The Abbot's Gibbet (41 page)

Baldwin wondered what was the point of this discourse. The Abbot stood meditatively staring out of the window as he continued: “I am sure that he beat his wife regularly, and without good reason. When he drank, he could be abusive even to me, and if he felt his wife had slighted him, I am sure he would be quite brutal to her. It was no happy thought that she had bound herself to him.”

“I am grateful that you feel you can confide this in me, my lord Abbot, but what has it to do with me?”

Baldwin asked gently.

“Sir Baldwin, if you have any hopes of wooing Lady Jeanne, I would want you to know that she has not enjoyed an easy life. Her childhood was ruined by Luke and his men, her youth was spent in a strange land, and her marriage was not successful.” His eyes met Bald-372

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win’s as he continued quietly, “She deserves better, Sir Baldwin. You are a kindly, gentle knight, a man of integrity. If you could win her, I would thank God for at last giving her someone who would love her and treat her as she truly deserves.”

“I would be honored to win her affection,” Baldwin said hesitantly. “But I hardly know what her feelings might be.”

The Abbot peered through his window. “Perhaps you should try to find out, then. The orchard looks a pleasant place to walk in peace, does it not?”

Following the direction of the Abbot’s glance, Baldwin saw Jeanne’s figure. “I think it looks a splendid place, my lord Abbot.”

In the bright sunlight the orchard seemed to glow with health. Underfoot the grass was thick and springy, there was a constant chuckling from the river to his left, while in the trees doves from the Abbey’s cote murmured and cooed. The apple trees themselves appeared so laden with fruit that Baldwin was vaguely surprised the thinner branches could support the weight.

Ahead he saw her, and he stopped and watched her for a while.

Surely, he thought, she deserved a more gentle life now? He was not rich, but he was comfortable, and he could give her a degree of security while he lived. And she had shown him that she was receptive, once they had both overcome their embarrassment at being watched closely by all around. Almost without realizing, he found he was walking toward her, and when he was a mere few yards from her, she turned sharply, hearing his steps.

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“Lady, my apologies if I alarmed you.”

“No, no, Sir Baldwin. I simply wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said.

“May I walk with you?”

“Of course.”

“You were deep in thought.”

She glanced at him. “Even widows can think, Sir Baldwin.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to infer—”

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m just rather on edge today.”

They were silent a while as they meandered among the trees, but soon their aimless wandering brought them to the great stews where the Abbey’s fish were kept. Here they followed its banks.

The sunlight reflected from the water onto her face, and her features became dappled with the golden light as they walked, always changing as they passed from reeds to places where lilies floated. All had their own effect on her face, and to Baldwin she was almost painfully beautiful.

“My lady, I . . .”

“Sir Baldwin . . .”

Both paused, then their expressions lightened, and after a few moments’ polite invitations on either side to continue, Baldwin yielded to Jeanne’s repeated pleas. It was not easy. He avoided her gaze, staring at the river in search of inspiration. “My lady, I have enjoyed your company over the last few days, the more so since you appear not to have been averse to mine.”

“Have I been so forward?”

“No, Jeanne, not at all!” he declared hotly, then grimaced as he saw her face. “And now you make me look a fool. Perhaps I am wrong, and should not . . .”

“Sir Baldwin,” she said, and touched his arm lightly. 374

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“Forgive me. I am sometimes too frivolous. Please, carry on.”

He gave her a doubtful look, then took a deep breath. “Jeanne, I have only a small estate, but it is good and provides well. My lands extend from Cadbury down to Crediton, with farms and mills spread all over. My house is a large place, with good rooms, and is warm in winter and cool in summer. My lady, I think the whole is empty. The land is to me a desert, the mills are broken, and the house a ruin, because when I look at you, I see what is missing. There!” He sighed heavily. “I have said it, and can say no more. Do you look on me as an utter idiot, or could I hope that you feel even remotely the same?”

Jeanne stood and stared away from him toward the trees at the opposite bank. “Baldwin, you do me a great honor. No,” as he began to interrupt, “let me finish. You do me as great an honor as any man could do a lady, and the fact that I know you to be an honest and decent knight means much to me. I feel more . . . privileged that you should offer me this than I would if an earl did.”

“But you must refuse me,” he said.

“For now, yes. Baldwin, don’t look at me like that. I am a widow, with a life just ended. Oh, I know the Abbot would like me to be wed again, not because he begrudges me the manor or the living, but because he is fearful for my safety, a poor woman on her own up at Liddinstone.” She gave a little laugh. “But I can manage Liddinstone as well as my husband ever did.”

“So why do you refuse me?”

“I do not refuse you, Sir Baldwin, but consider: how long have you been alone? All your life, and now, over the space of a couple of days you have decided that I am a suitable wife for you. That is most generous, and The Abbot’s Gibbet

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I feel the honor of it, but I am new to being alone, and in truth, I am enjoying it. Why should I immediately seal a new contract? At the least I think I deserve time to consider your proposal.”

He gazed at the ground testily. This was a new situation for him; he was unsure how to continue. An outright rejection he could have coped with; a straightforward acceptance would have been preferable—

although he candidly admitted to himself that it would have been almost as daunting—but this nebulous

“maybe” was confusing.

“So, lady, if you do not refuse me, but do not say

‘yes,’ what must I do to persuade you to agree to my offer?”

“Sir Baldwin, you asked me whether I should like to see Furnshill. Perhaps you could invite me to visit you with the bailiff and his wife when they next stay with you. And then—who knows? Perhaps I will say yes.”

It was with a light heart that David Holcroft walked into the room over the gatehouse to the Abbey. His duties as a port-reeve were almost at an end, his wife’s moodiness was explained at last, the murders had been solved, and the weather was excellent. Life felt good. His clerk was there already, and Holcroft seated himself in the chair with his small sack jingling merrily, bellowing, “Come on, then!” Soon the men were sidling in. He had already seen to the mounted ones, they had all been paid at the stables where they were resting before making their way home. Now there were only the watchmen on foot.

He dropped the leather bag on the table-top, and as the clerk read out the amounts, he carefully counted out the pennies and slid them across the table. A man 376

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would walk up on hearing his name, and David would have the coins ready as soon as the hand was held out. It took no time at all, but today there was a long and pregnant pause.

It was when the men from Denbury appeared. Holcroft sat back and stared, dumbfounded. There was not one who did not have a bad bruise, a broken nose, or a bandage round his head. All stood in glowering discomfort as the other watchmen tried to restrain their amusement. Holcroft was not so reserved. He sat back on his seat, his hands behind his head as he took in the immensely pleasing sight. The chagrin on the face of Long Jack was emphasized by the large black eye that had almost closed it, giving the man the appearance of a furious one-eyed owl. “We want our money.”

“Not made as much as usual? I didn’t think you’d need these few miserable pennies,” Holcroft said happily.

The watchman snarled incoherently, and Holcroft felt his smile broaden. All of a sudden his day was looking better and better.

“Where’s our money, then?”

Holcroft came upright and slowly counted out each coin, but before he slid them over, he gave the men a speculative look. “Tell me, before I give you this lot—

when did this happen to you?”

“On St. Rumon’s Day. The crowd went mad, beating us with our own belts and such.”

“You deserved it, I daresay,” Holcroft said dismissively.

“That’s not fair! We did our job for you, kept things quiet, all orderly, like you wanted.”

“But you are all in a mess.” Holcroft looked Long The Abbot’s Gibbet

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Jack up and down, then nodded at the clerk. “They’re each amerced two pennies per day since the attack. We can’t have watchmen in our town looking like this.”

“You can’t do that!” Long Jack growled.

“Can’t I? You can demand justice from the Abbot, if you want, but if you do, I’ll bring out three men who’ll swear that you have all been forcing honest traders to pay you for not damaging their businesses. You want that?” Long Jack eyed him with something of the expression of a horse watching a frenzied terrier—there was contempt for so small a creature, but also nervousness in the face of such suicidal recklessness.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Take your money and be grateful. And next year, don’t return: you won’t be wanted. I will inform the Abbot that you have all been getting into fights this fair. He won’t want you back.”

He dealt with the rest of the men with the smile never leaving his lips. Afterward, he took a quart of ale with the clerk, before bidding him a cheery farewell and setting off for his home. All was well with his world. The pressure of the fair was waning, and he could feel the load of his work lightening, and there was a new child to look forward to. It was a contented Holcroft who stepped out through the wicketgate into the street.

Simon sat on his horse with his leg crooked over the beast’s withers as he read the paper.

“What is it, Simon?” the Abbot asked.

Simon passed him the paper. “Only another farmer complaining that a tinner has infringed his lands and refused to pay compensation after letting his sheep run free. He claims three have been eaten by wolves.”

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“Is it true, do you think?”

“No! I’ve no doubt that when I get there to find out the details, there’ll be several lamb pelts hanging up to dry as evidence, but this is just one of the normal complaints one receives every month. The moors are constant only in the amount of paperwork and litigation they produce.”

“I defer to your greater knowledge,” said Champeaux thankfully. It was good to know that his bailiff understood the land so well. He would be able to save the Abbot much work with his position of Warden. It was two days since the death of Luke and the resolution of the murders, and Simon and his wife were preparing to leave for Lydford. Their packhorse was loaded, Margaret was waiting to mount—she knew she would be sore from the saddle over the miles to their home and had no wish to begin the pain earlier than was necessary. Hugh scowled from his pony, Edgar sat at ease on his palfrey, and the only one missing was Baldwin. Simon glanced round the court as he waited.

“Where is he?”

The Abbot said, “I saw him walking with Jeanne a short time ago. He will be here soon.”

“Don’t fret, Simon,” Margaret said. “There’s plenty of time.”

“But what is he talking to her about, eh? What could be so urgent when he’s had all the time here to talk to her?” he grumbled.

At the gate he suddenly caught sight of a pair of figures, a man and a woman. The bailiff swung his leg down and found the stirrup. “Is that him?”

“No, it’s Avice and Pietro,” the Abbot said. “They look happy, don’t they?”

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Margaret nodded. “It is good to see two youngsters so wrapped up in themselves.”

“It’s better to see their fathers so easy in each other’s company,” Simon said, pointing with his chin to the two men trailing along behind the couple, heads close together.

“Yes,” Champeaux said. “It is less a marriage of two families, more one of two businesses.” But beneath his light words, he was secretly delighted to see that the girl and her swain were so happy. After the elopement he had thought that their chances of persuading Arthur to allow them to wed were reduced to nothing, yet the two merchants had discovered ventures which could offer advantages to both, and the prospect of marrying her daughter to an old Venetian family had finally swayed even Arthur’s ambitious wife. Antonio’s uncle was an Italian noble, and he was reassuringly bereft of children, so there was the likelihood that on his death the title would fall to Antonio.

Hearing steps, Champeaux saw Baldwin and Jeanne approaching. The Abbot’s eyes slitted keenly. He wanted to see the widow happy, and he wasn’t sure she was. She looked a little stiff to him, and Baldwin appeared reserved, as if uncomfortable. The Abbot felt his spirits fall a little. “Have you had a pleasant walk, Sir Baldwin?”

“Yes, very pleasant. And now, I think I recognize Simon’s expression. He is eager to be off, as usual. My lord Abbot, my thanks again. It has been a very enjoyable break for me.”

“My thanks go to you, Sir Baldwin. You and Simon have saved Jordan Lybbe from the rope, and if you never achieve anything else in your life, that act will 380

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ever be to your credit. And I personally owe to you the fact that my port has enjoyed a successful fair, and not one which has been overshadowed by either unsolved murders or unjust hangings.”

Baldwin showed his teeth in a grin. “In which case we are both well pleased with each other’s company, Abbot. And now, seeing Margaret is mounted, we should be off.”

Simon bowed in his saddle to the Abbot and Jeanne.

“Abbot; my lady.”

Margaret watched as Baldwin bade them farewell and rode through the great gate and set off up the road toward the Abbot’s gibbet and Lydford. Jeanne, she saw, kept her eyes downcast as Baldwin spoke, but stared after him as he made his way up the road. Then, as Margaret passed, Jeanne glanced up, and Margaret saw a curious, measuring expression in her eyes. It was only there for a fleeting moment, and then Jeanne was smiling again.