The Widow's Kiss (33 page)

The old woman who was bending over the pallet straightened stiffly, one hand at her back. “I cannot say, m’lord. He looks bad. But if, as you say, there was an evil influence in the ’ouse, then, God willing, ye’ve moved him in time.”

She crossed herself. “Poor mite. Such a roarin’, healthy babe ’e was when I delivered ’im. An’ his sainted mother, God rest ’er soul. Never a sound out of ’er. Two days she labored, an’ never made a sound. Such a sweet soul she was.” She crossed herself again.

Hugh swallowed. The lump in his chest, now in his throat, was painful. He was close to tears, closer than he’d been since Sarah's death, and he clung to what fortitude he could muster. Martha was his only hope. Only Robin knew her, knew that Hugh paid her a tiny pension, all he could afford, in recognition of her service as Sarah's
maid and the midwife who had brought Robin into the world. No one else knew of this humble cottage. No one would find Robin here.

Robin coughed, feebly but for an eternity it seemed to his father. The sweat of fear dampened Hugh's brow. Martha stirred something in a cup and bent once more over the pallet. She raised the boy and put the cup to his lips.

“Get you ’ome, m’lord. There's little ye can do ’ere. Come back this evenin’ an’ we’ll see.”

“I can’t leave him.”

“I work best alone.”

Hugh hesitated, then approached the pallet. He bent and kissed Robin's burning brow, smoothed the lank hair. He ached with a desperate helplessness that he had never known. And in the far reaches of his mind came the recognition that Guinevere must have felt this same hideous powerlessness to help her own children during the last dreadful months as she struggled in a net that he had cast for her.

What did it mean to her, knowing that he now knew exactly how that felt?

“Get you ’ome,” Martha repeated softly. “Come back this evenin’. We’ll know better then.”

Hugh still hesitated, then with a helpless little gesture he opened the door and left the single-roomed cottage. He mounted his horse tethered at the gate and turned the charger down the hill leaving the church of St. Paul's behind him.

The horse skittered uncertainly and uncharacteristically on the rutted lane. Hugh drew the rein tighter and felt his saddle slip slightly. He reined in the horse and dismounted. The girth had worked itself loose and it had unsettled the horse. Hugh tightened the strap, running a finger between it and the animal's belly to satisfy himself that it was once more snug. He frowned, feeling a small nick on one side of
the leather. Someone in the stables was not keeping a close eye on the tack.

That was Robin's task, of course. The care of his father's equipment in particular fell to the son's hand. Hugh's nostrils flared as he struggled with the upsurge of fearful despair. He remounted, his mouth set in a grim line, and turned his horse towards Holborn once more.

He had no wish to go home, no wish to see Guinevere, no wish to sit beside her at the dinner table, break bread with her, drink with her. He didn’t think he would be able to keep his suspicion to himself. But somehow he must. He had to watch her. If she was plotting Robin's death, she would also be plotting his own.

He rode into the stable yard and Tyler came running from the stables to take his horse. “ ’Ow's the lad, m’lord?” he asked with concern as Hugh dismounted. “I’ve one jest the same age at ’ome.”

Tyler had saddled Hugh's horse earlier and had held Robin while his father had mounted. The man's sympathy had been open and genuine as he’d handed the sick child up to Lord Hugh.

“He's in good hands, thank you,” Hugh replied, regarding the man thoughtfully. Tyler, it seemed, was certainly a man of all work as Guinevere had said. Kitchens, stables, domestic quarters. He was everywhere, rapidly making himself indispensable.

“Check that girth, will you?” Hugh said. “It slipped while I was riding home. The leather seems to have a slight nick at one side.”

“Aye, m’lord. I’ll check it as soon as I’ve unsaddled ’im.”

Hugh nodded and strode back to the house.

Tyler watched him for a minute, his eyes narrowed. He’d lost the boy. Unless Lord Hugh had removed him from the bedchamber too late. It was possible, probable
even. But he’d have to make sure. For the moment he’d concentrate his efforts on the father.

Jack Stedman accosted Hugh as he entered the house through the back door. “A word, m’lord?”

“What is it, Jack?” Hugh drew off his gloves.

“Well, it's jest that Will Malfrey's disappeared, sir. I left ’im at Privy Seal's wicket all night an’ sent fer ’im to come ’ome just after dawn. But ’e wasn’t there.”

Hugh frowned. “You left him there all night even though I decided there was no point in watching?”

“ ’Twas a matter of discipline, m’lord.”

“Ah.” Hugh would not question Jack's dealings with the men. “Could he have left of his own accord?”

Jack shook his head. “Unlikely. He's a good man, jest a bit awkward like once in a while. But he’d never leave ’is post, I’d lay any odds.”

“Could he have met with an accident?”

“Mebbe, but, I don’t know, sir.” Jack shook his head again. “ ’E's ’andy with a sword an’ with ’is fists. ’Twould take a good few to get the better of ’im, I would ’ave said. But we’ve been searchin’ the alleys around.”

“So where d’you think he is?” Hugh guessed that Jack had his own opinion.

“That I can’t rightly say, sir. But if ’e ’appened on our man, sir, like as not, ’e’d go after ’im.”

Hugh slapped his gloves into the palm of one hand. “If that's the case he’ll be back.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Then let's wait and see.”

“Aye, sir.”

Hugh gave him a nod and strode off to the hall. Jack's explanation struck him as odd. Privy Seal's guests were unlikely to roam the streets before dawn.

“Where's Robin, sir? Is he going to get better?” Pippa
rushed upon Hugh as he entered the hall. “Where did you take him?”

Hugh had to force the smile that normally came so naturally around the child. “He's going to get better,” he said firmly.

“Where is he, Lord Hugh?” Pen's softer voice joined her sister's clamor.

Hugh glanced across the girl's head to where Guinevere was standing beside the dinner table, her eyes on him, questioning and anxious.

He forced another smile. “He's with an old friend,” he said. “Someone skilled at nursing. Let's dine. It grows late and I’ve business to attend to this afternoon.”

They sat down, the household filing in to take their own places. The atmosphere was subdued, Robin's absence keenly felt. Covertly Hugh watched Guinevere. He told himself that to suspect her of trying to poison him at his own dinner table was absurd. He was allowing his fearful fancies to get the better of him. There was no way that at a crowded table she could contaminate food or drink of which he alone would partake. But he was wary nevertheless, choosing only the dishes she herself selected.

Guinevere had no appetite. The man beside her was once more the harsh, judgmental, suspicious man she’d first met. There was no humor, no warmth, none of the passion for her that usually ran so close to the surface. Even in anger, that passionate desire had been obvious. But now it was doused, in its place something she could only describe as revulsion. And it was unendurable. It was unbelievable and unendurable and slowly her dismay faded to be replaced with pure anger.

“We must talk,” she said abruptly. “After dinner.”

“If you wish,” he responded distantly. “I can spare a few minutes.”

She said nothing more to him, confining her conversation to the girls and the magister, who did his best to fill
the silences with intense scholarly discussion. Hugh said nothing to anyone, but his preoccupation was easily explained as worry over Robin.

As soon as the meal was over, Guinevere rose from the table. “Magister Howard, would it please you to take the girls out for a walk this afternoon? It's a pleasant afternoon and there's much they should learn about the city and its history.”

“They need an escort,” Hugh said sharply. “An old man and two small girls wandering alone around the city! Don’t be absurd … Jack?” He beckoned to Jack Stedman who was about to leave the table.

“Aye, sir.” Jack came over immediately.

“Arrange for three men to accompany Magister Howard and Lady Guinevere's daughters this afternoon. They wish to go for a walk.”

Jack nodded and strode off. Pippa regarded Hugh with wide eyes. “You’re cross,” she stated. “Why are you cross, Lord Hugh?”

“He's not cross,” Pen told her. “Lord Hugh's worried about Robin.”

“Yes, Pen,” Hugh said in slightly softened tones. “I’m not cross with anyone, Pippa.” He smiled at the child and chucked her beneath the chin. “Enjoy your walk.”

Pen hesitated, her sensitive gaze doubtful, questioning, as if she saw the effort it cost him to smile, to sound like himself once more. She glanced at her mother who said softly, “Go and fetch your cloaks. Don’t keep the magister waiting.”

Pen grasped her sister's sleeve and pulled her away to the stairs.

Hugh turned to Guinevere. “You wished to talk with me, madam.” His voice was expressionless, his eyes unreadable.

“Let us go abovestairs,” she said tautly. “This business is best conducted in privacy.” She turned to follow her
daughters up the stairs, her anger visible in every line of her erect body.

She entered their bedchamber leaving the door open behind her so that he could follow her in. He entered and closed the door firmly.

“Well?”

“What do you mean,
well?”
she demanded, spinning to face him. She stood in the window embrasure, her back to the light, her hands as always clasped quietly against her skirts. The light behind her bouncing off her white silk hood created a golden halo. “What is going on here, Hugh?”

He rubbed his face with his hands, hard and fast, trying to decide how to respond. He couldn’t voice his suspicions. Not without proof. He couldn’t begin to find the words to accuse this woman. Despite his conviction, he couldn’t speak the words. “I’m concerned for Robin. That's all.”

“Oh, yes, I understand that,” she said, her voice suddenly very soft but the anger still there, still dangerous. “But why am I to be attacked, Hugh? Why do you look at me in such fashion?”

“What fashion?” He tried to sound normal, reasonable.

“You know. What is it that you suspect?” When he said nothing, she repeated, “What is it that you suspect, my lord? Oh, come now, surely you have the courage to confront me!” She gave a short bitter laugh. “Say it, Hugh.
Say it.”

“Say what? There is nothing to say.” He turned from her, pushing a slipping log back into the fireplace with the toe of his boot. “My son is at death's door. What else is there to say?”

“That you suspect me of having some hand in his illness,” she threw at him. “I killed my husbands, or one of them, at least. Of that you’re convinced. So why wouldn’t

I continue the pattern? If I want my lands back, I have to get rid of Robin and then you. Or you first. It matters little.” Her voice dripped contempt. “I cannot live with a man who could believe such a thing of me.”

“I do not believe it,” he stated. “You’re talking arrant nonsense, Guinevere. I am at my wit's end about Robin. Of course I’m not behaving in my usual fashion. Now, if we’ve finished with this nonsense, I am going back to my son.” He stalked to the door.

“If you don’t believe it, why won’t you let me nurse him? Why would you remove him from this house?”

He stood with his hand on the latch. “I don’t know. I’m not myself. I’m not capable of rational thought at present. I would have hoped for some understanding from you.” He opened the door and left.

Guinevere sat down on the window seat. He had denied his suspicions, but what else had she expected? He wouldn’t admit to something so monstrous, not without proof. Was he trying to throw her off guard while he found such proof?

Hugh entered the stable yard shouting for his horse. Tyler brought the charger at a run. “Ye want I should accompany ye, m’lord? ’Old the ’orse fer ye. Walk ’im while ye goes about yer business.”

Hugh hesitated, absently checking the animal's girth. It seemed snug, the leather intact. He didn’t really like to leave his horse unattended in the lane for any length of time and he didn’t want to have to hurry over his visit this afternoon. Someone to keep an eye on his horse while he was with Martha and Robin would be useful. He was reluctant to reveal Robin's whereabouts, even to a servant, but he could leave Tyler and the horses outside the Bull Tavern, a few lanes away from the cottage.