Girl In A Red Tunic Page 9

  ‘You know I did,’ she said, her voice barely audible. ‘You and I stood together beside his cot after Sister Euphemia had prepared him for us.’

  ‘And did you observe his neck?’

  ‘I – yes. There were the marks of the rope.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘It was quite dreadful.’

  ‘Aye, and I’m sorry to make you see those images again.’ Had de Gifford not been present, he might have gone to stand by her side and given her a brief, reassuring touch on the shoulder. ‘But there is a reason for my insensitivity,’ he plunged on, making himself ignore her distress.

  ‘And that is?’ She spoke from behind the hand that momentarily covered her mouth.

  ‘I implied just now that a man who is hanged by being hauled off his feet by the rope around his neck will, in all probability, strangle to death. If, however, that man climbs to a height and then flings himself off it, the rope round his throat will probably break his neck.’

  There was silence in the room. Then de Gifford said, ‘I take it that the branch was sufficiently high but that there was no broken neck?’

  ‘The branch was high enough, aye,’ Josse said heavily. ‘And no, as far as I am able to tell, Teb Bell’s neck wasn’t broken.’

  De Gifford gave a sigh. Then he said, ‘It is as you fear, Josse. We are looking for a murderer.’

  Josse turned to him. ‘Aye. And, unless we find or hear word of Walter Bell alive and well, it may prove to be the case that this unknown murderer has killed more than once.’

  Chapter 7

  Gervase de Gifford requested a second look at the dead body; he did not say so but Helewise guessed that the wished to verify for himself what Josse had said about the rope marks on the wrists and the neck not having been broken. He was gone for some time – Josse went with him – but then she heard the sound of their boots in the cloister outside her room and called out to them to come in.

  ‘I have seen all I need to see, my lady Abbess,’ de Gifford said. ‘It is as Josse described and I shall be able to give evidence as to the manner of death, should the man’s killer be apprehended.’

  ‘And do you think that he will be?’ she asked.

  He gave a faint shrug, elegant, as were all his movements. ‘I cannot say. At present, with so little information to help us that we do not have even so much as a starting point, I have my doubts.’

  She was about to comment on that but Josse forestalled her. ‘Would it not be an idea to look for the missing brother?’

  ‘For Walter.’ De Gifford glanced at him. ‘Yes, Josse, I’ve already thought of that. As you will recall, I came up to the Abbey to warn the community that Walter Bell might be on his way here. But this was not the only place I was searching for him. My men are asking after him in other areas too.’

  A thought had struck Helewise and, as soon as de Gifford had finished speaking, she expressed it. ‘Have you surmised any valid reason why Walter Bell should have wanted to visit the Abbey?’ she asked him. ‘I do not recall that we discussed that aspect in any great depth before.’

  ‘Indeed not, my lady, and as to his purpose here, I can still only guess.’

  ‘Was the man sick?’ Josse demanded. ‘Injured, perhaps?’

  ‘We wondered, but if that was his reason for coming then for sure he did not arrive,’ she said quickly, ‘for there is no man who resembles the dead brother at present being treated in the infirmary.’

  ‘Aye, and no pilgrim who bears the Bell features down in the Vale,’ Josse agreed.

  ‘In which case,’ de Gifford said slowly, ‘we must conclude that either Walter Bell did not get to Hawkenlye – perhaps was not even making for here in the first place – or that he is here but does not wish us to know that he is.’

  ‘You mean that he’s spying on us? Spying on someone here?’ Helewise asked. ‘That perhaps he wishes to do harm to one of our community or one of the many people currently taking refuge here? You suggested something similar before when you spoke of Teb Bell planning to search up the hill for the missing Walter and you implied that both brothers might be after a third party.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ De Gifford looked solemn. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. It is why I originally came to warn you. I was worried then but I confess that, after today’s discovery, I am now even more anxious.’ He looked at Josse, who was standing frowning heavily beside him. ‘I find the picture that you painted for us, Josse, quite plausible. Walter may indeed be dead and the same man who murdered him may have been the killer of Teb. But what if Walter is still alive? What if he suspects someone sheltering here at Hawkenlye of having killed his brother? It is, after all, no great distance from the Abbey to the place where we found Teb. Walter is, as I have told you, a violent man. Even if he did not bear any strong love for his brother, I do not believe he would leave Teb’s murder unavenged.’

  ‘It comes back to finding Walter!’ Josse exclaimed in exasperation. ‘There are so many ifs and maybes that I see no other way forward.’

  ‘I agree,’ de Gifford said decisively. ‘I shall return to Tonbridge now, my lady, with your permission –’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘– and see if there has been any word or sighting of Walter Bell. If I make haste, I shall be back in my own home by the time darkness falls.’ He gave Helewise a deep bow, Josse a rather sketchier one, and then he was gone.

  ‘He is a man,’ Josse observed into the silence left in de Gifford’s wake, ‘who seems always to move with elegance and deliberation, yet there is a vibrant energy about him that belies that impression.’

  ‘I too have marked it,’ she agreed. ‘We are lucky to have him.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Remember Harry Pelham?’

  ‘God’s boots, aye!’ Josse gave a tut of remembered annoyance. Then, apparently noticing the blasphemy, mumbled, ‘I apologise, my lady.’

  ‘Your apology is accepted,’ she murmured. Then: ‘What should we now do, think you, Sir Josse? Is it worthwhile to make another check of our visitors to make quite sure that Walter Bell is not among them?’

  ‘That was my thought,’ he said, nodding. ‘And I’ve thought of something else; it is too late for further investigation tonight, but tomorrow, with your leave, I’ll take Saul and Gussie with me and have a good hunt through the nearer reaches of the forest, in case Bell is out there living rough while he plans his next move.’

  ‘Yes, I will gladly give you leave. But’ – she met his earnest brown eyes – ‘I am happy that you restrain your impatience and do not propose starting your hunt today.’

  He smiled. ‘I admit that I am tempted, but it would be fruitless because in the fading light we would miss anything there was to find. Oh!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘My lady, I would like to ask Leofgar to be of my search party, if you agree. In all the drama of today’s events, he has slipped from my mind. But he would be an asset, of that I am sure.’

  She too had forgotten about Leofgar and his family. ‘Sir Josse, I am glad you reminded me. I have not yet made my daily visit to Rohaise and her child nor had the opportunity to speak to Leofgar. And yes, by all means ask him to join your hunt!’

  She found Rohaise in the guest chamber preparing Timus for bed. Rohaise sat by the small fire, the child well-wrapped in a blanket on her lap, and she was cuddling him to her as she softly sang a lullaby. The scene was so heart-warming – and it was so good to see Rohaise acting just like any other mother – that Helewise contented herself with a brief smile and a nod to Rohaise before quietly closing the door. Timus, she could see, was almost asleep and a visit from his grandmother might stimulate him back into wakefulness. I will make time for a proper talk with both mother and child tomorrow, she promised herself. As she went off in search of her son, she was already looking forward to it.

  She could not find Leofgar at first, but then one of the nuns said she thought she had seen him going towards the stables. Helewise was surprised, but then recalled that he had taken the duty upon himself of looking af
ter Josse’s horse as well as his own; perhaps he had gone to groom them ready for tomorrow. He had always loved to be with horses, even when he was far too small to groom them ...

  Dwelling for a few self-indulgent moments on the pictures that her memory provided, she then firmly dismissed them.

  She made her way to the stables, wrapping her arms around herself against the penetrating cold of the approaching night. Somebody was within; she could hear soothing whistling and the rustle of straw. She called out, ‘Leofgar? Is that you?’

  There was a moment of stillness and she was suddenly very afraid. Suppose it was not her son in the stables but Walter Bell, armed with a cudgel and a knife ...?

  But then there was more rustling and her son’s voice called back, ‘Yes, it’s me, Mother. I’m – er – just finishing grooming Rohaise’s mare.’

  Faintly surprised, for surely the mare had not been out anywhere that day to become dirty, she was about to comment but then Leofgar appeared from out of the end stall and, approaching her, gave her a swift hug.

  ‘What was that for?’ she asked as he released her.

  ‘Oh – nothing.’ He did not meet her eyes.

  After a moment she said, ‘It’s getting cold. Let’s return to somewhere warmer. I will order some wine and—’

  ‘Thank you, but Rohaise is waiting.’ He led the way out of the stables and they set out across the courtyard side by side. ‘We’re both rather tired.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a wearying day.’ She tried to speak brightly to disguise her disappointment; it was unreasonable to expect him to put a cosy chat with his mother above settling down snugly with his wife. ‘Rohaise is being a great help in the infirmary,’ she said. ‘Sister Euphemia reports that she has a gentle hand and a kind manner with the sick.’

  ‘I’m glad she’s being useful.’

  Helewise had intended that her remark should be the prelude to a brief comparing of notes between them concerning Rohaise’s state of mind; she was keen to know whether Leofgar too saw an improvement. But his somewhat curt reply made her realise that he did not think now was the moment and reluctantly she abandoned the plan.

  ‘You are useful too,’ she said instead. ‘I understand that you have been riding out with Sir Josse and the lay brothers helping with the distribution of food to the needy.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And has Sir Josse asked you yet about tomorrow’s search?’

  ‘Search?’ He stopped and stared at her. In the darkness it was hard to see his face properly. ‘What search?’

  ‘The dead man found this morning is apparently brother to a missing man called Walter Bell. Gervase de Gifford – he’s sheriff of Tonbridge – has reason to think that Walter Bell was on his way here to Hawkenlye and he is looking for him. Sir Josse is to hunt through the forest fringes tomorrow morning to see if there is any sign of Bell and he suggested that you join him.’

  Leofgar did not speak for a moment. Then, with a sort of sigh, he said, ‘I see.’

  Before Helewise could work out whether his reply meant he would or would not agree to be part of Josse’s search party, Leofgar had taken her arm and was saying something about its being too cold to linger out of doors. He escorted her back to her room and then, with a bow, turned and hurried away in the direction of the guest chamber where Rohaise awaited him.

  Helewise, her thoughts and emotions threatening to overcome her, gave him long enough to reach the chamber and then left her room and walked quickly across to the Abbey church. Vespers was long over and there was nobody there; she fell on her knees and prayed both for the ability to understand and therefore help her son with whatever was troubling him so deeply, and at the same time for the grace to put him out of her mind so that she could concentrate on being a good nun.

  ‘I hope, dear Lord,’ she whispered, ‘that you can work out what exactly I am asking you for, because I do not think that I can.’

  Smiling ruefully to herself, she got up and set off to find her own bed.

  Most of the people living in, being treated or sheltering at the Abbey that night slept soundly, for it was a cold, still night and the best place to be was warmly wrapped in blankets on a straw mattress, preferably with a low fire burning down gradually not too far away.

  But three people hardly slept at all.

  As soon as he had eaten his meagre breakfast, Josse took his mind off his still-growling belly by immediately setting about organising his search party. Brother Saul had found woollen cloaks for Brother Augustus and himself, and he accepted the two stout sticks that Josse handed him without comment. Gus, on the other hand, could not conceal his satisfaction; ‘If we’re to hunt down a violent man,’ Josse heard him whisper to Saul, ‘then old Sir Josse here’s quite right and we ought to be able to defend ourselves.’

  Grinning tolerantly at the ‘old’ – Gussie could be no more than seventeen, and anyone over thirty would doubtless be so described – Josse observed Saul’s reluctant muttered reply, although he could not make out the words. But Gus said, ‘Saul, you only need carry the stick and look as if you mean to use it. If there’s any thumping necessary, I’ll do it.’

  It was as well that Josse already knew Augustus and had learned a little about the youth’s good nature. Otherwise he might have found such eager anticipation of thumping quite disturbing in one who lived in an Abbey, even if he was but a lay brother. Still smiling to himself at the exchange, he led his party up the path to the Abbey and went in search of Leofgar.

  He was not in the guest chamber. Nor were Rohaise or Timus; nor were any of the young family’s belongings. Running across to the stables, Josse found that Leofgar’s horse and Rohaise’s mare had also gone.

  Wondering just how he was going to word the announcement, he went to find the Abbess.

  She said, as people so often do when given tidings they would prefer not to hear, ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Aye. Quite.’

  She did not press him for details, bless her, but just sat there behind her great table as if turned to stone. His heart going out to her, he said, ‘My lady, I am quite sure there is some simple explanation.’

  She rounded on him furiously. ‘Such as what?’ Then, instantly regretting the little outburst, added, ‘I am so sorry, Sir Josse. I did not mean to shout at you.’

  ‘It’s all right, I understand.’ Again he had the impulse to go and stand beside her and give her a comforting touch and this time, with no de Gifford to witness, he did so. For some time she sat in her chair and he stood with his hand on her shoulder. Then she said weakly, ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Hm.’ He had no immediate answer; he had not been thinking ahead, contenting himself for that short time with trying to reassure her by his touch that she had his unquestioning support. Now he said, ‘Well, I suppose we should try to guess why they left in the night without telling us they were going. It suggests—’ He stopped. There was no tactful way of saying what was in his mind.

  ‘It suggests guilt,’ she murmured. ‘Does it not?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure that I think ...’ But he had always been honest with her. ‘Aye. It does.’

  ‘Why should they be guilty? Concerning what? What can they have done?’ Her distress was palpable.

  ‘One thing occurs to me, my lady.’ He was not at all sure if he should say what it was, but then again he had to say something.

  ‘Yes?’ she said eagerly.

  ‘It isn’t much!’ he protested, distressed by the sudden flare of hope in her eyes.

  ‘Please, tell me anyway.’

  So he did. ‘Yesterday when we found Teb Bell hanging from his tree, I noticed that Leofgar seemed badly affected. He was pale and sweaty-faced, despite the cold, and could not take his eyes off the body.’ She made as if to speak but he hurried on. ‘Now naturally I can’t say for sure, not knowing his background or his history, but I wondered if maybe it was the first time he had come across violent death. Many a time I’ve noticed a reaction of this sor
t, my lady, when a young man first looks on an ugly death, and indeed it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Most of them overcome it and learn the courage to accept what they must accept.’

  She said, after an uncomfortable pause, ‘You believe my son to be a coward, Sir Josse, and you think that his absence this morning is because he did not want to be among your party hunting for the probably violent Walter Bell.’

  It sounded even worse when she put it into those particular words and he hastened to qualify what he had said. ‘No, I am sure he is not cowardly; all I meant was that it takes some young men longer than others to get accustomed to the dirtier side of life. But he rallied, your Leofgar, he pulled himself together double-quick and got busy looking after Sister Phillipa as soon as I asked him to.’

  ‘That is something to be thankful for,’ she said ironically.

  ‘I’ve thought of another possibility,’ he said, hardly registering her brief comment. ‘The lady Rohaise was in a sorry state when they arrived, was she not?’

  ‘Yes, although she seems to have improved. The work in the infirmary has been good for her, I believe, and she seems more at ease now with her little boy.’

  ‘Aye, well, that all goes to suggest that this time I may have come up with the right answer!’ he said eagerly.

  ‘Which is?’ She was, he noticed, watching him with something that looked like indulgence.

  ‘Let’s assume that Leofgar too has seen the improvement in his wife,’ he said, the words rushing out of him, ‘and he decides that if they stay on here now that this wretched business with the Bell brothers has started, there’s every chance that poor Rohaise will get anxious and worried and she’ll fall back into her former misery. What do you think of that?’ he demanded triumphantly.

  But to his dismay he heard her murmur, ‘Oh, dear!’ Then she said, ‘Dear Sir Josse, you are trying so hard and I appreciate your kindness. You ask what I think of your suggestion, and I have to reply that the answer is, not very much.’

  ‘But—’