by Jenny Kane
Cursing the fact she had to keep stopping and starting her story because of work, Grace became increasingly worried that her novel would read as disjointedly as it has been written.
Catching sight of the time, she reluctantly turned off the computer with a sigh. If she was going to see Malcolm, she’d have to go now. She really didn’t want to offend Agatha.
Chapter Twenty-five
Grace had already counted every vertebrae of the skeleton of the Rutland Dinosaur, a Cetiosaurus, which majestically lorded it over the other residents of the New Walk Museum’s dinosaur gallery. She’d observed the woman behind the cafe counter serve thirteen other coffees and four teas since they’d sat down an hour ago, along with three slices of carrot cake and two packets of assorted biscuits. While Grace had witnessed all of this, she had also been nodding and smiling in all the right places, as Malcolm regaled her of tales of sporting triumphs and his marketing coups at work.
It wasn’t that he was boring, and with his stylish short blond hair and his classically fit physique, he was certainly an enjoyable eyeful, it was just that every sentence began with, ‘I did this’ or ‘I did that’ or ‘You’d never guess what I did?’ Grace idly wondered if he would notice if she got up and another person sat in her seat instead.
Malcolm was also making very sure that she understood that he was a good ten years younger than she was. As Grace listened with only one ear to a blow-by-blow account of how his latest rugby match had ended in him successfully tackling someone twice his size, she vowed that if she heard one more ‘cougar’ joke, then her phone was going to bring her an emergency she had to go and address straight away.
Aggie’s stepson had already been sat in the cafe when Grace arrived at the museum, two minutes late due to having to change out of her wedding shoes and into her more practical flatties, so she wasn’t sure how tall Malcolm was. Grace was prepared to put money on him being taller than she was. About six foot, maybe six two? As she laughed at a joke that wasn’t remotely funny, Grace began to wonder if perhaps Malcolm’s physique might be a good one to model the character of one of the Folville brothers around …
‘Grace? Do you?’ Malcolm was looking at her as if perhaps she wasn’t quite as intelligent as his stepmother had led him to believe.
‘I’m sorry Malcolm, I missed that. Do I?’
‘Want another cup of tea?’
Grace sensing her chance to escape, and eager to get back to Mathilda, she stared at her watch and sighed dramatically, ‘I’m so sorry, I hadn’t realised the time. I ought to get back to work.’
‘Work? But it’s nearly six o’clock? Surely you finish at five?’
Grace couldn’t help but snort. ‘We don’t really ever finish work, we keep going until starvation drives us from the office; and I really do need to get back to my marking and editing. Thanks for a lovely tea break, though.’
The concept of working outside of regulated office hours seemed to leave Malcolm temporarily flummoxed, but he had the good manners to escort Grace to the door of the museum. As they walked, with Malcolm cradling her elbow, Grace wasn’t immune to noticing the admiring glances they got as a couple. Malcolm was getting looks of unsubtle and unadulterated lust from the women, while she found herself on the receiving end of glares of the ‘you lucky cow’ nature from the same quarter.
Unsure if she was flattered or offended by the ‘how did she pull someone as good-looking as him’ implication as Malcolm kissed her cheek by way of a goodbye, that when he asked Grace out to dinner the following Wednesday, she found herself saying yes, just to show the gawping onlookers that she wasn’t batting out of her range. It was only when she was walking back to the university on her own that Grace realised that she’d just agreed to go on a date with a man she didn’t like very much.
Daisy was furious, ‘For goodness’ sake, Grace, you’re with Rob now. And I mean – Malcolm! He sounds like a homicidal king from a Shakespeare play.’
Feeling the guilt that she’d been ignoring simmer under the surface of her skin, Grace explained how Agatha had backed her into the situation, and that, as she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about Rob in case it jinxed things, she’d gone along with it.
Calmer, Daisy said, ‘I get that, but why on earth did you agree to go on a dinner date with him? I mean, you did your duty, you haven’t offended Agatha. You have a date at your place with Rob tomorrow night!’
‘I know. I didn’t mean to.’ Grace sighed, ‘Malcolm’s a nice bloke and everything, but he was a bit dull. Did you know there were almost two hundred bones in a complete Cetiosaurus skeleton?’
Daisy shook her head in exasperation, ‘Are you seriously telling me that you are jeopardising the chance of a proper relationship with Rob, a man with whom you have a heap of stuff in common, and who makes you laugh, for a guy who is so dull that you ended up counting random dinosaur bones to pass the time?’
Feeling defensive as well as guilty now, Grace said, ‘It’s not like I’m cheating on Rob, is it? I mean, he hasn’t actually told me how we stand, or asked me out properly or anything, and anyway, I was thinking of you.’
‘Me?’ Daisy was completely nonplussed as she listened in bewilderment. ‘You should have seen the looks Malcolm got from the women sat nearby. He may be a bit self-centred, but he is extremely easy on the eye.’
‘Grace, what the hell are you talking about? And what about the looks you got from the men? I bet there were loads.’
‘Not that I noticed.’
‘Were you looking?’
‘Well, no. But think about it, Daisy. Malcolm would look great in your wedding photos. Should I ask him to come with me? I must admit, I’m a bit nervous about coming on my own.’
‘What on earth are you talking about now?’ Daisy clattered down the cup she’d been drinking from, and spoke very clearly down the line. ‘It’s my wedding, you’re my best friend Grace, and I want you to be there with someone you actually like. And you don’t like Malcolm, do you?’
‘He’s all right.’
‘Grace?’
‘OK, he’s a self-obsessed ego manic – but he is a very handsome one. Your photos would be …’
‘I don’t care if he’s a dead ringer for Ryan Reynolds! I don’t want to look back at my wedding album in ten years’ time to remember the only day you ever got to be gorgeous in Lincoln Green with the wrong man stood next to you. Why isn’t Rob coming with you?’
‘I haven’t asked him,’ Grace knew she as being ridiculous, and that it was all due to feeling guilty for having coffee with Malcolm, and not being sensible enough to back out of the dinner date the second it had been made. ‘But like I said, I don’t really know where Rob and I stand.’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Grace! You aren’t half thick for a clever person.’ Slipping her new heels back onto her feet, Grace sat at her office desk, pleased the shoes didn’t feel quite as alien as they had when she’d first put them on.
She’d already poked her head around the administrators’ office door to ask Aggie for Malcolm’s phone number so she could cry off their non-date, but the secretary had gone home. Cursing herself for always trying to please all of the people all of the time, and usually messing everything up in the process, Grace looked up at the reassuring presence of her Robin Hood paraphernalia all over the walls and bookshelves. Why was she bothering with this dating lark? She already had someone who’d never cheat on her, would always be there at the touch of her DVD player, and could therefore never let her down.
Trying to drown out the contradictory voice at the back of her head, which was sternly telling her that mythical men wouldn’t ever keep her warm at night, and a feeling of a resignation that her desire not to offend Aggie might have already messed up any chance she’d had with Rob, Grace decided to lose herself in fourteenth-century England. After all, no one could hurt her there.
Mathilda’s heart was racing as she thought over everything Sarah had told her before she’d relocked the cell door and rushe
d back to her kitchen duties. If she’d believed herself to be in a dangerous situation before, that was nothing compared to the position Mathilda found herself in now.
The information the leatherworker’s lad had imparted to the Folville’s stable boy was sparse.
Master Hugo of Derby had been found stabbed in the wooded ditch that ran to the north side of Twyford, only a short distance from the workshop that belonged to Mathilda’s father, just as the bells for the call to Vespers had rung across the countryside.
Sarah had kept talking, but there had been no need for her to spell out the situation. Mathilda’s head was already buzzing with the implications, not to mention the conclusions the sheriff and his bailiff would jump to.
Hugo was a known associate of the Folvilles. Her father, Bertred, not only owed the Folvilles money, but owned the workshop nearest to the place where the body was discovered. On top of that, both she and her brother Oswin of Twyford had not been seen around the family home for a few days, instantly making them suspects.
To make things even worse, someone had left a dagger in her prison. A dagger that Mathilda now had no doubt had been placed there to implicate her.
She wondered what Sarah had done with the weapon she’d hurriedly removed from the cell, and what she’d say if questioned by the authorities. Sarah had promised Mathilda that she would not mention she’d been let out of her prison to help with making the beds; but Mathilda knew well that if a heavy handed method of inquisition was used against the housekeeper, she might not be able to keep that promise, however genuine it had been at the time.
It seemed odd to recall how hostile Sarah had been to her on arrival in the Folville home only days ago. Forcing herself to drink the broth that Sarah had bought her, Mathilda took comfort from the one piece of welcome news Sarah had also given her alongside all the extra worry.
As soon as word of the murder had reached her ears, Sarah had experienced similar fears to Mathilda’s, and had sent her kitchen hand Allward to creep carefully up to Mathilda’s Twyford home in order to check on the wellbeing of her father and Matthew.
Yet, although relieved that she’d soon have word of her kin, Mathilda was concerned for the boy. If Allward was spotted spying around Twyford, without being able to give a good reason for being there … she reined in her imagination. There was no point in stewing over things she couldn’t control. Wrapping her arms around her crouched legs, Mathilda wished that Robert would hurry up and come home so she could talk to him.
For the first time since she’d got to Folville manor, Mathilda was grateful to be locked in a cell so that there was no way she could be believed to be the killer … although someone obviously wanted her to be accused … otherwise why put the dagger there?
Mathilda heard the shouting even through the thick wooden door of her captivity. There were at least two male voices, and the pleading, placating tones of a woman, who Mathilda was sure was Sarah. Frustrated at not being able to pick out what was actually being said, Mathilda could tell that slowly the tones had changed from outrage, to the lower pitch of someone doing their best to keep their feelings under control.
After another ten minutes of waiting, the door to her prison swung open. Eustace had a preventative hand on Robert’s chest as he attempted to push past into the cell.
‘Mathilda, I would like you to follow me, please.’ Eustace gave his younger brother a warning glare, which clearly declared that although he’d dropped his hand, he could move it back at any time, possibly with his sword in it.
Following the small group meekly, Mathilda found herself back in the main hall, standing next to Sarah, and facing Eustace, Robert, and to Mathilda’s dismay, a smug Richard, rector of Teigh, who managed to look as un-priestlike as ever. If he hadn’t been there Mathilda would have spoken unguardedly, however his presence made her wary. He seemed far too pleased by recent events.
‘First,’ Eustace paid no heed to either of his siblings and addressed the women, ‘Allward has returned safely from Twyford.’
Mathilda failed to contain her sigh of relief.
‘I see you are pleased, young woman.’
‘My Lord, I would have hated anything to happen to the boy.’ ‘Indeed.’ Eustace glanced at Sarah, ‘you told the girl of Allward’s mission?’
The housekeeper bowed in respect, ‘When I took her some broth, my Lord. The girl was troubled about her family, and I saw no harm. I apologise if I did wrong.’
Eustace didn’t respond to this, addressing Mathilda instead, ‘Your father and elder brother are well, although the sheriff’s men may well be sniffing around them by the morning. A natural development, as the body of Master Hugo was found so close to your family home and workshop.’ He shot another unreadable expression toward Sarah, ‘Our housekeeper has told you of the grisly finding around Vespers.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’ Mathilda added, ‘Thank you for letting me know my family are safe.’
‘Safe for now, Mathilda. You know as well as I do that unless something is done the sheriff will want a criminal to go with the crime. I hope he doesn’t decide to pick one based on convenience rather than guilt.’
Mathilda opened her mouth to protest at how unfair that would be, but closed it again quickly. Such statements were pointless folly.
‘Richard and I are going to prepare for our meeting with the Coterels. This matter I am leaving to Robert. Making sure the right man is accused is after all his passion, thanks to his love of stories. I trust his Robyn Hode will bring you comfort and suggest a few solutions. That is, of course,’ Eustace gave his brother a stare, ‘if his common sense has kicked in and he has stopped blaming you.’
Mathilda blanched, forcing herself to keep her eyes on Eustace and not swing around to face Robert. ‘Me, my Lord. But I’ve been in your cell for hours?’
‘True. But the rector tells me when he checked on you while you slept, there was a dagger by your feet, and yet when we collected you just now there wasn’t. Can you explain that, Mathilda?’
Dread gripped Mathilda. All she could do was repeat herself. ‘I have no dagger, my Lord, and I’ve been a prisoner since long before the hour of Vespers.’
‘And yet, Mathilda, why would a man of the church lie to his brother?’
Eustace and a smirking Richard looked at Robert, who in turn, stared at Mathilda with a face as creased with grief and resentment.
The rector gestured a lazy arm towards Sarah. ‘Get that woman to search the waif. The dagger was there, and so if it wasn’t on the cell floor, it must be about her person.’
Mathilda stiffened, ‘My Lord, I really don’t have …’
Eustace raised a hand to silence her, ‘Sarah, if you would please do as my brother requests?’
Tight-lipped, Sarah inclined her head in agreement and went to steer Mathilda towards the curtained bedded area.
‘No.’ The rector’s words were already edged with triumph, ‘here, before all of us. I do not trust our housekeeper as much as you do, dear brother.’
‘But, sir,’ Sarah appealed directly to Eustace, ‘I cannot strip the girl before you all.’
The rector however, was adamant. ‘I insist. My word has been doubted by a servant. You will do as you’re told.’
An imperceptible affirmation toward Sarah from Eustace, and Mathilda found herself turned so that she was facing away from the men sat around the table, and her shawl, surcoat, belt, and dress were removed, so that once again she found herself before Robert in only her chemise and undergarments.
As Sarah ran her palms up and down Mathilda’s arms making it clear to the onlookers that nothing was hidden beneath, Richard positively bristled with rage. ‘She must have it. Take her shift off!’
‘My Lord, I must protest!’ Sarah’s disapproval was joined by the previously silent Robert.
‘Brother, that is hardly a seemly request for a man of the cloth. I think it is more than clear that there is nowhere on Mathilda’s person where a dagger could be secreted. You must hav
e been mistaken.’
‘I was not mistaken!’ The rector’s face burned red in vehemence. ‘You are all in this together!’ The churchman stormed from the room, his fists clenched, blaspheming in a way that would make a whore blush.
Chapter Twenty-six
‘I’ve tried to call Agatha to cry off the dinner date with Malcolm, but she isn’t answering her phone.’
As she listened, Daisy crossed ‘check hay store supply’ off her lengthy ‘Things to do before the wedding list’, before speaking into the phone tucked under her chin. ‘Well, at least you have the sense to know you need to cancel it. Honestly, Grace, I was beginning to think you’d taken leave of your senses.’
‘All right, I know.’ Grace ticked three boxes on the student development form in front of her. ‘I was trying not to offend and it all went wrong.’
‘More importantly, are you ready for tonight’s date with Rob? I take it you have dived into M&S and swept the contents of the latest £10 meal deal off the shelves?’
‘Of course I have. Who wouldn’t?’
‘Quite! Are you nervous?’
‘I am a bit.’ Grace glanced up from her desk, and scanned her unnaturally tidy living room. Despite her determination that Rob should take her as she was, a fear that the extent of her usual untidiness would be a little too much in one go had forced her to tidy up just a little bit more. She’d decided it was kinder to inflict the extent of her chaotic muddled-ness up on him in small doses.
‘And you are wearing?’
‘Clean blue jeans, black vest, and semi-open black shirt. Any good?’
‘Sounds spot on.’ Daisy smiled as she added, ‘check no guinea pigs due to give birth over honeymoon’ to her list.
‘How about you Daze, no more last-minute nerves or anything?’
‘Not really last minute yet. There’s two weeks to go. I have far too much left to sort before August 8th to consider this being last minute. Did you get my email?’