Hangman Blind (11 page)

She frowned. ‘Back to business. We haven’t mentioned Ralph in all this. Surely with Edwin out of the way he has the best claim of anybody?’

‘Yes, but you’re forgetting one thing. Roger has just made Ralph’s son his heir, so why go to the trouble of poisoning him and suffering an eternity of hellfire?’

‘So Ralph and Sibilla will be guardians until their son comes of age?’ Hildegard gave him a look. ‘I think I’ll go and see them.’ She got up.

‘They’re all emerging from their cots with hangovers. I’ll talk to you later. Do you know the way to Sibilla’s apartment?’ he asked.

Biting her lip, Hildegard nodded. ‘I’ll find it.’ And get over my fear of coming face to face with that fiend from the undercroft, she told herself. As she went out she said, ‘Tell your cook to make a syrup with the juice of a red cabbage. Two spoons of that should cure their heads!’

Hildegard had much to preoccupy her as she made her way out into the now busy yard. Yawning and pale faced, the survivors of the previous night’s revelries were beginning to emerge. The doors of the Great Hall stood open but she ventured only as far as the entrance, where there was a stairway leading to the upper floors. Coming down the stairs was Philippa. Her eyes were red, her cheeks pale, and she was dressed in unbroken black. Grief for her father had clearly brought her low. Hildegard felt a pang of guilt. Did Roger realise how cruel his trick was on those who loved him? She felt an urge to tell her the truth. She waited until she drew level. To her surprise the girl gripped her by the hand as soon as she came close enough. ‘Please, Sister, a word in private.’

‘By all means.’ Hildegard followed her into a small antechamber off the stairwell.

The girl took a deep breath. ‘I’m told the Lombards have already left. Were they not asked to stay for the funeral?’

‘I heard they had a meeting at Rievaulx but intend to ride on afterwards to Meaux.’

‘Why was I not told they had left?’ she exclaimed.

‘I understand you were in church and they were forced to leave at once in order to catch the abbot before he went out on a visitation.’

Philippa dabbed her eyes. ‘This is a legal question, Sister.’

‘I’m really not—’

‘Oh, I know you’re not a clerk or anything but you have so much more experience than I have and it occurred to me that with my poor father dead there’s no one to hold me to a betrothal. After all, it was his idea, not mine. That’s right, isn’t it?’ She seemed to fight the tears back as she waited for Hildegard to reply.

The answer was obvious but clearly needed saying. ‘The betrothed might consider holding you to it perhaps?’

Philippa’s reply was swift and unequivocal. ‘He’ll do as he’s told. He was simply bullied by father into saying yes. He doesn’t give a damn about marriage. He’d rather be off fighting somewhere and picking up a wench as the fancy takes him.’

‘So that leaves you free, you believe?’

‘I most fervently hope so.’

‘And?’

‘And it’s not fair. Ever since I was twelve Father’s paraded a string of suitors in front of me, but they were all such a miserable bunch I’d have been better off in a nunnery than marrying any of them. Recently, though, he began to insist. The usual raging. “My patience is at an end!” And there was this one fellow he preferred and there seemed no way out but then, quite unexpectedly—’ Biting her lip, she broke off. ‘It was dreadful. He would not listen to reason. Oh, I know you all think he’s a good fellow, but he’s not your father! He can be totally unreasonable. And he starts to shout. And that makes me shout. And then we both say things we regret. Things get thrown. And now, after all that, he’s…he’s…’ Her face crumpled and with a wild look she wailed, ‘I don’t know what to do next, sister! I’m at my wits’ end!’

‘You were saying: “but then, quite unexpectedly”. Do you mean something happened?’ asked Hildegard in a soothing tone.

Philippa nodded. ‘It made me change my mind about the idea of marriage. Though not,’ she added fiercely, ‘about the specimen Father lined up for me.’

‘Are you suggesting there’s someone you prefer?’

Philippa was young enough to blush at the thought. ‘He really is special, sister. Not like any of the louts you find round here. He’s a man of real style, well travelled, a scholar, but witty too and a brilliant swordsman and quite the most handsome man I’ve ever set eyes—’

‘Sometimes,’ Hildegard broke into this eulogy, ‘it’s usual for a young woman to seek a period of contemplation before embarking on the duties of married life. Especially in the present unfortunate circumstances. I understand,’ she continued artlessly, ‘that the Abbey of Jervaulx is a perfect place for just such a retreat.’

Philippa was very quick. ‘Jervaulx?’ she countered, blinking away her tears. ‘But what about Fountains or Rievaulx?’

‘You mean the abbeys the Lombards are visiting?’

She was unable to stop herself from blushing.

Hildegard weighed up several words that would inhibit Philippa’s headlong escape from her father until the exaggeration of his death could be revealed. ‘I feel,’ she said, ‘it might it be considered rather undignified to appear to be in pursuit of a man, no matter how desirable he is.’

For a moment the girl was thoughtful. She fiddled with a ring on her right hand. It had a little jewelled boss she could open and close. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said at last, snapping the ring shut. ‘Jervaulx, then. It involves a special journey, being quite hidden in the wilds. That will prove something about the intentions of anyone who chooses to visit, I should think.’ Then she smiled. ‘And of course, they’re expected at Meaux, so maybe I won’t need to go on retreat at all!’

She turned to go, but not before bursting into tears again as if abruptly remembering she was supposed to be grieving. ‘Oh, my poor dear father,’ she wailed. ‘Why was he always so unfair?’

That gives us almost all the family, Hildegard murmured to herself as she continued up to Sibilla’s apartment: Melisen, William and Avice, and now Philippa. If anybody had a solid reason for wanting Roger out of the way, it was her. But the idea was inconceivable.

As for the others, there were obstacles there too. William, for instance. Although he must be furious at Ralph’s baby being preferred above his own sons his prospects wouldn’t be changed by getting rid of Roger, as Ulf had pointed out. There were too many other claimants to the de Hutton title and lands. Besides, to poison somebody needed planning. Roger hadn’t announced his intention to name Ralph’s son until shortly before he drank the poison. Even Melisen had looked stunned by the news. That seems to put William out of the running. It was an act that had required forethought.

Well, at least Ralph was off the list of suspects owing to his good fortune in having sired the heir. She could easily envisage him patiently playing the role of regent. It was what he had always done, played second fiddle to his elder brother. But Sibilla? She didn’t know the woman at all.

As Hildegard made her way towards the sound of a crying baby she considered others who had been present the previous night. There were the visitors, Ludovico and his men, plus Master Schockwynde, of course. Not much change from a penny there. Who else? There was a throng of guests below the salt, burgesses from York as well as Beverley, some wool dealers and their wives, and she had a vague memory of the two friars way down at the far end. Then there were the servants. In and out. Now here, now there. All the yeomen of the board, present in abundance, had had open access to the top table, where Roger sat with his family.

Lady Sibilla was looking remarkably crisp in a lace nightgown. Her hair with its white blaze was swept back, making her look rather regal. The baby had fallen asleep in her arms. She smiled warmly when she saw Hildegard come in. ‘I’ve just got him off,’ she warned. Closing the door quietly, the nun tiptoed over to have a look. The baby’s small face was framed in a bonnet of fresh cotton and lace. His eyelids were like tiny rose petals.

Ulf had told her with a grin that he took after Ralph in looks. ‘A chip off the old block,’ he said. But she was not so sure. She watched Sibilla tease a little sigh from him with her long, white fingers and, noticing the high neck of Sibilla’s gown, she asked, ‘Aren’t you nursing him yourself?’

‘Certainly not! I’ve got a wet-nurse. She should be here any minute.’

They regarded the baby in silence. He lay there sleeping peacefully and Hildegard wondered how he would turn out when he was fully grown. She asked about the name.

Sibilla frowned and dabbed her eyes with a corner of the baby’s gown. Her rings flashed. She wore many more than the one garnet Hildegard had noticed during her labour. But there it was, as dark as blood on her finger. ‘We had,’ she said with a sigh, ‘intended to ask Roger if we might name him after him. But now, oh, what now? Poor, poor Roger. Why did it happen now of all times? And how? He seemed so fit. He was such a
man
.’

‘I’m sure Roger will be proud to give his name,’ said Hildegard, momentarily careless with her tenses.

Sibilla, unnoticing, brightened. ‘If you think so then I suppose it would be all right to make the announcement? We are not too precipitate?’

‘What does Sir Ralph think?’

‘Ralph will follow me.’

Sibilla seemed confident of that, Hildegard thought. It was no surprise. Ralph had the air of a man for whom decisions were what other people made. Head in the clouds, just as in the old days. And yet he was astute in many ways, no ignoramus, whatever he might pretend to the contrary, and, she recalled, even at the age of ten he had been outstanding chess player. There was a board over on a table by the casement with a few pieces set out, offering an intriguing challenge to the white queen.

Hildegard said, ‘I’m so glad we’ve met at last, Sibilla. I knew Sir Ralph when he was a boy. Of course, he’s ten years younger than me.’ Than us, she thought, thinking of Hugh.

‘So he told me. He said you were a sharp one.’

‘He did?’

Sibilla laughed. ‘He said, “Nothing gets past Hildegard.” I admire you, not remarrying. I suppose you’re free to do pretty well as you like nowadays?’

‘Except for the Rule,’ Hildegard reminded her.

Ralph entered. He was carrying a cat.

‘Do you want to say hello to Master Jacques?’ he asked.

‘Oh, you found him. Clever you!’ cried Sibilla. ‘Where was he?’

‘Up the new chimney. He’s still puzzled by them.’ Ralph stroked the cat sensuously from head to tail, and Hildegard realised that what she had taken to be a fur tippet was Master Jacques the cat. ‘Sweet creature.’ He kissed him on the nose. Then he glanced up. ‘Hildegard, it was good of you to look in on Sibilla last night. The midwife told me how you went up to help. How are you these days?’

‘She’s a nun, Ralph,’ said Sibilla.

‘I suppose you’re using your Latin all the time now, are you?’

‘Some of the time.’

‘Getting a bit rusty myself.’ Ralph kissed the cat again. ‘
Gatto angeli est
. Orisit
angelo
? Is it even
gatto
?’

‘I’m sure Hildegard doesn’t want to talk Latin to you, sweeting,’ said Sibilla. ‘Would you if you were visiting someone?’

‘It would depend why I was visiting them. Why are you here?’ he asked. Sibilla and Ralph both turned to look at her.

Hildegard felt a sudden tension in the air.

‘Why are any of us here?’ she replied.

‘I suppose your answer is: to do God’s will,’ said Ralph.

‘Indeed. I’m also here to ask Roger if he can help me out with a spare grange or out-of-the-way manor house if there’s one going begging.’

‘You are?’

Hildegard didn’t elaborate on the Vision, merely saying, ‘I thought I might use Hugh’s money to set up a house of my own with a few like-minded women.’ It seemed an age since she’d been able to give her purpose for coming to Hutton any thought at all.

‘Shrewd idea!’ said Ralph. He turned to his wife. ‘I told you she was a sharp one.’

‘Better than remarrying and letting your fortune fall into the hands of some penniless knight.’ Sibilla sounded waspish, but her glance trailed past Ralph.

They discussed Hildegard’s project for a while, Sibilla now and then cooing over the baby, Ralph stroking the cat, but neither with anything practical to suggest. The conversation soon petered out.

Hildegard got up to go when the wet-nurse arrived. Ralph’s an odd one, she thought as she left. He paid more attention to his cat than to his own flesh and blood. And ‘
gatto
’? It wasn’t Latin at all. How did it come about that was he was picking up dialect from the Lombards?

Still pondering, she came across Ulf, in his mourning apparel of black velvet, although he still wore his wide belt hung with keys to all the locks in the castle. He teasingly put his stick of office across the door when she tried to enter the Great Hall. ‘Satisfied yourself it’s not Ralph?’ he asked.

‘I suppose so. He and Sibilla seem very settled. I left when the wet-nurse arrived. Who is she, do you know?’

‘Somebody they brought with them,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen her.’ Then his eyes gleamed. ‘You’re homing in on someone, I can tell from your face.’

‘That’s nonsense and you know it.’ Then she met his glance. ‘There’s only one person so far who seems to gain anything by Roger’s death but you won’t want to hear it.’

‘Try me.’

She gave him a level stare. ‘Philippa.’

He gave an exclamation of disbelief. ‘Philippa? Are you mad?’

‘I knew you’d protest. But with her father out of the way, she can marry Ludovico.’

‘I don’t know what’s come over you.’ He stared down at her for an age, shaking his head and muttering, ‘Philippa? Of all people!’ Then, ‘’Struth, Hildegard, tighten the reins, do.’