“Then there was the fact that at both murders, although Harold was there or nearby, he was apparently alone. It did not occur to me at once for, in affairs of the heart, most men will leave their friends behind when they go to see their lover. But there was something odd about the prints back from the Trevellyn house on the afternoon we went to Harold’s house after discovering Alan Trevellyn’s body. It only came to me late. There were the prints of a man and a horse?”
He glanced at the farmer. “You never owned a horse, did you? That’s what Jennie Miller said too. What use would a shepherd and farmer have for a horse? And if you did have one, why walk the horse home? To avoid ice, maybe, but it would be rare for a man to walk unless his horse was lame, and this horse did not limp. No, I became certain that there was another man with you. You confirmed that yesterday.
“So what about the day of the death of Agatha Kyteler? Once again, you were seen while you stood with Angelina’s horse, once again, you were alone there. Was it likely? Later, at the inn, you were seen with Stephen de la Forte again, but he came in after you. You did not enter together. If he was with you when you went to see your lover, when Alan Trevellyn died, surely it was possible that he was with you when Agatha died as well? In which case, where had he gone?”
Nodding, Baldwin leaned forward. “Yes, I think that this is what happened. You two, Harold and Angelina, agreed to meet, but Stephen went with you. Harold, you waited with the horse while Angelina went to see the old woman. When she left, Stephen made some excuse…”
“He said that after seeing the old woman, Angelina would want my company, but he would probably be unwelcome,” said Harold dully. “He rode off as if he was on his way home.”
“I see. So he went a short way, then tied his horse in the woods, and made his way to the old woman’s cottage. When he saw Angelina leaving, he went inside and found her still at her table. He pulled out his knife and killed her.”
“I knew none of this!” the boy cried, and his face dropped into his hands.
“No, that much is obvious,” continued the knight. “What happened was that Angelina told you what she had done, and you were shocked, horrified, by what she had done, when you had been looking forward to raising the child.”
“She said she wanted nothing more to do with me when I asked her to leave the village and come away with me.”
“Yes,” said the knight and threw her a glance. She appeared to be gazing at the youth with a small contemptuous sneer. “I imagine she did. Anyway, feeling as you did, you went to the inn to get drunk. Half an hour later or so, Stephen arrived…”
Eagerly, the bailiff interrupted. “And he was cold, you said! You said he had no surcoat!”
“Yes,” the boy nodded with surprise.
“Look at Baldwin’s tunic, after killing Stephen’s horse!” said Simon triumphantly. “Stephen may have been able to clean his face at a stream in the woods, but he couldn’t clean his clothes. That was another thing that stuck in my mind!”
“Thank you, Simon,” said Baldwin with an imperceptible frown of irritation at the break in his tale. He paused, trying to regain the threads, but Simon was too quick.
“So,” he said, “Stephen appeared, heard what Angelina had said to you, and then started to speak about how the old woman would be sure to talk about such a wealthy woman going to see her, or something, yes?”
The boy nodded miserably. “He said that Agatha never could keep her mouth shut. He said she had told everyone in the village about me and Sarah Cottey. I had to do something to keep her quiet.”
“Yes, that was when you were overheard talking about silencing the old witch!”
“Yes. And Stephen offered to come with me.”
“That’s the interesting bit. I suppose he wanted someone to confirm that it was a shock to him to find her body there.”
“I don’t know. He came up to the cottage, but when I opened the door, and found her there, her dog came out and started to attack him. He said we’d better go, and I held the dog back, for it would have taken him by the throat otherwise. When he had gone, though, I began to think, and…”
“You thought Angelina had done it,” said Baldwin flatly. “So you chose to drag the old woman’s body to your field, so you could bury it and hide the proof of the murder.”
Nodding again, the boy looked up with frank sadness. “I went to the inn first, with Stephen. I left the body there at the house. I didn’t even tell him what I was going to do, I thought it would be wrong to involve him. Then, when we left the inn I took her back with me, through the woods, and left her in the field. I was intending to bury her the next morning. But Cottey found her first.”
“Why did you run away?”
“I still loved – I still love – Angelina. But she made it clear that she did not love me. I was going away. I was going to leave the area and find my fortune elsewhere.”
“I see.”
Simon musingly poured himself some wine. “Who suggested that you should go and see Angelina later? When Alan Trevellyn died?”
“Angelina did,” he said.
“I did not!” she declared hotly. “You asked to see me!”
“I assume, then,” interjected the knight suavely, “that Stephen told you, Harold, that Angelina wanted to discuss things with you, and told you, Angelina, that Harold must talk to you?”
They both nodded, and she seemed to consider as she said, “He threatened me. He said that Harold would tell all in the village about us if I did not agree to meet him one last time.”
“But you refused unless he came without a weapon?” asked Baldwin, leaning forward.
“That was Stephen’s idea. He said that Harold was so depressed he could do anything. He said I should be very careful, and he offered to take Harold’s knife if I agreed to see him. Stephen said he would stay nearby so that I should be safe.”
“So in that way he managed to get your knife, Harold. He used it to kill Alan Trevellyn. I don’t know how.”
“He came to the house and asked for wine. Maybe he told my husband that he had seen me with a man up in the woods? The servants were all terrified by my husband’s temper before he left to search for me. He was in a terrible rage.”
“It’s quite likely. Yes, he knew your husband well, as the partner of his father, so if Stephen saw Alan, Alan would probably have believed his story. And he could have promised to lead him to you, as well. It would not have taken much to drop back behind, and cut his throat as he stood in the trees. Then he covered the body with snow to hide it a little, and went back to see you two.”
“Why wasn’t he covered in blood this time?” asked Simon frowning.
“This murder was better planned. He knew that blood would cover the whole area after killing the old woman, so maybe he carried a fresh tunic with him, one that he only put on after leaving these two together. I don’t know, but he’s bright enough to manage that.”
“And then,” Simon finished, “he joined you, Harold, after your meeting with Angelina, and went home with you. It was his tracks and yours that we saw. Your feet, his horse.”
“Yes, he came back. He stayed with me a while, I think, but I hardly said anything to him. Angelina had confirmed that she would not leave her husband to live with me, not even if I could get us away, to over the sea. I felt that I had nothing to live for in Wefford any more. After he had gone, I packed and left. The rest, I think, you know.”
In the silence that followed, Margaret found it difficult to keep her eyes from the miserable figure of the farmer. He sat huddled, deep in thought, but none of the thoughts seemed to give him any joy. The woman was different, she could see. Angelina Trevellyn sat with a measuring gaze in her green eyes, and they were fixed intently upon Baldwin, who appeared to be unaware of her presence. The story of love and misery had struck him with its despair.
“Oh, don’t take her, Baldwin,” she found herself thinking with a shudder. To her surprise she found that the wish was so intense it struck her almost as a prayer. “She’s vicious, uncaring and grasping. Beware!”