Brother Stephen sat as though in deep shock, or perhaps, Baldwin thought, in guilty reflections on his unkind comments earlier that morning. At the other side of the large table, Thomas of Exeter ate with a furious speed, as though forcing food into himself was a means of displacing unpleasant musings. He hardly spoke a word, grunting at comments addressed to him, and rose from the table before anyone else, muttering about seeing to his horse.
In direct contrast, James van Relenghes was almost embarrassingly talkative. In different circumstances Baldwin would have thought he was trying to impress Lady Katharine. He was most attentive to her, talking of the courage and prowess of her dead husband, assuring his hostess that her son would have been no less brave. He went so far as to assert that Herbert could have felt nothing, that his death was swift, saying that he had seen so many dead men and children during his term as a soldier that he was personally convinced of the fact.
His words had no impact on the grieving woman. If anything, she was driven into a deeper despair by his constant chatter, and at last she raised a feeble hand to her temple and, pleading a severe headache, begged to be permitted to leave the company. Daniel leaped to her side and helped her to her feet.
It was almost a relief when she walked from the room with her maid Anney. All at once the others began to hurl questions at Baldwin, who deflected many, but couldn’t hide the main facts.
‘If he was killed, I am surprised I noticed nothing,’ James van Relenghes said. ‘I was out that way.’
‘On your own?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Oh no, Godfrey was with me, as usual,’ the Fleming said smoothly. ‘I fear you must look for another suspect. Perhaps the priest here.’
‘You were out there as well, Brother Stephen?’
The cleric gave an unhappy nod. ‘Yes, but I was further up the hill. I had gone out for solitude – I had no wish to have Herbert for company.’
Baldwin’s line of questioning killed off further conversation. It was as if he had accused all those present in the room of the murder. Now people avoided each other’s eyes, as if each suspected the others, or each expected to be personally accused. Before long, all had finished their food and filed from the room.
Simon and Margaret followed Baldwin and Jeanne into the small enclosed arbour behind the stables. Here, in a quiet, secluded space designed as a private garden for the lady of the house, three apple trees and two pears stood, bent by the blast of wind from the tor behind, but the manor’s stock of medicinal herbs grew tolerably strong and straight in well-regulated lines. A turf seat was set into the wall of the house, and the women sat here. In the lawn was cut a channel, and a small stream had been diverted to fill it and play musically as it fell over stones.
After the ladies had made themselves comfortable, Simon could hold his impatience no longer. ‘What’s the matter, Baldwin? You look like a man with piles anticipating a long day in the saddle.’
The knight gave a feeble grin. ‘I wish it were something so simple. I was meditating on the miserable position of that poor lad. There he was, suddenly without a father, and everyone about him would have been happy if he had dropped dead in his turn. Well, now he has, and I can imagine that some people here will be gratified by this turn of events, no matter what their pious expressions might imply.’
‘That’s a dreadful thing to say,’ Margaret protested. ‘You surely can’t think that poor Katharine isn’t genuinely brokenhearted by the loss of her son?’
‘Margaret, you are a kind and gentle woman: you have borne your husband several children, and you loved them all. You are a natural mother, and I know you grieved deeply when they died – but you didn’t see the face of that woman when she was standing at her husband’s grave. She wanted no part of her son; she wanted him away from her. Wouldn’t any woman wish for the comfort of her child at a time like that? She did not: I saw her. She was revolted by the sight of her boy.’
Margaret shook her head. ‘It may be that she had a perverse reaction; I have heard the squire was furious with Herbert on the day he died. As a wife she might have felt bitterness towards her son, but that’s not the same as hating him and wishing him dead, Baldwin.’
‘I may be entirely wrong, just as I have been over so many other aspects,’ he admitted. ‘It is my fault. I should have protected the boy.’
Jeanne could see his sadness and confusion. ‘I find that hard to believe, husband. You could probably have done nothing to save him. It is enough for you to discover his killer.’
He took her hand, but stared out over the moor behind the house and didn’t meet her eyes. ‘If I had been here, it is possible I could have prevented his death.’
‘Will you arrest the farmer?’ Margaret asked.
Baldwin shook his head. ‘There is no evidence that he was responsible for anything. Daniel pointed us to him – but then Stephen pointed me towards Lady Katharine, and Thomas had as clear a motive as Edmund.’
Suddenly his voice hardened. ‘Enough! I will stop being directed by events. So far I have been blown by other people’s winds of fancy – no more! Now I shall do what I should have done in the beginning, and investigate this damned affair properly. Simon, let’s go and see where the body was found.’
Chapter Fifteen
It was Thomas who volunteered to take them to the spot. He was standing near the door with Stephen when Baldwin asked for a guide, and promised to lead them straight there.
‘We won’t need mounts – it’s only a short walk from here,’ he said importantly. ‘Do you wish to go now?’
Simon glanced at Baldwin. ‘There’s no point in delay. The Evensong of the Dead is not for hours. We might as well see the place immediately’
Baldwin reflected on that as they walked northwards from the manor. The Evensong for the Dead, the Placebo, was the first half of the funeral service, and after it there would be a vigil held over the body. Next morning the Dirige would be sung, and after that they would return to the graveyard so that Herbert could be buried next to the squire. Father and son had only been separated for a few days.
Some quarter of a mile north of the manor, Thomas stopped and the other two halted behind him. They were in a typical, desolate part of the moor. The hill rose up on their left, and the land fell away to a small wood on their right; the road was narrow, only wide enough for smaller carts and wagons, and was holed and rutted, the peaty soil beneath soft and treacherous.
‘When it rains, you know all about it up here,’ Thomas commented.
Simon nodded grimly. ‘It’s a hard moor. If it’s wet, you run the risk of bogs and mires, or a badly sprained ankle because of the mud. In the summer, the grass covers huge holes in the ground where the water has drained away and taken the soil with it. You can be riding over what looks like solid ground, only to fall into a massive pit. Usually it’s only two or three feet in depth, but sometimes it can be worse.’
Baldwin eyed the landscape sourly. In the main it was heather and gorse, the stuff they called ‘furze’ here, which stood a mere foot and a half tall. Every now and again he could see twisted, stunted trees, or tall bushes. None was more than ten feet tall, giving the area an eerie, unpleasant feel.
‘I wish you joy of your inheritance, Thomas,’ he said, ‘but I confess to a desire to see more trees.’
‘Hah! Ignore this blasted, wind-scoured view, Sir Baldwin, and turn the other way. Look! Down in that valley is Throwleigh itself, and that little vill is worth pounds each year, even now after five years of poor harvest. The only trouble here was always my brother’s softness with the villeins. What they need is a firm hand. Once they realise I know what I’m about, they’ll knuckle under!’
Simon disregarded his boast. As bailiff he knew many of the landlords on the moors, and he was aware that Squire Roger had not been an easy touch. In addition, the squire was ever polite, and greatly more courteous than his younger brother – and Simon was quietly confident that he would never have uttered so disloyal a comment about Thomas.