‘Most certainly. I married them. In fact, I remember when Gilbert first arrived in Lower Brockhurst from Gloucester. He came to dig a new well for the village, and never went home again. Fell in love with Maud instead.’
‘Someone-’ I decided it might be better not to mention Alice Tucker – ‘told me that Ned Rawbone wanted to marry Mistress Maud, but was forbidden to do so by his father. Is that true?’
The priest cut himself a piece of cheese with his knife and stuffed it in his mouth, thus rendering further conversation impossible for at least a minute. Finally, he admitted thickly, ‘I think there may have been some tenderness between them. On his part, at least.’
‘Not on hers?’
He cleaned around his teeth with his tongue. ‘Well, if there was, it obviously didn’t survive Gilbert’s arrival. Gilbert and Maud were wed within two months of him appearing in the village. They wasted no time once the banns were called. Neither her father nor his mother were pleased about it, but it didn’t deter them. Dame Theresa, who came from Gloucester for the wedding, made her objections plain from the start. She considered her son had married beneath him. She despised the country and country people. The fact that Maud was sole heir to her father’s smallholding didn’t impress Theresa. She looked on farming as “grubbing a living from dirt”. That’s what she said. She insisted that Gilbert could make better money as a weller.’
‘He didn’t continue in his calling, then?’
Sir Anselm shook his head. ‘It was one of old Haycombe’s conditions for consenting to the marriage that Gilbert should give up his trade and help out on the smallholding.’
‘And he was willing to do that?’
‘Of course. He and Maud were very much in love. It was no surprise to anyone when Eris was born just under nine months later.’
I thought about this. ‘Are you suggesting that Maud might have been with child before they married?’ Father Anselm nodded. ‘Did they ever have any more children?’
‘Two boys, both of whom died young. They were sickly from birth; fragile-looking, like Gilbert. Eris was the only one with health and strength, a fine child who grew into a beautiful woman. A beauty, alas, that was to prove destructive, not only to herself but also to other people.’
We were silent for a moment, contemplating that destruction, during which time Hercules emerged from under the table and went to scratch and whine again at the kitchen door. With a sigh, I got up and let him into the hall, where I was immediately conscious of a draught from the open front door, swinging wide on its creaking hinges.
‘Master Rawbone must have left it open,’ I said to the priest, who had joined me, tuttutting under his breath.
‘Not Ned’s fault.’ He hastened to close it. ‘Sometimes the latch springs after it’s been shut. The wood is old and has warped. There, that’s got it. Does your dog want to go out? If so, take him into the yard at the back.’
But Hercules, perverse as ever, returned to the warmth of the kitchen, his urgent desire to relieve himself evidently having evaporated at the first whiff of cold air. Sir Anselm and I followed him, resuming our places at the table.
I asked, ‘How old was Eris when her father died?’
My companion poured more ale.
‘Well, let me see, Gilbert died the same year the Duke of Gloucester married the Lady Anne Neville. When would that have been?’
‘Seven years ago next month,’ I answered promptly. I had good reason to remember the date. I had been instrumental in helping Duke Richard to find his future wife after George of Clarence had hidden her in the city of London, disguised as a cook-maid.
If the priest was surprised by the accuracy of my reply, he didn’t show it.
‘Then Eris would have been about ten years old,’ he said. ‘A bad age for any child to be left without a father, but especially one left in the care of a mother and doting grandmother. Dame Theresa came for her son’s funeral and, unfortunately perhaps, never returned home. I don’t think her visit was intended to be permanent, not to begin with at least, and I’m sure Maud didn’t want her to stay. The two women never really got on. Maud resented, not unnaturally, her mother-in-law’s belief that Gilbert had married beneath him. But they rubbed along together without any overt hostility, and if the truth be told, they must both have been lonely. Maud’s father had died several years before.’
‘You said that Dame Theresa was a doting grandmother. What about Mistress Lilywhite? Was she a doting mother?’
The priest sucked his teeth, no doubt searching for more scraps of food. ‘I think she did try to instil some sense of discipline into Eris, but the child was too self-willed, like Dame Theresa. Maud herself is a biddable woman, shy and retiring; someone who dislikes confrontation. And now,’ he added, swallowing his ale, ‘I’ve talked enough about the Lilywhites. My advice to you, chapman, is to do as Maud wants. Leave well alone. Eris is … has gone. William Bush and his family and the Rawbones are just beginning to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives and put them back together again.’
I made no answer for a moment, then leaned forward and once more gripped the priest’s wrist.
‘Sir Anselm,’ I urged, ‘If you know anything, anything at all, concerning Eris, you would do better to share it with someone.’
‘You, I suppose?’ he asked mockingly.
‘Not necessarily, although it might not be a bad idea. But if not me, then go to the Sheriff’s Officer in Gloucester. Tell him what you know.’ I shook his arm. ‘You may be in some danger if you don’t.’
He smiled and patted my hand. ‘I’m in no danger, my son. Because,’ he went on hastily, ‘I don’t know anything. Now, let us drop the subject. Is there something else you want to ask me? Provided, of course, that it doesn’t touch on the subject of the Lilywhites.’
I removed my hand from his wrist.
‘Very well.’ There was nothing further I could say. After all, I might have been mistaken about the extent of his knowledge, my imagination running away with me as usual. So I accepted defeat on that score and changed the subject for a third time. ‘Who is it,’ I wanted to know, ‘who hangs the corn dollies and clooties on the trees around Upper Brockhurst?’
‘My son, I’ve no idea and I don’t enquire. Oh, you probably think it very lax of me, but the old religion still flourishes in many places throughout the western counties. It does no harm that I can see. Not, I admit, a view that would find favour with my superiors. Indeed, it would probably be regarded as heresy and lead to my being hailed before a church court without delay. But I can, I’m sure, trust you to keep my secret. And I very much doubt if I’m the only priest who takes this stand. The early Church itself was built on the marriage of Christian rites with pagan. Easter, the greatest festival of all, is celebrated to coincide with the festival of Eostra, the Norse goddess of spring. Christmas was when our forefathers welcomed back the lengthening days. The Green Man, Robin Goodfellow, the gods of the trees, they all lead men to worship. God may not be one Person, chapman. He may not even be Three in One or One in Three. He may have many faces and forms.’ Sir Anselm smiled. ‘There, now! I’ve put my life in your hands. You see how I trust you!’
But not enough, I thought, to confide in me what you know concerning Eris Lilywhite’s disappearance.
Eleven
I stayed another hour with the priest, both of us talking desultorily of this and that, but with our own secret thoughts running like undercurrents in the stream of idle chatter. I can’t, of course, vouch for what was going through Sir Anselm’s mind, but I recall that he seemed a little abstracted, asking questions at random and barely listening to the answers. For my part, I was concerned with how much he might know and how much danger such knowledge might put him in. On the other hand, I had no proof that he knew anything at all. I had convinced myself purely on instinct that he did.