A Shadowed Evil Page 18

  ‘I pray it will,’ Godfrey said, accompanying them out into the yard. The lad brought out their horses and, as they mounted, Godfrey gave them directions to Pard’s Wood: ‘Follow the track down into the valley, then go along by the stream and on to the forest road, and if you find yourselves in under the trees, you’ve gone too far!’

  With the sound of his hearty laughter still ringing in their ears, Josse and Herbert rode out through the gates.

  The route was quite easy to follow, although down there on the low-lying land, water from the partly melted snow had mingled with the heavy soil to make a gooey, sticky mud that slowed their speed and quickly tired the horses, who at times had to make huge efforts to raise their feet out of the mire. When finally the small outcrop of oak, beech and ash which they had been told to look out for came in sight – a sort of outlier group standing sentinel for the great forest beyond – the daylight was beginning to fade, and the temperature was dropping fast. Josse and Herbert looked at each other with expressions of relief.

  They rounded a bend in the track and, in among the trees, saw a small manor house set within its own square courtyard. The front of the yard was bordered by a paling fence in which was set a pair of wooden gates, presently closed. The other sides of the courtyard were formed of thick hedges rising higher than a tall man’s height and comprised of mainly yew, hazel and a thick tangle of brambles.

  They approached the gates. Above them rose a pediment, and in its apex there was a carved wooden figure … No, a face, Josse realized as he studied it; an animal’s face, a little like a very big cat but with slitted eyes and a wide-open mouth from which the canine teeth curved outwards and down like two vicious blades. The creature’s face was marked with faded paint and seemed to be spotted.

  ‘I do believe that animal’s a pard,’ Herbert said quietly. ‘It suggests we’ve come to the right place.’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse agreed. ‘I just hope there’s somebody here, because we can’t go any further tonight.’

  ‘We’ll have to go in and find shelter in some outbuilding if the place is deserted,’ Herbert said, sounding alarmed. ‘It’s going to be fearsomely cold once night falls.’

  ‘Let’s see, shall we?’ Josse said calmly.

  He went up to the gates and, leaning down from the saddle, tried to open them. They were barred. Standing up in the stirrups and looking down into the yard, he yelled, ‘Halloa the house! Is anyone within?’

  ‘Can you make out anything?’ Herbert called anxiously.

  ‘No. There’s no light to be seen, and the stable door’s wide open, so I imagine they’ve—’

  He stopped. As if, hearing him, someone within the house had struck a light to come and investigate, a faint yellow glow had appeared inside a tiny, square window. Moments later, there was the creak of hinges as a door opened and a quavery male voice demanded, ‘Who’s there and what do you want? The mistress and the master aren’t here and I don’t know when they’ll be returning, so it’s no use asking.’

  ‘I am Josse d’Acquin and my companion is Herbert of Southfire Hall, by the town of Lewes,’ Josse called back. ‘We seek the household of Peter Southey, who sought refuge at Southfire following an accident, but—’

  ‘Never heard of him!’ the old man replied. ‘Young master here isn’t called Peter Southey, and, like I said, he’s away.’

  ‘He had a chestnut gelding with a cross-shaped face marking and two white feet,’ Josse cried desperately, fearing the old man would bang the door and leave him and Herbert out in the cold night.

  Silence. Then the old man said, ‘Sounds like Mickle, right enough. You’ve got him, then? The horse?’ He was advancing now across the yard towards them. ‘What’s he doing in Lewes?’

  There was the sound of heavy bars being drawn back, and the gates opened. ‘You’d better come in,’ the old man said grudgingly.

  Josse and Herbert rode into the yard and dismounted. Since the old man showed no intention of inviting them inside the house, Josse realized he would have to ask his questions out in the cold. ‘The horse is definitely your master’s Mickle,’ he said. ‘We’ve been to see Sir Godfrey Hellingsham – we’ve just come from there – and he confirmed that the horse was brought by the mistress of Pard’s Wood.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ The old man nodded. ‘Nine, ten years back, that was. Wanted him to have the best, she did, and she knew where to buy it.’

  Aeleis was always generous, Josse thought. It was totally unreasonable, for he still had no proof, but he was convinced this was Aeleis’s house, and it was she who had purchased the best horse that money could buy for her precious son.

  He came out of his brief reverie. Both Herbert and the old man were staring at him expectantly. ‘Er – what did your young master look like?’ he asked the old man. He was wondering if the dead man had given them a false name, and, as he thought about it, he remembered.

  The scene was vivid in his mind. He had asked the young man what his name was, and he’d begun to say something – a single syllable sounding like Pa – and stopped. Then he asked where he was, and someone, Isabelle, probably, had said Southfire Hall. Then, some time later, after they’d asked if anyone would be worrying about him, and should they send word, Josse had asked him again what his name was, and he said Peter Southey.

  But Peter didn’t start with Pa. And Southey … Isabelle had just said Southfire Hall, so was Southey the first name that came into the young man’s head, having just heard something similar?

  You lied to us, Peter, Josse said silently.

  ‘What does he look like?’ the old man was repeating, scratching his head as if not sure how to respond to such an outlandish question. ‘Well, like any other young man, I reckon. Fair hair, long, down to his shoulders. Can’t say I approve, but it’s not for me to say, and the young make their own fashion.’

  Josse thought hard, trying to make up his mind. The evidence was strong, but what if his conclusion was wrong? He glanced at Herbert, but Herbert seemed at a loss. He gave a faint shrug, as if to say, It’s up to you.

  Turning back to the old man, Josse said, ‘I believe, from what you’ve just said and from your confirmation that the chestnut gelding belonged to your young master, that I have bad news. If the man who was tended at Southfire Hall and your master are the same man, then I’m afraid I have to inform you that he’s dead.’

  The old man shook his head. ‘No, no, no, you’re wrong,’ he said confidently. ‘Reckon somebody must have stolen Young Master’s horse – this Peter Southey you mentioned – because Master’s nowhere near Lewes.’ He smiled smugly at them both.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Josse demanded. ‘Absolutely sure?’

  ‘I’m sure all right!’ He looked affronted, as if Josse had called him a liar. Then, leaning closer to Josse, he said, ‘Mistress took sick, see.’

  Sick! Oh, no, no! But she might not be Aeleis, he reminded himself firmly. And, said a faint voice in his head, sick is better than dead … ‘Go on,’ he ordered.

  ‘Master, he sends for the healer down in the village, and she helped as she could, eased Mistress’s discomfort a bit, but then she says she reckons there’s no more she can do and Mistress needs better care than she can offer, which was honest of her, if nothing else.’ He sniffed. ‘Anyway, Young Master says what did she suggest, and she says, only one place as can help Mistress now, and that’s the nuns.’ He nodded encouragingly, his expression earnest. ‘Good, they are, see. Make the sickest of folk well. With God’s help,’ he added piously.

  Josse felt a strange sensation in his chest. It was as if, somewhere deep inside himself, he had been aware all along that this was how it would be.

  ‘Your mistress is at Hawkenlye Abbey,’ he said tonelessly.

  ‘But, Josse, that’s just near where you—’ Herbert began.

  ‘Yes, of course she is!’ the old man said over him. ‘Rode off there – ooh, more than a week ago now, more like eight, maybe ten days. They had to wait, see, for a morni
ng when it wasn’t too cold and Mistress had passed a good night, else the journey would have been too much for her, and even as it was, Master said they should have got a litter or a cart, only Mistress said not to fuss and she’d manage as it wasn’t far, and—’

  ‘How far?’ Josse barked. Surely the old man must be wrong.

  ‘Well, if you take the road that runs westwards round the forest and then bend north and east, it’s maybe fifteen miles,’ the old man said. ‘Only they didn’t go that way, see? Young Master, he says they’re taking the track through the forest, and that cuts a good seven, eight miles off.’

  Josse shook his head, trying to understand. He had been so sure he’d broken through the veil of mist that Peter Southey had woven around himself, and identified him as Aeleis’s son. But what if he was wrong? If this old boy was to be believed, then Aeleis was ill and her son had taken her to Hawkenlye, and that was where they both were now. But if that was true, then why did Peter Southey have Aeleis’s precious Queen Eleanor chess piece?

  Throwing up his hands in exasperation, Josse thought, He probably stole it, along with the horse, and Herbert and I have come all this way for nothing.

  ‘What should we do, Josse?’ Herbert asked.

  Josse, realizing that the silence had gone on rather a long time, turned to him. ‘I think I may have seen connections where none exist, lad,’ he said heavily. The old man, he noticed, was listening intently, a fascinated expression on his face. ‘Maybe the woman and her son who live here at Pard’s Wood are two strangers. Maybe Peter stole the chestnut gelding from the Hawkenlye stables, and the chess piece was in the saddle bag. Maybe,’ he concluded heavily, ‘Peter Southey has no link with Aeleis.’

  ‘Aeleis is Mistress’s name,’ the old man said. Then, frowning, ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  Josse felt a great shiver, running right through his body. Then he seemed to be filled with a warm glow, as if he had moved within the orbit of a blazing fire. Aeleis, he thought.

  All at once it didn’t seem to matter much who Peter Southey was, or why he had the horse and the chess piece. Aeleis was at Hawkenlye, taken there by her son, and Josse was going to see her again, just as soon as he could get there.

  He glanced up. Through a gap in the clouds, the western sky was still glowing, although the sun had set some time ago. He would cut through the forest, he thought, just as Aeleis and her son had done. He didn’t know the way, at least, not all of it, but if he headed off north-eastwards, sooner or later he was bound to come to a place he recognized, and after that it would be easy. The great forest trees were bare; it was always more straightforward to find your way among them in winter.

  Having made his decision, he was desperate now to be off. ‘Herbert, you stay here tonight,’ he said, turning to the younger man. ‘If that’s all right?’ He looked at the old man, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Suppose so,’ the old man grumbled.

  ‘Thank you. Then, first thing tomorrow, I want you to ride back to Southfire and tell them what we’ve discovered.’

  ‘What have we discovered?’ Herbert asked plaintively.

  ‘That Peter Southey’s horse was purchased by Aeleis, for her son, but that Peter can’t be that son because he and Aeleis have gone to Hawkenlye Abbey because she’s ill,’ he said, all in one breath. ‘Tell them I’ve gone to Hawkenlye to see Aeleis –’ even saying the words made his stomach give an odd sort of flip – ‘and that I’ll find out from her son where and when the horse was stolen, and how he wants to go about getting it back.’ He frowned. It was very hard to think about anything other than the prospect of his imminent reunion with Aeleis.

  Herbert put a tentative hand on his arm. ‘Josse, there are other women called Aeleis,’ he said gently. ‘Are you sure you’re not jumping to the wrong conclusion?’

  Josse stared at him, something like fever pounding in his blood. ‘I’m not wrong!’ he whispered. ‘I can’t explain, but I know it’s her.’

  Herbert looked very worried. ‘Very well, but won’t you at least wait till daylight before you go haring off to find her? The forest is perilous, Josse, especially at night.’

  Josse was touched by the concern in Herbert’s face. ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ he said, smiling. It wasn’t the moment to explain about Joanna, and how, the forest having been her natural home, he knew he would never come to harm there. ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘But—’

  Josse was already swinging up on to Arthur’s back. ‘I’ll return to Southfire as soon as I can,’ he called down. ‘Give Helewise my love.’ A stab of something that felt quite a lot like guilt went through him, but he ignored it. He put his heels to Arthur’s sides, the big horse sprang forward, and Josse clattered out of the yard and off down the track leading into the forest.

  THIRTEEN

  Night had settled on Southfire Hall. The household had retired, and Helewise sat by herself in her room. She had not made any preparations for bed; she had the strongest sense that the late evening mood was not as restful as it appeared, and she was very concerned about Olivar.

  She believed she understood, now, the change in his mother’s attitude towards him. To begin with, coming with her little son to Southfire as Herbert’s bride, naturally she would have been anxious for Herbert to become the boy’s new father, and a true part of the family in the law’s eyes as well as those of herself and Herbert. Undoubtedly this would explain why, as Isabelle had described, Cyrille hadn’t wasted an opportunity to parade the child before them, extolling his virtues, encouraging him – even bullying him, if Isabelle was to be believed – to behave like a proper little lord, and punishing him when he failed to meet his mother’s very high standards.

  Then all that had altered. Constant vigilance and hard-handed discipline had changed to indifference. Helewise had witnessed Cyrille’s new attitude to her son with her own eyes: only this afternoon, when Helewise asked if she might take Olivar off to assist her, Cyrille had said, Do what you like with him. Would a proud, ambitious mother, eager to see her son take his place in the family inheritance, have said those unkind words? Surely not, unless whatever ailed Cyrille physically had also addled her mind.

  But now Helewise knew what ailed Cyrille; or, at least, she believed she did. Cyrille was suffering the spells of sickness and the lassitude because she was in the early months of pregnancy. And, proudly and happily carrying her new husband’s child – Is she really? Helewise thought, for, despite all the evidence, she still found it hard to believe – then the reason for her changed attitude towards Olivar became apparent. It was harsh and it was cruel, but the fact remained that Olivar, son of Cyrille’s first husband, had been pushed into second place by the child she now carried in her womb.

  What, though, if the baby proved to be a girl? This family, after all, abounded in girls. But then, in a flash of insight, Helewise realized that Cyrille would not even have considered that possibility. Wanting – needing – a boy child, she would have convinced herself that she was bearing one.

  And so poor little Olivar was superfluous to requirements.

  ‘Oh!’ Helewise exclaimed aloud. ‘Oh, it’s too cruel.’

  He was a child to be proud of, she reflected, irrespective of his parentage. He was polite, obedient, willing and affectionate, yet he was no timid little weakling. He had entered into the hide-and-seek with Cecily, Brigida and Philippa with great enthusiasm and, judging by the grubby state of all four children when eventually they were rounded up for supper and bed, he’d abandoned all his mother’s rules about keeping his hands and his clothes neat and clean, and not venturing anywhere that she’d forbidden, without a backward glance. Moreover, it appeared he had been the leader in some of the wilder ventures, as Helewise overheard Cecily telling her mother in awestruck tones that Olivar had gone on into the ‘scary dark bit’ where the little girls usually feared to venture. ‘He’s really brave,’ Cecily had added, looking at Olivar with wide-eyed awe.

  Was he feeling as brave right now? Helew
ise wondered. Now that it was dark, the household was asleep, his lively companions of this afternoon were no longer with him and the monster that lived under the bed was limbering up for its nocturnal offensive?

  She stood up. I cannot leave him there on his own, she thought. I no longer care what his mother thinks or if she is angry with me for interfering, and if she threatens to punish Olivar because he is so frightened, then I shall get angry with her too, even if she is pregnant.

  She nodded fiercely, confirming her resolve. Then she stuck a taper in the fire and lit a lamp, carrying it before her like a weapon as she headed off along the passage, across the Old Hall and into the family’s quarters. She was not sure where Olivar slept, but Josse had said it was on the opposite side from Cyrille’s chambers, and she knew where they were. Accordingly, she set off down the passage to her right, walking soft-footed, ears straining for any soft noise.

  She heard it immediately. Somewhere close at hand, a child was crying in terror. The sound was deeply distressing, for it was quite clear that whoever was making it – and it had to be Olivar – longed to howl and scream for help but, not daring to, had stuffed a fist in his mouth to stifle all but the softest whimper.

  Along to the right, beneath a low arch, a door stood ajar. Helewise rushed forward, tripped on an uneven flagstone, dropped her lamp and everything went dark. She stumbled on towards where she thought the open door was, fumbling at it, pushing it wide open, and just as she threw herself into the room, something came at her. She raised her hands to ward it off, and felt a cold, slippery, clammy substance … What was it? Oh, God, oh, dear Lord, was it Olivar’s monster, extending a dreadful, terrible, claw-tipped feeler towards her?

  She opened her mouth to scream, but then, amid her rising panic, she heard an all too human sound: someone was panting, hard, as if they had just expended a great deal of energy; as if, she suddenly realized, they too were very scared.