The Turn of Midnight

by Minette Walters

  D’Amiens rounded on him in fury. ‘In your case, that is yet to be demonstrated,’ he spat. ‘As for her, she can only ever be a supplicant in My Lord of Blandeforde’s house. Should he choose to grant her a new husband, she will gain status through the marriage, but until then she is subject to my governance as proctor in My Lord’s absence.’

  Thaddeus felt moved to agree with him, since he had no wish to embroil Lady Anne in his troubles. And yet . . . Just the knowledge of her presence had lightened his heart. ‘Perhaps you aren’t as knowledgeable as you think you are,’ he said mildly. ‘Milady draws her status from her father and not her dead husband.’ He switched his gaze to the captain. ‘What reason does she give for refusing the steward’s terms?’

  The man turned to him in relief. ‘She requests that Master d’Amiens present himself in person to prove he’s alive, sire. He so rarely leaves the house that the men of the town are persuaded he’s dead.’

  ‘They lie for their own reasons,’ said d’Amiens coldly.

  Thaddeus doubted that. He thought it more likely the falsehood was Lady Anne’s. ‘Why do you object to the request?’ he asked. ‘You demand a great deal of the lady to expect her to enter an armed compound without knowing what awaits her.’

  ‘She’s bold enough. The captain tells me she rides on horseback with upwards of fifty men around her . . . and not a chaperone in sight.’ A faint smile touched d’Amiens’ lips. ‘Master de Courtesmain’s accusations of harlotry become more credible.’

  Thaddeus eased himself back in the chair and placed his feet on the bench that ran lengthways down the table. ‘You’ll live to regret those words,’ he murmured, closing his eyes. ‘If the men of Blandeforde don’t make you pay for your ill-considered judgements, be sure I will.’

  There was an audible gasp of surprise—and not a little fear—as the gates swung open to reveal the captain and Master d’Amiens standing some twenty paces back. A dozen guards with drawn bows were ranged at their sides.

  Ian and Olyver made to raise their own bows, but Lady Anne stretched out her hands to prevent them. ‘I cannot believe Norman soldiers are any more desirous of shedding English blood than we theirs,’ she said in French, praying most earnestly that she hadn’t misread the captain’s sympathy. ‘God would not have allowed us to survive the pestilence if He intended us to kill each other.’ She dipped her head to d’Amiens. ‘I’m pleased to see you looking so well, sir, but saddened that you feel the need to threaten us. We come in peace, not enmity.’

  ‘You bring too many men with you for me to believe that, milady.’

  This time she answered in English. ‘But most are your people, Master d’Amiens. What reason do you have to fear them? None is armed. They seek only to explain their difficulties to you.’

  He responded in the same language. ‘We live in perilous times, milady, and from what I’ve learnt of Develish, you know this better than I. I’m told you defend your demesne with even more fierceness than I defend My Lord’s.’

  ‘But never against those I’m pledged to protect, Master d’Amiens,’ she said in French. ‘The vows of allegiance that bind me to my people are as sacred as those that bind them to me. Would My Lord of Blandeforde say differently? He’s a person of great nobility and honour, so I can’t believe he would ever ask his captain to order the murder of defenceless men.’

  Her words unsettled the guards, and a brief irritation glimmered in d’Amiens’ eyes as he instructed them to lower their weapons. He wished he’d paid more heed to Thurkell’s assessment of this woman. Dressed in finery, and at the head of a crowd, she bore little resemblance to the timid wife he’d glimpsed on occasion in Develish. ‘My Lord would say you attempt to embellish your importance with such statements, milady. You take unwarranted authority to yourself when you claim oaths that were given and received by your husband as your own.’

  She smiled and reverted back to English. ‘Do you not believe in honouring your lord’s pledges, sir?’

  ‘We are talking about you, milady.’

  ‘Yet our positions are similar, are they not? Through the death or absence of our lords, we have both had responsibility thrust upon us. With God’s help, I can say I am comfortable with the choices I’ve made. Is the same true of you?’

  D’Amiens felt forced to answer in the same language, since she was so clearly talking to the men behind her. ‘It wasn’t God who instructed you to bar your husband from his demesne and seize power from his lawful steward, milady,’ he snapped. ‘Such actions are treasonable. My Lord of Blandeforde would have dealt with you harshly had de Courtesmain brought the news sooner.’

  Lady Anne was relieved to have the steward confirm that de Courtesmain was the informer, though it would help her even more to know he’d come for himself and not for Bourne. ‘He was free to do so at any time, but he had a greater fear of the pestilence than he did of me,’ she said mildly. ‘Treasonable or not, he preferred my protection to the danger of riding the roads. What gives him the courage to brave them now?’

  D’Amiens shook his head as if to say he didn’t know.

  ‘The last I heard he was steward to Bourne.’

  ‘You heard right, milady.’

  ‘Yet these men—’ she gestured behind her—‘tell me he entered the town on foot. How so? Was Bourne not gracious enough to give him a horse?’

  ‘It would seem not.’ D’Amiens shook his head at the flicker of interest in her eyes. ‘If you hope to make something out of it, you’ll be disappointed, milady. De Courtesmain’s disagreements with Bourne are small compared with the faults he finds in you and the man you call “cousin”.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. His grudges grow larger the longer he’s away from the source. In Develish his complaints were against Foxcote. In a week or two, his enemy will be Bourne. I have it in my heart to feel sorry for him. He finds it easier to blame his failings on others than on himself.’

  ‘You’ll not be so sympathetic when you see his evidence, milady. He has a page from the Develish register to demonstrate that what he says is true.’

  She answered with a low laugh. ‘Only one, Master d’Amiens? How selective he is in the lies he wishes to promote. I trust you’ll allow me to question him on them.’

  ‘As long as you accept my terms. Weapons and horses must be left outside the gate, and only you and your men may enter. I will not tolerate a foolish attempt at rescue if de Courtesmain’s accusations are proven.’

  ‘And who will decide that? You?’

  ‘I stand for My Lord of Blandeforde in his absence.’

  ‘In your own mind, perhaps, but not in mine. God demands that a lord deals fairly with all men, not just those they favour.’ She lifted the parchment from her lap. ‘This is the writ you ordered posted on the church door before last quarter day. Do you recall how it begins? Let me remind you. Notwithstanding loss of life, the town will remit the same amount in tax as heretofore. The penalty for failure will be harsh. You go on to list the weight of corn you demand in place of silver.’ She raised her head. ‘How do you record such payments, sir? As grain or coin?’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t understand you, milady.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, Master d’Amiens. Blandeforde is a King’s treasurer. If the sovereign’s share of the town’s tax is recorded as grain, you will have a granary within the compound to store it. Does such a building exist?’

  D’Amiens made no response, but Lady Anne saw the captain give a small shake of his head.

  ‘Then you will have recorded the share in coin after using My Lord’s private funds to purchase the grain for the household. I know of no law which forbids such a transaction, but the exchange must be documented so that all, including the King, are persuaded a fair price has been paid and the town’s tax faithfully accounted. Will you send for the coffer that holds those monies and the ledger that shows how they were transferred? If all is as it should be, I will have confidence that you are capable of judging fairly between an English noble and a
Norman steward.’

  Ian thought how clever Lady Anne was to avoid vague accusations of dishonesty in favour of a detail that could be demonstrated. He watched conflicting emotions cross d’Amiens’ face. Uncertainty. Disbelief. Calculation. The steward seemed to be struggling with the idea that a woman might be his equal in intelligence, and foolishly decided that she couldn’t be. He shook his head impatiently. ‘You waste my time with this nonsense. Do you think keeping track of My Lord’s revenues is as easy as counting kirtles?’

  ‘For your sake, I hope not, Master d’Amiens. Your pride will suffer badly if you lose your place to a chambermaid.’

  A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, and d’Amiens turned angrily to the captain, ordering him to ready his guard.

  With a grunt of displeasure, Master Slater pushed himself through the gap between Ian’s and Joshua’s horses. ‘Do you hold the freemen of Blandeforde in the same contempt as you hold Lady Anne of Develish?’ he demanded. ‘Our skill with accounting is easily the match of yours, for we trade daily and keep clear records of all we take. You inspected our ledgers often enough before the pestilence, now let us inspect yours, sir. Milady’s not alone in questioning your honesty.’

  Ian always wondered afterwards what would have happened if the captain had given different orders when the crowd, encouraged by Miller, flowed around the horses to align themselves with Slater. It may have been fear of being overrun that persuaded him to instruct his men to stand aside and allow the column through, but the small nod of respect he gave Lady Anne seemed to tell a different story.

  The sound of horses’ hooves crunching on gravel, and the murmur of many voices, reached the men in the great hall. The priest, newly arrived with de Courtesmain, showed alarm, while the guards merely looked towards the doors with curiosity. It didn’t seem to occur to them that a crowd might represent a threat, but it certainly did to Aristide. He rose to his feet from his position at the other end of the table from Thaddeus, and moved hastily up the room, de Courtesmain scurrying behind him. Thaddeus took satisfaction from the fear in their faces.

  He studied Aristide with amusement. ‘Who frightens you more?’ he asked as the man drew close. ‘The gentle lady loved by God or the unarmed townsfolk who accompany her?’

  ‘None is cleansed. They carry the seeds of the pestilence within them.’

  With a lazy smile, Thaddeus pushed himself from the chair and stepped out to confront him. ‘Then why am I here? You know full well that my sins haven’t been cleansed. I’d cut out my tongue before I’d confess to a priest such as you.’

  ‘Get out of my way!’

  Thaddeus took his chain in his hands and jerked it tight. ‘I will not. You owe your lord’s steward and his fighting men a better loyalty than to run at the first sign of trouble. They want to believe that God is on their side, not hiding away with a cringing liar for company.’

  Aristide turned to the guards. ‘This man is in your charge. Remove him from my path.’

  But none responded. Perhaps they feared an elbow in their throats or, more simply, saw that obedience was unnecessary. Even as the priest spoke, their captain appeared in the open doorway and called for Father Aristide to join the steward on the forecourt. ‘Master d’Amiens asks that you hold a Mass in the open air for the men of the town, Father. There are many who long to hear God’s word and feel His presence amongst them again.’

  Thaddeus lowered his hands. ‘He’s cleverer than I thought,’ he said with a laugh. ‘There’s no safer way to soothe unsettled minds than through prayer. Be sure to preach love, Father. The steward won’t have reason to thank you otherwise.’

  Seventeen

  AS HE LISTENED TO THE priest recite his well-rehearsed homily, Thaddeus thought of the adage A person’s nature never changes. A deceiver remains a deceiver; a generous heart remains generous. Even had Aristide wanted to preach God’s love, he couldn’t have done it, because instilling fear was the only way he knew to maintain his authority. Wrath and hellfire would always slip more easily off his tongue than forgiveness and redemption.

  Too frightened to venture far onto the forecourt, he intoned his prayers and exhortations from inside the arched entranceway, and the vaulted ceiling caused his voice to echo back into the great hall. De Courtesmain sat with bent head and praying hands to Thaddeus’s left, the guards to his right. All copied de Courtesmain’s stance of piety, and Thaddeus watched their faces as they listened to words and phrases they must have heard a hundred times before. Wickedness had brought the pestilence to Blandeforde. Judgement Day was upon them. Absolution was the only salvation.

  The young soldier whose sword he’d broken on Saturday night was closest to him, and he fancied the youth seemed more reluctant than his fellows to pretend devotion. Was he too sensible to believe in Little Sparrow’s wickedness? And what of de Courtesmain? Where was his sense? Had his time in Develish taught him so little that he was happier to believe absolution more effective in keeping the household free of the pestilence than the killing of rats and the barring of gates?

  To his left, he saw movement in the shadows around the archway to the kitchen and guessed servants were creeping from their work to listen. He wondered how many more were gathered about windows, and whether fathers, uncles, brothers and cousins were recognised amongst the crowd on the forecourt. If so, were any persuaded by the priest’s strident condemnation of thievery and fornication as the twin devils that blighted the town? Did they truly think their men so lost to honesty and decency that they would indulge in such pursuits while the pestilence raged around them?

  Perhaps. Oft-repeated doctrines burrowed all too easily into minds when other ideas were suppressed. Thaddeus found himself hoping a challenge would come from the men in the crowd—surely some must resent the slurs—but, if any tried, their voices were lost amongst the chanted responses, and he feared they were as easily swayed as the servants. Each man might know himself to be guiltless but, since he couldn’t speak for others, Aristide would succeed in sowing the same doubts and suspicions through the town as he had in the house.

  The young soldier leant towards him. ‘Why do you shake your head?’ he whispered. ‘Do you doubt the truth of what the Father says?’

  Thaddeus searched his face. ‘His certainty surprises me. I wasn’t aware he’d ever taken confession in the town.’

  ‘He hasn’t.’

  ‘Yet he seems to know their sins. I wonder how.’

  ‘He must have heard them from the Blandeforde priests before they died.’

  Thaddeus smiled slightly. ‘By committing a sin himself? It’s a grave transgression to break the seal of the confessional. He would have expected to die as they did.’

  The young man eyed him curiously. ‘But there must be a reason why so many in the town have perished.’

  ‘Indeed. And why, by contrast, so many in the household survive. It’s a great puzzle.’

  ‘Do you have the answer to it?’

  Thaddeus turned to look at de Courtesmain. He was too tense to be at prayer. Every sinew in his body was straining to hear their whispered conversation. Thaddeus spoke louder. ‘Ask this man. He knows the truth as well as anyone. Am I not right, Master de Courtesmain?’

  A tremor of violent emotion ran through the Frenchman’s body. ‘Are you so lost to God that you think it right to disturb a man during Mass?’

  Thaddeus smiled. ‘My apologies. You were so insistent on staying inside that I thought you felt a show of devotion unnecessary. Is it Lady Anne you’re trying to avoid? Perhaps you fear her censure? If so, your worries are groundless. She has never judged you unfairly.’

  ‘You lie,’ Hugh snapped. ‘She judged me even before I arrived in Develish. No one who came from Foxcote would ever be acceptable to her.’

  Thaddeus saw that the other guards were listening. ‘Not true. She was unhappy to read what Lady Beatrix wrote about your zealotry in flogging serfs, but she made no other judgement. It was your sly manner and many deceits once you
were in Develish that caused her to distrust you. You made the error of thinking all women as vicious and scheming as Lady Beatrix and failed to recognise that Milady is different.’

  It seemed prayer was less enticing than self-justification, for Hugh dropped his hands to the table. ‘She pretended timidity and dressed in homespun. How could a stranger to Develish know it was she and not her husband who ran the demesne?’

  ‘Would you have behaved differently if you’d been told? Did you think it possible that a woman might be your equal in intelligence?’

  ‘She goes against God’s natural order by what she does. All should know their place.’

  A smile creased Thaddeus’s eyes. ‘Do you know yours, sir? You switch loyalties so fast it’s hard to keep up with you. Last June you were pledged to Sir Richard, in July to Lady Anne and by January to My Lord of Bourne. Should I assume now that you’re sworn to Blandeforde? What price has Master d’Amiens demanded in return? Does your allegiance come cheaper each time you bend your neck to a new master?’

  Hugh clenched his fists. ‘Blame yourself for your imposture before you blame me for exposing it. I speak only the truth.’

  ‘My friend here will be glad to hear it,’ Thaddeus murmured, gesturing to the guard. ‘He asks why so many have died in the town and so few in the house. Will you give him the answer?’

  Such an anger consumed Hugh that he could barely control himself. ‘The priest is right to call you the Devil,’ he spat. ‘I’ll not speak your heresies. They corrupt all who hear them.’

  He seemed unaware that their audience was growing. Figures were emerging from the shadows behind him as servants crept forward to hear their words above the priest’s intoning of the Credo. Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus et sepultus est, et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas, et ascendit in caelum, sedet ad dexteram Patris.