‘My friend,’ Simon said calmingly, ‘we don’t know that he was murdered, all we know is that Daniel thinks he might have been. That isn’t reason enough for you to desert your wife. You stay here, and I’ll go and look into it. Boys and men get run down and killed every day of the week.’
‘Rubbish, Simon! Those who get run over are drunk, or fall accidentally. They die outside alehouses, or just outside their own doors. But young Herbert died out on the moors – and he wasn’t drunk. He would have jumped from the path of a wagon.’
‘Pure supposition!’
‘Logic!’
‘Baldwin, you cannot leave your wife the day after your wedding; it’s not right.’
‘Leave me? What makes you think he would be leaving me, Bailiff?’
Simon’s heart sank. He had wanted to keep this from Lady Jeanne, but now there was no way to conceal it. ‘I am truly sorry, Lady, I wouldn’t want to be cause of dispute between you and your husband. I shall leave you so he can explain.’
Jeanne lifted her eyebrow, then gave a low chuckle. ‘Bailiff, if you think that I don’t realise what’s going on here, you have no understanding of the loudness of your voice.’
‘But you asked…’ Simon stammered.
‘Why you thought he would be leaving me here. Of course he won’t. I will be joining you both to see Lady Katharine and help soothe the poor woman.’
Chapter Ten
The two men set off long before the sun had reached its zenith, this time with their wives and servants in their train. The exhausted messenger was remounted on one of Baldwin’s own stallions, but even so they made slow progress.
Wat had been told to pack a few clothes and join them. Although his head hurt horribly and his stomach felt like a seething cauldron of acid, he was nothing loath: this was an adventure. He had never gone further than Cadbury before, except once when he had travelled to Crediton, and his father had never been so far as Dartmoor, so this would be a feather in Wat’s hat. What’s more, he would be avoiding the hard work that was about to start: the planting of the Lenten seeds, the barley and oats, rye and vetches, upon which the manor depended, and with which he would have been expected to help. If their visit lasted long enough, he might even be absent for some of the long, dull days sitting out for hours on end with his pouch of pebbles and slingshot, ready to frighten off any birds or rabbits that tried to steal from the manor’s fields.
Baldwin kept an eye on the lad, conscious of his responsibility. Wat pattered along cheerily enough at his side, but the knight was concerned that he shouldn’t overtire himself. Baldwin was riding his favourite rounsey, a good, steady bay which could eat up the miles comfortably, while Jeanne followed, chatting quietly with Simon’s wife, on her new Arab. Simon was on his ageing hackney, Margaret on a palfrey which ambled along gently.
‘I still can’t believe that Herbert was murdered,’ Simon said now. ‘Sure, it’s a pity the lad died, but these things happen.’
‘You make it sound like a simple accident. Daniel suspects the same as me, yet you speak as calmly as if you saw it happen.’
‘Well, I almost feel as if I did. I’ve seen so many similar deaths: drunken workers who’ve fallen into the road; infants and toddlers who strayed – remember, the boy was only five years old. You’ve seen them just as I have. And often the driver of the cart doesn’t dare stop and report the accident. At the least they might be faced with the expense of a heavy fine, while if they ride on as if nothing had happened, they may remain safe.
‘And there’s another thing, Baldwin,’ the bailiff added. ‘The victim in this case was the son of the squire, and was himself the heir. Who’d dare admit he’d run down his own master?’
‘Yes, that much is true,’ Baldwin agreed, but even as he pronounced the last word, Simon saw his mind was racing along a new track.
‘Now what is it?’
‘Hmm? Oh, I am sorry, I was merely considering the implications of what you had said. That the driver of the cart could be one of the manor’s own villeins.’
That reflection made the knight quiet for the rest of their journey.
Jeanne studied Throwleigh Manor as they approached, and couldn’t restrain a shudder. It was so grey, too exposed and rugged, merely a space in which people could exist, not somewhere she could ever consider as a home. Dropping from her horse, she put her hand through Baldwin’s arm. She was aware of a feeling of gloom sinking into her spirit, as if the buildings were sucking the pleasure of her marriage out of her. Daniel the steward appeared at the door and walked down to greet them. He went first to Simon, and thanked him fulsomely for making the journey again. Then: ‘Ladies, perhaps I could show you into the hall to meet Lady Katharine, while I speak to your husbands?’
He led the two women away and Baldwin glanced about him while the grooms took their mounts. ‘Edgar, Wat is in your charge,’ he said. ‘See to it that the little brat doesn’t make a nuisance of himself.’
At a nod from Simon, Hugh went off with them, and the two men waited for Daniel. The place was sunk in a gloomy light, for the sun had fallen behind the hill to the west, and only a dim twilight lay over the yard. It was a relief when Daniel reappeared at the door and crossed the yard to them. ‘Gentlemen, perhaps you wouldn’t mind if we were to take a little walk, away from curious ears, you understand?’
The steward took them through the gates to the clitter outside. ‘I am most grateful to both of you – to you, Bailiff, and especially you, Sir Baldwin. It must have been a sore wrench to come all this way.’
‘I assume you had good reason to demand our return,’ Simon said.
Daniel made a weak, fluttering gesture with his hands. He felt spent after the worry of sending the messenger to ask Simon to return. It wasn’t something he was used to, acting on his own initiative, especially since he hadn’t been able to confide in anyone else. In the service of his squire, he had only needed to follow Roger’s commands, and had looked upon his job as a position almost of sacred trust. Now he had gone out on a limb, and he wasn’t sure whether he was about to fall or not. He took a deep breath.
‘The manor has lost two masters in a matter of days, and I have a duty to their memories. I am certain that someone murdered the young master, and I ask that you bring his murderer to justice.’
Simon sat on a rock. ‘Explain yourself!’
‘Sir, whoever was driving that cart must have known who the master was, and yet they didn’t come to report their deed to the Lady. They must have intended to kill him.’
Simon shook his head. ‘My friend, if you were a local peasant on your way home, half-asleep at the reins, it’s quite possible that you’d fail to notice a boy running out in front of you.’
‘Have you never run over an animal?’ Daniel interrupted desperately. ‘Even a small animal, a rabbit or a cat, makes the wheel jolt. If it does that for a little creature, how much more will the wagon jump when it rides over a five-year-old boy? The man knew he had run someone down.’
‘That doesn’t make him a murderer,’ Baldwin pointed out gently. ‘It could have been an accident: if your master ran out without thinking, it was hardly the fault of the carter.’
‘If it was an accident, why didn’t the man come and confess?’
‘He might well have feared the response of the Lady Katharine,’ Simon said frankly. ‘There’s no evidence to suggest that the lad’s death was anything other than a sad misfortune. Accidents happen.’
‘Sir, shouldn’t we try to find out who was responsible?’
Simon gave an unwilling nod. Apart from anything else, he had a duty to help the Coroner collect the deodand. A chattel which had caused a man’s death was forfeit, theoretically to be given to God in expiation – although in reality the deodand was a fine imposed on the owner, the value then put to pious uses. In this case the deodand must be the horse and cart, a goodly fine.