The Enchanter's Forest (40 page)

     ‘Aye, I noticed that, too,’ he said, a faint stirring of interest in his voice. ‘For all that she said she was affected by standing outside in the sunshine watching the workmen, her vantage point on the mounting block is in fact in the shade. And people as dark as she, I have observed, tolerate the heat better than their fair-haired and light-skinned counterparts.’

     ‘True. And did you notice her reaction when I said I had brought two nursing nuns to see if they could help cure whatever was wrong with her? She knew full well that an experienced healer such as Sister Euphemia would be aware of her condition straight away, and indeed Euphemia spotted it without so much as the briefest examination.’

     ‘Aye. I also noted the care with which she descended the mounting block; she does not want to risk losing this baby, my lady.’

     Wondering if he was edging towards the same conclusion that she had reached, she nodded. She was about to speak when he said, ‘The young groom was uneasy. Something is going on there that goes amiss with the servants. It is not, I would say, a happy place.’

     ‘Yes, and Primevère’s mother looked alarmed to see us at first,’ she agreed. ‘I wonder why? Was she aware that Florian’s scheme was based on a falsehood and did she therefore believe that we had come to make accusations?’

     ‘I think, my lady,’ he replied, ‘that her unease had more to do with the presence of Ranulf of Crowbergh in her daughter’s hall.’

     ‘But why?’ she demanded. ‘He and his family live close by and what is more natural than for a neighbour to help out at such a time?’

     He frowned slightly but she noticed that he did not take up the point. Instead he said, ‘I observed that Ranulf seems to make himself at home in Florian’s house and he addresses its mistress by her Christian name.’

     ‘So did I, but Primevère has said that the Crowbergh family were good friends to her and Florian.’

     ‘Aye, that is so. But, my lady, it surprised me that he should be willing to spare the time away from managing his own household in order to lounge in his dead neighbour’s hall.’

     ‘Probably he has a very efficient wife,’ she said, unable to keep a certain tartness out of her voice.

     He turned to look at her. ‘My lady,’ he said quietly, ‘he has no wife. She died last autumn.’

     ‘She –
oh
!’ The implications swiftly sinking in, she said, ‘But he implied that he was a family man, I’m quite sure he did, and so did Primevère!’

     ‘He is a childless widower,’ Josse said neutrally.

     ‘But that was not how it sounded – not only was there Primevère’s initial implication that he is older than he really is, but in addition I was left in no doubt that when he left us he was on his way home to his wife!’ Ranulf of Crowbergh was clever, she realised; without actually speaking an untruth, he had set in her mind the fact that he was married.

     Not that marriage ever stopped anyone  . . .

     She jerked her attention back to Josse. ‘He has money,’ he was saying, ‘both wealth of his own and that which he inherited from his wife.’

     So he, she thought, who so kindly offered to extend his neighbourly duties to taking over the running of Merlin’s Tomb, was not concerned with the income when he did so. He had no more need of the money than Primevère, with her rich heiress mother.

     ‘Yet Ranulf is well known at Merlin’s Tomb,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘The guard recognised him instantly and was at pains to smarten up his bedraggled appearance and hide the ale mug from which he had no doubt just been drinking.’

     ‘Aye. And Ranulf, I noticed, did not welcome the news that Gervase de Gifford was on his way home. I dined with him and Sabin last night and it was he who told me of the death of Ranulf’s wife. Nor did Ranulf like my suggestion that Gervase is unlikely to drop the matter of who killed Florian without making some enquiries of his own.’

     There was silence between them as their various observations and opinions sank in. Helewise thought about all that they had said. There was one thing that they had left out; Josse because he was not aware of it, she because . . . She was not quite sure, except that, if you looked at it one way, it was the piece that made the puzzle fit together.

     Always providing, of course, that looking at it that way was the right way.

     I will ask Josse what he thinks, she decided.

     ‘There is something else,’ she said, lowering her voice in the unlikely event that anyone might be listening.

     He gave a quick grin. ‘I had a feeling there was.’

     ‘When I brought Primevère’s mother here to view poor Florian’s body,’ she began, hardly registering his remark, ‘I offered her some wine to restore her after the shock and to refresh her for the ride home. Actually she drank rather a lot and as a consequence spoke more freely on the way back than she probably intended to. She told me that Primevère no longer had any love for her husband.’ She turned to face him. ‘She said she was all but certain that he no longer shared her bed.’

     Josse gave a slow nod. Then: ‘But would she necessarily know? It’s but the work of a moment to plant a child on a woman and a man does not ask his mother-in-law’s permission before he beds his wife.’

     ‘Yes, Sir Josse, I appreciate that, but Primevère and her mother do seem particularly close and Melusine has sharp eyes. I find that I can well believe she was right.’

     ‘Well, I shall just have to bow to your feminine intuition on such matters, my lady.’ He smiled again, slightly more genuinely this time, she thought. ‘So, if it’s not Florian’s child she carries, do we need to look very far for the father?’

     ‘It is a terrible accusation to make if she is – if they are innocent,’ Helewise murmured. ‘But then poor Ranulf is a widower, you tell me, and Primevère a very beautiful young woman—’ With an effort she made herself stop.

     But, glancing up at Josse and meeting his eyes, she thought that she had already said quite enough.

By mid-morning, Gervase and Josse were well on the way to Hadfeld. On the early part of the ride they had been discussing Ranulf of Crowbergh; Gervase had asked some relevant questions of a few well-informed men and he was able to report on his findings. He had discovered that Ranulf was in truth very wealthy, with extensive estates some miles to the west of Hadfeld and, or so it was said, an even larger property in France – it was near Le Mans, or so one man had insisted – where he bred war horses and finer-boned animals for regular riding.

     ‘I am thinking,’ Gervase observed, ‘that perhaps, in addition to speaking to the lady Primevère, we ought also to pay a call on Ranulf of Crowbergh.’

     ‘And I am thinking you’re right,’ Josse agreed with a grin.

     All was quiet at the house of Florian of Southfrith. For once there were no workmen on the building site; although the new construction was clearly not complete – far from it – there were not even any workmen’s tools or piles of stone lying around. The courtyard stood empty under the sun, the air hot and still and no movement except for the flutter of a pair of doves in the shade beneath the mounting block.

     Josse and Gervase tethered their horses and Josse murmured to the sheriff that, only the day before, the men had been busy at work on the new building.

     Gervase absorbed this with a nod. Then he led the way up the steps and in through the partly open door, calling out to announce himself and Josse.

     At first there was no reply. Then there came the sound of hurried footsteps from the passage leading off the hall and Melusine appeared. Josse greeted her and presented Gervase to her.

     Studying her as she spoke the required polite phrases to Gervase, Josse noticed that, for the first time in his admittedly limited experience of her, she looked flustered. Her face was flushed and her hair was less than perfectly restrained by the black silk cap.

     Gervase was asking to speak to Primevère, explaining that, just returned from a journey, it was now his duty to find out all that he could about the death of Florian.

     ‘Primevère can tell you nothing,’ Melusine stated flatly. ‘She knows no more than I do, which is that Florian went off to Merlin’s Tomb, he stayed away longer than usual and then we were told that his body had been found in the forest.’

     ‘I see. Nevertheless I should still like to speak to the lady myself. Sometimes a seemingly irrelevant question can bring to someone’s mind some fact that they had quite forgotten about until prompted, and I have known such small facts become the key that unlocks the mystery.’

     ‘My daughter is sick in bed and can see nobody,’ Melusine said. She put up a hand to tuck a thin strand of hair under her cap and Josse was surprised to note that the hand trembled. ‘She is in no state to answer questions, relevant or not.’

     ‘She was perfectly well yesterday,’ Josse remarked.

     Melusine turned on him. ‘Yes, so she was, till you and those tactless nuns came bothering her!’ she cried. ‘Questions, questions, and she a widow of only a week!’

     ‘But—’ Josse began, stung to angry protest at hearing the Abbess, the infirmarer and Sister Caliste slandered with the word
tactless
when their delicate and kindly offers of sympathy and help had been anything but. With an effort he restrained himself.

     ‘The Hawkenlye sisters would indeed be most unhappy to learn that their visit had caused your daughter distress,’ Gervase said smoothly. ‘I am sure that was not their intention, for they are good women and work with all the goodness in their hearts for the benefit of others.’

     Melusine gave a sniff. ‘They mean well, I grant you.’ Then, as if wanting instantly to shore up what might have been seen as a gap in her defences, she added, ‘But you still can’t see Primevère. She . . .’ She hesitated. ‘She is an unchaperoned widow now and I must take every care for her good name.’

     Josse’s fury almost spilled out of him at this thinly veiled insult; as if he or Gervase would take advantage of a sick and recently bereaved young woman! It was preposterous.

     ‘We would not dream of intruding on her,’ Gervase said smoothly. ‘However, the fact remains that I must speak to her, sooner or later, so I shall ask you please to send word to me in Tonbridge when she is ready to see me.’

     Josse thought he saw a tiny glint in Melusine’s dark eyes and he was quite sure that some of the tension seemed to go out of her. Smiling now, she said, ‘Of course. And I am sorry, both of you’ – she turned so as to include Josse in her benevolence – ‘that you have had a wasted journey. I would offer you refreshments but, alas, I am preoccupied with the care of my daughter.’

     ‘We would not dream of putting you to the trouble,’ Gervase assured her. ‘We will leave you both in peace and I look forward to meeting your daughter soon.’

     ‘Just as soon as she is well again,’ Melusine agreed.

     She saw them to the door and they were aware of her watching them as they mounted and rode away. She was still there, dark eyes following their departure, as they rounded the bend and rode out of her sight.

     As if she must be absolutely sure that they had really gone.

On the way over to Ranulf’s house – Gervase had been given directions before leaving Tonbridge – Josse told him what little the Abbess had discovered about Florian, his background, his family and his wife.

     ‘His horse has not turned up?’ Gervase asked.

     ‘No.’

     ‘Someone’s lucky day, to apprehend a man with the intention of stealing his money only to discover that he rides a first-class horse into the bargain.’

     ‘Perhaps the killer knew that already,’ Josse suggested.

     ‘You do not go along with the opinion that a passing thief was responsible for the crime?’

     Josse shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ Then he told Gervase of his discussion that morning with the Abbess and, when he had finished, Gervase gave him a very intent look.

     ‘You believe that Ranulf is the father of the child that Primevère carries?’

     ‘It seems likely.’

     ‘And do you then extend the crimes laid at this man’s door and suggest he murdered Florian?’

     ‘It is a grave accusation, I know that well enough,’ Josse replied. ‘But aye, I feel we ought to keep it in mind when we speak to Ranulf.’