The youth slowly rose to his feet and glanced at the dead horse. Without moving, he said musingly, “I suppose you know how wealthy my father is? He would pay well for my freedom. All you have to do is let me go now.”
“You have a long walk ahead of you, Stephen. Save your breath for that.”
It would have been foolish for the boy to try to escape. Similarly, he seemed to realise that it would be impossible to try to deny his guilt. He strode along amenably enough, hands clutching his cloak tightly around his body as they made their way back. Their mad race had taken less than a half-hour, but it took them nearly that long to get to the village with Stephen on foot, and Baldwin’s better judgment might have persuaded him to stay and enjoy a drink, but he decided to continue. He wanted to see how Simon was after his fall.
It was almost another hour before they came to the track on the left that wound its way up to the house, and here for the first time the youth faltered.
“Do we have to go there? Can’t you take me straight to the gaol? I don’t want to see my parents like this.” There was a plaintive tone to his voice, the spoiled child who cannot have his own way.
Baldwin’s sympathy was limited. “Get a move on. At least you can get a warm drink inside you at the house.”
The last thing on the boy’s mind was an attempt to break away and make his escape, but he was reluctant to arrive at his home, and the knight cursed the youth’s slowness under his breath. Now he was nearly there, he wished to complete their journey as quickly as he could.
At the door they waited, and when it was pulled wide, it was Edgar who stood there to welcome them. Taking Stephen by the arm, he waited while his master dropped from his horse. When an hostler arrived and took the reins from him, they all passed inside.
“Simon! How are you?” Baldwin cried at the door, and crossed the floor to his friend, who sat swathed in cloak and blankets like a new-born child. The bailiff smiled, but his pleasure at seeing the knight could not hide the yellowish pallor of his features.
“I’m fine,” he admitted. “But I landed on my head, and it jarred me.” He stopped and stared. “My God, Baldwin! Are you all right? You’re covered in blood, did he stab you?”
“I’m fine. I had to kill his horse: broken leg.”
“Thank God! I…” He stopped, his mouth open in apparent revelation, and Baldwin heard him mutter, ”Of course! That was why he was cold! Why didn’t I realise before?“
Barging past the knight, Stephen stepped up to the fire and ignored the gaze of the others. His father was sitting with his mother on a bench by the hearth, his arm around her, and to Baldwin it looked as if they had both aged in his absence. She was sniffling and trying to hold back her weeping, while her husband sat stoically and expressionlessly, swallowing hard every few minutes as if trying to keep the tears at bay.
When the youth turned from the fire, Baldwin saw him glance at his parents for a moment. In that quick look, he saw only contempt and loathing, and he felt a cold chill at the sight of it. How long would it have been, he wondered, before this boy decided that his father was too weak or ineffectual to be his partner as well?
It was Walter de la Forte who broke the silence. “Are you going to tell us why?”
“Why, father? Why I killed them? You know the reasons why. And I did it then because I had the opportunity, I thought, of getting away with their deaths. After all, they both deserved their ends.”
He walked over to a small chair and sat, staring at his father with apparent surprise, as if he expected that he at least should understand. “She had been a threat for ages, and that was hardly right, especially now the business has been suffering. No, it was only right that she should die. She was a danger, and had been for many years.”
“But why Alan? He was our friend, your friend! Why kill him?”
“He was weak and a fool. He wanted us to keep on with the trading when it was clear we needed to change, to move into banking, beat the Genoese at their own game. That’s where the money is going to be in the future. But he wouldn’t see it. He couldn’t. He was going to ruin our business, Father. I couldn’t let him do that to my inheritance. I had to kill him.”
Simon interrupted. “You knew what you did was going to put the whole blame on to Greencliff, didn’t you? Did you want him to die for what you had done?”
“Harold?” The youth’s face showed momentary confusion, near anger as he frowned, but then he seemed to realise that the bailiff was genuinely unaware of the truth and gave him an comprehending smile. “Oh, no. You don’t understand. I told Harold to go and escape. I knew he could be in danger otherwise. That was why I went to his house after the witch died, to make sure he had gone. I had to make sure he would be all right after I killed her. Then, when I had seen to Alan Trevellyn, I made sure he left for good. He was my friend; I was looking after him.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was late when they finally made it home, and both were ready to drop straight to sleep, but there was no opportunity for them to do so. Margaret, Tanner, Greencliff and Angelina Trevellyn were still in front of the fire, and their eyes rose to the door as the three men entered.
Margaret went to Simon as soon as she saw him, with a sigh of relief, hugging him with her eyes closed. “I thought something must have gone wrong,” she whispered, and then, as she squeezed tighter in her joy, she felt him wince and heard his quick moan, and stood back. Now she could see his pain, and the paleness of his face. Even as she saw him try to smile, she turned an accusatory glare to Baldwin. “What’s happened to him?” she asked, and then gasped in horror as she saw the gore over his tunic. “Baldwin! What has happened to you?”
The knight grinned. “Very little, the same as your husband. But I fear we shall all three of us soon die of the cold if we do not get inside and sit before the fire.”
While Margaret bustled, calling for Hugh and helping Simon to a chair, Baldwin walked to his own chair by the fire and sat, pensively watching them. Hugh did not appear – he had fallen asleep in the kitchen by the fire – so Edgar went to fetch food and drink for them. It was only when he had left the room that Baldwin found his eyes being drawn to Angelina Trevellyn. Seeing her condescending smile as she watched the husband and wife, the knight nodded to himself as he turned his face to the fire once more. It confirmed his decision, reached with such difficulty on the ride homewards.
“Come on, then! What happened? And Simon, how did you guess it was him?”
The bailiff smiled at his wife. “There were a number of things that made me start to think of Stephen de la Fort,” he began. “I think the first thing was how so many people started saying how much of a friend he was to Harold, and how they were always together. It seemed as though they had no secrets from each other – Jennie Miller even said that Stephen knew who Harold’s wealthy lover was.” At this, both Greencliff and Angelina Trevellyn stirred, but Simon ignored them.