Fortune Like the Moon

by Alys Clare

  Warming to his theme, he leaned his hands on Helewise’s table, putting his face closer to hers. ‘What if, Abbess, this niece understood herself to be in line to inherit, only to have her young fashion-conscious husband discover, on one of his visits to check up on how near to death is his uncle-by-marriage, that the uncle is thinking of changing his will? Of reinstating the daughter who rejected him and gave herself to God? What would such a greedy and unscrupulous young man do?’

  ‘You are only conjecturing that he is greedy and unscrupulous,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Aye, maybe. But would he not have the greatest motive in the world for disposing of Gunnora? So that his wife, the niece Elanor, would then inherit?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Abbess, there are two basic motives for murder, lust and the hunger for money. Nobody, it seems, lusted after Gunnora – you said yourself she was not bothered by the rule of chastity. In addition, we know that she was not raped, indeed, that she had never—’ He paused, trying to think of a delicate way of saying it. ‘That she had never tasted of the fruits of love.’ He was aware of a very swift twitch of the Abbess’s lips, quickly suppressed. ‘She died a virgin,’ he said firmly. ‘So, with the lust motive removed, that only leaves money.’

  ‘You oversimplify!’ the Abbess cried. ‘And, however plausible your reasoning on the surface, what of the details?’

  ‘Such as?’ he demanded.

  ‘Such as, how did he persuade Gunnora to leave the convent that night? And why did she not recognise Elvera as her cousin Elanor?’

  ‘Who says she didn’t?’ he countered. ‘Elvera herself, in this very room, complained that the nuns kept saying she and Gunnora got on so well together that you’d almost think they’d met before. That was hardly surprising – they had.’

  ‘Then why did not Gunnora reveal that Elvera was married?’ Helewise demanded.

  ‘Oh.’ Why indeed. Then he heard Mathild’s words: that worthless new husband of hers. And – although this was hardly incontestable proof – Elvera had only been three months pregnant. A passionate young husband, bedding his new wife nightly, impregnating her soon after the marriage? He said triumphantly, ‘Because Gunnora didn’t know. Elvera and Milon were married after she entered the convent. And Elvera had taken off her wedding ring.’

  Helewise nodded slowly. Then, suddenly: ‘How did you know about the cross?’

  ‘It had to be hidden somewhere. She wasn’t wearing it when she died.’

  She gave a brief sound of exasperation. ‘How did you know she had a cross?’

  ‘If she really was Elanor, she had to have one. And I knew she had – I saw it.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Well, no, not exactly. I guessed. Remember when we spoke to her? She was grasping at the cloth of her gown – like this.’ He demonstrated. ‘I thought then it was just a nervous gesture. Only afterwards did it occur to me she might be clinging to her own personal talisman, hidden under her robe.’

  Helewise’s expression was distant, as if she were thinking hard. ‘You make a good case, sir knight,’ she said eventually. ‘But, again, I ask for your proof. Oh, not of Elvera’s identity – we must, I think, accept that you are right.’

  ‘We can check,’ he said eagerly. ‘I can return to my informant at Sir Brice’s manor and ask after Elanor. Go to Milon’s house, to the relatives where, so I was told, she is staying.’

  ‘And what if you find her safe and well?’

  ‘Then I will have to accept that I am wrong.’

  ‘You are not wrong,’ she said quietly. ‘You will not, I fear, find any Elanor. She is Elvera, and she lies dead in my infirmary.’ She frowned. ‘But those established facts alone will not prove who killed my nuns, Sir Josse. And I do not know where we can go from here to find that proof.’

  ‘I will find Milon,’ he said simply. ‘I will go, now, to his house. If he is not there’ – he was almost certain that the young man would be anywhere but at home – ‘then I shall search elsewhere.’

  She gave him a quizzical look. ‘England is a big country,’ she remarked. ‘With many lonely and desolate places where a fugitive may run and hide.’

  ‘He has not run away yet,’ Josse said.

  And, before she could ask him how he could be so sure, he bowed, retreated from the room and set off to find his horse.

  Chapter Twelve

  On his way to Rotherbridge, Josse had decided, he would pay a call on Sir Alard. He needed to seek the old man’s confirmation that he had indeed given jewelled crosses to his daughters and to his niece. It was probably unnecessary, he thought as he neared the Winnowlands estates, but he felt he should not ignore any proof that was reasonably easy to obtain. Not if he were going to make a convincing case to back up all his theorising.

  But he arrived back at Winnowlands to discover that Sir Alard had died the previous day. While Josse had been making his slow, hot journey back to Hawkenlye Abbey, Alard of Winnowlands had finally lost his long battle with death.

  Josse knew. Even before he was told, he knew. There was a difference about the place. Sir Alard’s estates had not been a cheerful environment before, but, whereas previously the few of the peasantry that Josse had seen had looked merely dull-eyed and dejected, now he saw signs of more dramatic distress. Outside one hovel, a man had sat doing nothing but gaze down at his large hands, hanging idle between his knees, as if his situation were so dreadful that everything pertaining to normal life had suddenly come to a halt. From within another, better-kept dwelling, Josse heard the sounds of a woman weeping, so violently that he suspected she was close to hysteria.

  Under the usual customs of inheritance, it would have been a case of ‘the king is dead, long live the king!’, as the new lord took over from his father; few, if any, major changes would be anticipated to alter the lot of those who depended for their very lives on the manor. But here, where there was no new lord …

  Will, who came out into the yard on hearing Josse’s approach, broke the news.

  ‘He’s dead,’ he said flatly. Not even specifying of whom he spoke. ‘Last evening, it was. Afore supper, and he had a nice bit of pie to look forward to.’ Sudden tears glistened in the man’s eyes, swiftly blinked away. Josse, who had observed before how it was so often the little poignancies that undermined the recently bereaved, murmured sympathetically. ‘He began to cough, and the blood just flowed.’ Will went on. ‘Didn’t stop. Master, he sort of choked, couldn’t draw breath. Well, stands to reason, nothing left to draw it into, like, with his chest all rotten.’ He gave a sniff, wiped the back of his hand across his nose, and said softly, ‘I held him, till he was gone. Propped him up, like I always did, till he couldn’t breathe no more. Then I held his hand. After a bit, I knew he were dead. I let him be, overnight. Tucked him up, settled him down, with the fire well-stoked and a candle burning. Then, this morning, I sent word. Priest’s been,’ he added, in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Josse nodded. Will himself, he noted, looked in a bad way. Haggard, his skin yellow and unhealthy looking, he had the appearance of a man who has spent far too long at his master’s sick bed, drawn in far too many breaths of contaminated air. Praying that this loyal servant should not himself succumb to the wasting sickness, Josse got down from his horse and, rather awkwardly, patted the sorrowing man on the shoulder.

  ‘I’m sure you did all you could to make his passing as comfortable as it could be,’ he said, hoping to console. ‘No man could have been better tended, Will, of that I’m certain.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for what I could get out of him, no matter what they say!’ Will burst out surprisingly. ‘Did it for his sake,’ he added more quietly. ‘For old times’ sake. We go back a long way, Master and me.’

  ‘Aye, Will.’ Trying to sound as if he were merely making polite conversation, Josse added, ‘Leave you a bit, did he? That’s a nice reward, for all your loyalty.’

  Will shot him a swift assessing glance. ‘Left me a tidy sum, thank you, sir,’
he said stiffly, and Josse sensed the unspoken comment, if it’s any business of yours. ‘Priest, he was here first thing this morning, like I was telling you, along of that sister of the master’s. They’d got hold of the will, and they read it out.’

  ‘Really?’ Josse pretended to be busy pulling a tangle out of his horse’s mane.

  ‘Aye. All to the niece, saving a few small sums here and there, just like they suspected. The lass’s mother were right pleased, I can tell you.’

  ‘And the young Lord Milon d’Arcy? How did he react?’

  Another suspicious look. Too late, Josse realised he shouldn’t have referred to the youth by name. ‘Fancy you remembering what he’s called,’ Will said, with a casual inflection that didn’t fool Josse for an instant. ‘Well, sir knight, he didn’t react at all, seeing as how he wasn’t here.’

  ‘No? Wasn’t that a surprise, when he’d seemed so eager to know of his wife’s uncle’s intentions?’

  Will shrugged. ‘Maybe. The girl’s mother was here fast enough, though, like I said. Reckon she’ll have passed on the good tidings by now.’

  Josse doubted that. But then he had the advantage over Will, who could have no way of knowing that Elvera was dead and Milon – if Josse was right about him – was still lurking somewhere on the edges of the forest near to Hawkenlye.

  ‘I must go,’ he said to Will. ‘My commiserations on the death of your master, Will.’ He fixed his eyes on Will’s; those last words, at least, were sincerely meant.

  ‘I thank you, sir,’ Will responded.

  ‘I am going to pay another call at Rotherbridge,’ Josse added as he turned his horse. ‘Perhaps this time I shall find Sir Brice at home. Good day, Will.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He felt Will’s heavy-lidded eyes on him as he rode out of the yard. It was not a comfortable feeling.

  * * *

  On the way to Rotherbridge Manor, Josse spotted a horse and rider, stopped down by a stretch of the River Rother where the water flowed fast and shallow over a stony bed. The horse was a good one, and the man’s elegant tunic and soft leather boots indicated he was a person of substance. He was bareheaded, and the dark hair had a streak of white running from the left temple, petering out behind the ear. Josse was just thinking that this particular bend in the river would be a good place for salmon when he heard the sound of sobbing.

  The man, who was standing beside his horse, had his face buried against the horse’s neck, the fingers of his strong hands entwined in its mane. His whole attitude spoke eloquently of despair, and his shoulders were heaving with the extremity of his grief. Face hidden, he did not see Josse, up on the road.

  Josse felt guilty, as if he had deliberately set out to spy on another’s distress. The man had chosen a secluded spot; it was, surely, an unlikely piece of bad luck that someone had come along the lonely track to disturb his privacy.

  Not wanting to subject the unknown man to the awkwardness of knowing himself observed, Josse made haste to pass before the man should look up.

  * * *

  As before, it was Mathild who came out of the house at Rotherbridge to meet him.

  ‘Master’s back, but he ain’t in,’ she said.

  ‘Oh? Are you expecting him to return soon?’

  ‘Could be.’ She gave him her same assessing squint. ‘He’s gone out for a ride. Wants to be alone, he says. He’s missing her, see. The mistress. He’s done his penance, like a good Christian should, but seems it’s not been enough.’ She gave a great gusty sigh. ‘He’ll no doubt get over it, but likely it’s going to take some time.’

  The grieving man by the river. Yes, Josse thought. It must have been Brice.

  Poor man.

  ‘I seek the whereabouts of Milon d’Arcy,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, like you did before, the last time you were by,’ she remarked. She seemed in no particular hurry to divulge the information.

  But Josse had his story ready this time. ‘I come from Winnowlands,’ he said, ‘where—’

  ‘He’s gone at last,’ she interrupted him. ‘God rest his soul.’

  ‘Amen,’Josse said. News travels fast hereabouts, he thought. ‘How did you know?’

  She shrugged. ‘Will’s woman told Ossie’s mother last night. Said Will were right upset, wouldn’t leave the old man’s body by itself.’ She shot Josse a sharp look. ‘Reckon he’ll have a deal more to be upset about soon, him and all the rest of the Winnowlands folk. Told you, did they? What’s to happen?’

  ‘Will told me of Sir Alard’s bequest to his niece, aye, and how the girl’s mother was there to hear the terms of the will.’

  Mathild seemed to have overcome her reservations, and was now positively eager to talk; gossiping about the death and the will of a neighbour were, apparently, more entertaining than listening to Josse explaining himself. ‘Like I said, it’ll upset them, all right,’ she said, nodding in affirmation.

  ‘The estate going to Sir Alard’s niece, you mean?’

  ‘Not her, so much, she’s not a bad lass. Flighty, overfond of her own comfort and a mite too ready to clamber over others to get what she wants, but then, that’s not uncommon, now, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Josse acknowledged.

  ‘No, it’s that Milon d’Arcy who’ll cause all the trouble,’ Mathild predicted grimly. ‘Nobbut a lot of air between his ears, that one, no thought but for the newest fashion, the best wine, the most delicate of dishes.’ She shook her head, thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘Can you see him having the sense to run a great place like Winnowlands? He’ll have neither the knowledge nor the wits to ask the advice of those what has. It’ll be ruin, for the lot of them.’ She looked up at Josse, the shrewd eyes narrowed. ‘Mark my words, sir, the Winnowlands folk are quite right to be worried.’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse said. ‘Poor Will.’

  ‘Still,’ she went on, her expression lifting, ‘look on the bright side, that’s what I say! Young Elanor, now, she’ll be a happy girl when they tell her. What a piece of news to break to a pretty young thing, eh?’

  ‘She is still from home?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Fas as I know she is. They live over the next hill, her and my little lordship Milon – tidy place, small but elegant, mind, other side of the bridge – but I hear tell there’s none of the family there now. She’ll still be with her new Hastings kin, I reckon. And him, well, maybe he’s gone to join her there.’

  ‘And the kinfolk, they live…?’

  She told him, giving the information in such an abbreviated form that he was obliged to ask her to elaborate. She was, quite clearly, impatient to get back to her theme of how wonderful it must be for a lass not yet twenty to inherit a fortune, why, if it had been her, what she could have done with it when she was twenty! Goodness, she’d have had jewels, fine gowns, someone to cook and scrub for her, and she wouldn’t have spent her life running round after other people, that was for sure.

  ‘No, indeed,’ Josse murmured, although he doubted if she was listening. Breaking away as quickly as he could, which was not in fact quickly at all, he was moving off towards the gateway when suddenly she ceased her daydreaming and called after him, ‘Will you tell them, sir knight?’

  ‘Tell them what?’ he asked, although he knew what her answer would be.

  She tutted briefly. ‘About the fortune, of course! And about the poor old man’s death,’ she added, trying, and failing, to adopt a suitably mournful expression.

  He hesitated. Then said, ‘Oh, no. I don’t think that would be suitable at all. It’s hardly my place, as a stranger to the family, to break such tidings.’

  She was looking at him strangely. Wondering – fearing – that she was about to ask why, if he was a stranger, he was involving himself to such an extent in family matters, he forestalled her. Calling out a swift farewell, he spurred his horse and set off to find the house of Elvera’s – Elanor’s – relations-in-law.

  * * *

  She was not there.

  Whoever had concoc
ted this story of her prolonged visit to her husband’s kin clearly had not anticipated that anyone would actually go checking up. The servant who came out to greet Josse announced, after his initial denial, that he’d go in and ask the mistress, since it was possible she’d arranged a visit and omitted to tell the staff; he returned not only with the mistress, but also with the master and three or four other members of the household. Milon’s kin, Josse noticed absently, came from a different mould than Milon; it was hard to believe that the stolid and sensibly dressed family in front of him had produced the dainty, yellow-haired youth.

  Not only was Elanor not there, but nobody knew of any proposed visit. The master and the mistress, frowning at each other in perplexity, said so repeatedly. As far as they were aware, Elanor d’Arcy was contentedly at home with her husband, and planning on staying there.

  Feeling both slightly foolish – quite a few of the household were looking at Josse as if he were next door to an idiot – and also unpleasantly guilty – it was not a good feeling, listening to them speaking happily of Elanor as if she were still alive when he knew full well she was dead – he said he regretted that he must have made a mistake. He apologised for having disturbed them all and took his leave. Then he hurried away and set off on the long road back to Hawkenlye.

  * * *

  He got back as twilight deepened into night. Hot, dirty, ravenously hungry and weary to his very bones, he was good for nothing but food and sleep. Brother Saul, tending him efficiently and with the consideration not to ask him any questions, reported briefly on the day’s events at Hawkenlye since Josse had left that morning.