She raised an eyebrow and looked at him with an expression of exasperation on her face. He knew only too well that she wanted to meet the new master of Furnshill, she had told him so; especially now she had heard a little about the strange new knight. She ignored her husband and turned to the messenger with a sigh of patient suffering. “Please tell your master that we will be pleased to join him this evening, but do warn him that the bailiff seems a little confused today. It’s probably his age,” she said sweetly, and with a slight shake of her head, as if in disgust with her husband, she turned back to the fire and took the pot from the flames.
Simon smiled to himself. He could think of no other man he would prefer to discuss the abbot’s death with, especially since Baldwin had seemed so interested in the death of the farmer. Could he help with this killing too?
Later, as they rode together from Sandford to Cadbury, leaving Edith with a maid, Margaret turned and saw Hugh was trailing a short distance behind. Turning to Simon, she gave him a look of wary concern. “Simon, do you really think that the murders can’t have been done by the same people? It seems such a strange coincidence that both deaths should have involved fires.”
He grunted noncommittally as he turned his mind back to the mysterious deaths. “The only similarity between the two deaths is in the fact that fire was common to both.”
“Surely that’s enough of a coincidence, isn’t it? When did someone last die from fire?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. If both men died in fires at home, then I could understand it. If both were taken on the road and ransomed, then I could happily say, ”Yes, here’s a coincidence.“” But I can’t. One man seemed to die in his bed, one died at a stake. One was definitely robbed, one may – only may – have been.“
They fell into a thoughtful silence as they jogged along on their horses. Could there be a small band of trail bastons this far south, Simon wondered, one that had started raiding down south of Crediton, had found the Brewer house and killed him and had then gone on and seized the abbot? And then – in a fit of jealousy at the hostage’s wealth, perhaps? – killed him in that senseless manner?
Margaret watched as his hand slowly came up to scratch at his ear, a sure sign of perplexity. His frown would soon disappear, she knew, as a new thought occurred to him, making him lose his glowering concentration as he peered ahead, looking as if he was lost, like an old man confused of his surroundings, until he had worried the thought to death and gone on to the next one. Smiling, she saw the anticipated expression appear and turned her gaze back to the view ahead.
They topped a hill and waited at the top for Hugh, who toiled slowly after them. From here they could see for miles and Simon was happy to rest and stare, forgetting the affair for a moment as he leaned on his saddlebow and breathed in the clean air.
Margaret watched him with a little smile as he sat comfortably on his horse. She was proud of his strength and calmness, and loved him for his gentleness with their daughter, but behind her smile she was worried. She had never seen him as absorbed as he was now with these killings. In the past he had sometimes been forced to get involved with legal matters, when there was a theft in the village, or a land dispute, but generally they had a quiet life together – there were not that many crimes in this part of the world. She was fearful, too, that these killers could strike again, that another person could be killed for no apparent reason. As she thought, though, she suddenly realised that her main fear came from how it would affect him.
She was fully aware that her husband held a position of responsibility, and she was proud that he had managed to achieve it. She would not have held him back from any ambition that drove him, being content to look after their daughter and create the family they both wanted, but she was nervous that this killing could have eaten into him so much. Since the murder he had seemed to become more introverted, quietly mulling over it time and again and withdrawing from her, or so she felt. Would it stop with the capture of the killers? She could not tell. Now all she wanted was an end to the matter so that they could move to their new home and forget it, but she was not sure that he would be able to, not until he had caught the men responsible.
Simon turned as Hugh came near and noticed her staring at him. Grinning quickly, he said, “Come on, then. Let’s go and get some food.”
Baldwin Furnshill walked slowly along the lane that led to his house with his mastiff. His brother’s death had left him with a sizeable kennel to manage, and he now found himself responsible for over twenty dogs as well as the estates.
It was fortunate that he had always liked dogs, he thought. One of the trials of the last few years had been the enforced lack of dogs – not just because of the lost hunting opportunities, although he enjoyed a pursuit as much as the next man, but also because he missed the affection. It was wonderful to see the eyes light up, to see the happiness spread over the black muzzled face at the sudden appearance of the master, and now, while he was still so lonely and keen for a companion, the dogs could at least give him that uncomplicated adoration that required so little in return.
He patted the wiry, fawn coat of the huge mastiff walking beside him. Although he had only been home for a short time, this dog seemed to have attached herself to him already. She had been devoted to his brother, he had been told, and had been inconsolable when he had died, nuzzling at his body where it lay on the ground and whimpering until, at last, she had seemed to realise that he had died, and had sat back to howl her grief to the sky.
But as soon as the new Furnshill arrived she seemed to understand that he was the new master of the house. It seemed to Baldwin that she transferred all of her affection and loyalty to him as soon as she first met him. Perhaps it was because somewhere deep in her canine intelligence she recognised him as the brother of her dead favourite, or maybe he had some similarity to his dead brother in appearance that struck a chord. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for her immediate acceptance of him, as if in some way it demonstrated the legitimacy of his claim to the estates, and he had quickly grown to love her ugly, wrinkled face with the huge, constantly open and dripping mouth and calm brown eyes. In no time he had become used to the fact that wherever he went, within his house or outside, his dog would be never more than a matter of feet away, as if she continually needed to reassure herself that this new master had not disappeared.
From the lane Baldwin could see for over a mile towards the south, so he saw Simon and his small party when they were still a long way off, and he watched them slowly climbing the shallow hill that led to his home with a glowering stare.
Normally he was reserved and cautious with strangers and found it hard to trust people. It took him a long time to develop feelings of friendship for anyone; the life of a warrior was harsh and dangerous, especially when his liege lord was gone, and too much had happened in Baldwin’s life for him to be able to take people at face value until he had grown to know them well; and even then he would usually reject a friendly advance.
But with the bailiff he found his natural distrust weakening and the feeling gave him a sensation of wary concern. With a wry grimace, he wondered whether it was the effect of having a stable base, a home at last after so many years of wandering. Was he simply getting soft? Looking for friends, getting too old for the life of a knight? It was possible, he knew, but somehow he doubted it. He felt that it was more due to Simon’s obvious honesty and honour. Shrugging, he clenched his jaw in an attitude of determination, the scar blazing vividly on his cheek. No matter! He could not trust the bailiff with his past, not in any detail. How could he? Even a close friend would find it difficult to ignore a background like his. A recent acquaintance like Simon? No – at least, not yet.