Squire Throwleigh's Heir

by Michael Jecks

  Wat tutted to himself after wasting so much time, and trotted to the gate to intercept her.

  He was waiting patiently as she approached. ‘Miss, the servants are in the hall, and would like your help to set out the tables for the party’

  Her face, he saw, was troubled, and she looked at him as though she didn’t recognise him. ‘The servants? Oh, they’ll be setting out the hall, of course.’

  ‘Edgar wasn’t sure where your mistress would like the tables set,’ Wat said helpfully.

  ‘I can show him. Oh, but the cattle,’ she said distractedly, and struck her forehead with her hand. ‘I haven’t milked them yet.’

  ‘Miss? Miss, your hand’s all dirty’

  She glanced down, and automatically wiped her hands on her apron. Her face was full of confusion. She kept glancing back the way she had come, then at the hall, then the byre, with a look so filled with worry that Wat felt quite anxious for her.

  ‘Miss Petronilla, don’t worry,’ he said with a mature decision. ‘You go and rinse your hands in the trough, and I shall milk the cows.’

  ‘Can you?’

  Her evident gratitude made him swagger as he led the way through the gate. ‘I’m the son of Sir Baldwin’s cattleman; I was almost born in a byre,’ he boasted, then reflected a moment. ‘In fact, my mother said I should have been born in the pigsty, but I think she meant the byre.’

  Petronilla gave a laugh and ruffled his hair. ‘Oh Wat, you make me laugh, you clot! If you’re sure, then I’d be very thankful if you could milk the cows and let them out to the field. It would give me some time to help your master’s servant.

  Do that for me and I’ll give you a pint of my mistress’s best ale.‘

  He nodded happily and scuttled off, and Petronilla went hastily to the trough to wash, carefully scooping water over her face and rubbing away any sign of the peat from the moors.

  She didn’t want anyone to realise where she had been.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The mourners stood in a huddle at the church porch, united by their sense of guilt, as if their unintentional witnessing of the sudden lunacy of the lady of the manor conferred some form of complicity upon them. Jeanne and Margaret had gone to Katharine and sent Thomas packing into the churchyard. Now he stood in a corner at some distance from everyone else, staring out over the fields towards the manor house itself, lost in thought.

  That look of hatred on his sister-in-law’s face had shaken him to the core. Her features had been twisted with emotion so that she was almost unrecognisable. The recollection made him shudder.

  He felt the weight of people’s eyes on him, and their silent wonder. No one could have missed Katharine’s words. In the secret fastness of his mind, he cursed her, the bitch, for denouncing him like that before all the others.

  ‘Thomas?’

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ the fat man spat. ‘I should’ve guessed you’d want to question me again, Sir Baldwin. I suppose you want to accuse me of Herbert’s murder now, is that right?’

  ‘Hardly. I wanted to make quite sure that you were all right,’ Baldwin said gently. ‘It must have been a great shock.’

  Thomas gave him a searching look. The knight did have all quietly compassionate look about him. Feeling slightly mollified, the other gave a grunt. ‘What does it matter? I am perfectly fine. The stupid bitch doesn’t realise what a help I have been to her, but there’s nothing new in a woman not appreciating a man’s assistance.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why she should have made such an accusation?’ Baldwin probed. ‘She had been fine until just now - why should she suddenly turn on you like that?’

  ‘Damned woman. I wish I knew,’ Thomas sighed. ‘God’s blood! Why did she have to have her fit in there - in public? The rumour of it will be all over Throwleigh and up as far as Oakhampton by morning, for God’s sake. Christ’s bones! It’ll be all the news in Exeter by tomorrow night. What have I done to deserve this?’

  ‘She must have heard something from someone,’ said Simon. He had walked up quietly while the two were talking. ‘Somebody must have made some allegation about you. Why else should she come out with this?’

  ‘You could be right, Simon,’ Baldwin said, and threw a glance over his shoulder at the crowd waiting near the door. Most of them were the people from the procession from the house: van Relenghes and Godfrey, Daniel, the four labourers who had acted as pall-bearers, and some of the poor who had been hoping for money. ‘But when could they have spoken to her?’

  Thomas sneered. ‘Those two were alone with her almost all morning, and most of the afternoon. No doubt it suits Sir James to slander me to her, the bastard! I’ll get even with him, somehow. I don’t care how long it takes me, but I’ll make him regret saying things about me behind my back.’

  ‘What could he have said?’ Baldwin asked mildly.

  Thomas shot him a look. ‘Never you mind, Sir Baldwin! Just remember this, that slimy bastard is after one thing, and one thing only: her! He says he was a friend of my brother’s, yet none of the people here ever heard Roger mention him.’

  ‘You think he is an impostor?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Did you see him up on the moors when Herbert was killed?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Why must you keep asking me about that!’ Thomas cried, thrusting his arms out on either side as if in despair. Then, as though accepting that the knight had little choice after the display in the church: ‘Oh, very well - what do you want to know?’

  ‘Was van Relenghes out on the moor when you were up there and saw Edmund ride by?’

  ‘Yes. I passed him when I was on my way out. He was there on horseback with that damned guard of his.’

  ‘Where were you going?’

  ‘I had seen Stephen walking off that way and I was looking for him,’ Thomas lied. He didn’t dare admit to the true reason for his journey out to the moor that day, not after the display in the church. ‘I wanted to ask him some questions. He was always my brother’s secretary and clerk, and after Roger’s death I had been looking into his affairs to help my sister-in-law. There were some matters I wanted to check up on - things Daniel had been involved with.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ Simon asked.

  ‘The man has been a trusted servant for many years, and I am sure he is honest, but some monies appear to have been mislaid. Daniel is the steward, and he was given the cash, according to the manor’s beadle, but the cash seems to have disappeared. I wanted to ask Stephen about it.’ Thomas shrugged, hoping they would swallow the story.

  ‘A difficult question to ask such a longstanding servant,’ Baldwin agreed, ignoring the obvious lie.

  Simon nodded thoughtfully. ‘But we’ve heard from Edmund that you were attacking the ferns. What were you doing?’

  Thomas’s face reddened and he forgot to dissemble. ‘I’ll tell you what I was doing! I was looking for the little bastard who’d lobbed a stone at me. I’d missed Stephen, and gave a good day to the Fleming and his man as I passed them, but nothing more than that, nothing more than common politeness required. Anyway, I rode as far as the road to Throwleigh, and decided to take that way back so as to avoid meeting the Fleming again. And, since I hadn’t seen Stephen on the top road, I thought he might have walked back towards the church, but I had only gone a matter of a few yards when someone shot a stone at me and hit my arse. When Edmund saw me, I was trying to find the little sod.’

  ‘Do you know what van Relenghes and his man were doing up there?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Oh, I think they were merely getting a breath of air.’ His face took on a shrewd, keen expression. ‘Why - do you think they might have had something to do with Herbert’s death, then?’

  Baldwin refrained from commenting, but thanked Thomas just as the chattering of the people before the porch was suddenly stilled.

  Lady Katharine came out, assisted by Jeanne and Margaret. The crowd was struck dumb by her tragic appearance. Quietly the congregat
ion parted to allow her to pass, and the three women moved down the line, Katharine with her head bowed, stumbling slightly as if she was unconscious of the lumps and bumps in the path. Margaret caught Simon’s eye as the bailiff moved forward to assist, and gave him a faint shake of her head. He remained where he was, grateful to be relieved of the duty of aiding the woman in her grief - and wondering what could have ignited her misery. He could only assume that seeing her son’s little body on the hearse had made her reason falter.

  Van Relenghes and his man strode along behind as if prepared to guard Lady Katharine from any importunate guests.

  One man did not hold back. As the three women passed, Daniel, the steward of Squire Roger’s household for many years before Lady Katharine had arrived, stepped forward, and ignoring Margaret and Jeanne’s quick frowns, he took his lady’s arm. She glanced up at him once, and then seemed almost to melt into his embrace, grateful for a face she could recognise even through her misery.

  Simon felt the pain of her suffering, but knew he could do nothing to help her. He glanced at his friend, but Baldwin wasn’t watching Lady Katharine. As she passed by, his attention was fixed with a terrible concentration on the face of the Fleming.

  James van Relenghes was watching Daniel with an expression of deep animosity, almost as if he was preparing to draw his knife and strike the steward down there and then.

  Simon’s eyes went automatically to Daniel and his lady. With his arm about her shoulder, holding her hand in his, resolutely keeping his attention fixed on the road before him and ignoring all about them, Daniel helped Lady Katharine back towards the manor.

  Hugh upended his pot and held it out to Petronilla, belching softly. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly.

  Petronilla chuckled to herself. She was comfortable in his company. Hugh was the sort of man she liked, strong and stolid, not the kind who would try to take liberties either, she thought with an angry toss of her head as she recalled that damned Nicholas. If he tried those tricks again, she would teach him a lesson he would never forget.

  ‘It’s good ale,’ Hugh said, giving her an approving nod. ‘Did you make it yourself?’

  ‘Yes. I help with the brewing.’

  ‘You do it well.’

  She smiled, and at that moment Wat returned, happily announcing that the cows were all milked and the milk was in the dairy with the maid in charge.

  ‘What have you been doing all that for?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘To help me,’ Petronilla told him, and filled a good-sized pot with ale, handing it to the boy.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, sitting and taking a goodly gulp. ‘Ah! That’s better.’

  ‘Don’t go drinking too much tonight,’ Hugh grumbled. ‘You know what strong ale does to you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right usually. It’s only when I have a bit too much…’

  ‘You always have a bit too much - and then you snore and puke,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Well, after all he’s done for me today, I don’t mind,’ Petronilla said with decision. ‘He can sleep in here if he wishes, and if he’s sick, I will clean up after him.’

  ‘Don’t encourage him,’ said Hugh. ‘He could vomit in his sleep and choke.’

  ‘Well, you could stay here with him, Hugh.’

  Petronilla was content with Hugh’s company. Not because she felt any lust towards him - if anything, she felt the opposite but she did understand him, and the fact that he seemed happy to sit with her in the buttery was a comfort. The pair found that they had quite a bit in common. She had been raised in Moretonhampstead, while he hailed from Drewsteignton; she had been daughter to a gooseherd, he was the son of a shepherd; she had been taken on by her master, Squire Roger, when she was sixteen, he by his first master when he was only fifteen.

  It would be good to have Hugh sleeping here in the buttery -and if it caused talk, she didn’t mind. Not now - in fact, it could be a useful diversion for gossipers.

  Wat held out his empty cup hopefully, and Petronilla refilled it. The lad was feeling on top of the world. This manor was very different from Sir Baldwin’s household, but he liked the people here. Especially Petronilla. She was kind towards him, and he was aware of a moderately amorous attraction. To an extent, he was jealous of Hugh, who could sit back and listen while she prattled. Wat wanted her to talk to him, and it was to gain her attention that he cleared his throat and said, ‘What were you doing up on the moors, Petronilla? Had you fallen over?’

  She flushed. ‘Fallen? Why, no, Wat. Why should you think that?’

  ‘Because your hands were all dirty with mud. I just thought you must have tripped.’

  Petronilla shot him a look, but the boy’s face was innocence itself. Making a comment about the slipperiness of the moors, she added in an undertone to Hugh: ‘The truth is, I had to get away for a while,’ and told him about Nicholas’s advances.

  ‘So what did he actually say to you?’ Hugh asked, his brow wrinkled with concentration.

  ‘He offered me a coin to sleep with him. And put his hand here,’ she said, touching her right breast.

  ‘If he tries it again, you tell me or my master. We’ll protect you. That foreign bastard can’t go around assuming Devon girls are the same as his over there,’ said Hugh stoutly.

  ‘Thank you, Hugh,’ she said gratefully, and tears sprang into her eyes again. It was so consoling to be able to share her problem with someone who would actually exert himself on her behalf to help and protect her.

  Unlike her lover.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sir Baldwin was determined to question the Fleming as soon as possible. The hospitality at Throwleigh was adequate, certainly, but unremarkable - which was quite understandable, given the recent tragic events - and yet van Relenghes seemed determined to remain even though the atmosphere should have been painful to anyone with a sense of courtesy. Baldwin was sure that the man had some ulterior motive, but he couldn’t see what that motive might be. Unconsciously, he began walking faster as the mourners headed back to Throwleigh Manor, and soon drew level with Sir James. Simon, seeing the direction his feet were taking him in, smiled grimly to himself and increased his own speed to match the knight’s.

  ‘Sir,’ Baldwin said, smiling in a friendly manner. ‘Could I speak to you for a few minutes while we return to the manor?’

  Godfrey glanced at his master. Van Relenghes scarcely acknowledged the knight, but nodded as Baldwin and his friend came level. Godfrey fell back a short distance, not from politeness to give them privacy, but to give himself room to unsheath his sword. He had no reason to distrust the knight, but he knew his place: he was paid to protect his master.

  It was the knight who began. ‘It is a pleasant part of Devonshire, this.’

  Van Relenghes gave a dry chuckle. ‘There are worse parts?’

  ‘You should see the middle of the moors,’ said Simon with feeling.

  ‘If it is more desolate there than here, I have no wish to.’

  ‘But you enjoy taking in the views, don’t you?’ Baldwin said. ‘Like on the day poor Master Herbert died.’

  Van Relenghes stiffened. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. But I heard you were out on the moors that day. Was I wrongly informed?’

  ‘No, I was there.’ To Godfrey’s ear his master’s voice carried a faint trace of anxiety; only a hint, not enough for anyone to have noticed who didn’t know the Fleming. ‘But I do not like my movements to be tracked in this way. Why do you question people about me?’

  ‘It is hardly surprising, is it, when a child of rank is murdered?’

  ‘Do you suppose I had something to do with his death?’

  Godfrey allowed himself to relax, taking his hand from his belt and flexing the fingers. His master sounded amused, nothing more.

  ‘I would hardly think that without very convincing evidence. But I would be very glad to hear what you saw out there that day. I know that Thomas was in the area. Did you see him?’

  ‘
Oh, yes. The fellow rode past us once with that servant of his. He gave us a good day, and stopped to speak to us. After a while he carried on. We didn’t see him again after that.’

  ‘What did he want to talk about?’

  Van Relenghes smiled beguilingly. ‘I am not sure that I should tell you, Sir Baldwin. But lest you think the man is honourable, let me say that he was prepared to take my money in exchange for his promise to persuade his sister-in-law to sell me a portion of the estate. He made this offer to me in front of my servant here.’