Lost Innocents (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 3) (11 page)

"Shame on Ivo," the old man said, shaking his head. "It's no good when a child has a father too busy to guide him. Nor can any good come of it when that child is left without mother, sister, or some other woman to note when and from whence he comes and goes. I don't wonder that Gawne sought out Jessimond, our only other motherless child near his age, as his playmate. He needed something to occupy his time and someone to ease his aching heart after his mother passed. That's what he found in Jes, who was much like her dam, swift to protect another while leaving herself open to hurt."

"What did Odger do when Meg complained about the two meeting?" Faucon wanted to know.

That made Hew laugh out loud. It was definitely a bray. "Meg would rather cut her fingers from her hand than give Odger so much as a crumb of information she might garner about what happens here. Those two despise each other, she because Odger has previously tried to steal her freedom from her the way he's done to the rest of us, and he because Meg is the only soul here who remains outside of his control.

"As for those of us who had an inkling about Gawne and Jes—and we are many—to a one we've held our tongues. For good reason. Because Ivo is too busy to tend to his youngest, he's left us to do what he will not, when it's not ours to do. Ivo knows that Odger doesn't tolerate idle hands. So too does he know that our bailiff has been sending his lad to do a man's work in the fields, even though Gawne is yet too small to bear such a burden. This is especially so over our autumn months. Harvesting is exhausting for the strongest among us. But because there are presently more than enough younger lads in Wike to do the easier tasks, Gawne found himself holding the scythe and reaping alongside his elders, despite that he's ill-fitted to the tool."

The old man looked at his Crowner and shrugged as he continued. "The lad does his best, but he's more hindrance than help. Frustrated by the constant chiding over his errors, corrections he's earned by no fault save that of his size, Gawne began to slip away for an hour or two when Jessimond was free and Odger was occupied elsewhere. All who saw and noted turned a blind eye, grateful for those periods without him. If Odger had known Gawne was escaping him, he'd have found a way to stop the boy, even if it meant tying the lad to one of us," Hew finished, speaking as if he'd been among the reapers when Faucon knew he wouldn't have been.

Drawing a bracing breath, the old man gave a quick nod. "I am ready to walk on," he told his Crowner.

But as he began to move forward along the path, leaving Faucon to trail behind again, Hew said no more. Just as they passed the fourth house, the weather-beaten wooden shutters on its front window creaked open. None of the homely sounds Faucon had heard from the other dwellings emanated from this one. Nor did he see an eye in the gap although the crack was wide enough to peep through.

The old man held his peace until the path had again curved outward, taking them well beyond the last home. When Hew spoke again, he picked up right where he'd left off. "Gawne won't be doing the same next year. By then, the boy will have seen twelve of his saint's days and it will be time for him to carry a man's load. Or, if he cannot," he added, "then Gawne will learn to bear his frustration as every man must."

As the oldster fell silent this time, Faucon sifted through his bits and pieces, trying to discern where next to go. Nothing was obvious or enticing. Too much remained missing to make any sense of what he had in store. That left him with nothing to do save continue to confirm what he already knew.

"How is it you're certain it wasn't Gawne who killed Jessimond?" he asked, even though Hew had made no such assertion.

This time the rustic followed where his Crowner led. "I have my reasons just as you do, sir," he retorted, shooting a quick look at his better from over his shoulder.

"You're certain I believe him innocent, are you?" Faucon countered with a laugh.

"Indeed I am, even though I know not what reason you might have for judging the lad blameless, sir. What I do know is that if you thought Gawne at fault for Jessimond's death, you'd not only have joined the hue and cry, you'd have roused all the others to come help you find the boy."

"And you would be correct," Faucon agreed, appreciating the old man's assessment.

Again Hew stopped, this time turning in the path to face his better. "Aye, well, I may no longer have good use of these," he held up his hands, displaying fingers twisted beyond all but basic usefulness, and beyond the possibility of throttling a young girl, even one with as slender a neck as Jessimond's, "but I'm not blind. You aren't our sheriff. You want what's right, not what's convenient.

"As for me," the oldster continued, dropping his arms to his sides, "I've known Gawne all his life and he's an honest boy. I trust him when he tells me he's done no wrong."

Faucon offered a swift and, he hoped, reassuring smile. "That doesn't surprise me. In you I see a man who knows everyone and everything that happens in this place, even if you don't much trust your neighbors," he said, now seeking to guide the rustic where he willed him to go. "I also believe that after Amelyn's stepmother died, you began joining the leper at her meeting spot, doing so in Martha's stead. I think it's because of you that Amelyn knows all the recent doings in Wike. Not only were you meeting Amelyn, I'd also wager you made yourself chaperone for Gawne and Jessimond when they met. That's why Gawne came to you after he found the girl."

"That's a great deal of speculation even for a knight as clever as you, sir," Hew retorted. Then he sighed. "I suppose if you suspect that much, you'll not rest until you have your explanation."

The old man once again held up his useless hands. "These are why I rarely ever sleep within Wike's bounds these days and why I am free to forage as I will outside of Odger's control. Our bailiff has named me useless and a burden, and he'd like nothing better than to drive me from Wike just as he did Amelyn."

With that, Hew freed an angry breath and turned to look at the far edge of the settlement behind them, at the same far-flung cottage toward which Amelyn had directed her attention when she spoke of her rape.

"I vow, that man values nothing save the control he exercises over us and what few coins he can wring from us. My family, bless them, cannot afford to resist him, and I cannot blame them for that. Such is the fate of a man who has lived too long and has only sons who have only sons. Were I to demand space under the roof that was once mine, we'd be four generations pressing one against the other, with yet another on the way. So many in one home makes our pot always hungry. And, however unhappy I may be about being denied my full portion, I can but concede that those who work the fields must be fed first."

Then Hew brought his attention back onto his Crowner and offered the glimmer of a smile. "Yet, despite that my present state suggests I should be begging for Odger's mercy, I cannot bring myself to do it. Instead, my tongue moves when and how it wills. Given that, I suspect Odger would leap on any chance to do to me what he would have done to Johnnie all those years ago: he'd drag me to the far wastes and see to it that I died there."

The old man's pale eyes once again took fire with that perverse amusement of his. "I think the only reason Odger hasn't yet attempted my death is the fear that I'd not only survive his attack but crawl back to Wike on my belly just to spite him." It was a sarcastic aside. "So, having heard all that, sir, consider this. Although Odger isn't here to witness, we presently stand in full view of all my neighbors. Perhaps now you understand my reluctance to speak."

Faucon nodded. Indeed, given so capricious and controlling a headman, the old man had already risked much by simply walking alongside his Crowner. But in Hew's words Faucon also found the key he needed.

"Does your lady keep Odger out of fondness or habit?" he asked, certain he knew the answer. He'd heard it while listening to Amelyn's tale.

"Habit," Hew offered swiftly, with a confirming nod. "Wike is the least of her dower. I think that as long as our grain fills her granaries and our coins come to her purse from her oven, she cares little what happens here." Then, as if he feared he'd been too honest, the rustic added, "Not that she's unkind. Look what she did for Amelyn."

"So, if the murdrum fine were to be levied against all of Wike, including your lady, because of the wrong Odger did Amelyn years ago, do you think your lady might give closer attention to who rules here on her behalf?" Faucon asked, holding back nothing in a show of trust, one he hoped wasn't misplaced.

That sent Hew's wild white brows high upon his forehead. He stared directly at his Crowner as if trying to discern the truth in his better's expression. Faucon held his tongue, content to wait until the oldster was comfortable with what he'd been offered. As the silence stretched, the old man's eyes narrowed and the creases on his face deepened.

"Is this a certainty, or do you just speculate, sir?" the commoner at last dared to ask of his better, when he had no right to pose the question. Nor did he have any reason to expect an answer, not from one placed so far above him.

Faucon almost smiled as the trail he sought appeared before him. "The law is clear in this instance," he assured the old man. "As long as the name of the one who fathered Jessimond remains unknown, it must be done."

A slow and satisfied grin spread Hew's lips. "Well now, that's an unexpected turn of events, isn't it? Perhaps I've been overly cautious. Ask your questions, sir, and I'll answer them as best I can."

"Did Jessimond die in the place where she and her mother met?" Faucon asked immediately.

That set Hew to blinking in surprise. "Aye, so she did, sir. How do you know that?" he replied in astonishment.

Faucon only smiled and pressed on. "Might that be the same place where Gawne now hides from the hue and cry? More importantly, do his brothers or your bailiff know to look for him in this place?" Much rested on the answers to these questions.

"I cannot swear to where Gawne went," Hew said carefully, "but were I seeking him, that hidden place of theirs would be where I looked first."

Then the rustic cocked his head and squinted as he considered the second question. After a moment, he shook his head. "I'm not certain if Gawne shared the location of this place with his father or his brothers, but as for Odger, although I have no right to claim it, my heart is certain he knows nothing of the spot. That was Amelyn's reason for choosing it. She knew our bailiff had never been one who liked venturing too deep into our wild woods.

"More importantly, those two innocents built a nest high above. Even with the branches almost bare now, I doubt Odger will look upward to find what he seeks should he accidentally stumble across the place."

That teased a relieved breath from Faucon. "Then on the morrow I will not only want to visit this hidey-hole," he said, "I'll need to speak with Gawne. To do that, I think I must have you at my side," he added.

Resistance began again to darken the old man's pale eyes. Faucon held up a hand. "Know that if Gawne stays hidden from me until I leave Wike, he'll never be clear of the charge of Jessimond's murder, even if another ends up yoked to that verdict," he warned. "And if Gawne spies me coming without one he trusts at my side, all he'll see is the hangman reaching for him. Given a choice between you and his sire, I'd rather it be you with me. He trusts you more than he does his own father."

Once again, Hew blinked in surprise. "How can you know that?" he whispered.

When his Crowner gave him no answer, the rustic considered his better for another few breaths, scratching at his nose as he did. "Do you know that until the day I came across Amelyn in the woods," he said at last, "I'd given myself over to self-pity and bitter regrets, dwelling upon what I'd lost in my life and despising the one who had stripped all I loved from me. So tightly did the trap of hatred hold me that I awoke each day longing to either give death or receive it. That kept me blind to the truth. Aye, Odger had taken much from me, but in exchange for what I'd lost a great gift came. Didn't I now come and go as I pleased, bowing to no man? Aye, and I served my family far better than I had previously, collecting much of what we needed to feed that hungry pot of ours. More times than not, I managed to gather enough to fill it to its brim, leaving no one longing for more.

"Then I found Amelyn in the woods, waiting for her daughter. There she was, despite her disease and all Odger's evil will for her, finding a way to thwart him and get what she most desired. In that moment, hatred lifted and my heart began to beat again. That's when I saw I'd been doing the same, however unwittingly," he added. "And all I needed to do if I wished to continue thwarting Odger was to hold tight to my life, that being the one thing our bailiff wanted most from me."

The old man again looked at the cottages that housed his family and neighbors. "Shame on us in Wike! We gave that dastard the right to control us, then forgot that we could undo what was done, taking back what we'd given as easily as we'd bequeathed it."

As Hew paused to draw breath his features again took light with that amusement of his. "On that day, I ceased to harbor any ill thoughts. Nor do I now spend my every day foraging. Instead, four days each month I follow my secret ways to Alcester and the abbey gate where I might be found standing beside Amelyn, pretending to be her grandsire."

"Might you be?" Faucon laughed in reply.

The oldster gave a quick wink. "Indeed sir, I just might. Although only Amelyn is allowed to extend a hand in pleading, she always shares some of what she collects with me. That has gone a long way to aiding me and my family. Look at this!"

Here, the rustic braced the heel of his damaged leg upon the ground. Shifting his foot from side to side, he displayed one of his simple but sturdy leather shoes. "Look what a townsman gave to me last month! I didn't believe merchants knew the meaning of generosity, especially when it comes to our sort. Always thought they were like Odger, too wedded to coins and too full of themselves to care about the needs of others. I assumed they considered those of us bound to the fields and furrows as no better than the oxen that pull our plows," he added harshly.