The Turn of Midnight

by Minette Walters

  There was a brief hesitation before the priest spoke again. ‘Why should he? Thurkell was alive.’

  ‘My cousin was alive, Father. Several serfs offered to lend him a name but he chose Thaddeus Thurkell when Eva begged him to take her firstborn’s. It pleased her, I think. She loves to picture her lost son as tall and fine as Athelstan.’

  ‘It makes no sense,’ the priest snapped. ‘Why would a noble pose as a serf? There’s no quicker way to incite rebellion than to give such people a sense of importance.’

  ‘Your husband wouldn’t have allowed it,’ said d’Amiens. ‘He had a great hatred of the peasant class.’

  Lady Anne smiled. ‘He had a hatred of many things, sir. Myself most of all.’

  D’Amiens had no doubt then that she had read the scrolls. She wouldn’t have admitted Sir Richard’s dislike of her had de Courtesmain not revealed it. ‘That doesn’t answer Father Aristide’s question, milady.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed, ‘but it may answer yours. Sir Richard would not have given my cousin entry had he known who he was. He cut me off from my family when we married so that he could do as he pleased with both me and my dowry.’

  ‘You had no rights in the marriage, milady. Few women do.’

  ‘Indeed. He often called me the lowest of his serfs. It’s fortunate I can read and write and that kinder stewards than de Courtesmain enabled me to send and receive letters in secret. My situation would have been unbearable otherwise.’

  The priest was shocked. ‘You abused your husband’s trust? The vows of matrimony bound you by sacred oath to honour and obey him.’

  Lady Anne nodded. ‘And I learnt sympathy for his serfs because of it, Father. Our plights were similar.’

  She found an unexpected ally in Mistress Wilde who gave an involuntary laugh. ‘Milady of Blandeforde says the same. We’re no different, you and I, except in the way we dress, she tells me. We both have to run when the master calls.’

  D’Amiens ignored her. ‘Do you wish us to understand that you invited your cousin to enter Develish as a peasant in order to deceive your husband, milady?’

  ‘Not so much to deceive as to be invisible,’ she answered mildly. ‘Had he been noticed by Sir Richard and forced to give a name, you could rightly accuse him of deception . . . but it never happened. Sir Richard had better recognition of his horses than his people.’

  ‘Develish is not so big that a stranger wouldn’t stand out, particularly one as distinctive as Athelstan. The steward and bailiff must have seen him. And why would the priest turn a blind eye to the imposture? He owed a duty to be honest with his lord just as you did.’

  Lady Anne nodded. ‘And so he would have been had Sir Richard asked him directly who the newcomer was. The bailiff also. I made no request of anyone in Develish to tell lies to Sir Richard, only to give a welcome to Athelstan while he was amongst us. None saw harm in it, for they all knew they wouldn’t be questioned. Sir Richard was absent from the demesne more often than he was in it, and Athelstan slept in our hospital which my husband never visited. The chances of them meeting were very small.’

  ‘What of the steward?’

  ‘He’d been dead three months. We were awaiting the arrival of de Courtesmain from Foxcote.’

  ‘Explain.’

  Lady Anne sighed. ‘I doubt you’ll understand the reasons if I do, sir, any more than you understand why Milady of Blandeforde likens herself to a servant.’

  ‘There’s no avoiding an explanation, milady. If Athelstan is who you say he is, then I’m willing to accept Sir Richard was never told falsehoods about him. But de Courtesmain certainly was. In both his written and spoken word, he affirms that my prisoner is a bastard serf called Thaddeus Thurkell who was born and raised in Develish. How so unless the whole demesne was in league to mislead him?’

  Lady Anne lifted Eleanor’s letter from her lap and placed it on the desk. ‘It was only my daughter who led him false, sir. He sought to ingratiate himself with her after Sir Richard died and she despised him for it. You may blame me and Athelstan for not correcting the misconception but, as God is my witness, de Courtesmain never once asked if the man he believed to be Thurkell was a serf. Had he done so, all Develish would have told him no.’

  Grudgingly, d’Amiens read the second letter. ‘Why should I believe this? Your daughter will always take your side.’

  Lady Anne wondered if he realised how much he was accepting with these words when de Courtesmain had dedicated an entire scroll to Eleanor’s hatred and denunciation of her mother. ‘I could as easily ask why you believe de Courtesmain, Master d’Amiens.’

  ‘I haven’t said I do, milady, but he accuses you and Thurkell of conspiring with others to win freedom for the serfs of Develish. Do you expect me, as Blandeforde’s proctor, to ignore such an allegation when every man, woman and child in Develish is as bound to My Lord through sacred oath as they were to his vassal Sir Richard?’

  She shook her head. ‘I would not, but nor would I expect you to act on such an allegation without first questioning the honesty of the man who makes it. Does his attack on Athelstan not tell you he has great dislike of my cousin and give you cause to wonder whether truth or bitterness drives him?’

  When d’Amiens made no response, Father Aristide stepped forward to place a hand on his arm. ‘It’s easily established, my son,’ he said. ‘Fetch de Courtesmain here and allow him to make his accusations to Milady. God will tell us which of the two is the perjurer.’

  Mistress Wilde wondered at Lady Anne’s calmness when the steward returned with de Courtesmain, freed of his shackles. For herself, she was alarmed to be in a small room with him, unchained and unguarded. She took comfort from the knowledge that his weapon had been removed by My Lord of Athelstan, but her comfort was short-lived when the priest untied a hessian roll on the desk to reveal a large bejewelled cross and silver-bound Bible. In the hands of a lunatic, either was heavy enough to crush a skull.

  In her mind, she was urging Milady to protest against the steward bringing so dangerous a man into her presence, but Lady Anne did the opposite. She greeted Master de Courtesmain with a gentle nod of welcome and asked how he fared. ‘It saddens me to see you here, sir. I had hoped you would find contentment in Bourne.’

  How strangely he looked at her, Mistress Wilde thought. Had she thought it possible, she would have said there was a yearning for Milady in his eyes. ‘Thurkell destroyed that chance, milady. He turned Bourne against me.’

  She shook her head. ‘It was he who gave you the chance. Bourne was unpersuaded of your abilities until Athelstan spoke in praise of you. We both had every expectation you would make a success of the post.’

  ‘You wanted rid of me, milady.’

  ‘Not I, sir. I would have preferred you to remain in Develish. We had need of your cleverness these last three months. Our numbers have swelled with starving serfs from Pedle Hinton, and there’s too little room for so many. It’s been hard to find places for them to sleep.’

  ‘Did you make use of the church, milady? I said many times that upwards of forty could sleep there in comfort.’

  She smiled. ‘I remembered, and Father Anselm has been most generous in allowing us the benefit of it. He takes particular care of an elder called Harold Talbot whose wits have become scattered through age. Harold addresses us all with titles from his last demesne. I am Milady of Pedle Hinton and Father Anselm is Father Jean. Were you still with us, you would have to answer to Master Marron, whom Harold assures me is quite the best steward in Dorseteshire.’

  D’Amiens saw all too well what she was doing: using smiles and honeyed tones to weaken de Courtesmain’s resolve. ‘Marron has been dead a decade,’ he said coldly. ‘He was gone even before I became steward here.’

  Lady Anne’s eyes lit with amusement. ‘Indeed. Poor Harold’s confusion is very great. He believes his daughter to be his wife, and the head of our kitchen, who chastises him regularly for taking more food than he should, to be his mother—never m
ind she’s fifteen years his junior. We answer to whatever he wants to call us for fear of upsetting him. A name is not so important that I cannot be Milady of Pedle Hinton when the need arises.’

  D’Amiens made an ironic bow. ‘Cleverly done, milady. Now tell us why it was necessary to keep Athelstan’s name and status from de Courtesmain.’

  Before she could answer, the priest advanced with the cross and the Bible. ‘Kneel and place your hands on these as you swear before Almighty God that you will speak only the truth. Know that both have been blessed by the Holy Father and are as infallible as he at discovering error. Do not imperil your soul by seeking to deceive us.’

  Lady Anne did as she was bid, bowing her head and saying the words aloud while begging God in her mind to forgive her. Had the cross and Bible been made from simpler, humbler materials, her conscience might have pricked her more, but she found it as hard to see Christ’s love in richly ornate jewels and silver as she did in Father Aristide’s thin, judgemental face. In any case, if it was indeed a mortal sin to give a fatherless child a name and family he could be proud of, her soul had been lost to her the day she inscribed Athelstan’s lineage.

  She placed herself on the stool again. ‘Master de Courtesmain came to Develish while Sir Richard was still alive,’ she said. ‘Had he been made aware of Athelstan’s status then, he would have informed my husband. His gratitude at being raised from bailiff in Foxcote to steward in Develish made him intensely loyal to his new master.’

  ‘As was his duty,’ said d’Amiens.

  ‘Indeed, and I had no wish to make his position more difficult by revealing a secret he didn’t need to know.’

  ‘How was it difficult?’

  ‘Sir Richard employed him for the single purpose of increasing the levy on Develish serfs in order to raise his personal share by another tenth. I believe Master de Courtesmain found that order troubling.’

  ‘He should. My Lord of Blandeforde has a great dislike of extortion.’ D’Amiens glanced at de Courtesmain. ‘Was that made known to you by Sir Richard?’

  Hugh ran his tongue across his lips. ‘It was not, sir.’

  D’Amiens eyed him for a moment and then instructed the priest to have him swear to the truth as Lady Anne had done. To Mistress Wilde, de Courtesmain’s oath sounded false and insincere, being delivered in the same self-righteous tone with which he’d condemned Athelstan’s heresy. Perhaps d’Amiens agreed, because he turned again to Lady Anne for answers.

  ‘What other reason might he have had for finding the order troubling?’

  Lady Anne’s soft gaze held Hugh’s for a moment. ‘Sir Richard’s sister wrote from Foxcote of Master de Courtesmain’s zealotry in whipping serfs who could not or would not pay upwards of three-quarters of what they grew. Since my husband was illiterate, I was obliged to read the letter to him and saw how eager he was to acquire such a person. It made me distrustful of Master de Courtesmain before he arrived, though I came to understand later that he had felt debased by the vile regime in Foxcote and had no wish to repeat it in Develish.’

  ‘Is this true, Master de Courtesmain?’

  Hugh closed his eyes as if in agony. ‘It grieved me greatly that Sir Richard thought I was willing to bring Foxcote’s cruelty to Develish. I tried to make him understand that one half of a bounteous demesne’s yield would always exceed three-quarters of one that struggled through death and hunger, but his knowledge of letters and numbers was so poor that such thinking was beyond him.’

  ‘Are you a heretic, sir?’

  ‘By no means,’ Hugh cried, his eyes rolling in terror.

  ‘Yet throughout your scrolls you accuse Milady and Thurkell of dissent for speaking ill of Sir Richard. How is it different when you do it?’

  ‘I sought only to explain why his orders troubled me. My loyalty to him was never in question. The same cannot be said of Milady and Thurkell, who refused him entry when he returned from Bradmayne.’

  ‘You were his steward. Why did you not override Milady’s order and grant him admittance?’

  ‘The serfs conspired against me. Had I tried, they would have prevented me.’

  ‘There was nothing to stop you crossing the moat and informing Sir Richard of his people’s insurrection. You wrote of Thurkell offering the raft to anyone who feared his master’s anger. Why did you not take advantage of that offer yourself if you were as loyal as you claim?’

  ‘Thurkell would have stopped me.’

  ‘Is that true, milady?’

  Lady Anne shook her head. ‘Master de Courtesmain was free to leave whenever he chose. I offered him the chance to return to Foxcote after Sir Richard’s death but he refused. He preferred to remain in Develish until My Lord of Bourne offered him the position of steward on his estates, which, being larger and wealthier, suited his ambitions better. I imagine he hopes to find a post here now that Bourne has let him go.’

  Time passed as d’Amiens stared at one then the other, assessing their credibility. Perhaps the little Frenchman’s obvious discomfort to be in Lady Anne’s presence tilted the balance, for he seemed suddenly to make up his mind.

  ‘You and Athelstan both spoke of a pledge, milady. If you give me the reasons for it, and I find them acceptable, I’ll be more inclined to believe you than de Courtesmain. He has only a page from a register and self-inscribed scrolls to support his story. You have a ledger—in some places written by him—testimony from your priest and daughter, and the clear loyalty of eight fighting men to support yours. Explain why you asked your cousin to live in Develish as a peasant so that I might better reach a judgement.’

  ‘The fighting men are her serfs,’ protested Hugh. ‘Their word cannot be trusted.’

  ‘But yours can, sir?’ Lady Anne asked. ‘That was never my experience while you were living in Develish.’ She turned to d’Amiens. ‘I’m within my rights to refuse your request and ask the men of the town to make the judgement. Athelstan has already agreed to accept their verdict.’

  ‘If that’s your choice, all Blandeforde will learn your business, milady.’

  She smiled. ‘They will anyway. Once shared, a secret becomes yet another piece of gossip.’ She pressed her fingers to her eyes for a moment and then dropped her hands to her lap. ‘My husband was incapable of managing Develish, Master d’Amiens. You may have guessed this from your visits, though I doubt you knew it was I and not the stewards who managed in his stead. Sir Richard was quite ignorant of my involvement. He believed it was his stewards who made the decisions.’

  ‘But they were yours?’

  She nodded. ‘For the most part, and always with the stewards’ agreement. Before de Courtesmain, they were English freemen who saw sense in helping serfs increase their yields through improved health and the teaching of better work practices, because it made their job of collecting the King’s taxes and the Church’s tithes easier.’ She paused. ‘Sir Richard was never content with his portion, even though it always surpassed his neighbours who’d been granted larger demesnes. He pestered every steward to increase his personal levy on his people. Each resisted for the reasons Master de Courtesmain gave you, but when I read Lady Beatrix’s letter, I feared he’d finally found a man who would not. It was for this reason I asked Athelstan to come to Develish.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Protect me from my husband when he learnt I was trying to help his serfs buy themselves out of bondage. To lose at dice was enough provocation for Sir Richard to strike me. To lose control of his people would have caused my death, I think.’

  D’Amiens eyed her thoughtfully. Perhaps he was recalling Sir Richard’s intemperate rage at the missing twenty nobles. ‘De Courtesmain accuses you of worse. He says your plan is to take your serfs out of Develish, leaving false evidence that all have died of the pestilence, so that they can live elsewhere and gain their liberty for nothing.’

  Lady Anne gave a small shrug. ‘If such a plan existed, I wouldn’t be here,’ she answered. ‘Where’s the sense in telling you t
hat all in Develish live if, in truth, I want you to believe us dead?’

  ‘Master de Courtesmain tells a chilling tale of you inciting your people to break their oaths of fealty and your daughter denouncing you as a heretic because of it. Is he lying?’

  She glanced at Hugh. ‘Would you have me make such cruel allegations against you, sir?’ she asked him. ‘You cannot deny you tried to gain entry to Lady Eleanor’s chamber when you knew her to be unchaperoned. By recollection, you told her I had lost my authority, that the serfs were in control of the demesne and only you could protect her from them. Your falsehoods caused her great distress, Master de Courtesmain.’

  ‘Well?’ d’Amiens demanded when de Courtesmain stayed silent.

  ‘She twists everything—just as Thurkell did in the church this morning.’ De Courtesmain’s hands writhed in front of his chest. ‘She was planning her serfs’ freedom long before the pestilence came. I read in the records that more than just Sir Richard’s grain was being sold to visiting merchants in the two years prior.’

  ‘How is that unlawful?’ Lady Anne asked. ‘Every serf has the right to buy his way out of bondage if he can save enough gold to satisfy his lord. They all knew it would take time, but each man made a judgement on how much he would need to feed his family and sold the surplus. Where’s the blame in that? No one was cheated.’

  De Courtesmain levelled a trembling finger at her. ‘You did it without Sir Richard’s knowledge.’

  She feigned a soft laugh. ‘I did everything without his knowledge, Master de Courtesmain. Had I not, he would have employed a man such as you a decade ago and, together, you would have brought Develish to her knees.’

  ‘You malign me, milady. I argued against the increased levy.’

  ‘Not after he threatened to dismiss you. Sir Richard was so inflamed everyone in the great hall heard the exchange between you. You had to raise your own voice to plead forgiveness and promise to implement faithfully every order he gave you in future.’