Squire Throwleigh's Heir

by Michael Jecks

  ‘And after Petronilla had left you, Herbert fired at you?’

  Stephen didn’t answer for a moment, merely staring at Baldwin with a kind of frozen, angry coldness. I was not alone when he fired at me. He hit me on the arse.‘

  ‘You weren’t alone?’ Simon repeated slowly. He coughed and turned away as the implications of the priest’s bitter tone came home to him. ‘And you were hit on the backside. Ah, I see!’

  ‘What would you have done, Bailiff? Just the same as me, I expect. I leaped up, pulled down my robe and tried to find the little bastard. That was why I was barefoot, because I had taken my shoes off while I was… with Petronilla. I fastened them on again in a hurry, and one came off as I chased after him.’

  Lady Katharine felt her face harden as she became aware of the suppressed laughter all about her. She had an overpowering urge to scream at them; they weren’t there for enjoyment, they were there to find the murderer of her boy!

  ‘What happened then?’ probed Baldwin. Alone of the men in the room he displayed no signs of amusement, to the lady’s appreciation. He knew how painful this interview must be for her and wished to treat it with as much dignity as possible for her sake.

  She looked back to her ‘priest’. The title, one supposedly of honour, made her curl her lip.

  Stephen lifted a hand and let it fall as if in sorrow. ‘I caught up with him where the track leads down to the road. There was a large branch lying nearby, and I bent Herbert over a rock and whacked him with it. I told him that if he ever did something like that to me again, I’d see to it that he wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. That was all.’

  ‘What, you left him there?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Bailiff, my woman was back down at the stream. I wanted to make sure she was all right, for God’s sake!’

  Lady Katharine saw Sir Baldwin gaze at Petronilla.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I have been seeing Stephen for months, and I wanted to talk to him because I have discovered that I am with child. But then his passion overwhelmed me, and I—’

  “I think we understand that,‘ Baldwin interrupted smoothly. ’But how long was he gone, and how was he when he returned?‘

  ‘He was gone long enough for me to stand and pull my clothes back,’ she asserted defiantly. ‘I heard the boy cry out when he was caught, and saw Stephen strike him, and I could hear him crying still when Stephen came back to me.’

  Lady Katharine had to swallow to keep the sob from bursting out of her. The talk of her boy being beaten, his punishment being spoken of so casually, made her feel physically sick with longing to see him again, to have a last opportunity to cradle him in her arms and soothe his hurts.

  ‘And you both left together?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Petronilla said.

  ‘But why didn’t you search for your shoe?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I couldn’t find it,’ Stephen said. ‘I did go back briefly to seek it, but I was unsuccessful.’

  ‘So you walked back to the manor without a shoe?’

  ‘I thought it had to be a punishment from God for forgetting my vow of chastity,’ Stephen said stiffly. ‘I returned for a better look as soon as I had a chance, as you saw, but there was still no sign of it.’

  Lady Katharine averted her face from the man. As he spoke, he had glanced towards her as if hoping to see some sign of forgiveness - but how could he expect her of all people to give him that comfort; it was an insult to her son’s memory. However, the bailiff’s next words caught her attention, and she slowly turned to face him.

  ‘But Anney’s son said…’ Simon stumbled, and then was silent as he saw Lady Katharine’s face.

  She stared at the bailiff and the knight, who had caught his sleeve with an urgent warning, but too late. ‘Anney’s son…’ she repeated, and looked at her maid with horror.

  Anney met her gaze with an almost amused sneer. She had thought Simon would accuse someone else - she’d hoped the bailiff would find the priest guilty - but now her last hope was gone and there was no further alternative. With a loud sniff, Anney stepped forward with a dignified mien. ‘What of it? Why shouldn’t a son protect his mother?’

  ‘What are you saying, Anney?’ asked Baldwin quietly.

  Lady Katharine saw Anney smile. It looked like a mask of pure evil. Her face was as white as that of a witch or a ghost. The heart beat twice as fast in Lady Katharine’s breast as she heard her maid gleefully announce, ‘I’m saying that I killed Herbert! And I’d do it again.’

  And then Lady Katharine screamed once, and fell senseless.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Instantly all was bustle as the women went to the lady’s side to try to assist, and the men stood fidgeting, wondering what should be done. Daniel pushed through them all and picked his mistress up, lifting her as easily as if she were a mere child herself. Saying nothing, he turned and walked to a large bench near the fire, laying her down gently.

  ‘Petronilla?’ Baldwin called. ‘Fetch feathers.’ The girl gave an understanding nod. Burning feathers beneath a fainting person’s nose would waken them. Only when she had gone did Baldwin look for Anney.

  She stood at the back of those who crowded around, the smile still fixed to her face, as if she was pleased with the result of her words. Seeing him watching, she raised an eyebrow in polite enquiry, and gestured towards the door. Nodding, Baldwin followed her out and into the yard behind, Edgar at his side.

  ‘You know why, of course,’ she began. ‘It was because the fool allowed my son to drown.’

  ‘I had heard of that,’ he agreed. ‘But why should you demand his life as well? He was no more than a baby of three years old when that happened. Wasn’t it enough that you had seen one child killed unnecessarily, without demanding the death of another?’

  ‘If he had called out, done anything, my Tom would be alive Row,’ she hissed. ‘You expect me to forget that? To be grateful that I have a position here in the manor, looking after her who gave birth to the boy who killed my son?’

  ‘This murder won’t bring your boy back.’

  ‘No, but the revenge warms me, Sir Knight! Haven’t you ever wanted to hurt someone, or even kill them, to avenge an awful wrong?’

  He couldn’t meet her eyes; he was himself tainted with a murder he had committed as retribution against one of those who had destroyed his Order.

  ‘I see you have,’ she crowed. ‘Well, then, don’t condemn me, Sir Knight, for doing the same.’

  ‘But why wait so long? Why kill the child now, so soon after his father died?’

  She faltered for a moment, but then the cold sparkle returned. ‘I had lost my husband when my boy died. Why should she be protected when I had lost everything, eh?’

  ‘You had not,’ he reminded her. ‘You may have lost a husband and a son, but you had Alan still. He was there to care for you, and yet you killed Lady Katharine’s child just when she was at her most defenceless. That was truly wicked.’

  ‘Perhaps - but he killed my Tom, and I could never forgive him that. Why should I? Herbert deserved his death.’

  ‘How can you suggest such a thing? He was a boy, not a murderer or felon, just five years old!’

  ‘Well, I see I shan’t convince you,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But remember, I was prepared to kill to avenge my boy, and I’d be happy to do it again.’

  He nodded. There didn’t seem much more to say. He told Edgar to take Anney to the storeroom and to lock her inside. As an afterthought, he instructed Edgar to release Edmund, and to bring the farmer to the hall. Then, sighing, and with a sense of deep despondency, Baldwin made his way back indoors.

  Edmund was sunk in a gloomy reverie when he heard the steps approach, and the door rattled to the sound of the bolts being shot back. The night had been hellish. He had only been given a jug of ale, no more, with his pottage, and he hadn’t slept well. Tired, fearful, his mind filled with visions of what might await him, he cringed as the door opened to show only Edgar and An
ney.

  ‘Come on, Edmund - out. You’re free.’

  He gaped at them while Anney gave him a mocking smile. ‘What, Ed, you want to stay here in my place?’

  “Your place?‘

  Edgar sighed irritably. ‘This woman has confessed to killing Herbert. That means you are released, all right? If you wish, I can lock you back in here, but if I do, I won’t be in a hurry to let you out next time. Come on! Out!’‘

  Edmund stumbled forward, but as he passed Anney, he stopped and stared. He couldn’t understand it. She hadn’t been there on the moor, she’d just set out on the road as he approached the manor.

  ‘Go on, fool! Anney said quietly. Get out while you still can!’

  He walked slowly and feebly through the sunlight. The yard was filled with noise. A cart had arrived and butts of fresh and salted fish were being unloaded and dropped onto the paved court before being rolled noisily to the storage sheds near his cell. Horses trotted past, their shoes ringing loudly on the stone, men marched with a regular snapping sound as their leather soles struck the ground, and all around people shouted, sang, or whistled as they got on with the day’s work.

  It was disorientating, and suddenly the man couldn’t go any further. He stood in the midst of the bustle and stared about him with an almost panicked air.

  Edgar saw his perplexity, and although he didn’t know what caused it, he knew a spell in a gaol could be disorientating. He took the farmer’s arm, and gently led him up to the hall. ‘Come along. We’ll get you a quart of strong ale before you go home. You need some form of compensation for your stay in the cell.’

  Edmund obediently followed where Edgar took him, although at the door to the hall, he stopped, and stared at Edgar with a witless fear in his eyes.

  Edgar smiled reassuringly, although he was rapidly becoming impatient, and helped the farmer through the door and into the buttery.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Edgar said despairingly. Draped over one of the smaller barrels he saw Wat. Nearby was Alan, who snored quietly on the floor, a broken pot at his side; Jordan lay near the wall, a beatific smile on his face.

  Edgar walked in and kicked the cattleman’s boy. Wat gave a short, hiccuping cry, flailed at the air, and disappeared over the other side of the barrel. Alan instantly snapped awake with a snort and a shake of his head. Jordan remained blissfully asleep.

  ‘Up, Wat! And find me some good ale, if you don’t want a cuff round your head!’

  ‘Ow, that hurt,’ said the boy, reappearing rubbing at his head. He burped and sulkily fetched a jug, filling it from the butt he had been sleeping on.

  Edgar shook his head in disgust, passed the jug to Edmund and led Wat from the room. Once outside, he took Wat by the sideburn and pulled up, twisting it, until the boy was on his tiptoes. ‘You are not to enter that room again, understood? I can’t trust you, and I won’t have you embarrassing your master with your drunkenness. You won’t go inside the buttery again while we are here.’

  ‘Oh - ow! All right, sir, I won’t go in there.’

  ‘Now get into the hall and wait!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And take your drunken friends with you.’

  So saying, Edgar hauled Alan to his feet and shoved him out, and then went to Jordan and pulled the semi-comatose lad up. Jordan opened his eyes Wearily and smiled inanely at his father. ‘You’re free!’ he blurted, and hiccuped.

  Edgar thought Edmund looked like an ox patiently waiting for the goad. He stood quietly, apparently oblivious to the presence of his son. His imprisonment, even for so short a time, had affected him badly, and now he shuffled slowly and aimlessly gazed about him like a dazed old man with fuddled wits.

  Jordan belched winey fumes in Edgar’s face, and the servant winced in disgust. He thrust the boy towards Wat and Alan, who each took an arm and half-carried, half-dragged their friend to the hall. Meanwhile Edgar refilled Edmund’s jug and asked the farmer to follow him again.

  Jordan blinked and gazed about him with the dull-witted slowness of an old man. After the relative gloom of the buttery, this hall, with its sconces and candles and roaring fire, was almost painful on his eyes. All he wanted to do was sit next to his dad in a dimly-lit corner and doze again, but he daren’t. Not with the people in here.

  Baldwin had returned, and now sat next to the fire with his wife, holding her hand. His friend Simon was standing in front of the fire, and his face was gloomy, like Baldwin’s, although he looked positively cheerful compared with Thomas, the new master. He sat by himself, avoiding everybody.

  Daniel wasn’t about, which was some relief. Jordan knew that the steward wielded vast power, and he was always scared of him. He was also secretly glad to see that the mistress was nowhere to be seen. Then he went cold as he saw Petronilla sitting on a bench, her face held in her hands, and Stephen behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

  Wat quietly walked with his charges over to a bench and all three sat just as Edgar and the farmer entered.

  Baldwin glanced up; Jordan thought he looked exhausted. It was odd to see a rich man showing that kind of fatigue. Usually it was only their staff who looked tired, at least in Jordan’s experience. While the peasants all toiled and slaved to keep the lands fruitful and the storerooms filled, Squire Roger for instance had spent his time in pleasurable pursuits: hunting, riding, playing with his weapons.

  But Jordan’s attention was soon diverted to his father. Edmund stumbled in like an old man. His face was pale and drawn, as though he had been incarcerated for years, and Jordan felt the drunkenness fall away as his fear rose. He didn’t realise his father was freed; to the boy it looked as if the knight and bailiff were about to pronounce sentence upon him.

  The knight glanced up. ‘Ah, Edmund, please come here, near the fire. You must be cold.’ He watched as the farmer slowly shuffled forwards and held his hands out to the flames. ‘Edmund, I am sorry that you have been so ill-served,’ he continued. ‘I can only hope that in future your life will become easier.’

  It was at this moment that Daniel appeared in the doorway. At his side was a thin, smiling, ruddy-faced man, with a face much scarred by the pox, who glanced about him with a casual interest.

  ‘Sir Baldwin,’ Daniel said. ‘You wanted to speak to the fishcarter.’

  ‘You are the carter who was here on the day that Master Herbert died?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. I was here that day’

  ‘You know that the boy was killed and his body dumped on the road. Did you see him?’

  The carter gave him a pitying look. ‘Sir, if I’d seen the lad lying hurt or dead I’d have put him on my cart and brought him back here. I have a boy his age myself, and wouldn’t expect a man to leave my boy in the road.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else that day?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Him, sir,’ he said, pointing at Edmund. ‘He was on his cart riding over here, although he was some ways back. I saw two gentlemen on horses, out near the stream - oh, and Anney, of course.’

  ‘Where was she - up on the hill?’

  He glanced at the bailiff. ‘On the hill? No, she was on the road, some way from the house here.’

  Baldwin’s head snapped around, and his face had lost its dark scowl. He peered closely at the fishmonger. ‘Are you quite sure? We thought that by the time you passed along the road, she must already have left the track to go up the hill.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, sir - all I can say is, she was on the road, and I passed her within a few minutes of leaving the manor. Just after that I started to drop down the hill and saw the two gentlemen on their horses at the bottom. I passed by them, and a little way on I saw Thomas here, and his man.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else?’

  ‘Up there? Only a boy, staring out at me. That one,’ he said, pointing at Alan.

  ‘Alan, Jordan - come here,’ Baldwin said, and the two slowly climbed to their feet and, exchanging a glance, went forward.

  ‘We have had someone confess to
the murder of your friend,’ said the knight. I am sorry, Alan, but your mother admits it.‘

  The boy gaped, then stared at Jordan. ‘But she wasn’t even up there!’

  ‘No, but you and I know who was, don’t we?’ said Baldwin. He gave Alan a steady look, and Simon felt a cold horror wash down his spine even before Baldwin spoke.

  ‘Everyone here should study these two. There can be no doubt what happened, I think. I have gone over it time and time again in my mind, and I can see no other solution. Anney was nowhere near the scene of the crime when Herbert died; when she confessed, it was because she wanted to protect the true murderers. Edmund knew nothing about the killing either. At first perhaps he honestly did think that he might have run the boy down, and the shock was made all the more hideous for him because he truly believed for a moment that he had killed his own son.