Ashes of the Elements (26 page)

Spinning round, he saw Petronilla Durand, standing not two paces off and looking down at him.

She was already dressed in some flowing, dark mourning garment, which served to remove the last vestige of colour from her normally pale cheeks. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the lids swollen. Her headdress of starched white had been tightly fastened, and over it she wore a thin black veil. The flesh of her jaw and chin, in cruel contrast to the smooth linen of the barbette, was sagging and faintly yellow-looking, like that of a recently plucked chicken. Her thin-lipped mouth had taken on a deep downward curve, on either side of which were heavily marked semicircular creases which, Josse was almost sure, hadn’t been there before.

She had aged ten years.

Josse stood up, moved across to her and, kneeling once more, took her icy hand in his and kissed it. ‘My lady, my deepest condolences on your loss,’ he said. ‘If there is anything I can do, you have but to name it.’

She took her hand out of his grasp. Turning away so that he could no longer see the ruined face, she said, with a moan, ‘Bring him back!’

Josse moved to her side. Had she lost her wits? He said gently, ‘That I cannot do, lady.’

She shook her head. ‘I know, Sir Knight. I know.’ She sighed.

‘Console yourself with the knowledge that he can have felt little pain,’ Josse said. It wasn’t much, he knew, but grieving widows had been comforted by such remarks in the past; he had uttered the facile comment many times himself. ‘The wound is deep, and death would have been instantaneous.’ He couldn’t be sure – not as sure as he was pretending to be – but, if it helped her, then it scarcely seemed important.

‘Little pain,’ she repeated. There was a moment of silence, then she said, ‘How poorly you understand.’

Ah.

‘My lady?’ Josse said.

The pink-rimmed eyes turned to meet his. ‘This house has ever been filled with pain,’ she murmured. ‘And, for all that my husband lies dead, that pain will never cease.’

It was a strange thing for a widow to say. Did she mean that Tobias’s death had caused the pain? Perhaps, Josse thought, perplexed, but it hadn’t sounded that way. It had sounded as if Petronilla was referring to some deep distress, ongoing, something that had been a constant element in her life.

Trying to console her – the most hard-hearted man in the world would surely have wanted to bring comfort to that deadly pale, ravaged woman, with her destroyed face – Josse said, ‘Lady, there was joy in this house! Why, I saw with my own eyes the love that was between you and Tobias. Why do you speak of pain?’

As if Petronilla were regretting her words, she made a visible attempt to undermine them. With a ghastly smile that looked more dreadful on her face than her expression of misery, she said, ‘How right you are, Sir Josse! Indeed, Tobias and I
were
happy. The pain is in his—’ She glanced briefly at her husband’s body, screwed her eyes shut, and whispered, ‘The pain lies here, at our feet.’

Josse was very nearly convinced. He would have believed her, thought no more about her odd remark, had a certain line of thought not suddenly arisen in his mind. Looking carefully around to make sure that they were alone, he said quietly, ‘Petronilla, I believe that, when last we met, you may have told me not the truth, but what you would have liked to be the truth.’ No answer. ‘Lady?’ he prompted. ‘Would it not be a relief to unburden yourself?’

She lowered her head. In a muffled voice, she said, ‘Sir Knight, what
can
you mean?’

If she wasn’t prepared to bring it out into the open, then he was. ‘You told me,’ he said, careful to keep his voice down, ‘that Tobias had put aside the ways of his misspent youth. That his side of the bargain which you struck was that he would be a model husband, as respectable as a man married to a lady such as yourself ought to be. And that, my lady, was a lie.’ Again, she kept her silence. ‘Wasn’t it?’ he hissed.

She rounded on him. ‘All right,
yes
!’ she hissed back. ‘Are you satisfied now? Do you wish to witness my humiliation as well as my grief? For shame, Sir Knight! For shame!’

Humiliation was not the word he would have used; intent only on finding out all that there was to find out, he probed on. ‘I know that he was in the habit of visiting the Great Forest,’ he said, ‘because I saw him there, on two occasions. Indeed, he made no secret of his preference for the forest fringes as a fine place to fly his falcon. But that was merely a cover, wasn’t it?’ He wanted to take hold of her, give her the comfort of his touch even as he interrogated her. ‘He was in league with Hamm Robinson, wasn’t he? Hamm, and his fellow thieves Ewen Asher and Seth Miller. The three of them took the risks and did the dirty work, and passed on the valuable objects they found for Tobias to sell. Isn’t that right, Petronilla?’

She had been watching him as he spoke, mouth opening in a silent gasp. She was going to deny it all, he thought grimly, tell him he was mistaken. What would he do then?

In tones of ice, she said, ‘I have never heard of any of those men.’

Well, there was no reason for Tobias to have mentioned their names. But, on the other hand, she sounded so convincing! Josse would have sworn she was telling the truth! With the distinct feeling that he was racing off down a dead end, he said, ‘Maybe not, but all the same, lady, it’s my belief that Tobias knew them, nevertheless.’ Frustration surging through him, he said, ‘I could have proved it, I know I could! I still can, maybe, there must be a way to trace the things they took from the forest, and—’

She did not let him go on. Disdain making her voice harsh, she said, ‘My husband had no dealings with petty thieves.’ Fixing Josse with a furious stare, she went on: ‘In God’s name, Sir Knight, he married a rich woman! What need had he to go peddling trinkets?’

It was a good question. Frowning, Josse began, ‘Well, I would scarcely call them trinkets, and—’

Again, she interrupted. ‘How
can
you!’ she cried, her thin hands twisting together in her distress. ‘My husband’s body is scarcely cold, and here you stand, accusing him of some crime more suited to forest
peasants
than to the gracious, noble man that he was!’

Josse bowed his head. Poor woman, he thought, she is in shock. The terrible events of this morning still overwhelm her, and here I am with my small accusations, pursuing a matter which, to anybody but me, must appear trivial by comparison. Guilt flooding through him, he raised his eyes and said, ‘Lady, forgive me. My remarks are inappropriate. This business can wait until a later—’ No. He must not even say that. Putting all the sincerity he could muster into his voice, he said gently, ‘Petronilla, I came to help you. Tell me, if you will, how I may.’

She was staring at him, and, in the light from the open door, he could see her face clearly. The angry, offended expression slowly cleared, and for a moment she looked the proud, haughty noblewoman bearing her pain with dignity. ‘I thank you, Sir Knight,’ she began, ‘there will be matters to attend to, decisions to be made as to…’

Slowly she trailed, to a halt. As if drawn by some force she could not resist, her eyes returned to Tobias’s body. With a tiny whimper, she knelt down, her full skirts pooling around her, and, with the tender touch of a mother on the face of a sleeping child, she smoothed the thick hair back from the ruined forehead.

‘He is dead,’ she whispered. ‘Dead.’

Then, bending low over the corpse, she began to sob.

Josse stood the heartbreaking sounds for a moment, then, leaning down, took firm hold of Petronilla’s shoulders and raised her to her feet. ‘Lady, you must be brave,’ he said. ‘Come, sit with me, and we shall send for some heartening drink, something to give you the strength to cope with what you must endure.’

She allowed herself to be led only a few paces away from the steps where Tobias lay. Then, turning back, she murmured, ‘I do not want to leave him.’

‘You need not, lady,’ Josse said, ‘for now, we shall remain close by him, and—’

As if she had not heard, Petronilla said, ‘He cannot leave me now. He must stay here, in my hall, and I shall have his bright company all the time.’

A shock ran through Josse, the frightening sense that, suddenly, he was in the presence of madness. ‘He must be tended to properly, Petronilla,’ he said gently. ‘He cannot remain here long. It is not—’ He searched for a word with sufficient weight, gave up and ended weakly, ‘It is not
fitting.
’

She was still staring at Tobias. Crooning gently, a faint smile crossed her face.

‘Come, we’ll plan together where he is to be buried,’ Josse suggested. ‘Somewhere close, think you, so that you may often go to visit the place, and recall your happy times? Or—’

She had spun round, and now her attention was fully on Josse. ‘Happy times?’ she echoed. Some violent inner struggle evident in her face, she began to speak, then stopped. But, as emotion seared through her again, the words she was trying to hold in burst out of her.

‘There was
pain
in this house!’ she cried. ‘I
told
you that! Pushing her face close to his, her terrible anguish as readable as an illuminated script, she said, ‘You said you knew my husband visited the Great Forest, and you asked me why. Do you want to know?
Do
you?’ She was all but spitting at him. ‘Well, Sir Knight, you shall know! I will tell you what he did in the forest.’

She paused, drawing in a sudden sharp breath. As if bracing herself, she briefly shut her eyes, clasping her hands on her breast as if in silent prayer.

Then, quite calmly, she said, ‘He lay with a woman. A young and vivacious woman whose soft flesh yielded to his caresses, whose moist body opened to his, whose full lips kissed his eager mouth.’ A violent sob broke out of her, shaking the thin frame. She added, her voice a mere whisper, ‘A beautiful woman, who could give him all the passion he wouldn’t take from me.’

Josse was shaken to his very core. Was she right? Could she possibly know, for sure? He said, ‘How can you be certain of this?’

Her face took on a look of cunning. ‘You forget,’ she said. ‘You asked me did I still have him followed, and I said—’

‘You said, rarely.’ Josse concluded for her.

Dear God. Poor, miserable soul! Was it the womanising that she had suspected, all along? Had it only been Josse’s prejudiced view, already branding Tobias as being in league with Hamm Robinson, that had led him to misread her comments? To believe that she meant her husband had been a thief, when in fact, handsome and comely man that he was, his offence was that he had been unable to resist a pretty face?

I was wrong, Josse thought, guilt flooding through him. And, because I was wrong, a man lies dead in his own hall. He shot a glance at Petronilla. If I had guessed earlier, he berated himself, then maybe I could have spoken to Tobias. Persuaded him that it was folly to persist in what he was doing. Tell him that he must make a clean break from the loving bonds that held him, and be true to his wife. True to his promise to her.

But I didn’t.

He said, although it was not really relevant, ‘Whom did he meet?’

Petronilla looked surprised. ‘You ask me that, Sir Knight? For all your cleverness, you have not worked it out?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

A faint smile briefly quirked the thin lips. ‘I told you, did I not, that Tobias was raised by his old aunt?’

‘Aye.’

‘Yes. Well, the aunt lived a mean and penny-pinching life, but the one thing that shone like a jewel in her household was her maidservant. A jewel, indeed, that the old woman must herself have much appreciated. The girl was young and joyful, and she used to sing as she went about her work, even though, given that her days were long, the labour was hard, and the old woman gave never a word of praise, one would have thought she had little to sing about.’ A soft sigh. ‘She was irresistible to Tobias, naturally, and he to her. They fell for one another and they became lovers. In time, the old aunt fell sick, and, possibly in some gesture of repentance for her unkind ways, she demanded to go on a pilgrimage to take the holy waters. The girl took her off to Hawkenlye Abbey, where, in the Lord’s good time, He took her to himself.’ Another brief smile. ‘No doubt everyone was pleased to see the back of her, although the kind thoughts any good soul might have had about her would soon have flown out of the window when her will was read, since she left not a sou to Tobias, or to anyone else who had cared for her. She left the lot to that wretched Abbey.’

But Josse was hardly listening. He was thinking, remembering. In his head he heard the Abbess Helewise’s voice …
She arrived with her late mistress, who died when she was with us.

Esyllt was left with nowhere to go.

‘He was in love with Esyllt!’ he said. ‘It was she who had been the old aunt’s servant, wasn’t it? And it was to visit her, the love of his youth whom he couldn’t forget, that Tobias kept going up to the forest!’

Carried away by the lovely, romantic picture, he hadn’t paused to think that it would scarcely appear lovely to Petronilla. Hastily he said, ‘Lady, forgive me, I forgot, for the instant, that it was of your husband that we speak. He was, of course, false to you, an adulterer and a liar. And that was a sin, a grave sin, both against holy law and against you, madam.’

But she wasn’t listening. She was humming to herself, an incongruously bright little tune which Josse thought he recognised, although the good Lord alone knew from where.

‘“It is love he doth bring, And the sweet birds do sing, And my love he loves me in the spring,”’ the faint, reedy voice sang. Petronilla’s eyes turned to Josse. ‘She sang that to him, you know, and I would hear him singing it when he thought I couldn’t hear. But I could. Then I knew he had been with her again.’ Tears were running down the ashen face. ‘He promised,’ she whispered. ‘After the last time, he
promised.
’ She grasped Josse’s sleeve. ‘He did love me, you see, really he did, and, when I said he must stop seeing her or else I would turn him out, he promised that he would.’ Her face softened suddenly. ‘I couldn’t have turned him out, though. I loved him far too much.’