“Who are you?”
The eyes rose and met his gaze unflinchingly. “Stephen de la Forte.”
To Simon he appeared to be a naturally haughty man who was holding himself in with difficulty. His eyes were a surprisingly light grey colour, with glints of amber, which made them look oddly translucent, and they sat in a round face, where the definition of youthful exercise was already fading into the rounded obesity of premature middle-age. The bailiff instinctively disliked him, and rested his elbows on the table to study him the better.
“So, Stephen de la Forte, what can you tell us?”
The youth glanced quickly at the constable, a fleeting look, but Simon felt sure he could see a glimmering of devious intelligence there.
“I… I’m a friend of Harold Greencliff’s – I’ve known him for years. I went to his house last night to see him, and the constable was there.”
“I went there about an hour after leaving you, sir,” interjected Tanner. “He arrived when I’d just settled down.”
“I see. Well, then. Why were you going to see him?“ asked Baldwin easily, leaning back in his chair.
“I…” he shot a glance over to Tanner again, suddenly nervous. “As I said, he’s a friend. I saw him on Tuesday, at the inn, and he seemed unhappy then – troubled – so I wanted to see him again and make sure he was all right.”
“How do you mean ”troubled“?” said Simon frowning. The youth glanced at him with surprise and a certain distaste, as if he had thought the bailiff was a mere servant and should not try to become involved in the conversation of his betters. “Well?”
“I don’t know. He was upset by something. I took him out to the inn and stayed with him, but he didn’t tell me anything about what was worrying him.”
He looked shifty, and Simon thought to himself that he appeared to be lying. Watching the boy’s eyes flit away, he noted the fact for discussion with Baldwin later.
The knight was toying with a knife. Spearing a slab of meat, he studied it thoughtfully, and said, “You were so worried after Tuesday that you want back to see him late yesterday? Why not earlier?”
“I did go earlier!”
“And?”
His eyes dropped. “He wasn’t there.”
“When was that?” Simon said, leaning forward.
“I don’t know. Early, not long before noon.”
“I see. Tanner?”
“Yes?” The constable stepped forward.
“I assume Greencliff didn’t turn up?”
“No, sir. We stayed there all night, but there was no sign of him.”
“Stephen de la Forte, can you think of any reason why your friend should have run away?”
The eyes that gazed back at him were troubled, and the youth slowly shook his head, but Simon was sure that he saw certainty there. This boy obviously thought his friend was guilty.
Baldwin took a deep breath, “In that case, I think we’d better organise a search. It may have nothing to do with the death of Kyteler, but it certainly seems suspicious that on the day her body is found – especially so close to his house – he disappears. Very well.” He glanced at Tanner, who nodded, and then, at the knight’s dismissive wave, took the youth by the arm and led him out. It was only when they were gone and the door shut behind them that Baldwin turned back to Simon and sighed in relief.
“Let’s just hope they find him, eh? I think he could help us with some points about this death, especially now he’s decided to run away – that looks suspicious, doesn’t it. It seems like a clear sign of guilt, thank God! It wasn’t the Captal’s son.”
They spent the morning riding up over to the north on the road towards Bickleigh, the peregrine on Baldwin’s arm in the hope of finding a suitable prey for their meal later, but saw nothing worth hunting. At last, when the sun had risen to its zenith, Baldwin snorted and gave a long grumbling sigh.
“This is ridiculous. I can’t concentrate. Simon, Margaret, would you mind if we turned back home now?”
They exchanged a glance, then both nodded. Motioning to Edgar, Baldwin handed over the falcon, then turned his horse back home.
Up and down hills, the whole shire was smothered by the freezing blanket of white. In the distance Margaret could occasionally see the distant, grim greyness of the moors above the Dart, seeming different somehow from the rest of the countryside, gloomier and more menacing, proudly crouching on the edge of the horizon like a great cat waiting to pounce.
As they rode to the long track that wound through the ravine before the manor, Simon pointed excitedly at the path before them.
“Look at the prints! The search party must be back.”
Rounding the last bend in the trail before beginning the half-mile long straight section that pointed straight as a lance to the building itself, they could see the horses tied to the rail by the door, nuzzling at the ground or pawing the snow, trying to get to the grass that lay beneath.
“Edgar, see to the horses,” Baldwin called, throwing the reins to his servant before running indoors. Pausing only to help his wife down, Simon hurried after him.
The search party was waiting in the hall, sitting at Baldwin’s tables and putting the knight’s men to good service fetching wine and bread. Before them sat the figure they had seen the previous morning.
Simon studied him with interest. The day before he had looked nervous and scared of the bailiff and knight, but now he seemed dulled. He could have put it down to exhaustion, but Simon was sure he could see a glitter of defiance in the blue of the youth’s eyes.
“Tanner?” the knight called, and the constable walked up from the bottom of the table.
“Hello, sir.”
Motioning towards the farmer on the floor, Baldwin asked, “Where did you find him?”
Giving the boy a look of contempt, as if at his stupidity in being so predictable, the constable said, “Down south on the way to Exeter. He walked there overnight, apparently. He says he decided to leave. He wants to go to seek his fortune in Gascony.” Shaking his head, Tanner glanced down at the boy.
Baldwin nodded. “Greencliff?” he said. “You know how this must make you appear to us. You’re not stupid. Tell us about the day that the woman Kyteler died. What were you doing? Where did you go?”
But the youth merely stared back at him with eyes that suddenly filled with tears, and refused to answer.
After the search party had left, the constable cursing as he tried to form the ragged group of men into an escort for their prisoner, Simon stood for some minutes, gazing after them with a puzzled frown. When he turned, he saw Baldwin close by, glowering at the ground.
“I am surprised,” said the knight slowly. “I find it difficult to believe that Greencliff is a murderer, and yet…”
“It’s hard to see why he would keep silent if he was innocent. Especially when he must know he’s the obvious man to suspect. And the body was right by his house.”
“Yes, it was. But that’s what worries me. I would have expected him to leave the body in the house or dump it somewhere else. Not there, right by his own place – it’s almost as if he was trying to get us to suspect him!”
“How do you mean?”
“Come on, Simon. If you were to kill someone and wanted to avoid being found out, surely you would hide the body somewhere more imaginative, somewhere away from yourself, somewhere – even if the body was seen – it would not be connected to you, wouldn’t you?”
Simon nodded slowly, but doubtfully. “Perhaps, Baldwin, perhaps. But equally, what if he had put Kyteler there hoping to hide her better later? He might not have expected anyone to see her there. After all, he might have thought he could get to her before anyone rose, to hide her in the trees where nobody could find her.”