The Widow's Kiss (10 page)

“I am working with my lady, sir,” the magister said, his brown eyes sharply assessing in his thin intelligent face. “When she no longer needs me, I could be available.”

“After vespers then,” Hugh agreed with a pleasant smile. “If that will suit Lady Guinevere.”

Guinevere's smile was tight. She was aware of Pen's anxious look. She said, “You have the king's writ, my lord, not I.”

“How true,” Hugh agreed.

“What's the king's writ?” Pippa asked, her eyes shining with curiosity. Her sister too looked intently at her mother.

Guinevere hesitated. How to answer the question without frightening the children? “The king's authority,” she said. “Lord Hugh is here with the king's authority. You could say he has been commanded to come.”

“Did the king tell him to take our land?” Pen demanded.

“No, Pen, the land in question is merely a matter of a legal dispute between your mother and myself,” Hugh said. “Such disputes are not uncommon as your mother will tell you. It's certainly not something that should trouble either you or Robin or Pippa. Isn’t that so, Lady Guinevere?”

“Yes, indeed,” Guinevere agreed, wondering how he could be so seemingly sensitive to the children's anxieties while coldly contemplating taking their mother, their home, their future away from them. The man was an enigma, a confusing mélange of paradoxes. A ruthless, cold, calculating individual with a warm, merry smile, a wonderful sense of humor, and such an easy confidence with children … how could a man who so obviously loved children, who in turn trusted him without question, be the heartless arm of the terrible Lord Privy Seal?

How could such a man cause the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck to lift, the little pulse in her belly to beat, when his brilliant eyes met hers? How could such a man remind her of the glories she had shared with Timothy Hadlow?

She set down her wine cup with a hand that was not quite steady and said, “I must ask you to excuse me, Lord Hugh. I have much to do this afternoon.” She rose from the table and everyone automatically rose with her. “Please don’t let me interrupt your dinner. Magister, I’ll be in my inner chamber when you’re ready. Pippa, you must find Tilly as soon as you’ve finished eating.”

She left the dining parlor with measured step, ignoring her small daughter's incipient protest, and went to her own apartments knowing that as always she would find peace and distraction in her books. Her step quickened with her mind as she anticipated the excitement of finding the legal answer she sought to her present problem.

The inner chamber was her workroom. A sparsely furnished room with a long table piled with books, some leather bound, some with wooden covers and silver or gilt binding at the corners. There were also pamphlets, printed for the most part in English. Of all Guinevere's possessions, her books were the most potent evidence of her wealth, and the source of her legal knowledge that furnished that wealth.

She bent over the books, looking for the tome containing the Statute of Uses.

There was a scratch at the door and without looking up, she called, “Pray enter, Magister.”

The magister came in, rubbing his hands together so that the dry skin rasped like sandpaper. “How can I assist you, my lady?”

“I had a sudden thought,” she explained somewhat distractedly. “If Roger Needham's ownership of the lands
he ceded to me after our marriage appears in the public record then no man can cause it to be put aside. Isn’t that so, Magister?”

“That is so.” He came over to the table. “But it is not so registered, madam. If it were, Lord Hugh could not make his claim.”

“Yes, I know that, but if I can argue from the Statute of Uses that intent was clear … Ah, here it is.” She lifted the heavy book and carried it over to the high reading pulpit that stood beside the deep window embrasure. The magister followed her and together they pored over the tome.

“See … it says here: If circumstances prevented registration but intent to register can be proven, then the ceding may be considered under the Statute of Uses to have been legally binding on all parties. See.” She pointed with a well-manicured fingernail at the Latin. “Have I read it aright?”

Magister Howard peered closely, his lips moving soundlessly as he read. After a minute he pronounced, “It would appear so, my lady.”

“Good,” Guinevere said. “Now, Roger Needham came into possession of the land through his first wife, who was a distant cousin of the same branch of the family as Lord Hugh's father. When she died the land fell to the survivor, her widower. Lord Hugh is claiming the land for himself because he maintains that the widower was only entitled to hold the land in his lifetime. He had no right to cede it to a second wife. But if the land Lord Hugh is claiming is actually mentioned by name in the premarriage contracts between Roger Needham and his first wife and there are no stipulating articles about its disposal, then that would indicate intent to make that land over in perpetuity to Roger Needham, and the Statute of Uses gives him the right to dispose of it how he wishes.”

Magister Howard adjusted the laces that tied his black
cap tight over his head. He pursed his lips and considered the argument, sucking at his cheeks in a manner that made him look like the giant carp in the fishpond and always made his pupils struggle with suppressed laughter. Guinevere was hard pressed even now to contain her amusement. But she had too much respect for his learning and intelligence to hasten his opinion despite her impatience.

Finally he spoke. “It could be so argued, my lady.” “Good. Now all we have to do is look up the premarriage contract and pray that the land is named.”

She went over to an iron-bound chest that stood against the far wall and knelt on the floor to open it.

Hugh leaned casually against the stone mantel of the fireplace in the steward's small office behind the pantry. “Thank you for sparing me the time, Master Crowder.”

“My lady said we were to assist you, my lord,” the steward said stiffly. He shuffled his feet with every sign of impatience and looked up pointedly at the brass clock on the mantel.

“I won’t keep you long,” Hugh said. “I have but one question at this point. Where were you at the time Lord Mallory fell from the window?”

Crowder frowned. It seemed an innocuous enough question. “Why, I was in here with Mistress Tilly.”

“Mistress Tilly was here with you?” Hugh asked quietly.

“Aye. We were talking about the evening. There’d been guests for dinner and much drinking. Lord Stephen had been …” His expression darkened and he shrugged. “Not to speak ill of the dead.”

“Quite so. Although that doesn’t seem to be the general attitude. It seems freely acknowledged that Lady

Guinevere's husband didn’t treat her with due respect and consideration.”

“That he didn’t.” Two spots of color glowed on Crowder's angular cheekbones. “A saint she is. She bore it like a saint. I’ve known my lady since she was a baby. When Lord and Lady Ashbourne died and left her an orphan, her uncle, Lord Raglan, was appointed guardian and she moved under his roof. I went with her, with Greene and Mistress Tilly. We were her household in Lord Raglan's castle, and when Magister Howard was made her tutor he joined us. We occupied one wing of the castle and Lord Raglan, who was a widower, left us pretty much to ourselves. I doubt my lady saw her guardian more than twice a year, on her birthday and at Christmas. When Lady Guinevere was married to Sir Roger, we all accompanied her.”

“I see.” Hugh nodded and straightened from his relaxed posture. Crowder had painted a bleak picture of Guinevere's lonely childhood. It was no wonder she had sought solace in learning and company in her books. “So when Lord Mallory fell from the window, you and Mistress Tilly were in here. Did you hear anything?”

“Oh, aye. We heard the scream,” Crowder stated. “Mistress Tilly shrieked, ‘ ’Tis my lady!’ and ran to my lady's chamber. Lord Mallory was in foul temper that night and as drunk as we’d ever seen him. My lady had angered him at dinner and we were all afraid of what he might do.”

“Did she often anger him?”

“She wasn’t afraid of him. And she wouldn’t let him touch the lassies. Wouldn’t let him go anywhere near them,” Crowder said with emphasis.

“With good reason, it would seem.”

“Oh, aye.” The steward nodded firmly.

Hugh nodded just as the chapel bell rang for vespers. “I thank you for your time, Master Crowder.”

“You won’t find any here who’ll say a word against my lady,” Crowder said, gathering his black gown around him. “Not even on the rack.”

Hugh flung up his hands in disclaimer. “I trust you don’t think I’ve come armed with such instruments.”

Crowder looked at him with unmitigated suspicion. “We don’t like snoops, my lord, and that man of yours has been asking questions all afternoon in the stables. I won’t say he needs to watch out for himself on a dark night, but he's not making any friends.” With that, he rustled out of the door.

Hugh exhaled softly. Threatening one of the king's lords on the king's writ was treasonable. Either these Derbyshire folk had little understanding of the power and reach of the king's authority or their love for their mistress gave them a foolhardy courage.

However, Crowder had confirmed Hugh's suspicions. Mistress Tilly had been lying about that night. But why, if Stephen Mallory's death had been a drunken accident, did the tiring woman think she needed to pretend that Guinevere was not alone with her husband at the time?

Hugh left the steward's office and made his leisurely way to the chapel as the bells continued to peal.

“My lord …” Jack Stedman called out as he came hurrying through the arched gateway into the lower court.

Hugh stopped. “What is it, Jack?”

Jack looked to be bursting with news. He ran to Hugh, panting breathlessly. “Some information, my lord. Important information.”

Hugh glanced over his shoulder at the chapel. The bells had stopped ringing. The noon grace had been sufficient religion for Hugh for one day but the young could benefit from a second dose. Robin would have to stand in for him at the observance this evening.

Hugh nodded to himself. Age had its privileges. “Let's go to the camp. You may tell me in private.”

He strode out of the Hall with Jack at his side. They walked too quickly for conversation as they crossed the packhorse bridge and left the grounds through the stone gatehouse. The smell of the cooking fires was pungent in the warm air of early evening.

A trestle table set for supper stood under a spreading beech tree and Hugh drank deeply from an ale jug before saying, “So, what is this information, Jack?”

“Well, I was talkin’ to the torch men what were in the court the night the lord fell. One of ’em let slip that he seen someone at the window jest afore the lord fell, an’ then ’e seen a shadow there right after.”

“Did he say who it was?”

“No, ’e clammed up when I pressed ’im. Said as ’ow ’e could’ve been mistaken.”

Hugh pursed his lips, frowning in thought. “Where was the man standing?”

“In the southwest corner of the court, sir.”

That was the corner where Hugh had stood and looked across to Guinevere's open window. He had had a clear view of the lamplit window. “Go and fetch this man, Jack. I would have speech with him myself. He might be more persuadable if he finds himself summoned for questioning.”

“I’ll take a couple of men with me, make it look more official like,” Jack said.

Hugh perched on a fallen log and stretched his legs out in front of him. The picture was beginning to draw itself. Guinevere had said she was in the garderobe when her husband came in. If it could be proved that she was lying, that in fact she’d been beside her husband at the window, then he would have sufficient justification for carrying her to London to answer a charge of murder.

Jack and his men reappeared in twenty minutes escorting a scared-looking youth in rough homespuns. “This ’ere's Arthur,” Jack said. “Where d’you want ’im, m’lord?”

“Take him to my tent.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” the youth protested.

“No one said you had,” Hugh responded. “I just have a few questions for you. Answer them truthfully and you may go on your way. But I’ll know if you’re lying so don’t try it,” he added with a ferocious frown. “Deceiving the king's envoy is treason and if you’re lucky you’ll only hang for it.”

The young man trembled, his face ashen; his eyes full of dread blinked rapidly as he gazed at Hugh like a cornered animal. The punishment for treason for any but a nobleman involved hideous mutilation at the hangman's hands.

Hugh gestured towards his tent and two men grabbed the youth's elbows and marched him off. Hugh disliked using intimidation to achieve his object but he didn’t shrink from it when it was expedient. He followed his men and their prisoner.

“Now, tell me exactly what you saw the night of Lord Mallory's death. You were standing in the southwest corner of the lower court, is that correct?”

“Aye, sir.” The young man nodded like a marionette in the hands of a demented puppeteer.

“You were looking up at Lady Guinevere's chamber?”

The nodding continued.

“And …” Hugh prompted, folding his arms and fixing the youth with an intent stare.

“Well, I see’d summat at the window,” his quarry mumbled.

“Something or some
one
?”

“ ’Twas a shadow.”

“Of what?”

There was a long silence and Hugh found it in him to feel sorry for the youth. “Come now,” he said brusquely. “Has someone told you not to tell what you saw?”

Arthur shook his head, then nodded, then shook it again.

“I am confused,” Hugh said aridly. “Yes, or no?” “I think I saw my lady at the window,” Arthur said in a rush. “It was ’er shadow. I thought nothin’ of it because she often stood there in the evenin’ jest lookin’ out. An’ then after my lord fell I saw the curtain move an’ jest a bit of ’er shadow again. I
think
it was, but I can’t be certain like.” He stared fearfully at his inquisitor. “Greene said I should forget it … ’e said I never saw any such thing.”

Greene, the other member of Guinevere's household who had been with her from early childhood, had joined the closed ranks around their lady, Hugh reflected. And again the question arose, why, if it had been an accident, were they creating this web of lies?