‘He’s gone at last,’ she interrupted him. ‘God rest his soul.’
‘Amen,’Josse said. News travels fast hereabouts, he thought. ‘How did you know?’
She shrugged. ‘Will’s woman told Ossie’s mother last night. Said Will were right upset, wouldn’t leave the old man’s body by itself.’ She shot Josse a sharp look. ‘Reckon he’ll have a deal more to be upset about soon, him and all the rest of the Winnowlands folk. Told you, did they? What’s to happen?’
‘Will told me of Sir Alard’s bequest to his niece, aye, and how the girl’s mother was there to hear the terms of the will.’
Mathild seemed to have overcome her reservations, and was now positively eager to talk; gossiping about the death and the will of a neighbour were, apparently, more entertaining than listening to Josse explaining himself. ‘Like I said, it’ll upset them, all right,’ she said, nodding in affirmation.
‘The estate going to Sir Alard’s niece, you mean?’
‘Not her, so much, she’s not a bad lass. Flighty, overfond of her own comfort and a mite too ready to clamber over others to get what she wants, but then, that’s not uncommon, now, is it?’
‘No,’ Josse acknowledged.
‘No, it’s that Milon d’Arcy who’ll cause all the trouble,’ Mathild predicted grimly. ‘Nobbut a lot of air between his ears, that one, no thought but for the newest fashion, the best wine, the most delicate of dishes.’ She shook her head, thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘Can you see him having the sense to run a great place like Winnowlands? He’ll have neither the knowledge nor the wits to ask the advice of those what has. It’ll be ruin, for the lot of them.’ She looked up at Josse, the shrewd eyes narrowed. ‘Mark my words, sir, the Winnowlands folk are quite right to be worried.’
‘Aye,’ Josse said. ‘Poor Will.’
‘Still,’ she went on, her expression lifting, ‘look on the bright side, that’s what I say! Young Elanor, now, she’ll be a happy girl when they tell her. What a piece of news to break to a pretty young thing, eh?’
‘She is still from home?’ he asked casually.
‘Fas as I know she is. They live over the next hill, her and my little lordship Milon — tidy place, small but elegant, mind, other side of the bridge — but I hear tell there’s none of the family there now. She’ll still be with her new Hastings kin, I reckon. And him, well, maybe he’s gone to join her there.’
‘And the kinfolk, they live…?’
She told him, giving the information in such an abbreviated form that he was obliged to ask her to elaborate. She was, quite clearly, impatient to get back to her theme of how wonderful it must be for a lass not yet twenty to inherit a fortune, why, if it had been her, what she could have done with it when she was twenty! Goodness, she’d have had jewels, fine gowns, someone to cook and scrub for her, and she wouldn’t have spent her life running round after other people, that was for sure.
‘No, indeed,’ Josse murmured, although he doubted if she was listening. Breaking away as quickly as he could, which was not in fact quickly at all, he was moving off towards the gateway when suddenly she ceased her daydreaming and called after him, ‘Will you tell them, sir knight?’
‘Tell them what?’ he asked, although he knew what her answer would be.
She tutted briefly. ‘About the fortune, of course! And about the poor old man’s death,’ she added, trying, and failing, to adopt a suitably mournful expression.
He hesitated. Then said, ‘Oh, no. I don’t think that would be suitable at all. It’s hardly my place, as a stranger to the family, to break such tidings.’
She was looking at him strangely. Wondering — fearing — that she was about to ask why, if he was a stranger, he was involving himself to such an extent in family matters, he forestalled her. Calling out a swift farewell, he spurred his horse and set off to find the house of Elvera’s — Elanor’s — relations-in-law.
* * *
She was not there.
Whoever had concocted this story of her prolonged visit to her husband’s kin clearly had not anticipated that anyone would actually go checking up. The servant who came out to greet Josse announced, after his initial denial, that he’d go in and ask the mistress, since it was possible she’d arranged a visit and omitted to tell the staff; he returned not only with the mistress, but also with the master and three or four other members of the household. Milon’s kin, Josse noticed absently, came from a different mould than Milon; it was hard to believe that the stolid and sensibly dressed family in front of him had produced the dainty, yellow-haired youth.
Not only was Elanor not there, but nobody knew of any proposed visit. The master and the mistress, frowning at each other in perplexity, said so repeatedly. As far as they were aware, Elanor d’Arcy was contentedly at home with her husband, and planning on staying there.
Feeling both slightly foolish — quite a few of the household were looking at Josse as if he were next door to an idiot — and also unpleasantly guilty — it was not a good feeling, listening to them speaking happily of Elanor as if she were still alive when he knew full well she was dead — he said he regretted that he must have made a mistake. He apologised for having disturbed them all and took his leave. Then he hurried away and set off on the long road back to Hawkenlye.
* * *
He got back as twilight deepened into night. Hot, dirty, ravenously hungry and weary to his very bones, he was good for nothing but food and sleep. Brother Saul, tending him efficiently and with the consideration not to ask him any questions, reported briefly on the day’s events at Hawkenlye since Josse had left that morning.
‘The little lassie’s lying in the crypt, where they put Sister Gunnora,’ he said as he brought Josse a wooden platter heaped with steaming, fragrant stew. ‘The Abbess has been sitting with her all day.’
Josse heard the concern in his voice. ‘She is taking this hard,’ he remarked.
Brother Saul shook his head sadly. ‘As do we all, sir. As do we all.’ He stood frowning in the direction of the shrine. ‘This whole sorry business has made folks disinclined to come for the waters, too. And that’s not right. Those in distress have need of the cure, and now these terrible deaths are frightening them away.’
It was, Josse thought, an aspect of the murders which ranked high with Brother Saul. He studied him, noting the kind, honest face set now in lines of distress. ‘We’ll find the man who is responsible, Saul,’ he said softly, ‘and bring him to justice. That I promise you.’
Saul turned to look at him, and, briefly, a smile softened the features. ‘Yes, sir. I know you will.’ Josse was just feeling the beginning of a warm glow of pleasure at the man’s faith in him when, to gild the moment, Saul added, ‘So does the Abbess.’
* * *
Josse slept for ten hours, and awoke feeling thoroughly refreshed. His mind must have been working while he was asleep; he returned to consciousness knowing exactly what he must do next.
Brother Saul gave him a bite of breakfast, and then he set off the short distance down the path to the area where the two dead nuns had been found. He stood first in the one place, then the other, turning slowly in a full circle, studying the immediate surroundings. Then, making up his mind, he began a very thorough inspection of the undergrowth beside the track.
He had reasoned that, since it appeared that Milon had made at least two and probably more nocturnal visits to the little valley, the young man must have had a hiding place. Perhaps not many people would be abroad down there at night — in fact, Josse thought, probably none — but, nevertheless, it seemed unlikely that anyone with nefarious intentions would have the confidence to stand about in the open.
He walked very slowly along the path, staring intently at every yard of undergrowth, eyes searching for the smallest sign of passing feet. There was nothing. Nothing! Sick with disappointment, he was about to turn back when, only a little distance from where the shrubbery began to thin out, he saw it.