“Good idea,” said Olivier immediately. “I will just fetch my cloak.”
Geoffrey rubbed his hand over his mouth to prevent Hedwise from seeing his amusement. “I have a lot to do,” he said. “Enjoy your walk with Sir Olivier.”
“If you do not come with us, I will tell Henry that you have stolen documents from Joan’s room,” she said in a low, careful voice. She gazed at him, and Geoffrey found himself staring into a pair of hard blue eyes in which lurked no trace of the angelic quality they usually exuded.
“Tell him,” said Geoffrey with a shrug. “But he will not be able to take them from me.”
“He always said you were a brute,” she said, pouting at him. “I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, but it appears as though I should have trusted his judgment after all.”
“Perhaps you should,” said Geoffrey, shoving past her and making his way towards Godric’s room.
Hedwise’s ambiguous attitude toward her husband’s determined efforts to have Geoffrey hanged for murder made Geoffrey very uneasy. Goodrich Castle seemed to ooze an atmosphere of menace, and Geoffrey, although not a man easily unsettled, felt vulnerable. He pulled his boiled-leather leggings over his hose, and struggled into a light chain-mail tunic-not the one that reached his knees, which he used for travelling and battles, but one that might nevertheless deflect a blade aimed at his back. Over this, he drew on his padded surcoat, and buckled his sword to a belt at his waist.
Mabel sat next to Godric’s body and watched him.
“That passageway is narrow,” she said eventually. “You will never get down it with all that on. You will get stuck.”
Geoffrey was unable to prevent a shudder. “Where did you say this tunnel comes out?” he asked, thinking that the entrance to the other end might not be so hideous, and that he might yet avoid entering the sinister black slit.
“Down by the trees near the river. But you will not find it unless you know where to look. Godric could not have kept it a secret for so long if its exit was obvious.”
In his heart of hearts, Geoffrey knew this was true, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that he was not going to be able to escape exploring the tunnel. He wondered whether Julian might go, but the girl had kicked up such a fuss when she had seen Godric’s corpse that Geoffrey was sure that she would be inconsolable if she stumbled upon the body of her sister down there.
But Geoffrey had other things that he needed to do, and was thus able to postpone the unpleasant task of investigating dank and poky tunnels until later. He knew he should read the documents he had found in Enide’s hiding place, and he wanted to ask the physician to test the bed for poison before the killer removed all traces of it-just as he had with the fish-soup bowl that had been wiped clean, and the bottle of wine that had replaced the one that Geoffrey had sipped from. And Geoffrey knew that he should send a message to the King, informing him that he had failed in his duty, and that the Earl of Shrewsbury now had Goodrich manor to add to his domains.
With Enide’s documents still tucked inside his shirt, he clattered down the stairs intending to visit the physician first, and then to look in the woods near the river to see if he could find Rohese-if she had escaped the Earl by running away down the tunnel, the woods at the other end seemed as good a place as any to start a search. He deliberately did not allow himself to admit that the tunnel itself was probably a better point to begin looking.
He reached the hall, and collided with a servant who was scurrying to carry a basket of bread to the trestle tables that were being set up for the mid-day meal. Geoffrey’s dog made an appearance as the bread scattered, and by the time the agitated scullion had retrieved the food from the filthy rushes, the basket was considerably emptier than it had been.
“Geoffrey!” called Bertrada from the far end of the hall. “We are about to dine. I am sure you would like to join us.”
Geoffrey was sure he would not, and gave an apologetic wave of his hand before striding towards the door. He was intercepted by Stephen, coming in from outside and bringing a brace of pheasants with him.
“My hunting hounds got these,” he said proudly, slinging them onto a bench. As quick as lightning, Geoffrey snatched them up again, and his dog’s expectant jaws snapped into thin air.
“I will take him with me next time I go,” said Stephen admiringly, leaning down to ruffle the dog’s thick fur. “He is quick and he learns fast. He would make an excellent hunter.”
“But you would never benefit from it,” said Geoffrey, handing the pheasants back to Stephen. “You would never see anything he caught, and it would be more than your life is worth to try to wrest it from him.”
“Give him to me for a week,” said Stephen, smiling a challenge. “I will prove you wrong.”
Geoffrey had serious misgivings. He did not want the animal to acquire any further skills that would render it more difficult to control, and he was certain that Stephen would be unable to quench the hard spark of self-preservation and greed that guided the dog in all things. Stephen draped his arm around Geoffrey’s shoulders in a friendly fashion, and gestured to the table at the far end of the hall.
“Please, eat with us,” she said. “If the Earl was serious in his command for us to pack up and leave Goodrich in a few days, then this might be one of the last meals we have here together.”
“No, thank you,” said Geoffrey. “I have a great deal I need to do.”
“Such as what?” asked Stephen. He eyed Geoffrey’s chain-mail and surcoat. “Does this mean that you are thinking of leaving us?”
“I plan to leave as soon as I can,” said Geoffrey.
“Then you should spare a few moments to dine with your family,” said Bertrada, walking down the hall to take his arm. “You have scarcely seen us at our best since you returned, and we do not want you harbouring an unfavourable impression until you visit us again after another twenty years.”
It was a little late for such concerns, but Geoffrey had questions he very much wanted to ask certain members of his family-such as whether Walter had heard anything during the night of Godric’s murder and, if he could manage to do it discreetly, who were the people who might have access to ergot and poppy powder. Geoffrey yielded to the insistent tugging of Bertrada’s hands on his arm, and followed her back down the hall.
The Mappestone family dined at the table near the hearth, at the end of the hall farthest from the door. As Godric’s youngest son, Geoffrey’s place had usually been far distant from the centre of power in the middle. This had suited Geoffrey well, for he had not wanted to be overly close to the irascible and unpredictable Godric, and being set apart from his siblings had meant that he and Enide had been left pretty much to their own devices and conversations.
But Bertrada had decided differently, and Geoffrey found himself placed between her and Walter in the seat of honour. He glanced at Henry, wondering how he would take such an affront to his dignity, but Henry merely met his eyes and then looked away. Geoffrey was immediately on his guard. They wanted something from him.
Walter passed him a tray containing lumps of undercooked meat, first spearing a piece for himself with his hunting knife. Geoffrey took a smaller portion, supposing that, unless the entire tray were poisoned, it would be safe to eat. The same was true of the bread, although Geoffrey was mildly concerned about the tumble it had taken in the lice-infested rushes that lay scattered on the floor.
While Walter fell upon his meat as though it were the last he would ever devour, Bertrada entertained Geoffrey. She told him about the successful harvest the previous year, and a little about the uneasy relations with the landlords whose estates bordered their own.