Never Trust a Dead Man (12 page)

There was hardly time to begin to think of all the possibilities of what could go wrong, no time at all to worry or to decide what he
should
do. Raedan came walking around the curve of the road, pulling behind him the two-wheeled cart with which he would have brought produce to market, now piled high with wool his mother and sisters would spend the winter spinning and weaving.

Seeing Selwyn, Raedan stopped so suddenly, the cart bumped him from behind.

He'll never believe for a moment,
Selwyn thought. What had he gotten himself into?

"Kendra!" Raedan exclaimed in delight. Dropping the handles of the cart, he ran forward and—before Selwyn could stop him—had swept Selwyn up. Whether Selwyn still weighed what he would as a man, or whether he was made ungainly because he was unused to people picking him up and swinging him around, he and Raedan and the skirt and the birdcage all got entangled and they came close to ending up in a heap on the road.

Raedan was too elated to notice—or at least to comment. "Kendra, it's wonderful to see you again!"

Selwyn locked his elbows to keep Raedan from pulling him in any closer, putting Farold's cage, as well as Raedan, at arm's length. Raedan was his closest friend, but he wasn't
that
close.

Farold clung to the bars of his swaying cage, wearing the expression of a storm-tossed sailor.

Selwyn cleared his throat twice, hesitating, but he had to speak eventually. In a husky whisper, he said, "I'm happy to see you, too, Raedan." To excuse the voice, and to forestall any inclination Raedan might have for any warmer welcome, he quickly added, "Pardon my slight indisposition." He gave a loud sniff. "I've had a cold for days."

"You're still the most beautiful girl in Penryth," Raedan said.

Do I look that lovesick and silly when I'm talking to Anora?
Selwyn wondered.
Do I tell her such foolish-sounding things?
"Thank you," he murmured, ducking his head and hiding his face modestly with the edge of the shawl Elswyth had made for him from two of her squares of wool. He didn't point out that Anora was more beautiful. "You're so kind. How are my parents?"

"Fine," Raedan said. "They'll be overjoyed to see you."

"I hope so." Selwyn's voice broke into a shaky falsetto. He held the shawl up over his mouth and coughed delicately. "I can hardly wait to see them." He started moving in the direction of the village, which he thought meant an end to the conversation, but Raedan, who'd been returning from there and was little more than a stone's throw from home, picked up the handles of the cart, pivoted it around, and began walking by Selwyn's side.

"Here, let me," Raedan said, taking the birdcage from Selwyn's grasp. "A special treat for your homecoming supper?"

"A remembrance from the nuns of Saint Hilda's," Selwyn explained, enjoying Farold's panicked peeps and feather rustlings. Raedan balanced the cage—precariously, Selwyn thought—on the mound of wool. He hoped Farold wouldn't forget himself and start making fun, or complaining, or vomiting from the motion.
Did
finches wrap their wings around their stomachs when they felt ill?

Raedan gave Selwyn's shoulders a squeeze. "You're just what this old village needs," he said wholeheartedly. "Terrible things have happened."

"Oh?" Selwyn said. "Anything that I should know about?"

Raedan hesitated.

"Even if it's bad news"—Selwyn was aware that his voice was going up, down, and around, and he wished he'd practiced talking as well as walking—"even if it's bad news, somebody has to tell me eventually."

Raedan took a deep breath. "It
is
bad news," he said, "though nothing touching your family directly. It's Farold, the miller's nephew ... He's dead."

Selwyn was peeved that Raedan mentioned Farold first. Still, it was a logical place to start, rather than with the condemned murderer. "The poor dear," he said. "A drinking accident?"

"No accident at all. He was murdered."

"Really?" Selwyn tried to sound shocked. "Who would do such a thing? Was it Linton?"

Farold gave a very unfinchlike snort.

"No," Raedan said slowly. "Why would you ask that?"

"It just seemed to stand to reason. Who
was
accused?"

"Selwyn," Raedan answered. "Selwyn Roweson."

"
No,
" Selwyn said. "Not that nice boy."

"Mind, I'm not saying he did it." Luckily, Raedan was watching Selwyn and didn't see Farold, behind him in the cart, making frantic hushing motions at Selwyn. How did Farold ever expect him to get information about the murder without talking about it? Selwyn returned his attention to Raedan, who was saying, "But, unfortunately, all the circumstances seemed to point to him."

"What..."—Selwyn remembered his voice and started again more quietly—"what circumstances?"

"Well, for one thing, there was long-standing rivalry between the two of them over Bowden's daughter, Anora, which ended with Anora agreeing to marry Farold."

Selwyn made a dismissive sound. "A bad choice, there. But, anyway, that's nothing definite. Most likely she would have come to her senses eventually and changed her mind."

Farold spit on the bottom of the cage.

"Possibly," Raedan admitted. "But it was Selwyn's knife that killed Farold."

"Anyone," Selwyn said darkly, "can find someone's knife and use it."

"Again, possibly," Raedan said so smoothly Selwyn couldn't tell whether he knew about his brother's having found the knife or not "But first Selwyn swore he had never been in the village that night, and then—when he found out there was a witness—he admitted he had. It's hard to believe someone whose story keeps changing."

Fool, fool, and fool!
Selwyn chided himself for that useless and damning lie. "Maybe he was afraid," he said.

"Who wouldn't be?" Raedan agreed sympathetically.

"Who was the witness?" Selwyn asked.

"Your mother."

It took him a moment to realize that Raedan meant Kendra's mother, Wilona, and not his own. He couldn't, in any case, start poking at her credibility.

"I didn't think he did it," Raedan said. "It's not like him."

"No," Selwyn agreed breathlessly.

"But he was executed for it."

Selwyn couldn't bring himself to ask how, though surely Kendra would have wondered. Raedan had spoken as though it was past; and Selwyn realized with a sick feeling that there was no reason anyone would believe he could have survived in the burial cave this long. Without Elswyth's intervention, he
would
have been dead by now. In another day or two, once everyone was convinced Selwyn must be dead, they would be releasing his father.
And then what?
he thought.

By that time they were almost into Penryth, and one voice then another called, "Ho, Kendra!" People came running out to greet him. He had to force himself to be jovial, for Kendra had no special reason to grieve for Selwyn Roweson, no matter how grim his fate.

Girls hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, which was a delicious—though frustrating—sensation. He did his best to avoid the men who would do the same. Several times he was pinched or patted on the bottom. It was not that Selwyn had forgotten how well liked Kendra was, it was just that he had not realized how much enthusiasm people would show.

Then, finally, bringing a crowd with him, he was at the tavern. Orik and Wilona stood in the doorway, both with arms open. Selwyn chose to go to Orik first so that he would have an excuse to break away almost instantly to hug his "mother."

"Father," he murmured, giving a little cough and sniff "Mother." He gave a sniff and cough. "Please ex cuse my cold." He forced a sneeze.

Orik was beaming; Wilona was weeping with joy.

"Come in, everyone," Orik invited. "Help us celebrate."

People cheered, apparently willing to go into the tavern—and put up with having to see Selwyn's father tied up in the corner—if free drinks were involved.

Farold squawked loudly, a reminder—in case Selwyn needed one—that he was there, and not to be left out in the street in Raedan's cart. He sounded more like a chicken than a finch; but Selwyn gave Kendra's brightest smile and brought the cage in with him.

Inside, Wilona took hold of his arm, apparently reluctant to let go, which Selwyn would have excused as motherly excitement at a daughter's return, but Wilona kept dragging on the arm, tugging him in the direction of the back of the tavern, to the family's living quarters.

Oh no!
Selwyn thought. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with the mother of the woman he was disguised as.

"Orik," Wilona called over the heads of the crowd of well-wishers who were gathering in the room.

She caught her husband's eye. "One free round," Orik announced to the crowd. Then, "Linton." He held up a forefinger. "You're in charge."

This was not like him at all, to leave customers in the care of customers.

Selwyn realized he'd been wrong before: The last thing he wanted was to be with both the mother
and
the father of the woman he was disguised as.

The three of them made their way from the tavern into the living quarters, and Orik closed the adjoining door behind them, which only cut down a bit on the noise.

Orik leaned against the door and Wilona folded her arms across her chest and looked at Selwyn.

Selwyn gulped, knowing for sure that something was wrong.

Wilona asked, "What happened with the baby?"

In the cage, Farold made a noise that sounded very much like "Oops."

"Baby," Selwyn echoed, trying to sound as though he was simply repeating, not questioning—and at the same time trying desperately to think what Orik and Wilona could possibly mean, beyond, of course, the obvious: that Kendra had been sent to the convent at Saint Hilda's not solely for the purpose of education, but to hide the fact that she—an unmarried young woman—was with child.

"The baby," Wilona said, impatience tingeing her voice. "You don't need to be coy with us.
We
knew about your condition;
we're
the ones who made the arrangements with the nuns."

"Of course," Selwyn said, still stalling for time. He glanced into the birdcage he still held, on the chance that Farold might be able to give him some guidance. Farold shrugged his fat little yellow shoulders.

Selwyn saw that Wilona looked ready to shake him. He licked his lips. Hesitantly he said, "
Ahm
, the nuns agreed to raise it."

"
It?
" Wilona demanded shrilly. "Are we talking about a puppy here, or your child?"

Selwyn had to plunge in. The real Kendra had certainly not been showing her pregnancy when she left Penryth in April, which had to mean she'd only just recently had her baby—
if
she'd even really had it yet Trusting that she hadn't found a way to inform her parents, he took a guess. "The nuns agreed to raise her," he said, mumbling the last word, so that if Orik and Wilona said, "We thought you sent word you'd had a boy," he could tell them that he had, that he'd just now said
him
and they must have misheard.

But obviously Kendra
hadn't
sent word. Wilona clasped her hands. "A girl," she cried. "A sweet little baby girl."

Selwyn despised himself for playing with this family's lives this way.

Orik grumbled, "Just so long as the nuns are willing to keep her on, and your shame doesn't spread to your mother and me and your little brothers."

Kendra's brothers were five years old, and seven, and eight Selwyn couldn't see how anything Kendra did would reflect on them.

Apparently Wilona couldn't, either. She gave her husband a poke. "We've been through all that already," she said. "Now is the time to be happy that it's all over, and the child is provided for, and Kendra is back with us." She gave Selwyn a fierce hug.

"Well, now that you're back," Orik said, "you can help serve drinks."

"Yes, Father," Selwyn said meekly.

Orik put his hand on the door, but then he turned back. "Oh," he said as though trying to sound matter-of-fact. "You'll be hearing it soon anyway, so you'd best hear it from me now."

"What, Father?"

"Young Selwyn Roweson went and killed Farold."

He sounded downright joyful, which left Selwyn at a loss for words.

"Now, now, dear," Wilona said, patting Selwyn's hand. "It's all for the best, I'm sure. You agreed it was all a mistake with Farold and you never really loved him."

Selwyn was getting an awful feeling he might know what they were talking about.

Orik said, "I look at it as Selwyn doing us a favor. I look at it as one less worm in the world to lead innocent young girls astray."

"Farold?" Selwyn said, his voice a whispered croak, never mind trying to sound like a girl. He remembered Farold telling how he'd happened upon Alden Thorneson the night of the fire in the smithy. "I was coming home late from the tavern," Farold had said. Everything fell into place. He didn't dare lift up the birdcage. One look at Farold's face—any of Farold's faces—would be enough to make him lose control, he knew. He would have to open the cage and wring that little goldfinch neck.

"Could I...," Selwyn started. "Would you mind ... That is..."

"I think poor Kendra needs a moment to herself," Wilona told Orik. "It has to be a shock, no matter what."

"I suppose," Orik agreed grumpily. "But not too long. I'll need you out there once the crowd starts buying."

"Yes, Father," Selwyn managed to say.

As soon as the door shut behind Kendra's parents, Selwyn lifted the cage to eye level.

Farold was shaking his head. If Selwyn believed bats disguised as goldfinches could go pale, he'd say Farold paled.

"
You,
" Selwyn said.

"No," Farold said.

"How could you let me disguise myself—"

"No," Farold repeated.

"—as a girl?"

"Selwyn, listen to me."

"You
suggested,
and all the while you knew—"

"I
didn't
know."

"You
should
have known—"