot. Had he not declared himself a messenger, we would not have taken him for one. He shrank from us, calling us filthy and unclean, and jumped at every shadow, believing they were rats.’

  The greybeard gave a grunt of contempt. ‘I’ve never seen such a pitiful creature. Mind, he must have had a good tale to tell, because the steward stationed guards on the bridge after speaking with him.’ He glanced towards the river. ‘It’s a pity he didn’t have the sense to do it months ago. More might have survived if the bridge had been closed when news of the pestilence first reached us.’

  Once again, Lady Anne saw disquiet in the faces of those around him, as if they feared his intemperate speech would reach d’Amiens’ ears. ‘Was the messenger of small stature with dark hair and thin features . . . aged some thirty years?’

  ‘He was, milady.’

  She gave silent thanks to God for her dreams. ‘Then all is explained,’ she said. ‘I know this man and he is not to be trusted. He uses deceit to win positions of favour, and I don’t doubt he hopes to do the same here.’ She glanced from one face to another in the group. ‘Good sirs, am I right to understand from Master Tench’s words that there is little communication between you and your lord’s household?’

  ‘You are, milady,’ called a man from the back. ‘The steward looks to the priest to keep the house cleansed of sin and has barred entry to the townsfolk for fear they’ll bring their wickedness with them.’

  Andrew Tench pointed to the church behind him, where several parchments were nailed to the door. ‘Guards come from time to time to post these writs, milady, but we see no one else.’

  ‘What sort of writs?’

  ‘Reminders of when our rents and taxes are due, milady. Most were able to pay last quarter day but, without commerce, none will have the wherewithal on the next. The town tax is the most onerous, for it remains unchanged despite there being fewer to pay it. We’ve tried to send warning of this to the steward but have had no reply. He reserves his care for My Lord’s servants.’

  Lady Anne doubted that. She thought it more likely d’Amiens’ care was for himself, since he had a better chance of saving his own skin if he kept the household free of the pestilence. She asked to see the most recent writ, and it was torn from the door and passed forward to Master Tench, who prepared to read the words aloud. She would have allowed him to do so had Olyver not seen benefit in earning the crowd’s respect. With a smile, he leant down and took the parchment from Tench’s hands, saying Lady Anne would prefer to read it for herself.

  She did so, and her expression when she’d finished was pensive. ‘Do you commonly pay taxes in grain and foodstuffs?’ she asked Tench. ‘It’s the practice on demesnes, but I would have thought coinage or silver a more normal currency in towns.’

  ‘We pay in any way we can, milady. Some were grateful that the guards were ordered to seize grain from the communal store in lieu of silver last quarter day.’

  ‘We think the steward uses it to feed the household,’ said the greybeard. ‘If so, he’s stealing from us. We keep the grain for selling not for eating.’

  ‘There’s no one to buy it,’ called the man at the back. ‘You know this, Master Slater. It’s months since merchants came from outside. Better we keep our silver than grain we can’t use.’

  The greybeard gave a grunt of impatience. ‘It’s time you took thought for the future, Miller. You’ll change your mind when your own stores run out. Not one of us will be greedy for silver when we’ve nothing to eat.’

  Andrew Tench nodded. ‘It’s these concerns we wish to raise with the steward, milady.’

  She placed the writ on her lap. ‘I will do my best on your behalf when I speak with him,’ she said, ‘though I fear he’ll pay as little heed to me as to you. Men who close their eyes to the troubles of others usually close their ears as firmly.’

  A wry expression crossed Tench’s face. ‘Do you accuse us of the same thing, milady?’

  ‘I do, sir. The town needs leadership but you waste your time squabbling.’

  The man at the back raised his voice again. ‘The last of our council died before Christmas. Since then we’ve been without elders because none can agree on who should take the authority.’

  Lady Anne smiled slightly. ‘Then I despair of you, Master Miller. Do you think Develish could have survived the pestilence if my people were as mean-spirited as the men of Blandeforde? It takes courage and generosity to keep a community alive. Are those qualities absent here?’

  ‘We ask only for a fair distribution of property,’ he answered irritably. ‘If you know of a way to achieve that, then tell us.’

  He reminded Lady Anne of Will Thurkell, who was always first to complain that his share of food was smaller than his neighbour’s. Yet the looks of approval on the faces of those around him whenever he spoke suggested he had a following. ‘Explain what you mean by fair, sir, and I will do my best to oblige you.’

  ‘Wealthy widows should go to poor men, impoverished widows to the rich. By such methods, all will be equal.’

  ‘And what do the widows say? Does the woman who’s worked hard to help grow her dead husband’s wealth agree that it should go to a man too lazy and profligate to accumulate anything?’

  Her words were greeted with a scowl. ‘Do you accuse me of laziness?’

  ‘I accuse you of nothing, sir, for I don’t know you.’ She paused. ‘I merely question your interpretation of fairness. Where’s the justice in bartering women and children like cattle so that envious men can feel the equal of their more successful neighbours?’

  Miller shrugged. ‘I can barely sustain myself. How do you expect me to feed more mouths on the little I have?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Lady Anne answered lightly. ‘If what you tell me is true, you’re in no position to welcome anyone into your house. My advice would be that only the men who can afford to be generous should put their names forward.’

  ‘Thereby enriching themselves further. How is that fair?’

  ‘You’re as free as any man here to do
the same, sir. In Develish even those with the least share what they have with others.’ She dropped her gaze to his midriff. ‘You have a handsome girth, so could it be you have more in your cupboards than you pretend?’ A ripple of amusement ran through the crowd and she shifted her gaze back to Tench and the greybeard. ‘Your idea of drawing lots is a good one, but I would urge you to ask the widows and orphans to make the pick. Since God will be guiding their hands, no one can begrudge the choices they make.’

  There was a short silence before the greybeard gave a throaty chuckle. ‘You have a fine way of solving problems, milady. Now tell us how to choose leaders. I warrant you’ll not find that as easy.’

  She laughed. ‘I warrant you’re right, Master Slater, since you all seem more intent on fighting than advancing the cause of your people.’

  ‘That’s the truth of it,’ he agreed. ‘Even so, there are some amongst us who would appreciate your thoughts. You’ve spoken more sense in a quarter-hour than I’ve heard in months. What would you advise?’

  She looked around the group, which had more than doubled in size since she and her companions had first halted. ‘Choose one man and task him with picking the rest. You will argue less over a single name than you do over several.’

  ‘Many will vie for such authority,’ called Miller.

  ‘Then be wise in whom you select. For myself, I would want the man who finds most fault in the steward and the priest, for it would give me confidence that his loyalty lies with the town and not the house.’

  ‘There’s only one who fits that description,’ he answered. ‘You’d choose Jeremiah Slater, never mind he loves to berate us for our failings.’

  Lady Anne nodded to Ian that it was time to leave. ‘I would, sir . . . and afterwards, were I Master Slater, I would choose you. You have a good mind and a loud voice and, if you’re willing to lay your grievances aside, you’ll make a fine leader. There are other ways for men to prove themselves than by swelling their coffers with widows’ gold.’