[Stephen Attebrook 10] - The Corpse at Windsor Bridge

by Jason Vail

  “Sir Stephen is not here for any business you have put upon him, your grace,” Ida said. “He is here on my behalf.”

  “And you are?” Edward asked, puzzled and impatient at this interruption.

  “I am Ida Attebrook of Hafton Manor, your grace,” she said. “Until a short time ago, I was FitzAllan’s prisoner.”

  “His prisoner?” Edward said. He turned to FitzAllan, who was only a step away. “Isn’t this the ward you spoke about? The one who disappeared?”

  “She is, your grace,” FitzAllan said with a predatory smile.

  “I am no man’s ward, your grace,” Ida said. “And I have come to demand that Gilbert Wistwode will not be harmed on my account.”

  Edward smiled faintly. “How are you not a ward?”

  “Because Sir Stephen carried me off to London where we were made man and wife.”

  Chapter 15

  Edward put a finger to his mouth. “If what the lady says is true, you were quite the busy man in London, Attebrook — arrested, breaking gaol, and somehow finding the time to wed. Quite a lot of work in such a short time.” He leaned forward and added with menace, “So, is it true? Did you wed her?”

  If Stephen thought back at the Golden Swan that the world was spinning apart, that distress was nothing to what he felt now. Yet he knew he could not show how he felt. He glanced at Ida, who stood with her head high, narrow nostrils flared, lips a thin line, the picture of defiance. Whatever Stephen said, he would be damned. Say one thing and Ida was lost. Say another, and he played the prince false, for which he would never be forgiven if found out. The question welling in his mind was, which damnation would he choose?

  “It is true, your grace,” Stephen said. “I married her.”

  “This is preposterous!” FitzAllan cried. “The girl is his niece!”

  “Not niece of the blood,” Ida said. “I am my father’s step-daughter. I share no blood with my husband!”

  “I cannot believe this!” FitzAllan thundered. “It is a lie!”

  “Have me examined,” Ida snapped. “I am not a virgin.”

  “I will have the proof,” FitzAllan declared. “Summon the wise women to have a look at her.”

  “Bring them on,” Ida said. “You will be disappointed.”

  “It is still a marriage forbidden by the church,” FitzAllan said.

  “Then let the church unravel it,” Ida said. “That will take years.”

  Edward regarded Stephen and Ida. His expression was unfriendly, and so was his tone when he spoke. “I am inclined to think that you have married her, Attebrook. One might think it solves the problem of who holds the right to that manor without the crown’s determination. And it would appear to moot the question of whether she is a royal ward. Bold move.”

  “Damn your bones, Attebrook!” FitzAllan shouted. He slammed his hand on the tabletop, causing everyone but Stephen and Edward to jerk with surprise. “I will see you ruined! I will see you dead!”

  “And yet you have failed so far,” Stephen said. “Despite numerous attempts.”

  “We’ll have no threats made around this table,” Edward said. “We have a war to fight, gentlemen, and I will not stand for my supporters, whether they are high or low, going at each other’s throats. Look to the throats of our enemies if you want blood.” He turned aside and drew FitzAllan away. “I will find a way to compensate you for your loss,” Stephen heard the prince murmur to FitzAllan.

  FitzAllan trembled with fury for a moment. Then he nodded, but not without throwing a venomous glare at Stephen.

  “About the question of Gilbert Wistwode, your grace!” Ida called.

  “Who is he?” Edward asked.

  “He is Sir Stephen’s loyal man, and my friend. The earl’s men have him in hold. I would ask, in your mercy, that he be released immediately.”

  “Well, FitzAllan?” Edward asked.

  “I know nothing of it. But if it’s true, I’ll have it undone.”

  Chapter 16

  “Are you angry with me?” Ida asked as they reached the courtyard.

  “There is no word to describe how I feel,” Stephen said. “Poleaxed is the best I can think of.”

  “I couldn’t think of anything else to do,” she said.

  “You could at least have warned me first.”

  “Well, you would have raised all sorts of objections.”

  “You have that right.”

  They walked through the gate into the bailey.

  “Did what we say amount to the saying of the words?” Ida asked.

  Stephen paused, hands behind his back, head down. “All it takes is a declaration of an intention to marry by the parties involved. A lawyer could defend what we have just done as making a marriage. Especially in front of those witnesses.”

  He walked on toward the mare and Gilbert’s mule. “It doesn’t matter so much to us. But it could be a problem down the road to the children of our true marriages. It could interfere with them inheriting whatever property we eventually leave behind us, if they are deemed bastards.”

  “I had not thought of that,” Ida said.

  “Well, we might get an annulment at some point. Although those are expensive, and as you mentioned, can take years to acquire.”

  Ida smiled slightly, looking away across the bailey. “It’s good to have a husband who’s a lawyer. That might save some on the expense of the annulment.”

  “I am not and never was a lawyer,” Stephen said, thinking about his years as one Ademar de Valence’s law clerks. “I was barely a decent scrivener.”

  “But you sound convincing. Isn’t that what matters most?”

  “It matters, but that’s not all there is to it.”

  “There is a bright side. At least you and Mistress Bartelot are relieved of the burden of finding me a husband. For now, anyway.”

  “That is a weight off my mind. What happened to Mistress Bartelot, anyway?” Stephen asked. Mistress Bartelot, a severe woman with a strong sense of rectitude, was the original tenant in the house he now occupied in Ludlow across from the Broken Shield Inn. He had allowed her to remain, since she had nowhere to go when he took over, and she had been abducted with Ida to serve as her maid. He felt badly that he had not asked about her until now.

  “FitzAllan sent her home.”

  “She is safe, then?”

  “As I am at the moment. Thanks to you.”

  “Time will tell how safe you are.”

  Ida laughed. “Life around you turns out to be filled with danger. Perhaps I should run away and pretend that none of this has happened.”

  “There is your mule,” Stephen said. “I don’t know how far you are likely to get on him, though.”

  “I would not want to deprive Gilbert of his beloved.” She glanced sideways at Stephen. “Besides, I should have a horse of my own. It won’t do to have your wife riding pillion behind you all the time, or walking.”

  “God’s knuckles, married less than a quarter hour and you’re already making demands.”

  “That’s what wives do, don’t they? Nag their husbands into doing what they ought?”

  Stephen cupped his hands into a makeshift stirrup. “Let me help you up, wife. We need to get back to the barn. That’s where Gilbert will go after they release him.”

  Gilbert turned up at the barn an hour later with a split lip and a black eye.

  “It’s a good thing you acted so quickly,” he said, pressing the sides of his broad nose as if to check whether it was still straight, although there was no sign of injury; it was as broad and flat as usual. “They were about to start breaking my fingers. Not that I would have minded much, though I am rather fond of them. How ever did you manage it? Black magic?

  “Worse,” Stephen said. “We declared before Prince Edward that we married in London. As a married woman, she cannot be FitzAllan’s ward.”

  “You married?” Gilbert said, finding his nose intact and settling onto the bench outside the barn. “I hadn’t noticed. When d
id that happen?”

  “Well, you weren’t always paying attention,” Ida said.

  “Small things do escape my attention now and then,” Gilbert said. “But this seems like a rather large thing.”

  “It was either that or your broken fingers,” Stephen said. “And perhaps after that, your head.”

  “I am grateful for that,” Gilbert said. “But still. It was rash. Not a thing easily undone if it is held to be true. And I am hurt that you didn’t invite me to be a witness.”

  “There wasn’t time. A spur of the moment decision.”

  “Really?”

  “It was Ida’s idea,” Stephen said.

  “She proposed to you, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a proposal, exactly,” Stephen said. “It felt more like a blow upon the head.”

  “It was all I could manage under the circumstances,” Ida said. “You did rise well to the occasion, though.”

  “Stephen, a married man,” Gilbert mused. “Great Saint Cuthbert’s nostrils, the next thing and you’ll settle down and give up your life of crime and misadventure. It will be England’s loss, but one must expect change, I suppose.”

  Ida, who was seated next to Stephen, took his arm. “I shall steer him to the right path.”

  “I hope you have better luck than Harry and me,” Gilbert said. “God knows, we tried. Or I did. Harry is more a corrupting influence.”

  Ida twisted Stephen’s ear, but not hard. “You just haven’t tried the right way.” She let go of the ear. “Now, husband, are you going to make me languish another night in this foul-smelling place? Surely your wife deserves a better bed than a lump of straw in a drafty barn.”

  Stephen pointed a finger at Ida. “See what she has become in only an hour? She demanded I buy her a horse already.”

  “I told you she wouldn’t like our commodious barn,” Gilbert laughed. “Now that you are on the hook, you have no choice but to obey.”

  Stephen chuckled and stood up. He extended a hand to Ida. “Come. I don’t care to spend the night in this barn, either.”

  The inn Stephen selected was the Wily Minstrel, which was by the Thames bridge. He thought it best to find a place away from the market and Morstreet where FitzAllan’s adherents might be encountered.

  The chamber given to Stephen and Ida was on the second floor. It had a window overlooking the town wharf and the river. Stephen threw open the shutters so they could look at the water and bridge arching to the other shore. The wind was blowing out of the west, so the air smelled fresh, lacking the stink of the tanneries and the slaughterhouse to the east.

  “We must share the room?” Ida asked. She didn’t say anything about the bed, for there was only one. They would address that problem when the time came.

  “It will be awkward,” Stephen said. “But we must maintain the pretense.”

  “Yes, we must.”

  “It would be best if you don’t go out. Or if you do, don’t go up the hill. I think it will be safe enough for you down here and in Eatun.”

  “Yes.”

  Stephen crossed to the door.

  “Where are you off to?” Ida asked. She smiled wanly. “Just asking as a neglected wife.”

  “To put the business of Father Giles behind us, so we can go home.”

  Chapter 17

  Stephen hesitated on the threshold of the hall in the castle’s upper bailey. He dreaded going in, but he felt he had no choice.

  Gilbert stirred at his elbow.

  “You can wait out here if you like,” Stephen said. “If lightning strikes me, you’ll be missed.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? After what you told me of the previous interview, I have to admit I am rather worried.”

  “You look a sight, anyway. You’ll just remind everyone of the unpleasantness.”

  Gilbert looked relieved. “And you won’t? It would be a shame to make a widow of Lady Ida on her wedding day.”

  “I don’t know. She’ll probably be glad to be rid of me in the long run.”

  He went in. The conference had broken up, probably long ago, and there were only four men sitting on padded chairs by the fire blazing in the great fireplace. Stephen took a deep breath and marched up to them.

  One of those enjoying the fire’s warmth was Edward. He caught sight of Stephen, looked annoyed, and ignored him.

  “Excuse me, my lords,” Stephen said. “I would like to speak with his grace’s deputy. Could you tell me where I might find him?”

  A slender handsome man in his fifties with gray and brown hair who bore a worrisome resemblance to King Henry perked up. “What do you want, Attebrook? Have you brought us more trouble?”

  “I am afraid so, my lord.”

  “That’s Earl Richard of Cornwall to you.”

  “My apologies, your grace,” Stephen said hastily. He got the significance of the resemblance now: the earl was the king’s younger brother. Sovereigns were prickly about their pride, but their younger brothers could be even worse. “I did not realize it was you.”

  “Get on with it. I will do well enough for a deputy. What bad news do you have for us to disturb this pleasant afternoon?”

  “I have reason to believe that a spy ring is operating in the town. Its object is to learn of your war plans.”

  “War plans!” Edward said sharply. “I have no war plans!”

  “I have heard you have such plans, your grace, and no doubt the spies have heard it, too,” Stephen said. “There has been talk about them at the Golden Swan.”

  One of the others by the fire was Gilbert de Clare. He paled at the mention of the Golden Swan and war plans, and terror crossed his face for moment before a bland mask descended. Stephen did not meet his eye and pretended he had not noticed de Clare.

  Edward pounded the arm of his chair. “God’s knees!” he shouted. “I can’t take a piss without Montfort hearing of it!” He turned on Stephen. “Just what do these spies know?”

  “I can’t tell you that, your grace, without questioning them.”

  “And to do that, we need to have them arrested,” Edward growled, the realization of why Stephen had come back dawning. “My lord earl, will you please take care of this matter?”

  “Of course,” Earl Richard said.

  Soldiers were mustering in the lower bailey, thirty of them. Earl Richard wanted to plug all escape routes and ensure that he had all members of the ring in the bag.

  Gilbert de Clare paused at Stephen’s side. “What do you intend to say to them about me?” he asked quietly at Stephen’s shoulder.

  “What is there to say about you, my lord?” Stephen asked, not turning his head. “The woman used you like she used many innocent others. So, as far as I am concerned, you were never there.”

  “I am grateful for this, Attebrook. I will not forget it.”

  “Your servant, my lord. Oh, there is one thing.”

  “What?” de Clare asked suspiciously.

  “Did Adeline or any of the other girls ever mention Father Giles’ name to you?”

  “No,” de Clare said, puzzled. “Never.”

  Ten soldiers led by Rykelyng’s younger brother Ernulf left the castle on horseback. They turned down Peascod Street without attracting any undue attention. With the little army there, the comings and goings of soldiers were so common that no one noticed much, other than to get out of the way.

  The objective of this contingent was to get around behind the Golden Swan to prevent any of the quarry from escaping out the back as Stephen had done.

  After an interval that Sir Adam Rykelyng, the officer in command, judged that enough time had passed for the backstop to get into place, he led the remainder plus Stephen on foot to the Swan. Rykelyng directed ten of that number though the arched gateway to the courtyard, while one of the other ten held open the door to the inn and the rest, led by Rykelyng and Stephen, went inside.

  There were only a few people at the tables, and no women in sight.

  “Are they here?�
� Rykelyng asked Stephen, referring to Philip Wyking, Richard Kilwardby and the hulk, Bill.

  “No,” Stephen said. “Have the men check upstairs.”

  Rykelyng waved at the stairway, and all the soldiers thundered upward.

  Johnnie, alerted by the commotion, came out from the rear of the inn. “What’s going on, sirs?” he asked, watching the last of the soldiers vanish into the first floor.

  “We are looking for three men, Wyking, Kilwardby and a fellow known only to us as Bill,” Rykelyng said.

  Johnnie bobbed his head. “You’ve just missed them by no more than an hour, sir.”

  “What do you mean?” Rykelyng demanded.

  “They’ve gone, sir,” Johnnie said. “Left.”

  “The women, too?” Rykelyng asked.

  “Why, yes. In haste, too. They’d paid up for the rest of the week.”

  “Where did they go?” Stephen asked.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Johnnie said. “I was in the back. They didn’t say nothing to me. One of my girls told me they were leaving.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t take your word for it,” Rykelyng said. “We’ll continue searching.”

  “Please don’t break anything, sir,” Johnnie said plaintively, an indication that he did not have much hope the searchers would be kind to his property.

  Rykelyng did not reply.

  “Which girl brought word to you?” Stephen asked Johnnie.

  “It was Henrietta,” Johnnie said.

  “Where is she now?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Please fetch her here.”

  “At once.”

  Johnnie hurried into the rear of the inn and came out a few moments later with a lanky girl as tall as many men. She had a jutting chin, full lips and mousy brown hair falling from her linen cap.

  “You are Henrietta?” Stephen asked the woman.

  “I am, sir. Can I be of service?”