“She was a serving maid only by my own contrivance,” Ludovic said. “She’s from a respectable family and her late father was an alderman. You know all this, since I’ve told you it before, and you tend always to know everything anyway. And yes, I no longer intend taking her to mistress. I mean to marry Alysson Welles.” He frowned, shaking his head. “What’s more, sir, I’d be grateful in future if you refrained from reading my private letters.”
“Sadly, your gratitude is doomed to impotence,” said his father, draining his cup and refilling it. “I broke no seals. I have my own methods, and will not alter them to oblige you, my child. But nor do I choose to antagonise or distress you, since I’ve come to value your life and contentment more than most. Indeed, I shall sanction your wedding. You may marry the girl whenever you wish.”
Ludovic gazed at his father with deep suspicion. “You’re aware that her ladyship will never agree?”
“That,” said the earl, “is a matter of complete indifference to me. But I would prefer to make the acquaintance of this young person beforehand, should you ever discover her again. Has she run away from you, do you think, or from someone else?”
Ludovic sighed. “Since I clearly have no privacy whatsoever, neither concerning the letters I write nor those that return to me, I suppose I might as well admit her disappearance. But Alysson’s not run from me. I don’t understand what’s happened. I’ve been gone too long. But I’ll find her.”
“You traced your brother’s whereabouts,” said the earl. “No doubt you can find one, so I am assured, remarkably innocent and respectable young female.”
The weather turned fitful and the journey slowed again. It was late July when they finally came within sight of Sumerford. It was raining. A thunderstorm was mounting behind the castle turrets and the sky was black.
They avoided fording either river or stream for all waterways were swollen and part flooded, the guards instead skirting through the neighbouring townships. But no river could have soaked them more. Ludovic felt already half drowned. He imagined the rich warming seclusion of a fire in his chamber, his bed soft aired and freshly made, and hippocras steaming aromatic by the bedside. He had recently resented the prolonged bedrest imposed upon him but now he welcomed the memory of his mattress, eager to stretch and ease every sore muscle in dry warmth again. His oiled cape covered his head, shoulders and knees, but the ends streamed water into his boots and his sleeves emerged dripping from the swathes of cloak. His riding gloves were sodden, squeaking against the wet leathers of the reins. Forked lightning dazzled through the clouds and the great echoing explosion of thunder shuddered across the cliffs. The rain became heavier, closing in dark steel screens. Ludovic could see nothing ahead except the backs of the other riders, each man sodden, the horse’s tails streaming thin and soaked. He smelled wet earth, wet hide, wet sweat, wet breath. Even the clattering, jangling music of the hooves and bridals, the saddles creaking with endless jogging and the tired whinny of the horses, was swallowed by the noise of pelting rain.
Then they came out of the valley and looked up. Here the road was wide and kempt, for it was the responsibility of the castle and tended by the Sumerford retainers. Almost home, they quickened speed. The earl sent no buglers forward, but expected to be seen from the high windows. He expected the castle’s doors swung open, the servants to bustle, informing Humphrey and her ladyship, preparing a hot supper and fires lit in all the bedchambers. He expected Humphrey, wide and beaming and ruddy, to hurry out into the rain, not caring about the squelch of mud beneath his indoor shoes, ignoring his mother’s squeaks of warning as he ruined his velvets and feathers. He expected Hamnet clapping his hands for hippocras to be served and brought out on the great silver trays to the stable courtyard where the ostlers would be scurrying and the grooms in a sudden flurry. He expected the kitchens to wake, rushing to build up the cooking fires and set the spits turning. He expected what always occurred when he returned home after a long absence, and in foul weather too, demanding attention and comfort and respect.
But the castle stood cold and quiet beneath the storm. Nothing was happening and there was no sign of welcome at all. The great stone walls soared in dripping silence, the streaming sky flinging itself into the moat.
The earl held up one hand, and riding through the clutch of guards and staff around him, made his way to the front of the procession. He sat there a moment, holding his horse steady. With a push of impatient mounts sensing their own warm stalls so close, hands tight on the reins, each man stopped and waited. Ludovic moved to his father’s side. “Something is wrong,” he said.
The earl nodded. “We’ve no enemies in these parts, and there’s no sign of siege. But you are right. Something bad has happened.” He turned to the cluster of men behind him. The carts and litters had pulled in at the farthest end. The sound of the rain muffled his voice, so that those in front murmured back to those behind. “We move forwards slowly and with great caution,” commanded the earl. “Dockett, Hardy and Frouste, take the pass and enter by the south tower. Parton and Sweet remain here with the baggage and carriers. If there are signs of difficulty after we enter the main gates, ride for the sheriff at once. The rest of you keep your weapons close and stay behind me.”
“Let me lead the way, my lord,” Ludovic said softly.
The earl raised an eyebrow. “I thank you for your considerations, my son, but I am hardly flattered. Indeed, I believe my own fitness to be far superior to your own at present, and am unlikely to fall from my saddle for any reason beyond an arrow to the throat. Sadly, I cannot say the same of you. You will therefore oblige me by remembering I am still the Earl of Sumerford and master of my own castle. You will keep behind me Ludovic, and have a care to your own safety and not to mine.”
Ludovic smiled. “Yes, my lord. But I presume you don’t suspect any particular danger?”
The earl loosened the reins and his horse trotted forwards. Ludovic stayed close beside his father. “I do not,” said the earl, “but in these days of uncertainty, an intelligent man is alert for whatever may arise. I do not trust the great powers of this land. We are a rural outpost, and with three sons recently under the extreme displeasure of the king. A greedy enemy strikes when his adversary is weakest.”
It was a smaller group which picked its way down the path towards the drawbridge and towering stone beyond. As the riders emerged from the shadows of the forest to their left, they saw the portcullis was raised and the drawbridge down as in times of peace. No signs of any frantic defence were visible but nor of the castle guards, usually lounging half asleep outside the walls. The rain continued to pour, masking any lights from the windows. The moat was a busy grey slime, bouncing with hurtling raindrops. All doors and gates were closed and only the sounds of the storm echoed. The puddles beneath the horse’s hooves rebounded, splashing each rider with mud. Far away across the distant ocean, thunder rumbled another warning.
On the banks of the moat they stopped once more. Ludovic gazed to his right and his mother’s apartments in the south tower. He thought he saw a flicker of candle light high up. He turned, staring up at the east tower. The lower floors contained the deserted nursery block. Above were the Lady Jennine’s quarters, where Alysson had lived. The windows were blank and dark.
Following his father, Ludovic crossed the sleek wet drawbridge, the waters churning to either side. There was still no sign of activity outside nor within the castle, no welcome and no recognition. The earl stopped. Ludovic dismounted at once and strode ahead. The doors, iron hinged and braced, stood fractionally ajar, as though someone had been unsure, or too hurried, either to open or to close the way. Ludovic pushed, and the doors swung open.
Chapter Fifty-Five
The bailey and the open stable courtyard stood empty but horses neighed from their stalls, kicking at their doors. The earl clapped his hands, calling for the ostlers, while his men dismounted and began to lead away their own horses. The earl remained mounted. The rain was streaming fr
om his hood down his face. “Only one thing is clear. There has been a disaster,” he said quietly.
Ludovic nodded. He stood on the cobbles, gazing up at his father’s wretchedness. “Will you stay here, my lord, while I go in to investigate?”
“No.” The earl’s horse danced, smelling home, looking for groom, warm blankets and hay. Ludovic reached up, taking its bit and calming it, scratching between its ears. “We will go in together,” said the earl.
“My lord,” someone yelled from across the courtyard. “We’ve unearthed the grooms, your lordship.” The young man hurried across the pavings, dragging a youth by a firm hold to his ear. “The cowards have been hiding in their dormitory, my lord. We’ve hauled them out and set them back to work. But there’s something strange amiss, and I’ve got neither explanation nor sense out of them.”
The earl stared down at the small frightened boy, who quickly dropped to one knee. “Well boy? Tell me quickly.”
“I don’t rightly know wot to say, my lord.” The boy snivelled, knees in the puddles. “None of us know wot happened, truly we doesn’t your lordship. There was a right commotion inside, wiv screaming and clashing. Then some of the staff runs out, all awry and yelling. Says there’s blood and fighting and their ladyships hurt. The castle guards, they goes straight in wiv their swords flashing. Master Hamnet, he sends Ben and Master Cooper and two of the guards to the village for the sheriff, and then goes back indoors. We was frightened my lord, and hid by our pallets. We heard a load more noise and running and suchlike, and some of the horses was took, wiv folk galloping off out the castle at great speed. A mighty clash o’ steel there were, and then silence. Begging your pardon, my lord, but we was scared. So we stayed hid.”
Lightning sprang from between the clouds, striking the east tower. The sudden illumination was stark. A bright white echo fizzled over the merlons and then fell again into blackness. The thunder reverberated directly over their heads. The small groom fell flat on his face.
“Get up child,” said Ludovic, a hand hoisting up the boy by the neck of his grubby soaked shirt. “Get to the horses and do your job. The animals are wet and tired and hungry. You’ll be safe enough now, whatever has happened.”
The earl dismounted, handed his reins to the shivering groom and took Ludovic’s arm. “Well, my son,” he said. “Let us face this together.”
The cobbles streamed water. Then suddenly within, the rain was shut out and the gloom closed over. The great hall was deserted and the remains of a fire, lit many hours earlier against the chill of the oncoming storm, had fallen to ashes. The usual smell of smoke and soot lingered. No candles were lit and the shadows hung indistinct, enclosing their secrets. The sounds of the rain were now muted and lost and the silence slipped all around, claiming sovereignty over bustle. Nothing moved, not even the scamper of mice. Ludovic marched to the hearth and kicked the dozing fire into sparks.
“Leave it,” said the earl. “There’s no need of fire yet. No doubt the staff are hiding either in the kitchens or in their quarters. What we are looking for, will surely be upstairs.”
Ludovic stared. “And what are we looking for, my lord?”
“Humphrey,” said the earl.
They found Hamnet first. The old steward lay sprawled face up on the lower steps of the main staircase. He still grasped a cup, its wine spilled and still wet across the boards as if he had been trying to offer it, attempting to calm someone who faced him. His throat had been cut and his head fell a little sideways, the jaw slack.
“Dear God,” Ludovic whispered.
The earl crossed himself, stepped over his dead servant, and continued to climb the stairs. Ludovic leaned down and closed Hamnet’s glazed eyes. Then he followed his father.
Immediately to their right the long corridor led in total darkness to the east tower. The doors leading off one side remained closed, locked and silent. The earl and Ludovic entered the stairwell of the tower where the nursery levels led up to the Lady Jennine’s apartments above. Her doors lay open to the gloom of wide windows, the plummeting rain outside, and the soft furnishings within. Jennine was curled beneath the archway leading from the solar to her bedchamber. She was quite still, face down in a great pool of blood. Ludovic knelt but did not touch the body or attempt to roll her over. He put his fingertip to the blood. It was dry and black and hard. She had been dead some time. One desultory trapped fly buzzed from the lady’s ear to her shoulder to the stickiness which had once been her life. There was no sign of any other person, nor the sound of movement or of breathing. No servants scurried or shrank away, no one living was there at all. Ludovic knew that Alysson was already gone, and for the first time was deeply relieved. Her disappearance had first seemed a disaster, but was now the only blessing.
They left the room and returned quickly to the corridor leading west along the main castle building, fast footsteps and a faint vibration of tread on wood. Directly before them were Humphrey’s apartments, the great luxurious chambers allotted to the title’s heir. Beyond that stood the north tower, the earl’s own. His private staff would be there, barricaded in perhaps, if they had not run. Ludovic kept pace with his father. The cold stone around them smelled of damp and the usual draught sped from the stairs along the boards, finding entrance beneath each doorway. The earl proceeded to his eldest son’s quarters and found the first doors shut. He grasped the handles and pushed open.
The large solar was empty. Usually bright with sunshine from the mullioned window, now the corners whispered with gloom. The door from the solar to the inner chambers was also shut. The earl paused a moment before opening it. It swung wide to the sound of the rain. Ludovic and his father went in.
The first of the private rooms, an annex and wardrobe, was also empty but the door beyond was already open to Humphrey’s own bedchamber. Between the doorway and the massive bed, was the gleaming wealth of a Turkey rug over the polished boards. It depicted the fall of Jerusalem, Acre and the battles of Saladin. Across the warring armies and the saffron spread of the woven desert, three people sat, part sprawled, two tightly entwined.
The countess sat on the ground, cradling her eldest son. She had been crying. Her headdress was unpinned and her hair was dishevelled, lying lank grey down her face. Humphrey, smiling placidly, was cushioned to her breast, nodding occasionally, as though deeply content. The countess was singing very softly as to a small child, a gentle lullaby with lilting melody and words of sleep and trust. Humphrey had one thumb firm in his mouth. His other hand was tucked busy inside his codpiece. At their feet lay the headless body of a young boy, partly clothed in Sumerford’s green livery. The stump of the child’s neck was ragged and bloody and a long bladed knife lay beside him. The pattering of the rain outside never wavered, like a tabor keeping rhythm to the song.
The countess watched her husband enter as she continued singing. She cradled one arm around Humphrey, the fingers of her other hand playing in his hair. She appeared quite unhurt, but somehow perplexed.
Humphrey sat up as he saw his father. He stopped sucking his thumb and clasped both hands eagerly before him. “Papa. I’m glad you’re home. You can help me fix everything up. Mamma says I’ve done bad things, and she doesn’t know how to put it right. But you can always put everything right, can’t you Papa?”
The countess slowly stopped her singing, her voice trailing off as if blown in the wind. “Even your father cannot work miracles, my dearest son,” she said softly, patting his shoulder. “This time, Humphrey my love, you have gone just a little too far.”
Humphrey looked up at her. “But there’s Ludovic too, Mamma, look. Hello Lu. Haven’t seen you for such a long time. Much too long, which wasn’t fair. Someone said you were dead, but I knew that couldn’t be true. You’d never let anyone kill you, would you, Lu? And papa can mend everything, Mamma, can’t he? I know I’ve been bad, but then I can’t help being bad sometimes and it always gets put right again. Vymer usually puts things right, or father does, or Jenny does. Except fo
r little Eddie. He went away and no one put him right, which wasn’t fair either. And that wasn’t my fault. I liked him so much and he was all mine. But perhaps some of these other things are my fault. You don’t care, do you Lu? You aren’t ever shocked by anything.”
Ludovic struggled for words. He was gazing at the small headless boy tumbled disjointed on the ground, one plump hand still grasping helplessly at the countess’s skirts. Humphrey’s hands were thick with blood. As he clutched his mother, her clothes were smeared and streaked in dark and tired crimson.
The earl went forwards, bending over his wife and son. “I shall put it right, my dear boy,” he said, “never fear. You will be safe now and for always.” He looked up briefly at her ladyship. “Tell me quickly, without prevarication,” he said curtly “How many? And how?”
The countess looked away, avoiding her husband’s eyes. She spoke to the wavering shadows across the floor where the light from the window puddled and swam, reflecting the movement of the rain. “How? With a knife of course,” she murmured. “Sometimes fast, in temper. Sometimes slow. Six, I think. Jennine. Her maid. Hamnet, poor dear. This page child, lying here. One of the guards, outside. And Vymer, somewhere downstairs. I’ve seen no one else.”
“Six?” breathed Ludovic.
“Have I said six? Were there more? I cannot be sure anymore,” the countess mumbled. “My darling can be so fierce, so hard to control. I have tried over the years, and always so alone. This time was so much worse than ever before. It is Jennine’s fault of course. She was hired to stop these scenes. She has quite failed in her job.”
“I doubt you can blame her for it now, Mamma,” Ludovic said, unblinking, barely breathing. “She’s past recriminations.”
The earl squatted beside his son, gently taking his great blood stained hand in his own. “Has the mood left you now, my boy?” he asked carefully. “How do you feel?”
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