by Alys Clare
‘She was perfectly well yesterday,’ Josse remarked.
Melusine turned on him. ‘Yes, so she was, till you and those tactless nuns came bothering her!’ she cried. ‘Questions, questions, and she a widow of only a week!’
‘But—’ Josse began, stung to angry protest at hearing the Abbess, the infirmarer and Sister Caliste slandered with the word tactless when their delicate and kindly offers of sympathy and help had been anything but. With an effort he restrained himself.
‘The Hawkenlye sisters would indeed be most unhappy to learn that their visit had caused your daughter distress,’ Gervase said smoothly. ‘I am sure that was not their intention, for they are good women and work with all the goodness in their hearts for the benefit of others.’
Melusine gave a sniff. ‘They mean well, I grant you.’ Then, as if wanting instantly to shore up what might have been seen as a gap in her defences, she added, ‘But you still can’t see Primevère. She . . .’ She hesitated. ‘She is an unchaperoned widow now and I must take every care for her good name.’
Josse’s fury almost spilled out of him at this thinly veiled insult; as if he or Gervase would take advantage of a sick and recently bereaved young woman! It was preposterous.
‘We would not dream of intruding on her,’ Gervase said smoothly. ‘However, the fact remains that I must speak to her, sooner or later, so I shall ask you please to send word to me in Tonbridge when she is ready to see me.’
Josse thought he saw a tiny glint in Melusine’s dark eyes and he was quite sure that some of the tension seemed to go out of her. Smiling now, she said, ‘Of course. And I am sorry, both of you’ – she turned so as to include Josse in her benevolence – ‘that you have had a wasted journey. I would offer you refreshments but, alas, I am preoccupied with the care of my daughter.’
‘We would not dream of putting you to the trouble,’ Gervase assured her. ‘We will leave you both in peace and I look forward to meeting your daughter soon.’
‘Just as soon as she is well again,’ Melusine agreed.
She saw them to the door and they were aware of her watching them as they mounted and rode away. She was still there, dark eyes following their departure, as they rounded the bend and rode out of her sight.
As if she must be absolutely sure that they had really gone.
On the way over to Ranulf’s house – Gervase had been given directions before leaving Tonbridge – Josse told him what little the Abbess had discovered about Florian, his background, his family and his wife.
‘His horse has not turned up?’ Gervase asked.
‘No.’
‘Someone’s lucky day, to apprehend a man with the intention of stealing his money only to discover that he rides a first-class horse into the bargain.’
‘Perhaps the killer knew that already,’ Josse suggested.
‘You do not go along with the opinion that a passing thief was responsible for the crime?’
Josse shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ Then he told Gervase of his discussion that morning with the Abbess and, when he had finished, Gervase gave him a very intent look.
‘You believe that Ranulf is the father of the child that Primevère carries?’
‘It seems likely.’
‘And do you then extend the crimes laid at this man’s door and suggest he murdered Florian?’
‘It is a grave accusation, I know that well enough,’ Josse replied. ‘But aye, I feel we ought to keep it in mind when we speak to Ranulf.’
Gervase was frowing. ‘So let us postulate,’ he began slowly, ‘that it happened like this. The lady Primevère, wed to a boastful youth who exaggerated his means, tires of his pretty face and turns him out of her bed. Then along comes a handsome neighbour, a mature man who has recently lost his wife, and she recognises in him everything that she thought to find in young Florian.’
‘Is it not possible that he came along before he lost his wife?’ Josse suggested.
‘Ah, so now you would lay the murder of his wife at Ranulf’s hands as well!’ Gervase exclaimed. He shot him a warning glance. ‘Have a care, Josse.’
‘It was you who told me there were some who said Ranulf did not rush to his wife’s aid when he might have done!’ Josse snapped back. ‘I merely point out that the time scale is relevant.’
‘Yes, of course you’re right,’ Gervase admitted. ‘It’s just that I find myself reluctant to throw such dangerous accusations around in the open. Great harm can be done by the spreading of malicious gossip,’ he added primly.
Josse made a show of looking all around him. ‘Well, I’m not proposing to go spreading it,’ he said. ‘There’s nobody to hear us here except our horses, and fortunately neither yours nor mine has the gift of speech.’
Gervase gave a short laugh. ‘No. Sorry, Josse.’
‘Hmm.’
When finally they rode up to the imposing manor house that was the dwelling of Ranulf of Crowbergh, it was to be met by another calm and peaceful scene in which every living thing appeared to have sought rest in the shade. Gervase called out and a boy came scurrying into the courtyard from what appeared to be the stables, a structure that ran along in a block joining the front wall of the yard to the house. Again Gervase gave his and Josse’s names and, as they both dismounted, asked to speak to the lad’s master.
The boy stared from one to the other and said, ‘He’s not here.’
‘I see.’ Gervase frowned. ‘Do you know when he will be back?’
‘He’s gone away,’ the boy said. ‘He’s taking some horses over to his estate in France.’
Josse nodded. He had been told how the Conqueror had brought heavy horses to England in order to interbreed them with the lighter native horses; Ranulf, presumably, was doing the same thing by taking his English horses out to France. English stock was highly thought of nowadays, having been improved over the years by the introduction of those wonderful, fast and beautiful Arab horses that the Crusaders brought home. He thought, with a silent apology to good old Horace, just how much he would love such a mount.
Gervase nudged him quite hard in the ribs. ‘When did your master leave?’ he demanded. Josse brought his attention back to the present and waited for the answer.
The lad frowned ferociously and pursed up his mouth in an aid to concentration. ‘Yesterday,’ he finally said. ‘It were late in the afternoon but well before sunset. He were aiming to sail on the evening tide.’
Alert now and probably thinking along the same lines as Gervase, Josse calculated rapidly. Ranulf had left them at the edge of the forest and as soon as they were out of sight he must have raced home, collected his horses and set off immediately for the coast. But why had he not mentioned that he was leaving? Under the circumstances, it was good of him to have spared the time to escort the Hawkenlye party to view the tomb and—
But suddenly Josse knew why Ranulf had not said he was about to depart for France; because it hadn’t been planned. And he also knew just when Ranulf had decided to go and he thought he knew why.
The stable lad was standing scuffing his boots in the dust, clearly waiting to be dismissed. Josse drew Gervase a little apart and said, ‘I am thinking that it was the news that you were due home that made Ranulf decide on this sudden trip to his French estates, for he made no mention of it to us yesterday.’
Gervase looked grim. ‘And I cannot help thinking that among the group of horses he has spirited out of England there might well have been a certain fast-paced bay.’
Josse emitted a brief curse. ‘He’s got away, Gervase.’
Gervase was already preparing to mount. ‘He may still be at the coast,’ he replied. ‘I will—’ He broke off.
Josse nodded, appreciating the difficulty. ‘But where on the coast?’ he said softly. ‘Any number of ports harbour ships that sail from England to France. Where, Gervase, will you start? And to what purpose, when, according to the lad here, Ranulf fully intended to sail yesterday evening?’
Gervase flung his horse’s reins int
o Josse’s hand and strode back to the lad. ‘Are you sure your master sailed last night?’ he demanded.
The lad looked anxious. ‘He said he was going to, sir. But I can’t swear to it, not actually having seen him take ship, like.’
Gervase turned back to Josse, anger and frustration in his face. ‘I must—’ he began.
But the lad had raised his hand. Josse, noticing, said, ‘What is it?’
‘I could ask Peter,’ the boy volunteered.
‘Peter?’ Gervase and Josse said together.
‘He’s head groom. He rode down with Master.’
Even from a couple of paces away Josse could hear Gervase grinding his teeth. ‘Please ask him to come and speak to us,’ he said through a patently false smile.
The lad trotted away and presently returned with a bow-legged man with a very tanned face, no hair and few teeth. ‘You’re asking about my master,’ he said suspiciously. ‘Who are you and what business may his comings and goings be of yours?’
With a sigh, for the third time that morning Gervase explained who he was. Peter gave a smug smile and said, ‘You’ll have a long wait if you want to ask questions of Sir Ranulf. He’s in France. He sailed last night and before you ask, no, I don’t know when he plans to return.’ Then, curiosity overcoming loyalty, he burst out, ‘What d’you want Master for, anyway?’
Gervase stared at him. Instead of answering, he said, ‘Whereabouts in France are your master’s estates?’
‘How should I know?’ Peter replied. ‘I ain’t never been there and I ain’t likely to be going.’ He spat on the dusty ground.
Gervase summoned his dignity and said frostily, ‘When your master returns, send word to me.’
Peter gave a grunt that could have been an acknowledgement. Then he turned on his heel and, with the lad trotting behind him, stomped off back to his stables.
‘I think,’ Gervase said as they rode away, ‘that we must go back to Hadfeld and insist on seeing the lady Primevère.’
Josse wondered whether to say what he was thinking. Oh, why not? he thought. We’ll know soon enough in any case.
‘We’ll find the bird flown,’ he said.
‘What? Where will she have gone?’
‘My guess is that at this moment she’s either on board ship for France or else she’s already there. Gervase, think!’ he said urgently as the sheriff began to protest. ‘The Abbess and the nuns and I last saw her around the middle of yesterday. After we left her, Ranulf finds out you’re on your way home and will be making enquiries. He decides to make a run for it, taking Florian’s horse – which I’ll wager money that Ranulf, being a breeder of fine horses, sold to him in the first place – to remove it from the scene. He pays a hasty visit to his mistress to tell her what’s happening and quick as she can she dismisses her building gang – no point in having them do any more work when she’s leaving – packs her bags, orders her horse prepared and races off to follow Ranulf so that she can sail with him on the same ship.’
Gervase was shaking his head. ‘Josse, it all makes sound sense, as I have learned to expect when listening to you. But . . .’ He paused, chewing at his lip. ‘But I am still going to verify your theory by going back to Hadfeld.’
The courtyard and the house were, if anything, even quieter than on their previous visit. But the door was now closed; hurrying up the steps, Gervase banged hard on it with his fist.
After quite some time, Melusine opened it. To Josse’s surprise, she invited them to come in.
‘I must insist on seeing your daughter, madam,’ Gervase said.
Melusine smiled thinly. ‘You cannot.’
Gervase was making for the doorway giving on to the passage; Josse followed him.
‘Her room is up the steps and straight in front of you,’ Melusine called after them.
They ran through the archway, up a couple of steps and along the corridor to the upper chamber. Bursting into the room, it was a matter of a brief glance to see that it was empty. The rushes on the floor had been disturbed and the bed, with its white linen, tumbled bedclothes and many pillows, had not been made. A chest at the far end of the room stood with its lid thrown open; it, like the room, was empty.
Melusine came to stand in the doorway with them. ‘She has taken all her lovely new clothes,’ she said conversationally. ‘For all that he’ll buy her more and better, still she’s a woman and she wouldn’t part with a new gown unless she had to.’
‘When did she leave?’ Gervase asked, although Josse guessed that he already knew the answer.
‘Yesterday afternoon. He came for her and told her she must make haste and she did. I’ve never seen her go about a task so quickly or efficiently, but then it’s not every day you flee the country with your lover, is it?’ Her voice was poisonous with sarcasm; whatever had happened here, it did not appear that Melusine approved.
‘Why were they in such a hurry?’ Gervase said.
Melusine gave him a sideways look. ‘I didn’t ask,’ she said coldly.
‘Where have they gone?’
She shrugged. ‘France, I imagine, although I didn’t ask that either.’
‘He has estates in Le Mans, I am told,’ Gervase said.
Again, the shrug.
Gervase muttered a curse and, with one last look around the room, turned and strode back to the hall and out into the sunshine.
Josse and Melusine followed more slowly.
‘This place wasn’t Florian’s, you know,’ she said. ‘It belongs to a relation and he used it as yet another way of persuading my daughter and me that he was a man of wealth.’
‘He would be that in truth now, were he still alive,’ Josse said. ‘That tomb of his was bringing in money as if he was minting it.’
She turned down the corners of her mouth in a gesture of doubt. ‘For a while, yes, it is true, much money could have been made. But sooner or later the truth would have emerged.’
‘They are not Merlin’s bones?’
Melusine laughed. ‘Of course not.’
They were at the entrance now. Josse stopped, turning to Melusine. ‘And what of you, madam?’ he asked her.
She shot him a look, her dark eyes narrow with suspicion, and he thought her already pale face went a shade whiter. ‘Me? What do you mean?’
‘Your daughter has fled with her lover and your son-in-law is dead so, presumably, you will no longer wish to go on living here,’ he replied.
‘Ah, I see.’ Melusine suddenly seemed to sag and Josse put out an instinctive hand to support her. For an instant she stood quite still, head bowed, then, rallying, she straightened up. ‘I shall return home,’ she said firmly. ‘Do you know Angers, Sir Josse?’
‘Er – no. Can’t say I do.’
‘My home, it is backed by low hills and overlooks the Loire.’ Now her voice was dreamy, as if she were speaking of some beautiful place that she had loved very greatly, had lost and might not find again. ‘It is comfortable and the weather is usually mild, the food is first rate and the wines of the Loire are without equal. It is a place of great serenity and beauty and now’ – the dark eyes did a quick sweep of the courtyard, the modest house and the new building work and Melusine’s down-turned lips seemed to sum up her opinion of what she was looking at – ‘now that it is all over, I am impatient to return there.’
Angers, Josse was thinking, was not very far from Le Mans; these people had worked it all out. Now that it is all over, she had just said. Did she know, then, exactly what her own daughter and her lover had planned between them; what perhaps Ranulf himself had done? If so, then her attitude, he reflected, was more than a little callous . . .
‘Have you no pity for Florian?’ he asked quietly.
She considered the question, turning her head on one side. Then, dark eyes on Josse’s, she said, ‘No, not really.’ Then: ‘You see, I never really liked him.’
Chapter 20
‘What will you do now?’ Josse asked the sheriff as they rode back to Hawkenlye.
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‘I am very tempted,’ the sheriff said testily, ‘to take a force of men and sail across to France, locate Ranulf’s estate near Le Mans and demand that he accompanies me back to England to face an accusation of murder and robbery.’
‘But how would you prove it, even if you could force him to come?’
Gervase frowned. ‘There must be proof, Josse, did I only know where to look.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ Josse replied. ‘Someone steps out of the darkness and kills a man on the forest fringes at dead of night. The man is robbed of his money bags and his horse and his body hidden in the bushes. Who on earth is to say who did the deed?’
‘I might find the proof I need if I could locate Florian’s horse,’ Gervase said.
‘Aye, now well on its way to some place where it’ll be lost among dozens that look exactly like it,’ Josse countered. ‘Would you take Florian’s groom with you and ask him to point out his late master’s bay? And even if you could prove without a shadow of doubt that Florian’s horse is now in Ranulf’s paddock, then there’s nothing to stop either Ranulf or Primevère saying, oh, yes, the horse did turn up, minus the money bags, and we forgot to tell you, and since nobody here has any use for it we decided to send it out to join the rest of the stock out in France.’
‘So, like hiding a tree in a forest, the animal is for ever lost among its fellows and will end its days happily breeding and making a rich man even more money.’ There was a tinge of bitterness in Gervase’s voice.
Josse grinned suddenly, remembering something the Abbess told him. ‘Correct in all but one respect, Gervase,’ he said. ‘The horse was a gelding.’
There was silence between them for some time. Then Gervase said passionately, ‘Dear God, but how I hate to see someone commit a crime and walk away a free man!’
Josse considered several replies. Then he said, ‘I know, my friend. In this case, however, I think you’re going to have to put up with it.’
