It was then that he heard the short gasp. He stilled, listening intently. Slowly he stepped forward with extreme caution.
All too often thieves had been known to break into parties and rob all the guests. Simon intended to see whether outlaws had clambered over Vincent’s wall. He advanced past a small fence with apple-trees trained against it, along the line of a small hedge, but then he was close enough to see that there was no risk from either of the two who so enthusiastically grappled and strove together.
Grinning, Simon tiptoed away. There was no point in disturbing them. He returned to the house.
Baldwin was in the doorway. ‘You took your time. I was wondering whether you had blundered into a hole.’
‘No,’ said Simon. ‘I thought there was an intruder, but then I realised it was a welcome intrusion I heard.’
Baldwin eyed him. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
Simon said nothing, but nodded back towards the garden. There, walking towards them was the dancing girl and one of the musicians, both strolling with all the arrogance of youth and satisfied lust.
‘Ah, I see,’ Baldwin grinned once the two had pushed their way back indoors. Then Simon wiped the smile off his face with his next remark.
‘I should think she has anticipated her marriage. In fact, even though the nuptial bed was green and damp, I’d say young Mary Skinner had just performed the most important of the marital duties.’
‘My God! She scarcely seems overly concerned by Elias’s incarceration, does she?’
While Simon fetched them fresh drinks, despite Baldwin’s protestations, Baldwin noticed that Vincent was talking to Karvinel again, quietly in a corner. The Receiver appeared calm, but Karvinel seemed to be restraining his anger with great difficulty. Baldwin only wished he could get a little nearer, but before he could approach, Lady Hawisia was bearing down on him. Baldwin steeled himself.
‘Ah, there you are, Sir Baldwin. There are so many men here who wish to meet you. Couldn’t you come with me for a moment?’
Despite Jeanne’s opinion, voiced to Baldwin, that Hawisia was ‘vacuous – really empty-headed’, she exhibited little foolishness in her dealings with the men in the room. She courteously introduced Baldwin, explained a little about the man whom he was meeting, allowed a short conversation and then apologetically withdrew, taking Baldwin with her, to show him off to another person of influence.
It was only after she had circled the room that he could persuade her to allow him to rest. ‘It is tiring to meet so many people,’ he protested.
She smiled up at him. ‘I am sorry, Sir Baldwin. It is so vital that I don’t insult anyone by not introducing you that I forget my duty to you as our honoured guest.’
‘I am not that honourable, so I should not worry unduly,’ he said kindly.
She grinned nervously. ‘It is difficult for me. I am not used to dealing with knights and nobles, Sir Baldwin.’
‘There is nothing to fear about people. They are all much the same.’
‘It is very important that I make a good impression for Vincent’s sake,’ she said. Looking over to her husband, she added, ‘And I can be so foolish on occasion. I must be a terrible burden on him.’
‘Nonsense! You are too loyal and thoughtful to be anything other than a source of pride.’
She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘That is most kind of you, Sir Knight, but it isn’t true. I can be very impetuous and silly sometimes, and I know that when my poor husband is desperately trying to keep his business alive in these difficult times, my silliness can be very frustrating. Still, I try to improve myself and make myself useful to him as a good hostess. Is there anything else you need?’
‘Just out of interest, Hawisia, yes. The glover who died, did you know him?’
‘Ralph?’ She looked surprised. ‘A little, but not much. I didn’t buy my gloves from him.’
‘You use Karvinel?’
‘Him?’ Unexpectedly she giggled. ‘Oh, no. I get mine made in London. I couldn’t use Nick. His work is… well, a little shoddy. I suppose it’s his troubles. His wife was telling me that she’s concerned that his business may collapse. He owes a lot of money.’
‘And he has been robbed so often.’
‘Yes.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘Tell me: when that poor glover died, where was your husband?’
‘You suspect Vincent of killing that man?’ she shot back seriously. All trace of humour had fallen from her face and she stared up at him with disquieting intensity.
‘No, but I would like to know where he was.’
‘Let me see… It was early in the morning on the Feast of St Thomas the Apostle when he died; I was in the Cathedral for Mass but later I went to see Vincent in his counting house. He is normally there during the early morning. He attends a later Mass.’
‘Where is his counting house? Is it near the dead glover’s house?’
‘So, you do ask whether my husband killed him,’ she said quietly. ‘Well, no. His counting house is down near the Guildhall. When I got there he had been within for a while, so he couldn’t have been to the glover’s house.’
‘Who can confirm that?’
‘I could grow quite alarmed, Sir Baldwin,’ she protested. ‘You are our guest and yet you ask where my husband was as if you think he could be a murderer. But if you must check, his clerk was there and will happily confirm the time my husband arrived. Or you may ask the Coroner. He was there with us. He can confirm my statement.’
‘Thank you. I didn’t mean to trouble you,’ Baldwin said, smiling down at her anxious expression. ‘But it is always best to make sure of these details.’
‘Why? The apprentice has been arrested already.’
He said nothing, but bowed, preparing to leave her. She remained staring up at him with a severe frown. ‘Sir Baldwin, I can assure you that my husband is no murderer. He would not be able to commit such an act.’
‘Many wives have thought that of their husbands, Lady,’ Baldwin said as he left her to go to his own wife once more.
Chapter Nineteen
Henry finished his meal, thanked his Canon with the signs of respect he knew would be expected, and made his way across the precinct to the dormitory where the Choristers all slept. On the way he twirled his sling around his finger meditatively, looking for a cat or dog to fire at, but no target came into view and disappointedly he shoved the sling back in his belt as he entered the cold hall. There was no fire at this time of day and he shivered, walking to his desk and bench.
The work he had been engaged on was boring. The colours were daubed in the same way as the older clerics who spent all their time with their noses almost on the sheets of vellum they painted, watching so closely to see that not one droplet of ink or colouring went where it was not wanted. Not that Henry took quite so much care about his own work. There seemed little point. He got the right effect without having to struggle, so why bother spending the extra time to make something ‘perfect’ as the Canons would say? There were better things to be doing.
Henry wasn’t related to an important family like Luke. Henry’s father was dead. He’d been a soldier in an army that went up to the north, his mother said, to a place where rebels had tried to wrest the King’s lands from him. Scotland or somewhere, something like that. It was right up at the farthest extent of the King’s lands. Way up beyond Bristol, she said.
It was a long time ago, and it happened a long way away, so Henry couldn’t get upset about it, but he did miss having a father. It made him stand out a little from the other Choristers. Especially since his competitor, Luke, was so different, even if his father was dead, too.