“By then he had been told how John had taken the plate and looked after it. He had also been told off by Alison, who left him in no doubt why John was visiting. Putthe was confused. He knew Jack and didn’t trust him. Who else should he think could be guilty?”
“I see,” Baldwin said, and stood. “And now, I think we should leave you alone. You should be resting after so much excitement.”
She smiled wistfully. “Yes, it’s been a mad time. First seeing my husband again, then my father dying by poor Quivil’s hand. My whole life appears to have changed in a matter of days. But I can’t let Thomas disappear again.”
“He may decide to go and leave you to begin a new life,” Simon pointed out.
“I cannot let him. Who else will be willing to take care of him?”
“Quite,” said Baldwin, but he said it with a distracted air, and he avoided her eyes. 27
I n the street, Baldwin turned his mount toward the Dean’s house. There the knight and his friend went through to John’s room. John was happy enough to confirm the true events of the evening of Godfrey’s death, but Simon noticed once more that Baldwin appeared to be listening with only half an ear. His attention was elsewhere.
To Simon this was no surprise. Baldwin was betrothed, and the knight had plenty to consider. All the bailiff knew was that it was a relief Emma wouldn’t be able to poison the marriage. Some women got so attached to their maids that the possibility of discarding them was intolerable. Simon himself felt pretty much the same about his own servant, Hugh. The man was morose, sullen, and gloomy. He was slow, and often ineffectual. Yet he was a part of Simon’s household, and life without him was unthinkable.
But it was also quite clear that a man like Baldwin, who prized his hounds almost above all else, would loathe the sight of someone who had tried to tease his favorite into attacking, purely so that the dog must be destroyed. Simon shook his head. It was hard for him to understand, because he always felt dogs were just like any other animal-he didn’t like seeing them beaten or stoned in the street, even if mangy and flea-ridden mutts had to be killed-but they weren’t something to get particularly fond of; they were just guards, and they earned their food and drink by protecting their master. The bailiff would never have risked the hand of his wife because of a blasted hound!
“Before you accuse me of fornication, Sir Baldwin, I should tell you that Alison has already agreed to marry me.”
“That is good to hear,” Baldwin said. “Especially since I know the hardship you endured in Ireland.”
“It was a long time ago. It’s time I found a life again.”
“One thing I don’t understand yet is why you told us there were two men in Godfrey’s garden, and that they made you turn back to the house,” Baldwin frowned as he and Simon sat on a bench near the Irishman’s bed.
John grinned. “I knew very little at the time. Alison hadn’t told me about her mistress’ husband, so I simply told you the truth. I didn’t realize Mistress Cecily would want to protect the men who had killed her father-why should I? All I knew was, someone had attacked the place and for all I knew the two men out near my wall could have been them.”
“That clears it all up,” said Baldwin.
“I only hope this leg will clear up as quickly as your mystery has, Sir Baldwin,” John muttered glumly.
“The monks here are as good as any in the realm,” Baldwin grinned. “And you have a new life to look forward to. I am sure your wife-to-be will visit you often to assist your recovery.”
The knight stood, smiling reassuringly down at the wounded man, and the bailiff also rose to his feet.
As Simon observed his friend, he mused over the knight’s affection for his dog. It led him to another thought. The incident with the dog was false; it had been manufactured by the maid. If her deception hadn’t been witnessed by Hugh, Uther would probably (Simon still wasn’t convinced that Baldwin could have seen the brute killed) be dead, and Emma would be cock-a-hoop. He was reminded of his reflection the previous day as he rode back to Baldwin’s house: appearances could be deceptive.
“My God!”
His startled expostulation made Baldwin glance up, momentarily brought out of his glum reflections. “What?”
“That leper, Quivil! What did he look like?”
“Simon, what are you on about?”
“He was wasted, wasn’t he? You recall his arms? Like sticks. Ralph told us he had lost his appetite since learning of his disease, didn’t he?”
“So?”
“Could a man in so weak a condition have crushed Godfrey’s skull like that?”
Baldwin stared. Before he could speak, John interrupted them.
“There is one thing I didn’t understand, gentlemen. While I was with Cecily, I really didn’t think Godfrey was dead. I mean, as a soldier, I’ve seen enough men who’re dead or about to be, but Godfrey didn’t look it. He was just lying there as if he was asleep, you know?”
Now Baldwin met Simon’s gaze and nodded slowly. “When you were attacked, John, why did you think your home was ransacked?”
“Oh, because they were hoping to find the plate. That’s what I thought then, and I still think so now.”
“But you couldn’t tell us?”
“Mistress Cecily wanted to keep things quiet about that night. It was her secret, not mine.”
Simon took hold of his friend’s arm. “Just as Coffyn kept his wife’s secret! He wanted to keep things quiet about her,” he said urgently.
“What are you getting at, Simon?”
“Baldwin, for some time, according to Coffyn, he has suspected that his wife has been having an affair-and yet he did little or nothing about it until now! Is it credible? Any man would take the revenge he took on John here as soon as he realized what was going on!”
John stared from one to the other. “But nothing was!” he protested.
“Not with you, no. That was why Coffyn didn’t attack you,” Simon said, and sighed as he caught sight of his friend’s expression. “Come on, Baldwin. We both know what happened, don’t we?”
The knight rose, and was about to leave the room when the infirmarer nursing John came back into the room. Baldwin hesitated, then grabbed him and muttered to him. Simon thought the monk looked surprised to be manhandled like that, but the bailiff saw him frown, head on one side while he listened, then he gave two sharp nods of agreement, and before he went to John, Simon heard him say, “Yes, I will. It would be easy to check, as you say.”
“Good. Now, come along Simon,” Baldwin called over his shoulder as he ran from the room.
The door was ajar, and Baldwin pushed it wide and entered the passage. He exchanged a glance with Simon. The house was silent. On every other occasion when they had walked in, there had been a guard at the door, servants rattling pots and pans, soldiers shouting or laughing as they played merrils or dice, yet now there was nothing.
They walked along the screens, Simon finding his hand wandering to his sword-hilt in the darkened passage. There were no candles in the sconces, no open door at the far end, and the light spilled out from the hall itself. With the absence of noise, it was oddly intimidating, and Simon found he was unwilling to step into the pool of brightness.
Baldwin felt a similar tension. He was anxious to prevent another killing. It was a relief when he recognized his quarry in the hall.
The room was almost empty. William sat on a bench near the wall, swinging his legs idly, and his master was seated near the fire. The place seemed unnaturally quiet.
“I was about to find you to confess.”
“You may do so now. It might help.”
“It will,” Coffyn said with conviction. He was a shrivelled hulk, a pallid reflection of his former self. As he spoke, he had a knuckle resting on his chin as if in preparation to chew the nails again should the pressure become too much. “I have nothing to live for now. My men have gone because they know I have no coin to pay them with. My wife has left me. I think she’s gone to her brother in Exeter. My work is finished because she cleared out my strongbox before she went. I have nothing left. God has ruined me, and yet I don’t know why!”