“Hello, my love,” he said, smiling at her. She did not return his welcome, but sat quietly with her hands in her lap. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Simon. I’m fine, but I’m worried about you.”
“Me? Why?”
She looked up into his smiling grey eyes, searching them for a sign as she spoke. “What you’re doing is so cruel. Can’t you see what it’s doing to Baldwin? The poor man’s in a torment. He has no idea what you’re thinking of doing today or why! You’re making him mad – why?”
I’m sorry, Margaret, I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s nothing that you need fear,“ he said, but then his eyes drifted to the view again. ”It’s just that I’m not sure myself how it’s going to go today. I’m fairly certain that Harold Greencliff is innocent, and I think we’ll show that today, but the trouble is, what will the result be for Angelina Trevellyn? I think maybe she did have something to do with it, and if so, it’s quite likely that today I’ll have to hurt Baldwin’s feelings. And I don’t want to.“
“What makes you think young Greencliff didn’t do it?” she asked matter-of-factly after a moment.
Glancing at her, he smiled. It was typical of his wife to get straight to the main issue without being sidetracked. He considered, but before he could speak there came the tinny jingling of harnesses from the lane before the house. “Come inside, and you’ll hear all about it any moment now,” he said and, rising, gave her his hand. Looking briefly down to the road, he confirmed it was Angelina Trevellyn before he turned and led the way to the house.
Baldwin appeared at the door as they approached, peering past them to the people on horseback. Watching him, Simon saw the concentration, the intensity of his stare. He felt his belly chum at the thought that the woman might be involved. Oh, God, he prayed, please let it be someone else. I couldn’t face Baldwin if I made it clear it was her!
Chapter Twenty-four
When Angelina Trevellyn and her manservant arrived at the door, they were met by the stern-featured Edgar, who took her horse and pointed her to the front door. She curtly passed him the reins and entered. In the screens, she found herself glancing up and around, assessing the property. It was clearly not as good as her own place, neither as new nor as spacious, but it was warm and appeared to be comfortable. She could see rooms off to her left, but before she could investigate, a taciturn, dark-faced glowering man came out from the furthest and indicated the door near her that led into the hall itself.
She haughtily looked him up and down briefly, and when her gaze returned to his eyes she was angered to see that he stared back. If he had been one of her own servants, he would have been whipped, then thrown out of her house for his presumption. At least Alan had always treated the men correctly, she reflected, even if he was wrong to beat her and her maid. After staring at him for a moment, she condescended to enter, but she had only gone a few paces when she felt her legs begin to falter.
To Margaret it looked as if the poor woman was close to fainting. At first she entered as if she owned the place -and if she was as aware of Baldwin’s infatuation with her as everyone else was, Margaret thought, she had good reason for arrogance. But her steps began to stumble at the sight that met her gaze. The brown and black dog seemed to understand this too, and walked to her with his tail wagging as if trying to sooth her, but she recoiled from him, and he withdrew, offended, to sit beside the figure of Harold Greencliff.
Looking at her husband, Margaret suddenly realised how well he had arranged the benches and tables. Simon had insisted on pulling the table to the far end of the hall so that Mrs. Trevellyn must walk across the length of the floor to get to a chair. Ranged opposite at the table were Baldwin, then Simon and Tanner. Margaret was at one end, and at the other sat Harold Greencliff. Thus, as she entered, the woman saw the knight at first, directly in front of her, then as her gaze ranged over the other people, it met the unflinching stares of the bailiff and constable. Only after meeting their eyes could she glance over at the last actor in the sad little drama: Greencliff.
Whereas the representatives of the law were sitting grimly pensive, the youth had at first looked enthusiastic. He appeared to want to leap up and greet her, but realised that it would not be right. Seeing how her gaze flitted over him, and seeing the contempt in her eyes, his face fell. When she looked back at Baldwin, the boy almost fell back as if suddenly nerveless.
They had exercised no torture, no cruelty against him, but the seriousness of his position was clearly apparent in the dejected way that his body slumped, an elbow resting on the table top, his head hanging as he stared at the floor. Now he understood he had lost her too. He looked up and all she could now see in his eyes was a pathetic, total and abject misery before his eyes fell, full of shame.
The look had not gone unnoticed by the others. Simon cleared his throat authoritatively and motioned to a chair set before the table. “Please be seated, madam.”
She strolled to the chair, then stood beside it while she tugged off her gloves with a contemplative air. Sitting, she raised an eyebrow and stared at Baldwin. “So, sir? I thought I was asked to come here as a friend, to join you in a meal. Why am I subjected to an inquiry? I assume that this is an inquiry?”
The knight opened his mouth to speak, and she thrilled to see his expression of hunted apology. He clearly had not had much desire to see her here like this, then. Glancing at the others, her gaze fixed on the bailiff, and she knew she was right. It must have been him that organised this.
“You will be welcome to join us at our lunch as soon as we have sorted out a few problems, madam,” said Simon smoothly. “We have been talking to Harold Greencliff here, and we would like you to help us with a couple of points.”
To Baldwin it looked as though the blood immediately drained from her face.
“Well?” she asked composedly.
“In the first case. On the day that the old woman died, Agatha Kyteler, you went to see her. It was to arrange for a miscarriage, wasn’t it?”
At his words, Greencliff covered his face with his hands, but the woman merely stared back silently, her face as rigid as a mask. After a moment she stiffly inclined her head in agreement, her lips pursed into a thin, bloodless line of rage.
“And while you were there, you left Harold minding our horse, didn’t you?” Again there was a slow nod.
“While you were there, what happened?”
Shooting a look at Harold Greencliff, she seemed to steel herself. “When I got there, the old woman was fine. I had seen her the previous Saturday to ask for the… medicine. She had said that it took time to collect the leaves and herbs, so she could not make it for some days, but it would be ready on the Tuesday. I went there, paid her, and took the draught. I did not wait, I drank it there, with her watching.”
“What then?”
“Then? I returned to my horse. Harold was there, and he gave me back my horse and I made my way home.”
Greencliff stirred, and his hands fell from his face. Staring at her bleakly, he said, “No. That’s not how it was. She told me she was going there to get a potion to make a child – our child – strong and healthy. She said she believed the rumours about old Agatha.”